The Definite Object

Chapter 10

TELLS HOW MR. RAVENSLEE WENT INTO TRADE

It was a week later, and Mr. Ravenslee leaned from the window of his room to observe the view, which consisted chiefly of dingy brick walls and dingier windows, swaying vistas of clothes in various stages of dampness, clothes that fluttered from many lines stretched across the court, from window to window, at different altitudes; for to-day it had been washing day in Mulligan's; also the evening was warm.

So Mr. Ravenslee lounged and smoked and gazed upon the many garments, viewing them with eyes of reverie. Garments, these, of every size and hue and shape and for either s*x, garments that writhed and contorted themselves in fantastic dances when gently stirred by a small, cool wind which, wafting across the river from the green New Jersey shore, breathed faintly of pine woods.

He was yet in absorbed contemplation of the aerial gambols of these many garments when to him came Mrs. Trapes, clutching a hot iron.

"Mr. Geoffrey, what'll you eat for supper?" she demanded.

"Mrs. Trapes, what do you suppose I'm worthy of?"

"How about a lovely piece o' liver?"

"Liver!" he repeated, rubbing a square, smooth-shaven chin. "Hum! liver sounds a trifle clammy, doesn't it? Clammy and cold, Mrs. Trapes!"

"Cold?" said she, staring, "cold--of course not! It would be nice an' hot, with thick gravy an' a tater or so. An' as for clammy, who ever heard o' liver as wasn't? Calves' liver, mind! They can't put me off with sheep's--no, siree! Skudder's young man tried to once--he did so!"

"Foolish, foolhardy young man!" murmured Ravenslee.

"Mr. Geoffrey," sighed Mrs. Trapes, and her elbows were particularly needle-like, "I jest took that piece o' sheep's liver an' wrapped it round that young man's face."

"Unhappy young man!" murmured Mr. Ravenslee.

"Y' see, Mr. Geoffrey, though a widder an' therefore lorn, I ain't to be trod on in the matter of livers, or anything else!"

"I'm sure of it, Mrs. Trapes."

"But if you don't kind of fancy liver, how about sassiges? Sassiges is tasty an' filling, an' cheap. What d' ye say to sassiges?"

"Sausages," answered Mr. Ravenslee, shaking grave head, "sausages demand such unbounded faith in the--er--sausagee--or should it be sausage-or?"

"Oh, well--a chop, cut thick an' with a kidney in it--what d' ye say to a chop, now?"

"No, a chop in an hour, Mrs. Trapes, or say, two hours, will be most welcome. Are you very busy?"

"Washing's all done, but there's a lot o' your shirts waiting to be ironed--an' me here, lettin' me iron get cold!"

"Oh, never mind the shirts, Mrs. Trapes! Pray sit down; I need your counsel and advice."

"But me iron?"

"Give it to me--there!" and Mr. Ravenslee deposited it outside on the fire escape.

"Now Mrs. Trapes," said he, "first of all, I must find work. 'Man is born to labour, as the sparks fly upward,' you know."

"Born to sorrer, you mean!" she corrected.

"Precisely," he nodded, "work is sorrow, and sorrow is work--at least, I know a good many people who think so."

"More fools them!" quoth Mrs. Trapes, folding her arms.

"My own idea exactly!" he answered, lazily tapping out his pipe on the window sill.

"I ain't noticed you sweating none, lately!" quoth Mrs. Trapes sarcastically.

"Alas, no, Mrs. Trapes, there being no wherefore to call forth the aforesaid--er--moisture. Still, 'man is as grass that withereth' unless he 'goeth forth unto his labour.'"

"An' quite right too!" nodded Mrs. Trapes. "If I had my way I'd make 'em all work!"

"That would be rather hard on our legislators and Fifth Avenue parsons, wouldn't it? Anyway, I want work, that's sure!"

"Y' mean as your money's all gone?"

"Very nearly," sighed Mr. Ravenslee with a suitable air of dejection. And he did it so well that Mrs. Trapes, viewing him askance, frowned, bit her lip, wriggled her elbows, and finally spoke.

"Are ye up against it good, Mr. Geoffrey?"

"I am!"

"Well," said she, frowning down at the vivid-coloured hearthrug, "I got twenty-five dollars put away as I've pinched and scrinched to save, but if you want the loan of 'em, you can have 'em an' welcome."

Her lodger was silent; indeed, he was so long in answering that at last Mrs. Trapes looked up, to find him regarding her with a very strange expression.

"And you will lend me your savings?" he asked her softly.

"Sure I will!" And she would have risen then and there but that he stayed her.

"God bless you for a generous soul!" said he, and laughed rather queerly; also his grey eyes were a little brighter than usual. "Why should you trust me so far?"

"Well, you look honest, I guess. An' then we all help each other in Mulligan's now an' then, one way or another; we jest have to. There's Mrs. Bowker, third floor--the tea an' sugar as I've loaned that woman--an' last week a lovely beef-bone! Well, there! But if you want the loan of that twenty-five--"

"Mrs. Trapes, I don't. Things aren't so desperate as that yet. All I need is a job of some sort."

"What kind o' job?"

"I'm not particular."

"Well--what have you been used to?"

"Alas, Mrs. Trapes, hitherto I have lived a life of--er--riotous ease!"

"That means as you ain't worked at all, I guess. Hm!" said Mrs. Trapes, viewing him with her sharp, hawk's eye, "and yet you ain't got the look of a confidence man nor yet a swell crook, consequently I take it you was the only son of your father an' lost all he left you, eh?"

"Mrs. Trapes, you are a truly wonderful woman!"

"T' be born the only son of a rich father is a pretty bad disease, I reckon!" she continued, "yes, siree, it's bad for the child an' worse for the man; it's bound to be his ruination in the end--like drink! And talkin' o' drink, I'm glad to see that b'y Arthur's so fond o' you."

"Oh, why?"

"Because you don't drink."

"Well, I don't go to bed in my boots, do I, Mrs. Trapes? But then I promised you I wouldn't, and, for another thing, I'm not a poet, you see," said he and yawned lazily.

"Hermy says she's glad too."

Mr. Ravenslee cut short his yawn in the middle.

"Hermione? Did she say so? When?"

"Ah, I guessed that would wake ye up a bit!" said Mrs. Trapes, noting his suddenly eager look. "It's a pity you're so poor, ain't it?"

"Why? What do you mean?"

"I mean if you had been in a good situation an' making good money--twenty-five per, say--you might have asked her."

"Asked her?" repeated Ravenslee, staring, "asked her what?"

"Why, t' marry you, o' course," nodded Mrs. Trapes. "You love her about as much as any man can love--which is sometimes a thimbleful an' sometimes a bit more--but you sure love her as much as a man knows how, I guess. An' don't try for ter deny it, Mr. Geoffrey, I ain't blind, leastways I can see a bit out o' one eye sometimes--specially where Hermy's concerned, I can so. Of course, you ain't worthy of her--but then no man is, to my mind!"

"No, I'm not worthy of her, God knows!" said Ravenslee, quite humbly.

"An' Hermy's goin' to marry a man with money. Her heart's set on it--firm!"

"Money!" said Ravenslee, scowling. "She seems anything but mercenary."

"Mercenary!" cried Mrs. Trapes, "I should say not! I tell ye, she could be a-rollin' around in a six-thousand-dollar automobile at this very hour if she was that kind. With her face an' figure! She could so!"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean as there's men--rich men, an' married too--as is mad after her--"

"Ah!" said Ravenslee, frowning again.

"You may well say 'ah!'" nodded Mrs. Trapes. "Men is all beasts more or less! Why, I could tell you things--well, there! Hermy ain't no innocent babe but there's some things better than innocence an' that's a chin--will-power, Mr. Geoffrey. If a woman's sweet an' strong an' healthy like Hermy, an' got a chin--nothin' can harm her. But beauty like hers is a curse to any good woman if she's poor, beauty being a quick-seller, y' see!"

"Yes, I see--I know!" said Ravenslee, clenching his hands and frowning blacker than ever.

"But," continued Mrs. Trapes, and here she leaned forward to touch him with an impressive, toil-worn hand, "Hermy Chesterton's jest a angel o' light an' purity; she always has been an' always will be, but she knows about as much as a good girl can know. She's seen the worst o' poverty, an' she's made up her mind, when she marries, to marry a man as is a man an' can give her all the money she wants. So y' see it ain't no good you wastin' your time danglin' around after her an' sighin'--now is it?"

"Why, no, Mrs. Trapes, I think I'll speak to her to-night--"

"My land! ain't I jest been tryin' to show you as you ain't a fit or worthy party to speak, an' as you won't have a chance if you do speak, her 'eart bein' set on wealth? But you can't speak--you won't speak--I know you won't!"

"Why not?"

"First, because t' night she's away at Englewood makin' a dress for Mrs. Crawley as is very fond of her. An' second, because you ain't the man to ask a girl to marry him when he ain't got nothin' t' keep her on--you know you ain't!"

"Which brings us back to the undoubted fact that I must get a job--at once."

"Hm!" said, Mrs. Trapes, viewing his clean-cut features and powerful figure with approval, "what could y' do?"

"Anything, so long as I can make good, Mrs. Trapes. What should you suggest?"

"Well," said Mrs. Trapes, caressing an elbow thoughtfully, "grocers' assistants makes good money--an' I know Mr. Smith wants a butterman."

"Good," nodded Ravenslee, "I should like to batter butter about--"

"Are ye used to butter?"

"Oh, I've a decided taste for it!"

"Know much about it?"

"Certainly--it is a yellowish, fatty substance concocted by human agency supposedly from the lacteous secretion of the graminivorous quadruped familiarly known as the common (or garden) cow."

"Land sakes!" said Mrs. Trapes, drawing a deep breath, "you sure do know something about it. Ever worked in it before?"

"Only with my teeth."

"Oh--quit your jollying, Mr. Geoffrey, if you want me t' help you!"

"Solemn as an owl, Mrs. Trapes!"

"Well, then, there's Jacob Pffeffenfifer wants a young man in his delicatessen store."

"Mrs. Trapes, I can slice ham and beef with any one on earth."

"D' ye understand picklin' and seasonin'?"

"Ah, there you have me again; I fear I don't."

"Then you ain't no good to Jacob Pffeffenfifer!"

"On second thoughts, I'm not wholly sorry," answered Ravenslee gravely. "You see, a name like that would worry me, it would shake my nerve; I might cut beef instead of ham, or ham instead of--"

"Mr. Geoffrey!" quoth Mrs. Trapes, squaring her elbows.

"Sober as a judge, Mrs. Trapes and--by Jupiter!"

"My land! What is it?"

"An idea--look!" and Ravenslee pointed down into the yard.

"Why, it's only Tony!" said Mrs. Trapes, glancing down a vista of riotous garments.

"Precisely," answered Ravenslee, rising and stretching his long arms, "Tony has solved my difficulty; I'll go into the peanut trade."

"What? Sell peanuts? You?"

"Why not? 'Man is born--' you know."

"But--my land! Only dagos and guinneys sells peanuts!"

"Splendid! I shall be the exception, Mrs. Trapes. Anyway, a peanut man I'll be!" And catching up his disreputable hat, Ravenslee nodded and left his landlady staring after him and murmuring "well!" at intervals. Presently she reached for her iron, stone-cold long since, and stood awhile clutching it in bony fingers and staring at nothing in particular.

"He's sure a man, Hermy my dear!" she said at last, nodding at the stuffed parrot in the corner. "I've watched him careful and I know. And there's some things better than money, my dear--ah, much better! So if I should help to bring you into his arms--man an' wife, my dear--why, I guess it would be the best thing Anne Angelina Trapes ever done--yes, mam!" Saying which, she went back to her ironing.

On the stairs Ravenslee met Spike, who hailed him joyously.

"Say, Geoff, I'm all alone to-night; come an' eat supper with me--how about it?"

"Suppose you have supper at Mrs. Trapes' with me?"

"No, she gets on me nerves--so come on over, will you?"

"With pleasure."

"'N' say, I'm a few chips shy on butter, Geoff--bring in ten cents' worth, will you?"

"Right, O comrade, I'll be with you anon. Make boil the kettle against my coming," and Ravenslee hastened down the stairs. Reaching the court he met the Italian trundling his barrow toward a certain shed, its usual nocturnal biding place.

"How goes it, Tony?" he enquired, shaking hands.

The Italian nodded and flashed his teeth. "Ver-a good, pal!" he answered.

"Tony, where can I get a peanut outfit like yours?"

"Ha! You go-a in-a da peanut-a beezneez, hey? You want-a push-a de cart, hey?"

"That's it, Tony."

"Ver-a good!" nodded the good-natured Italian. "You come-a long-a me, pal. I take-a you get-a push-a-de-cart, up-a de street, yes?" Having very soon locked away his barrow, the loquacious Tony led Ravenslee along certain streets and into a certain yard, where presently appeared a stout man with rings in his ears, who smiled and nodded and greeted them with up-flung finger and the word "altro." Presently Ravenslee found himself examining a highly ornate barrow fitted with stove and outfit complete, even unto the whistle, and mounted upon a pair of the rosiest wheels he had ever seen. Thereafter were more smiles and nods, accompanied by the ever recurrent "altro", the transfer of certain bills into the stout man's pocket, and Geoffrey Ravenslee sallied forth into the street, bound for Mulligan's, with the chattering Tony beside him and the gaily-painted barrow before him, receiving many friendly hints as to the pitfalls and intricacies of the peanut trade and hearkening with unflagging interest to the story of "lil Pietro" and the unbounded goodness of "da Signorina Hermione."