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  Janie, apparently, agreed with her grandfather that a “wee drap” was the elixir of life. It had that effect upon her, after she tenderly locked the drawer again and put the key in her bosom. She began to hum hoarsely under her breath, then to caper about the room like a female goat, exulting and laughing aloud, as if nothing could restrain her, her skirts flying about her thin little legs, her red curls bouncing, her face a bright mask of merry evil.

  CHAPTER 18

  Stuart brought his finest equipage, drawn by two gleaming black horses, to the gravel side-drive of the house. Harness and wheels glittered in the spring sunshine. The coachman secured the reins, then jumped out. Stuart intended to drive. He stood by the vehicle, tenderly rubbing his hand over the black varnished sides, blowing on the silver lamps, and polishing them lovingly with his kerchief. The horses looked at him sideways, showing the whites of their eyes. He patted their watered-silk black rumps, and pretended to examine the silver harness. Then, satisfied and smug, he breathed deeply of the strong fresh air, glittering with sunlight, and awaited Janie.

  She came out the side entrance, and Stuart anxiously scrutinized her, worrying about her maiden appearance in Grandeville public places. Then he relaxed. Janie, as if she had known what carriage awaited her, was all black velvet and purple. Her frock, elegantly draped and restrained, fitted her perfectly. A number of silver chains hung about her neck. She wore a marvelous sable cloak over this elegance and picture of fashion, and black kid gloves. Her huge, black velvet bonnet had purple violets cunningly peeping out from under its brim, accentuating her bright red hair. She minced down the white stairs from the doorway, and pleased, Stuart gallantly extended his hand to her. She was the picture of a delicate and wistful little widow, all fragility and modesty. She had even used restraint in the matter of rouge, and under the very slightest coating of powder her freckles were evident, and a little touching in their simplicity. It was only when she grinned wickedly at Stuart, showing her sharp and predatory white teeth, that the picture became distorted.

  She allowed him to assist her into the vehicle, where she sat with eyes demurely downcast, her gloved hands in her sable muff. Then he sprang up beside her. He began to laugh. “Don’t put on so much,” he warned, with a wide smile. “Just be a little natural.”

  She looked up at him, her long green eyes sparkling naughtily, and thrust out her tongue at him for an instant. He quite liked her now. This was the old gay Janie whom he had loved, whose wickedness had been so fascinating. “No swearing, remember, and keep your voice low and sweet,” he said, but with fondness.

  Stuart, himself, was very handsome and dashing in his many-caped brown great-coat, and his tall beaver hat, and his ruffles and gloves. He guided the spirited horses up the grade to the muddy roadway that led into town. He felt very carefree, for some reason. Beside him, Janie was quiet and graceful, but he could feel her repressed vitality and excitement, which was like an electric wave. Now, he thought, if she will just behave herself, all will be well.

  Purposely avoiding the meaner streets, he drove, jingling, through quiet sections under trees still bare and brown, and by hedges still black and twisted. Water ran between the rough cobbles of the road. The plank walks were still sodden. The houses had an ugly and barren look, their red brick or wooden facades grimy from winter rains and chimney soot. But the wind that came from the Lake and the river was strong and fresh, and had an exhilarating smell, and the sun was bright and clear, and the pale blue sky pellucid. Stuart had warned Janie that this would be a long ride. But she was not bored. She peeped about her with patronizing interest. She thought the town very ugly and muddy, with a raw lack of symmetry and beauty. The tall narrow houses, gloomy on their muddy lawns, were indeed excessively hideous, with cupolas and wooden fretwork and deep dark verandahs. Here and there a drab lady, in huge bonnet and blowing dun-colored cloak, minced along the walks, or children played spasmodically, enjoying the release from winter. Carriages passed, the occupants craning out to stare at Stuart’s handsome equipage, to exchange greetings with him (as he touched the whip gallantly to his hat) and to scrutinize the demure little lady beside him, so preciously immured in her sables and carriage robes.

  This, Stuart informed her, was Niagara Street, so called because it ran beside the river for some distance. It was a street of middle-class people, of the professions and the shops. He sat very straight on his seat, controlling his horses, chatting lightly with Janie, explaining landmarks to her, and pointing to them with his whip. Without stopping his exposition, he bowed repeatedly to the passing carriages, and smiled, his strong teeth flashing in the cool sunlight. Finally, he turned up another street to lower Main, and pointed down it. “My shops,” he said.

  Janie leaned forward to peer with unfeigned interest at the source of Stuart’s income, about which she had spent many long days of absorbed guessing. And then she was quite impressed. The shops filled one longish block, and though uneven, and apparently built at different times by different owners, they had a grand and compact air, the windows polished and glittering, and carriages drawn up outside. Here all was busyness and comings-and-goings, with house-boys following well-dressed ladies to the carriages, their arms filled with boxes and bundles. As they slowly passed the first shops, Janie was impressed by the crowded interiors, the activities of clerks; and the milling bonnets and the constant opening and shutting of doors. She looked at the long gilt sign: “Grandeville Supreme Emporium,” and the red-and-white stripes and the snowy stars of the flag that flew from the flag-pole near the main shop.

  Stuart was quite flushed with pride and swelling embarrassment. The ladies on the walks stopped to stare at the elegant equipage. They collected in groups. They watched Stuart grandly offering his hand to the strange little lady who alighted, modestly pointing her black slippers straight ahead, and bending her bonnet so that her face was hidden. They whispered together, furtively. This must be Mr. Coleman’s elegant female relative from England. What sables, what velvets, what fashion and gentility! They craned their necks to study her wardrobe, and envied her. They tried to see her face, but could catch glimpses only of a red curl or two. The redness pleased them, for red hair was considered the supreme ugliness.

  Stuart affected to be totally oblivious of the watchers. He seemed tenderly concerned with the little elegant creature, who put her hand timidly on his proffered arm and minced beside him into the rich shop, her velvet skirts flowing about her gracefully, the muff held close to her face as if to protect its delicate texture from the cold wind. They entered the main shop with a stately air, measured and majestic, as if about to go into the measures of a minuet. One of the street urchins, who had been watching, absorbed, broke into ironic applause as Stuart and Janie disappeared within the shop. The ladies, with whom it was a principle never to acknowledge the existence of the lower classes, nevertheless bestowed upon the perspicacious urchin the gracious acknowledgement of his demonstration, and were highly pleased with him. They lingered on the walks, discussing the newcomer, and speaking in unconsciously affected voices, as if practicing their grammar and correctness of speech in anticipation.

  Janie was astounded, in spite of her planned supercilious smiles, at the really elegant and luxurious interior of the main shop, its Turkey-red carpets, its small, carved, comfortable chairs with red plush seats, the polished mahogany counters, the wide neat shelves with their burdens of a really amazing assortment of fine silks and linens and damasks and velvets, the tables of excellent Limoges and. Haviland china, the silver, the assorted Dresden and marble ornaments, the laces and ribbons and scents, and all the other countless objects calculated to seduce the feminine heart.

  She was pleased by the air of great prosperity in the large shop. There were three active gentlemen clerks all in black broadcloth and white ruffled linen and pointed polished boots waiting on the crowd of eager and examining ladies. Lengths of gleaming velvet, of shining silk, of glistening linen, lay over the counters, and there was a great and ac
tive sound of snipping. Ladies’ hooped skirts billowed incessantly, and with much rustling, from counter to counter. Bonnets were bent together for consultation, muffs lifted to hide whispers and evaluations. Young boys went in and out to the carriages, with boxes and bundles. The bell sounded constantly in the bustle. The china being examined tinkled, and once or twice a lady disputed a price with a bowing clerk. The spring sunshine poured like a cataract through the shining windows, which were framed in dark blue velvet. There was a warm smell here of discreet sachet and rose-water, and the rich scent of luxurious fabrics. Over some of the chairs the ladies had thrown their tippets and furred cloaks, and the silk linings added splashes of purple and red and blue to the lively scene.

  Janie had expected to make a grand and overpowering entrance, utterly cowing these barbarians, but for some time she and Stuart went unnoticed amid the activity. Stuart swelled with importance and complacency. He pressed the little gloved hand on his arm in eloquent and delighted communication.

  A stout, middle-aged lady in black silk and black fur and a big black bonnet, turned, summoned her waiting boy, and ordered him to pick up some newly wrapped packages for her. She had a sturdy but exceedingly intelligent face with bright pink cheeks, twinkling blue eyes, and a humorous fine mouth with one corner chronically turned upwards in a gently satirical fashion, and a dark eyebrow that followed suit. Her smooth thick hair was quite gray, which gave her face a youthful freshness in comparison. She was all competence and precision of movement, and the ladies smiled at her respectfully as she prepared to take her departure.

  Stuart caught her eye, and bowed deeply. Gently, he led Janie forward. The lady waited, eyebrow and mouth quirking upwards more distinctly as she studied Janie with candor and politeness. “My dear, dear Mrs. Cummings!” exclaimed Stuart, softly, “and how are you today? May I present my dear cousin, Mrs. Cauder? It is a great honor! Janie, my love, this is Mrs. Howard Cummings, the Mayor’s lady.”

  The ladies curtseyed briefly. Then Mrs. Cummings extended her mitted hand to Janie, who took it in her narrow little fingers. She instantly hated Mrs. Cummings, whose hand was full and warm and strong. She hated the shrewd kind eyes that estimated her, and the eyebrow and the quirking sardonic mouth. As for Mrs. Cummings, her honest face took on a subtly bland expression, and there was a quick narrowing of one eyelid.

  “How very nice!” murmured Mrs. Cummings. “My dear, I hope you will like our Grandeville. You have received my messages during your illness? And Stuart has conveyed to you my invitation to dinner?”

  Janie’s naturally hoarse and booming voice lowered itself to a discreet murmur. “Indeed! I am delighted to meet you, Mrs. Cummings. Stuart has spoken so extravagantly of his dear friends. It was kind of you to remember me, a stranger in a strange land, so far away from my dear mama and papa, and my brothers and sisters.” She paused a moment, to let her eyes fall and a look of sorrow to come over her face. She was all meekness and defenselessness. Then she lifted her eyes again to look bravely at Mrs. Cummings, and to allow a brave smile to touch her mouth. “But I am not going to be unhappy! That would be impossible, in the presence of so much kindness and civility from dear Stuart’s friends! I trust I shall not be ungrateful.”

  Mrs. Cummings smiled, but was silent. Her gaze was fastened thoughtfully on Janie, though it was not unkind. Then she said: “I understand that you have four children, Mrs. Cauder. How very comforting for you!”

  Janie simpered, sighed, touched her lips with her kerchief. “Ah, dear Mrs. Cummings, you cannot imagine the comfort! I could not endure living without my darlings.”

  “You are to be envied,” said Mrs. Cummings, and now she sighed a little, and smiled again. “I have only one child, my little Alice, who is ten years old, and very frail, I am afraid. It will be pleasant for her to know your children, Mrs. Cauder.”

  All at once the good woman appeared uneasy, and a little breathless, which was very startling as she was famous for her poise and composure. She said, hurriedly: “I must truly go. You will remember my dinner, Mrs. Cauder? And you, Stuart?” She turned to Stuart as she mentioned his name, and looked at him strangely, and the eyebrow and the mouth were not quirking now. Her fresh color had inexplicably faded.

  Stuart bowed, expressing his deep gratitude. As he spoke, Mrs. Cummings’ strange look deepened, and she touched his arm swiftly with her fingers, then turned away. Stuart gallantly opened the door for her. She smiled at him for an instant, a breathless and disturbed smile, and went down the steps followed by her boy, loaded with parcels. Stuart, after a moment’s hesitation, and completely forgetting Janie, hurriedly followed in Mrs. Cummings’ wake, brushed aside her coachman, and assisted her into the carriage. She made a big pretense of being engaged in adjusting her cloak, skirts and bonnet, while the boy loaded the carriage. Stuart’s Celtish intuition murmured dimly. Frowning thoughtfully, he returned slowly to the shop. What had disturbed Mrs. Cummings? In justice, he could blame nothing on Janie, who had been all civility and discretion. Mrs. Cummings, perhaps, had had a twinge, a sudden headache. Ah, that must explain it! His volatile spirits rose again, and with a dashing swagger he closed the door behind him and stood again at Janie’s side.

  She gave his arm a secret but vicious pinch. He winced, uttered an exclamation. But she was looking up at him archly. “So, that is our old dear friend, Mrs. Cummings!” she muttered. “How fond she appeared of you, darling Stuart!”

  “She is one of my best customers!” said the young man. He said heatedly, as if defending Mrs. Cummings: “Her patronage is very valuable, I assure you, Janie! I would rather any other lady in the city were offended but Mrs. Cummings!”

  Janie interrupted sweetly: “I did not offend her, my love. Was I not all primness and respectability?” Stuart was at a confused loss.

  Another lady, having concluded her purchases, turned. She was a huge fat woman, dressed in crimson velvet, her cloak bordered with black seal, her muff enormous, her crimson bonnet quite the largest in the shop. She was monumental; she was shapeless; she was completely overpowering because of sheer bulk. The bonnet framed a pink and white face of distinctly porcine cast, and her tiny black eyes had a piggish and repellent expression. Her mouth was thick and pursed in a chronically arrogant and belligerent look, and her short thick nose was like a snout. She jingled with chains and bangles; her cheeks and forehead were moist. She exuded a smothering scent of musk. Her hair was thick and yellowish and coarse. She was about thirty-eight years old, and she gave one an impression of complete insensibility, suspicion, coarseness and brutality.

  Stuart bowed to her deeply, and beamed, though he hated her for her arrogance and insensate peasantness, her domineering ways and her pretense at gentility.

  “My dear, dear Mrs. Schnitzel!” he exclaimed, warmly. “I have not seen you lately. I trust you have not been ill?”

  Mrs. Schnitzel stared at him with porcine hauteur, as if suspecting his civil words of some ulterior design. She appeared to swell and bristle. Then she deigned a smile of supreme condescension. “I have been in New York, Mr. Coleman,” she said, in a deep rumbling voice with a distinctly Teutonic accent. She lifted her big head impressively, then turned to stare unblinkingly at Janie, whom she immediately despised because of her small and graceful figure and style. Dislike glittered in the tiny black eyes.

  “Ah, yes,” said Stuart, flushing. “Mrs. Schnitzel, this is my cousin, Mrs. Cauder, just from England. Janie, my dear, this is Mrs. Otto Schnitzel, the lady of the owner of our largest slaughter-house.”

  The lady bowed with majesty, like an empress acknowledging the impudent presence of an inferior. Janie looked up at that vast swinish face. “Mrs. Schnitzel!” she began, in a whispering scream of incredulity and mirth, then caught herself quickly. She curtseyed. Mrs. Schnitzel did not curtsey. She swelled even more with her importance and condescension. She moved away like a ship in full sail, her crimson velvet skirts sweeping behind her, her cloak swaying. Stuart opened the door for her, bowed,
and then watched the stately and shaking descent of the Teutonic dame. He returned to Janie, whose little face was convulsed.

  “My darling Stuart!” she whispered, trembling with merriment, her eyes sparkling irrepressibly. “What an odious female! Schnitzel! And what, in the name of God, is that name? Schnitzel!”

  Stuart could not restrain a grin. His Celtish soul hated the Teuton deeply for repression. “A German sow,” he whispered, in return. “Grandeville has many of them—these Germans. A horrible people. Brutish. Slaughter-houses and tanneries and sausage factories. Appropriate to their natures. None of them are accepted in genteel society except a few like the Schnitzels, who are very rich and very pretentious.”

  “Schnitzel!” exclaimed Janie. “My dear God! What an appalling name! Do they all have such names?”

  “Some are worse, like our Schnickelburgers, for instance,” said Stuart. “Hush! We are talking too loud. Would you like to see the other shops now?”

  Janie shook her head, still giggling. “Why does America allow them here, my love? Such names! Such faces! Such—”

  “Such swine,” added Stuart. His face darkened. He remembered, with anger, that it was Otto Schnitzel who had threateningly advised the Mayor to prohibit the building of any more Catholic churches in Grandeville, and to prevent the coming of nuns into the city. It was Emil Schnickel-burger, too, who had insulted poor old Grundy publicly, on the main street of Grandeville, and had splashed him with mud from his carriage wheels. It was Gustav Zimmermann who had ordered Sam Berkowitz to move off the walk into the mud when the swelling German was passing. Sam had not so moved, and the German had refused to pass by him, turning away with an obscene Teutonic oath, and a lifted cane.