Un Morso doo Pang

by Edna Ferber

When you are twenty you do not patronize sunsets unless you areunhappy, in love, or both. Tessie Golden was both. Six monthsago a sunset had wrung from her only a casual tribute, such as:"My! Look how red the sky is!" delivered as unemotionally as aweather bulletin.Tessie Golden sat on the top step of the back porch now, a slim,inert heap in a cotton house coat and scuffed slippers. Her headwas propped wearily against the porch post. Her hands were limpin her lap. Her face was turned toward the west, where shonethat mingling of orange and rose known as salmon pink. But noanswering radiance in the girl's face met the glow in theWisconsin sky.Saturday night, after supper in Chippewa, Wisconsin, TessieGolden of the presunset era would have been calling from herbedroom to the kitchen: "Ma, what'd you do with my pinkblouse?"And from the kitchen: "It's in your second bureau drawer. Thecollar was kind of mussed from Wednesday night, and I give it alittle pressing while my iron was on."At seven-thirty Tessie would have emerged from her bedroom in thepink blouse that might have been considered alarmingly frank asto texture and precariously low as to neck had Tessie herself notbeen so reassuringly unopulent; a black taffeta skirt, verybrief; a hat with a good deal of French blue about it; fragilehigh-heeled pumps with bows.As she passed through the sitting room on her way out, her motherwould appear in the doorway, dishtowel in hand. Her pride inthis slim young thing and her love of her she concealed with athin layer of carping criticism."Runnin' downtown again, I s'pose." A keen eye on the swishingskirt hem.Tessie, the quick-tongued, would toss the wave of shining hairthat lay against either glowing cheek. "Oh, my, no! I justthought I'd dress up in case Angie Hatton drove past in her autoand picked me up for a little ride. So's not to keep herwaiting."Angie Hatton was Old Man Hatton's daughter. Anyone in the FoxRiver Valley could have told you who Old Man Hatton was. You sawhis name at the top of every letterhead of any importance inChippewa, from the Pulp and Paper Mill to the First NationalBank, and including the watch factory, the canning works, and theMid-Western Land Company. Knowing this, you were able toappreciate Tessie's sarcasm. Angie Hatton was as unaware ofTessie's existence as only a young woman could be whose familyresidence was in Chippewa, Wisconsin, but who wintered in Italy,summered in the mountains, and bought (so the town said) her veryhairpins in New York. When Angie Hatton came home from the Eastthe town used to stroll past on Mondays to view the washing onthe Hatton line. Angie's underwear, flirting so audaciously withthe sunshine and zephyrs, was of silk and crepe de Chine andsatin--materials that we had always thought of heretofore asintended exclusively for party dresses and wedding gowns. Ofcourse, two years later they were showing practically the samething at Megan's dry-goods store. But that was always the waywith Angie Hatton. Even those of us who went to Chicago to shopnever quite caught up with her.Delivered of this ironic thrust, Tessie would walk toward thescreen door with a little flaunting sway of the hips. Hermother's eyes, following the slim figure, had a sort of grudginglove in them. A spare, caustic, wiry little woman, Tessie'smother. Tessie resembled her as a water color may resemble ablurred charcoal sketch. Tessie's wide mouth curved into humorlines. She was the cutup of the escapement department at thewatch factory; the older woman's lips sagged at the corners.Tessie was buoyant and colorful with youth. The other wasshrunken and faded with years and labor. As the girl mincedacross the room in her absurdly high-heeled shoes, the olderwoman thought: My, but she's pretty! But she said aloud: "Ishould think you'd stay home once in a while and not be runnin'the streets every night.""Time enough to be sittin' home when I'm old like you."And yet between these two there was love, and even understanding.But in families such as Tessie's, demonstration is a thing to beashamed of; affection a thing to conceal. Tessie's father wasjanitor of the Chippewa High School. A powerful man, slightlycrippled by rheumatism, loquacious, lively, fond of his family,proud of his neat gray frame house and his new cement sidewalkand his carefully tended yard and garden patch. In all her lifeTessie had never seen a caress exchanged between her parents.Nowadays Ma Golden had little occasion for finding fault withTessie's evening diversion. She no longer had cause to say,"Always gaddin' downtown, or over to Cora's or somewhere, likeyou didn't have a home to stay in. You ain't been in a eveningthis week, only when you washed your hair."Tessie had developed a fondness for sunsets viewed from the backporch --she who had thought nothing of dancing until three andrising at half- past six to go to work.Stepping about in the kitchen after supper, her mother would eyethe limp, relaxed figure on the back porch with a little pang ather heart. She would come to the screen door, or even out to theporch on some errand or other--to empty the coffee grounds, toturn the row of half-ripe tomatoes reddening on the porchrailing, to flap and hang up a damp tea towel."Ain't you goin' out, Tess?""No.""What you want to lop around here for? Such a grant evening.Why don't you put on your things and run downtown, or over toCora's or somewhere, hm?""What for?"--listlessly."What for! What does anybody go out for!""I don't know."If they could have talked it over together, these two, the girlmight have found relief. But the family shyness of their classwas too strong upon them. Once Mrs. Golden had said, in aneffort at sympathy, "Person'd think Chuck Mory was the only onewho'd gone to war an' the last fella left in the world."A grim flash of the old humor lifted the corners of the widemouth. "He is. Who's there left? Stumpy Gans, up at therailroad crossing? Or maybe Fatty Weiman, driving the garbage.Guess I'll doll up this evening and see if I can't make a hitwith one of them."She relapsed into bitter silence. The bottom had dropped out ofTessie Golden's world.In order to understand the Tessie of today one would have to knowthe Tessie of six months ago--Tessie the impudent, thelife-loving. Tessie Golden could say things to theescapement-room foreman that anyone else would have been firedfor. Her wide mouth was capable of glorious insolences.Whenever you heard shrieks of laughter from the girls' washroomat noon you knew that Tessie was holding forth to an admiringgroup. She was a born mimic; audacious, agile, and with the giftof burlesque. The autumn that Angie Hatton came home from Europewearing the first tight skirt that Chippewa had ever seen, Tessiegave an imitation of that advanced young woman's progress downGrand Avenue in this restricting garment. The thing was cruel inits fidelity, though containing just enough exaggeration to makeit artistic. She followed it up by imitating the stricken lookon the face of Mattie Haynes, cloak-and-suit buyer at Megan's,who, having just returned from the East with what she consideredthe most fashionable of the new fall styles, now beheld AngieHatton in the garb that was the last echo of the last cry inParis modes--and no model in Mattie's newly selected stock boreeven the remotest resemblance to it.You would know from this that Tessie was not a particularly deftworker. Her big-knuckled fingers were cleverer at turning out ablouse or retrimming a hat. Hers were what are known as handyhands, but not sensitive. It takes a light and facile set offingers to fit pallet and arbor and fork together: close work andtedious. Seated on low benches along the tables, their chinsalmost level with the table top, the girls worked with pincersand flame, screwing together the three tiny parts of the watch'sanatomy that were their particular specialty. Each wore ajeweler's glass in one eye. Tessie had worked at the watchfactory for three years, and the pressure of the glass on the eyesocket had given her the slightly hollow- eyed appearancepeculiar to experienced watchmakers. It was not unbecoming,though, and lent her, somehow, a spiritual look which made herimpudence all the more piquant.Tessie wasn't always witty, really. But she had achieved areputation for wit which insured applause for even her feeblerefforts. Nap Ballou, the foreman, never left the escapement roomwithout a little shiver of nervous apprehension--a feelingjustified by the ripple of suppressed laughter that went up anddown the long tables. He knew that Tessie Golden, like a naughtyschoolgirl when teacher's back is turned, had directed one of hersure shafts at him.Ballou, his face darkling, could easily have punished her.Tessie knew it. But he never did, or would. She knew that, too.Her very insolence and audacity saved her."Someday," Ballou would warn her, "you'll get too gay, andthen you'll find yourself looking for a job.""Go on--fire me," retorted Tessie, "and I'll meet you inLancaster"--a form of wit appreciated only by watchmakers. Forthere is a certain type of watch hand who is as peripatetic asthe old-time printer. Restless, ne'er-do- well, spendthrift, hewanders from factory to factory through the chain of watchmakingtowns: Springfield, Trenton, Waltham, Lancaster, Waterbury,Chippewa. Usually expert, always unreliable, certainly fond ofdrink, Nap Ballou was typical of his kind. The steady worker hada mingled admiration and contempt for him. He, in turn, regardedthe other as a stick-in-the-mud. Nap wore his cap on one side ofhis curly head, and drank so evenly and steadily as never to bequite drunk and never strictly sober. He had slender, sensitivefingers like an artist's or a woman's, and he knew the parts ofthat intricate mechanism known as a watch from the jewel to thefinishing room. It was said he had a wife or two. He was forty-six, good-looking in a dissolute sort of way, possessing thecharm of the wanderer, generous with his money. It was knownthat Tessie's barbs were permitted to prick him withoutretaliation because Tessie herself appealed to his errant fancy.When the other girls teased her about this obvious state ofaffairs, something fine and contemptuous welled up in her."Him! Why, say, he ought to work in a pickle factory instead ofa watchworks. All he needs is a little dill and a handful ofgrape leaves to make him good eatin' as a relish."And she thought of Chuck Mory, perched on the high seat of theAmerican Express truck, hatless, sunburned, stockily muscular,clattering down Winnebago Street on his way to the depot and the7:50 train.Something about the clear simplicity and uprightness of the firmlittle figure appealed to Nap Ballou. He used to regard hercuriously with a long, hard gaze before which she would growuncomfortable. "Think you'll know me next time you see me?"But there was an uneasy feeling beneath her flip exterior. Notthat there was anything of the beautiful, persecuted factory girland villainous foreman about the situation. Tessie worked atwatchmaking because it was light, pleasant, and well paid. Shecould have found another job for the asking. Her money went forshoes and blouses and lingerie and silk stockings. She wasforever buying a vivid necktie for her father and dressing up herprotesting mother in gay colors that went ill with the drab,wrinkled face. "If it wasn't for me, you'd go round lookinglike one of those Polack women down by the tracks," Tessie wouldscold. "It's a wonder you don't wear a shawl!"That was the Tessie of six months ago, gay, carefree, holding thereins of her life in her own two capable hands. Three nights aweek, and Sunday, she saw Chuck Mory. When she went downtown onSaturday night it was frankly to meet Chuck, who was waiting forher on Schroeder's drugstore corner. He knew it, and she knewit. Yet they always went through a little ceremony. She andCora, turning into Grand from Winnebago Street, would make forthe post office. Then down the length of Grand with a leapingglance at Schroeder's corner before they reached it. Yes, therethey were, very clean-shaven, clean-shirted, slick-looking.Tessie would have known Chuck's blond head among a thousand. Anair of studied hauteur and indifference as they approached thecorner. Heads turned the other way. A low whistle from theboys."Oh, how do!""Good evening!"Both greetings done with careful surprise. Then on down thestreet. On the way back you took the inside of the walk, andyour hauteur was now stony to the point of insult. Schroeder'scorner simply did not exist. On as far as Megan's, which youentered and inspected, up one brightly lighted aisle and down thenext. At the dress-goods counter there was a neat little stackof pamphlets entitled "In the World of Fashion." You took oneand sauntered out leisurely. Down Winnebago Street now, homewardbound, talking animatedly and seemingly unconscious of quickfootsteps sounding nearer and nearer. Just past the Burke House,where the residential district began, and where the trees casttheir kindly shadows: "Can I see you home?" A hand slippedthrough her arm; a little tingling thrill."Oh, why, how do, Chuck! Hello, Scotty. Sure, if you're goingour way."At every turn Chuck left her side and dashed around behind her inorder to place himself at her right again, according to the rigidrule of Chippewa etiquette. He took her arm only at streetcrossings until they reached the tracks, which perilous spotseemed to justify him in retaining his hold throughout theremainder of the stroll. Usually they lost Cora and Scottywithout having been conscious of their loss.Their talk? The girls and boys that each knew; the day'shappenings at factory and express office; next Wednesday night'sdance up in the Chute; and always the possibility of Chuck'sleaving the truck and assuming the managership of the office."Don't let this go any further, see? But I heard it straightthat old Benke is going to be transferred to Fond du Lac. And ifhe is, why, I step in, see? Benke's got a girl in Fondy, andhe's been pluggin' to get there. Gee, maybe I won't be glad whenhe does!" A little silence. "Will you be glad, Tess? Hm?"Tess felt herself glowing and shivering as the big hand closedmore tightly on her arm. "Me? Why, sure I'll be pleased to seeyou get a job that's coming to you by rights, and that'll get youbetter pay, and all."But she knew what he meant, and he knew she knew.No more of that now. Chuck--gone. Scotty--gone. All the boysat the watchworks, all the fellows in the neighborhood--gone. Atfirst she hadn't minded. It was exciting. You kidded them atfirst: "Well, believe me, Chuck, if you shoot the way you playball, you're a gone goon already.""All you got to do, Scotty, is to stick that face of yours upover the top of the trench and the Germans'll die of fright andsave you wasting bullets."There was a great knitting of socks and sweaters and caps.Tessie's big- knuckled, capable fingers made you dizzy, they flewso fast. Chuck was outfitted as for a polar expedition. Tesstook half a day off to bid him good-by. They marched down GrandAvenue, that first lot of them, in their everyday suits and hats,with their shiny yellow suitcases and their pasteboard boxes intheir hands, sheepish, red-faced, awkward. In their eyes,though, a certain look. And so off for Camp Sherman, their youngheads sticking out of the car windows in clusters--black, yellow,brown, red. But for each woman on the depot platform there wasjust one head. Tessie saw a blurred blond one with a misty haloaround it. A great shouting and waving of handkerchiefs:"Good-by! Good-by! Write, now! Be sure! Mebbe you can getoff in a week, for a visit. Good-by! Good----"They were gone. Their voices came back to the crowd on the depotplatform-- high, clear young voices; almost like the voices ofchildren, shouting.Well, you wrote letters--fat, bulging letters--and in turn youreceived equally plump envelopes with a red emblem in one corner.You sent boxes of homemade fudge (nut variety) and cookies andthe more durable forms of cake.Then, unaccountably, Chuck was whisked all the way to California.He was furious at parting with his mates, and his indignation wasexpressed in his letters to Tessie. She sympathized with him inher replies. She tried to make light of it, but there was alittle clutch of terror in it, too. California! Might as wellsend a person to the end of the world while they were about it.Two months of that. Then, inexplicably again, Chuck's lettersbore the astounding postmark of New York. She thought, in apanic, that he was Franceward bound, but it turned out not to beso. Not yet. Chuck's letters were taking on a cosmopolitantone. "Well," he wrote, "I guess the little old town is asdead as ever. It seems funny you being right there all this timeand I've traveled from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Everybodytreats me swell. You ought to seen some of those Californiahouses. They make Hatton's place look like a dump."The girls, Cora and Tess and the rest, laughed and joked amongthemselves and assured one another, with a toss of the head, thatthey could have a good time without the fellas. They didn't needboys around.They gave parties, and they were not a success. There was one ofthe type known as a stag. "Some hen party!" they all said.They danced, and sang "Over There." They had ice cream andchocolate layer cake and went home in great hilarity, with theirhands on each other's shoulders, still singing.But the thing was a failure, and they knew it. Next day, at thelunch hour and in the washroom, there was a little desultory talkabout the stag. But the meat of such an aftergathering iscontained in phrases such as "I says to him"--and "He says tome." They wasted little conversation on the stag. It was muchmore exciting to exhibit letters on blue-lined paper with the redemblem at the top. Chuck's last letter had contained the news ofhis sergeancy.Angie Hatton, home from the East, was writing letters, too.Everyone in Chippewa knew that. She wrote on that new art paperwith the gnawed- looking edges and stiff as a newly launderedcuff. But the letters which she awaited so eagerly were writtenon the same sort of paper as were those Tessie had fromChuck--blue-lined, cheap in quality. A New York fellow, Chippewalearned; an aviator. They knew, too, that young Hatton was aninfantry lieutenant somewhere in the East. These letters werenot from him.Ever since her home-coming, Angie had been sewing at the RedCross shop on Grand Avenue. Chippewa boasted two Red Crossshops. The Grand Avenue shop was the society shop. The East Endcrowd sewed there, capped, veiled, aproned--and unapproachable.Were your fingers ever so deft, your knowledge of seams andbasting mathematical, your skill with that complicated garmentknown as a pneumonia jacket uncanny, if you did not belong to theEast End set, you did not sew at the Grand Avenue shop. Nomatter how grossly red the blood which the Grand Avenue bandagesand pads were ultimately to stanch, the liquid in the fingersthat rolled and folded them was pure cerulean.Tessie and her crowd had never thought of giving any such serviceto their country. They spoke of the Grand Avenue workers as"that stinkin' bunch." Yet each one of the girls was capableof starting a blouse in an emergency on Saturday night andfinishing it in time for a Sunday picnic, buttonholes and all.Their help might have been invaluable. It never was asked.Without warning, Chuck came home on three days' furlough. Itmeant that he was bound for France right enough this time. ButTessie didn't care."I don't care where you're goin'," she said exultantly, hereyes lingering on the stocky, straight, powerful figure in itsrather ill-fitting khaki. "You're here now. That's enough.Ain't you tickled to be home, Chuck? Gee!" ``I'll say," responded Chuck. But even he seemed to detect somelack in his tone and words. He elaborated somewhat shamefacedly:"Sure. It's swell to be home. But I don't know. After you'vetraveled around, and come back, things look so kind of little toyou. I don't know--kind of----" He floundered about, at a lossfor expression. Then tried again: "Now, take Hatton's place,for example. I always used to think it was a regular palace,but, gosh, you ought to see places where I was asked to in SanFrancisco and around there. Why, they was--were--enough to makethe Hatton house look like a shack. Swimmin' pools of whitemarble, and acres of yard like a park, and the help alwaysbringing you something to eat or drink. And the folksthemselves--why, say! Here we are scraping and bowing to Hattonsand that bunch. They're pikers to what some people are thatinvited me to their houses in New York and Berkeley, and treatedme and the other guys like kings or something. Take Megan'sstore, too"--he was warming to his subject, so that he failed tonotice the darkening of Tessie's face--"it's a joke compared toNew York and San Francisco stores. Reg'lar hick joint."Tessie stiffened. Her teeth were set, her eyes sparkled. Shetossed her head. "Well, I'm sure, Mr. Mory, it's good enoughfor me. Too bad you had to come home at all now you're soelegant and swell, and everything. You better go call on AngieHatton instead of wasting time on me. She'd probably be tickledto see you."He stumbled to his feet, then, awkwardly. "Aw, say, Tessie, Ididn't mean--why, say--you don't suppose--why, believe me, Ipretty near busted out cryin' when I saw the Junction eatin'house when my train came in. And I been thinking of you everyminute. There wasn't a day----""Tell that to your swell New York friends. I may be a hick butI ain't a fool." She was near to tears."Why, say, Tess, listen! Listen! If you knew--if you knew--Aguy's got to--he's got no right to----"And presently Tessie was mollified, but only on the surface. Shesmiled and glanced and teased and sparkled. And beneath wasterror. He talked differently. He walked differently. Itwasn't his clothes or the army. It was something else--an easeof manner, a new leisureliness of glance, an air. Once Tessiehad gone to Milwaukee over Labor Day. It was the extent of herexperience as a traveler. She remembered how superior she hadfelt for at least two days after. But Chuck! California! NewYork! It wasn't the distance that terrified her. It was his newknowledge, the broadening of his vision, though she did not knowit and certainly could not have put it into words.They went walking down by the river to Oneida Springs, and dranksome of the sulphur water that tasted like rotten eggs. Tessiedrank it with little shrieks and shudders and puckered her faceup into an expression indicative of extreme disgust."It's good for you," Chuck said, and drank three cups of it,manfully. "That taste is the mineral qualities the watercontains--sulphur and iron and so forth.""I don't care," snapped Tessie irritably. "I hate it!" Theyhad often walked along the river and tasted of the spring water,but Chuck had never before waxed scientific. They took a boat atBaumann's boathouse and drifted down the lovely Fox River."Want to row?" Chuck asked. "I'll get an extra pair of oarsif you do.""I don't know how. Besides, it's too much work. I guess I'lllet you do it."Chuck was fitting his oars in the oarlocks. She stood on thelanding looking down at him. His hat was off. His hair seemedblonder than ever against the rich tan of his face. His neckmuscles swelled a little as he bent. Tessie felt a great longingto bury her face in the warm red skin. He straightened with asigh and smiled at her. "I'll be ready in a minute." He tookoff his coat and turned his khaki shirt in at the throat, so thatyou saw the white line of his untanned chest in strange contrastto his sun- burned throat. A feeling of giddy faintness surgedover Tessie. She stepped blindly into the boat and would havefallen if Chuck's hard, firm grip had not steadied her. "Whoa,there! Don't you know how to step into a boat? There. Walkalong the middle."She sat down and smiled up at him. "I don't know how I come todo that. I never did before."Chuck braced his feet, rolled up his sleeves, and took an oar ineach brown hand, bending rhythmically to his task. He lookedabout him, then at the girl, and drew a deep breath, featheringhis oars. "I guess I must have dreamed about this more'n amillion times.""Have you, Chuck?"They drifted on in silence. "Say, Tess, you ought to learn torow. It's good exercise. Those girls in California and NewYork, they play tennis and row and swim as good as the boys.Honest, some of 'em are wonders!"Oh, I'm sick of your swell New York friends! Can't you talkabout something else?"He saw that he had blundered without in the least understandinghow or why. "All right. What'll we talk about?" In itself afatal admission."About--you." Tessie made it a caress."Me? Nothin' to tell about me. I just been drillin' andstudyin' and marchin' and readin' some---- Oh, say, what d'youthink?""What?""They been learnin' us--teachin' us, I mean--French. It's thedarnedest language! Bread is pain. Can you beat that? If youwant to ask for a piece of bread, you say like this: DONNAY MAUN MORSO DOO PANG. See?""My!" breathed Tessie.And within her something was screaming: Oh, my God! Oh, my God!He knows French. And those girls that can row and swim andeverything. And me, I don't know anything. Oh, God, what'll Ido?It was as though she could see him slipping away from her, out ofher grasp, out of her sight. She had no fear of what might cometo him in France. Bullets and bayonets would never hurt Chuck.He'd make it, just as he always made the 7:50 when it seemed asif he was going to miss it sure. He'd make it there and back,all right. But he'd be a different Chuck, while she stayed thesame Tessie. Books, travel, French, girls, swell folks----And all the while she was smiling and dimpling and trailing herhand in the water. "Bet you can't guess what I got in thatlunch box.""Chocolate cake.""Well, of course I've got chocolate cake. I baked it myselfthis morning.""Yes, you did!" "Why, Chuck Mory, I did so! I guess youthink I can't do anything, the way you talk.""Oh, don't I! I guess you know what I think.""Well, it isn't the cake I mean. It's something else.""Fried chicken!""Oh, now you've gone and guessed it." She pouted prettily."You asked me to, didn't you?"Then they laughed together, as at something exquisitely witty.Down the river, drifting, rowing. Tessie pointed to a house halfhidden among the trees on the farther shore: "There's Hatton'scamp. They say they have grand times there with their swellcrowd some Saturdays and Sundays. If I had a house like that,I'd live in it all the time, not just a couple of days out of thewhole year." She hesitated a moment. "I suppose it looks likea shanty to you now."Chuck surveyed it, patronizingly. "No, it's a nice littleplace."They beached their boat, and built a little fire, and had supperon the riverbank, and Tessie picked out the choice bits forhim--the breast of the chicken, beautifully golden brown; theripest tomato; the firmest, juiciest pickle; the corner of thelittle cake which would give him a double share of icing.From Chuck, between mouthfuls: "I guess you don't know how goodthis tastes. Camp grub's all right, but after you've had a fewmonths of it you get so you don't believe there IS such a thingas real fried chicken and homemade chocolate cake.""I'm glad you like it, Chuck. Here, take this drumstick. Youain't eating a thing!" His fourth piece of chicken.Down the river as far as the danger line just above the dam, withTessie pretending fear just for the joy of having Chuck reassureher. Then back again in the dusk, Chuck bending to the task nowagainst the current. And so up the hill, homeward bound. Theywalked very slowly, Chuck's hand on her arm. They were dumb withthe tragic, eloquent dumbness of their kind. If she could havespoken the words that were churning in her mind, they would havebeen something like this:"Oh, Chuck, I wish I was married to you. I wouldn't care ifonly I had you. I wouldn't mind babies or anything. I'd beglad. I want our house, with a dining-room set, and a mahoganybed, and one of those overstuffed sets in the living room, andall the housework to do. I'm scared. I'm scared I won't get it.What'll I do if I don't?"And he, wordlessly: "Will you wait for me, Tessie, and keep onthinking about me? And will you keep yourself like you are sothat if I come back----"Aloud, she said: "I guess you'll get stuck on one of thoseFrench girls. I should worry! They say wages at the watchfactory are going to be raised, workers are so scarce. I'llprobably be as rich as Angie Hatton time you get back."And he, miserably: "Little old Chippewa girls are good enoughfor Chuck. I ain't counting on taking up with those Frenchies.I don't like their jabber, from what I know of it. I saw somepictures of 'em, last week, a fellow in camp had who'd been overthere. Their hair is all funny, and fixed up with combs andstuff, and they look real dark like foreigners."It had been reassuring enough at the time. But that was sixmonths ago. And now here was the Tessie who sat on the backporch, evenings, surveying the sunset. A listless,lackadaisical, brooding Tessie. Little point to going downtownSaturday nights now. There was no familiar, beloved figure tofollow you swiftly as you turned off Elm Street, homeward bound.If she went downtown now, she saw only those Saturday-nightfamily groups which are familiar to every small town. Thehusband, very damp as to hair and clean as to shirt, guarding thegocart outside while the woman accomplished her Saturday-nighttrading at Ding's or Halpin's. Sometimes there were as many ashalf a dozen gocarts outside Halpin's, each containing a sleepingburden, relaxed, chubby, fat-cheeked. The waiting men smokedtheir pipes and conversed largely. "Hello, Ed. The woman'sinside, buyin' the store out, I guess.""That so? Mine, to. Well, how's everything?"Tessie knew that presently the woman would come out, bundleladen, and that she would stow these lesser bundles in everycorner left available by the more important sleeping bundle--twoyards of oilcloth; a spool of 100, white; a banana for the baby;a new stewpan at the five-and-ten.There had been a time when Tessie, if she thought of these womenat all, felt sorry for them--worn, drab, lacking in style andfigure. Now she envied them.There were weeks upon weeks when no letter came from Chuck. Inhis last letter there had been some talk of his being sent toRussia. Tessie's eyes, large enough now in her thin face,distended with a great fear. Russia! His letter spoke, too, ofFrench villages and chateaux. He and a bunch of fellows had beenintroduced to a princess or a countess or something--it was allone to Tessie--and what do you think? She had kissed them all onboth cheeks! Seems that's the way they did in France.The morning after the receipt of this letter the girls at thewatch factory might have remarked her pallor had they not been sooccupied with a new and more absorbing topic."Tess, did you hear about Angie Hatton?""What about her?""She's going to France. It's in the Milwaukee paper, all abouther being Chippewa's fairest daughter, and a picture of thehouse, and her being the belle of the Fox River Valley, and she'sgiving up her palatial home and all to go to work in a canteenfor her country and bleeding France.""Ya-as she is!" sneered Tessie, and a dull red flush, so deepas to be painful, swept over her face from throat to brow."Ya-as she is, the doll-faced simp! Why, say, she never wipedup a floor in her life, or baked a cake, or stood on them feet ofhers. She couldn't cut up a loaf of bread decent. BleedingFrance! Ha! That's rich, that is." She thrust her chin outbrutally, and her eyes narrowed to slits. "She's going overthere after that fella of hers. She's chasing him. It's now ornever, and she knows it and she's scared, same's the rest of us.On'y we got to set home and make the best of it. Or take what'sleft." She turned her head slowly to where Nap Ballou stoodover a table at the far end of the room. She laughed a grim, un-lovely little laugh. "I guess when you can't go after what youwant, like Angie, why you gotta take second choice."All that day, at the bench, she was the reckless, insolent,audacious Tessie of six months ago. Nap Ballou was alwaysstanding over her, pretending to inspect some bit of work orother, his shoulder brushing hers. She laughed up at him so thather face was not more than two inches from his. He flushed, butshe did not. She laughed a reckless little laugh."Thanks for helping teach me my trade, Mr. Ballou. 'Course Ionly been at it over three years now, so I ain't got the hang ofit yet."He straightened up slowly, and as he did so he rested a hand onher shoulder for a brief moment. She did not shrug it off.That night, after supper, Tessie put on her hat and strolled downto Park Avenue. It wasn't for the walk. Tessie had never beentold to exercise systematically for her body's good, or hermind's. She went in a spirit of unwholesome brooding curiosityand a bitter resentment. Going to France, was she? Lots of goodshe'd do there. Better stay home and--and what? Tessie castabout in her mind for a fitting job for Angie. Guess she might'swell go, after all. Nobody'd miss her, unless it was her father,and he didn't see her but about a third of the time. But inTessie's heart was a great envy of this girl who could bridge thehideous waste of ocean that separated her from her man. BleedingFrance. Yeh! Joke!The Hatton place, built and landscaped twenty years before,occupied a square block in solitary grandeur, the show place ofChippewa. In architectural style it was an impartial mixture ofNorman castle, French chateau, and Rhenish schloss, with a dashof Coney Island about its facade. It represented Old ManHatton's realized dream of landed magnificence.Tessie, walking slowly past it, and peering through the high ironfence, could not help noting an air of unwonted excitement aboutthe place, usually so aloof, so coldly serene. Automobilesstanding out in front. People going up and down. They didn'tlook very cheerful. Just as if it mattered whether anythinghappened to her or not!Tessie walked around the block and stood a moment, uncertainly.Then she struck off down Grand Avenue and past Donovan's poolshack. A little group of after-supper idlers stood outside,smoking and gossiping, as she knew there would be. As she turnedthe corner she saw Nap Ballou among them. She had known that,too. As she passed she looked straight ahead, without bowing.But just past the Burke House he caught up with her. No half-shy"Can I walk home with you?" from Nap Ballou. No. Instead:"Hello, sweetheart!""Hello, yourself.""Somebody's looking mighty pretty this evening, all dolled up inpink.""Think so?" She tried to be pertly indifferent, but it wasgood to have someone following, someone walking home with you.What if he was old enough to be her father, with graying hair?Lots of the movie heroes had graying hair at the sides.They walked for an hour. Tessie left him at the corner. She hadonce heard her father designate Ballou as "that drunken skunk."When she entered the sitting room her cheeks held an unwontedpink. Her eyes were brighter than they had been in months. Hermother looked up quickly, peering at her over a pair ofsteel-rimmed spectacles, very much askew."Where you been, Tessie?""Oh, walkin'.""Who with?""Cora.""Why, she was here, callin' for you, not more'n an hour ago."Tessie, taking off her hat on her way upstairs, met this coolly."Yeh, I ran into her comin' back."Upstairs, lying fully dressed on her hard little bed, she staredup into the darkness, thinking, her hands limp at her sides. Oh,well, what's the diff? You had to make the best of it.Everybody makin' a fuss about the soldiers--feeding 'em, andasking 'em to their houses, and sending 'em things, and givingdances and picnics and parties so they wouldn't be lonesome.Chuck had told her all about it. The other boys told the same.They could just pick and choose their good times. Tessie's mindgroped about, sensing a certain injustice. How about the girls?She didn't put it thus squarely. Hers was not a logical mind.Easy enough to paw over the men- folks and get silly over brassbuttons and a uniform. She put it that way. She thought of therefrain of a popular song: "What Are You Going to Do to Helpthe Boys?" Tessie, smiling a crooked little smile up there inthe darkness, parodied the words deftly: "What're you going todo to help the girls?" she demanded. "What're you going todo----" She rolled over on one side and buried her head in herarms.There was news again next morning at the watch factory. Tessieof the old days had never needed to depend on the other girls forthe latest bit of gossip. Her alert eye and quick ear had alwayscaught it first. But of late she had led a cloistered existence,indifferent to the world about her. The Chippewa Courier wentinto the newpaper pile behind the kitchen door without a glancefrom Tessie's incurious eye.She was late this morning. As she sat down at the bench andfitted her glass in her eye, the chatter of the others, pitchedin the high key of unusual excitement, penetrated even herlistlessness."And they say she never screeched or fainted or anything. Shestood there, kind of quiet, looking straight ahead, and then allof a sudden she ran to her pa----""I feel sorry for her. She never did anything to me. She----"Tessie spoke, her voice penetrating the staccato fragments allabout her and gathering them into a whole. "Say, who's theheroine of this picture? I come in in the middle of the film, Iguess."They turned on her with the unlovely eagerness of those who haveugly news to tell. They all spoke at once, in short sentences,their voices high with the note of hysteria."Angie Hatton's beau was killed----""They say his airyoplane fell ten thousand feet----""The news come only last evening about eight----""She won't see nobody but her pa----"Eight! At eight Tessie had been standing outside Hatton's house,envying Angie and hating her. So that explained the people, andthe automobiles, and the excitement. Tessie was not receivingthe news with the dramatic reaction which its purveyors felt itdeserved. Tessie, turning from one to the other quietly, hadsaid nothing. She was pitying Angie. Oh, the luxury of it! NapBallou, coming in swiftly to still the unwonted commotion in workhours, found Tessie the only one quietly occupied in thatchatter-filled room. She was smiling as she worked. Nap Ballou,bending over her on some pretense that deceived no one, spokelow-voiced in her ear. But she veiled her eyes insolently anddid not glance up. She hummed contentedly all the morning at hertedious work.She had promised Nap Ballou to go picknicking with him Sunday.Down the river, boating, with supper on shore. The small, stillvoice within her had said, "Don't go! Don't go!" But theharsh, high-pitched, reckless overtone said, "Go on! Have agood time. Take all you can get."She would have to lie at home and she did it. Some fabricationabout the girls at the watchworks did the trick. Fried chicken,chocolate cake. She packed them deftly and daintily.High-heeled shoes, flimsy blouse, rustling skirt. Nap Ballou waswaiting for her over in the city park. She saw him before heespied her. He was leaning against a tree, idly, staringstraight ahead with queer, lackluster eyes. Silhouetted thereagainst the tender green of the pretty square, he looked veryold, somehow, and different-- much older than he looked in hisshop clothes, issuing orders. Tessie noticed that he saggedwhere he should have stuck out, and protruded where he shouldhave been flat. There flashed across her mind a vividly clearpicture of Chuck as she had last seen him--brown, fit, high ofchest, flat of stomach, slim of flank.Ballou saw her. He straightened and came toward her swiftly."Somebody looks mighty sweet this afternoon."Tessie plumped the heavy lunch box into his arms. "When you geta line you like you stick to it, don't you?"Down at the boathouse even Tessie, who had confessed ignorance ofboats and oars, knew that Ballou was fumbling clumsily. Hestooped to adjust the oars to the oarlocks. His hat was off.His hair looked very gray in the cruel spring sunshine. Hestraightened and smiled up at her."Ready in a minute, sweetheart," he said. He took off hiscollar and turned in the neckband of his shirt. His skin wasvery white. Tessie felt a little shudder of disgust sweep overher, so that she stumbled a little as she stepped into the boat.The river was very lovely. Tessie trailed her fingers in thewater and told herself that she was having a grand time. Shetold Nap the same when he asked her."Having a good time, little beauty?" he said. He was puffing alittle with the unwonted exercise.Tessie tried some of her old-time pertness of speech. "Oh, goodenough, considering the company."He laughed admiringly at that and said she was a sketch.When the early evening came on they made a clumsy landing and hadsupper. This time Nap fed her the tidbits, though she protested."White meat for you," he said, "with your skin like milk.""You must of read that in a book," scoffed Tessie. She glancedaround her at the deepening shadows. "We haven't got much time.It gets dark so early.""No hurry," Nap assured her. He went on eating in a leisurely,finicking sort of way, though he consumed very little food,actually."You're not eating much," Tessie said once, halfheartedly. Shedecided that she wasn't having such a very grand time, after all,and that she hated his teeth, which were very bad. Now, Chuck'sstrong, white, double row----"Well," she said, "let's be going.""No hurry," again.Tessie looked up at that with the instinctive fear of her kind."What d'you mean, no hurry! 'Spect to stay here till dark?"She laughed at her own joke."Yes."She got up then, the blood in her face. "Well, _I_ don't."He rose, too. "Why not?""Because I don't, that's why." She stooped and began pickingup the remnants of the lunch, placing spoons and glass bottlesswiftly and thriftily into the lunch box. Nap stepped aroundbehind her."Let me help," he said. And then his arm was about her and hisface was close to hers, and Tessie did not like it. He kissedher after a little wordless struggle. And then she knew. Shehad been kissed before. But not like this. Not like this! Shestruck at him furiously. Across her mind flashed the memory of agirl who had worked in the finishing room. A nice girl, too.But that hadn't helped her. Nap Ballou was laughing a little ashe clasped her.At that she heard herself saying: "I'll get Chuck Mory afteryou--you drunken bum, you! He'll lick you black and blue.He'll----"The face, with the ugly, broken brown teeth, was coming closeagain. With all the young strength that was in her she freed onehand and clawed at that face from eyes to chin. A howl of painrewarded her. His hold loosened. Like a flash she was off. Sheran. It seemed to her that her feet did not touch the earth.Over brush, through bushes, crashing against trees, on and on.She heard him following her, but the broken-down engine that washis heart refused to do the work. She ran on, though her fearwas as great as before. Fear of what might have happened--toher, Tessie Golden, that nobody could even talk fresh to. Shegave a sob of fury and fatigue. She was stumbling now. It wasgrowing dark. She ran on again, in fear of the overtakingdarkness. It was easier now. Not so many trees and bushes. Shecame to a fence, climbed over it, lurched as she landed, leanedagainst it weakly for support, one hand on her aching heart.Before her was the Hatton summer cottage, dimly outlined in thetwilight among the trees.A warm, flickering light danced in the window. Tessie stood amoment, breathing painfully, sobbingly. Then, with aninstinctive gesture, she patted her hair, tidied her blouse, andwalked uncertainly toward the house, up the steps to the door.She stood there a moment, swaying slightly. Somebody'd be there.The light. The woman who cooked for them or the man who tookcare of the place. Somebody'd----She knocked at the door feebly. She'd tell 'em she had lost herway and got scared when it began to get dark. She knocked again,louder now. Footsteps. She braced herself and even arranged acrooked smile. The door opened wide. Old Man Hatton!She looked up at him, terror and relief in her face. He peeredover his glasses at her. "Who is it?" Tessie had not known,somehow, that his face was so kindly.Tessie's carefully planned story crumbled into nothingness."It's me!" she whimpered. "It's me!"He reached out and put a hand on her arm and drew her inside."Angie! Angie! Here's a poor little kid----"Tessie clutched frantically at the last crumbs of her pride. Shetried to straighten, to smile with her old bravado. What wasthat story she had planned to tell?"Who is it, Dad? Who----?" Angie Hatton came into thehallway. She stared at Tessie. Then: "Why, my dear!" shesaid. "My dear! Come in here."Angie Hatton! Tessie began to cry weakly, her face buried inAngie Hatton's expensive shoulder. Tessie remembered later thatshe had felt no surprise at the act."There, there!" Angie Hatton was saying. "Just poke up thefire, Dad. And get something from the dining room. Oh, I don'tknow. To drink, you know. Something----"Then Old Man Hatton stood over her, holding a small glass to herlips. Tessie drank it obediently, made a wry little face,coughed, wiped her eyes, and sat up. She looked from one to theother, like a trapped little animal. She put a hand to hertousled head."That's all right," Angie Hatton assured her. "You can fix itafter a while."There they were, the three of them: Old Man Hatton with his backto the fire, looking benignly down upon her; Angie seated, withsome knitting in her hands, as if entertaining bedraggled,tear-stained young ladies at dusk were an everyday occurrence;Tessie, twisting her handkerchief in a torment of embarrassment.But they asked no questions, these two. They evinced nocuriosity about this disheveled creature who had flung herself inupon their decent solitude.Tessie stared at the fire. She looked up at Old Man Hatton'sface and opened her lips. She looked down and shut them again.Then she flashed a quick look at Angie, to see if she coulddetect there some suspicion, some disdain. None. Angie Hattonlooked--well, Tessie put it to herself, thus: "She looks likeshe'd cried till she couldn't cry no more--only inside."And then, surprisingly, Tessie began to talk. "I wouldn't neverhave gone with this fella, only Chuck, he was gone. All theboys're gone. It's fierce. You get scared, sitting home,waiting, and they're in France and everywhere, learning Frenchand everything, and meeting grand people and having a fuss madeover 'em. So I got mad and said I didn't care, I wasn't going tosquat home all my life, waiting----"Angie Hatton had stopped knitting now. Old Man Hatton waslooking down at her very kindly. And so Tessie went on. Thepent-up emotions and thoughts of these past months were findingan outlet at last. These things which she had never been able todiscuss with her mother she now was laying bare to Angie Hattonand Old Man Hatton! They asked no questions. They seemed tounderstand. Once Old Man Hatton interrupted with: "So that'sthe kind of fellow they've got as escapement-room foreman, eh?"Tessie, whose mind was working very clearly now, put out a quickhand. "Say, it wasn't his fault. He's a bum, all right, but Iknew it, didn't I? It was me. I didn't care. Seemed to me itdidn't make no difference who I went with, but it does." Shelooked down at her hands clasped so tightly in her lap."Yes, it makes a whole lot of difference," Angie agreed, andlooked up at her father.At that Tessie blurted her last desperate problem: "He'slearning all kind of new things. Me, I ain't learning anything.When Chuck comes home he'll just think I'm dumb, that's all.He----""What kind of thing would you like to learn, Tessie, so thatwhen Chuck comes home----"Tessie looked up then, her wide mouth quivering with eagerness."I'd like to learn to swim--and row a boat--and playtennis--like the rich girls-- like the girls that's making such afuss over the soldiers."Angie Hatton was not laughing. So, after a moment's hesitation,Tessie brought out the worst of it. "And French. I'd like tolearn to talk French."Old Man Hatton had been surveying his shoes, his mouth grim. Helooked at Angie now and smiled a little. "Well, Angie, it looksas if you'd found your job right here at home, doesn't it? Thisyoung lady's just one of hundreds, I suppose. Thousands. Youcan have the whole house for them, if you want it, Angie, and thegrounds, and all the money you need. I guess we've kind ofoverlooked the girls. Hm, Angie? What d'you say?"But Tessie was not listening. She had scarcely heard. Her facewas white with earnestness."Can you speak French?""Yes," Angie answered."Well," said Tessie, and gulped once, "well, how do you say inFrench: `Give me a piece of bread'? That's what I want to learnfirst."Angie Hatton said it correctly."That's it! Wait a minute! Say it again, will you?"Angie said it again, Tessie wet her lips. Her cheeks weresmeared with tears and dirt. Her hair was wild and her blouseawry. "DONNAY-MA-UN-MORSO-DOO-PANG," she articulatedpainfully. And in that moment, as she put her hand in that ofChuck Mory, across the ocean, her face was very beautiful withcontentment.

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