The Forged Note Part 63

The sun rose higher and higher, and the day became warmer. So warm about noon, that she raised her window and permitted the soft breeze to float in upon her, filling her lungs with it, and sighing contentedly. She watched the few people that pa.s.sed that way, and noted that they all appeared so happy. They were all apparently carefree and desirous of getting all the enjoyment that the day afforded. Presently it occurred to her to venture forth and get something. It was bad enough that she must spend it alone; but to hover in the four walls of that little room, was a fact she could no longer submit to.

She pa.s.sed into the room that may have been called a sitting room, and where the old woman was stewing some meat on the rusty stove. Before the other turned at the sound of her footfall, she scrutinized her for a moment, meditatively. She wondered who this old woman was, who lived thus alone. She fancied what her life must be; she had other roomers, she had observed; but they came in late and left early, so she had no idea who they were, or what kind of people stayed there. She hesitated for a second, and then the other turned and faced her.

"Uh, gal," she creaked in her shaky old voice, "be goin' out t' see a li'l' Xmas, ha, ha! Sho' you might. Cain' stay shut up in that room all time!" And she grinned, which made her features repulsive to Mildred.

"Yes, ma'am, I thought I would step out and look around a while," she answered kindly. "I shall be back presently."

As she went toward the gate, the hag looked after her and shook her head, as she muttered: "That gal's a puzzle, a devilish puzzle. I cain'

make her out; but of one thing I'm certain, she's straight. Huh! Yes, she's straight," and she continued shaking her head.

And it was that fact that made her a mystery to this old woman.

She walked along slowly when she got into the street, looking from one side to the other. At the end of the street, in the direction she had taken, was the warehouse district. In the old days, this had been a prominent s.h.i.+pping point by water; but now this had been largely subst.i.tuted by railroads. The yards were quiet today, as she made her way along, while scarcely a wagon was in evidence around the many large buildings.

She walked in the same direction until she came to a street that led down to the river. She turned into this, and followed it until she stood on the banks of the stream that flowed gently southward. It was filled with a number of boats, while ferries plied back and forth to the other side. For a half hour she stood thus, with her mind free of all care, and enjoyed the stiff air that came with the breeze from the river. When she presently turned to go, she felt strangely invigorated, and decided to walk about more.

Without regard to direction, she finally found herself on Beal street, which she recognized at once. She paused briefly before venturing into it, but the street was filled with music; while across the way, several electric shows invited the crowds that poured in and out. So she went forward timidly. She stopped at length before a black boy who was turning a street piano. The music was exhilarating, and she gave him a nickel when he was starting away, whereupon he dropped the handles and played her three of the popular airs. She gave him another nickel, and he took delight in turning on three more. By this time a crowd had gathered, and, thinking quickly, she slipped away and continued her way.

She stood before a large picture show for colored people a few minutes later. At the front were gorgeous pictures, advertising the show within.

She hesitated briefly, and then, fis.h.i.+ng a five cent piece from her purse, she entered the show, and took a seat to one side. In a minute her attention was centered on the screen, where a western play in which red Indians and cowboys were in a mimic battle was being shown. The play aroused much interest in the audience, which fairly raised from the seats at times, especially when there was a gun play; and since gun playing seemed to be in evidence, much excitement was attendant during the whole time the reel was being run.

She recalled suddenly, what she had read in the book of Sidney Wyeth, with regard to Indians. He had dwelt at some length upon this subject, and had concluded a chapter with words to the effect that the Indian, as he was today, and had been for years, was in no wise what he was pictured upon the screen, or in novels, but a s.h.i.+ftless being, without spirit. In truth, only an example of dull inertia.

The next reel was much more original, she thought, and, therefore, more interesting--to her; but it wasn't to many of those about her, who, as she heard them, made little effort to catch the moral of it.

It was a play of present day life, in which the hero was a man employed as floor walker in a large department store, while the heroine was a girl, employed in the most insignificant position in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the same. She studied the play, and was carried away with the great human interest conveyed in the plot. It was a difficult task to keep her mind and thoughts upon it, however, because all about her, many remarks came from impatient creatures, who continually muttered aloud, demanding that it be hurried off, and something with "ginger" put on.

"Hu'y, hu'y, 'n' git hit off! Git a gal out the' 'n' some song 'n'

dancin'," said one who sat next to her, and who, she observed, was ragged and dirty in the bargain; his long, kinky hair stood erect on his head, and made him resemble something recently departed from the jungle.

When the vaudeville in connection therewith was put on, she was filled with disgust. It was not refined vaudeville, and in no way corresponded with the pictures that had preceeded it; but of the most vulgar sort. It brought shrill cries from the throats of those about her, and remarks that showed the character of the crowd.

"Put the sof' pedal on it, kid, ke-ha!"

"Dat gal sho kin' sing, n.i.g.g.a, believe muh!"

"Kick higher, dare, gal! You ain' done nothin'," growled one, who was not satisfied.

Mildred arose to go out. To get to the aisle, she must pa.s.s about ten people, mostly men in rough clothing. "Set down, gal, don' git in front-a me!" one next to her complained.

"Don' spile my gaze when dat gal's showing up lak she is," said another.

With a sigh and a disgusted feeling, she sank back and made herself patient, until the disgusting performance was at an end. She had no trouble then, for all those between her and the aisle filed out ahead of her. Apparently they came to the show for the purpose of witnessing the vaudeville only.

When she was on the street again, the sun was getting toward the west, but she did not feel like going back to the hovel she called a room yet.

The noise and music seemed to make her forget her troubles and worries, and, mingling with the ma.s.ses that now filled the sidewalks, she followed them aimlessly along the street. She stopped before other shows, and, when, at last, finding one that appeared to have no vaudeville in connection with the pictures, and which did not appear to have such a big crowd about the entrance, she entered and took a seat toward the rear.

She had been seated about half an hour, when she chanced, upon looking back, to see someone whose face was familiar. She looked toward the front, and then, after a few minutes, in which she tried to recall where it was she had seen it before, she turned her head slowly, and looked again. Behind her, and just seating themselves, were not only three women belonging to Wilson Jacobs' church, and with whom she was well acquainted--they had been her best friends, and had admired her playing and singing--but in their midst, sat Constance herself.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"_My Wife--Sick--h.e.l.l!_"

It was the day before New Years, and the city was in the grip of a severe blizzard that has swept down from the northwest, and had driven the people from the streets and into their homes, where they stayed closely shut in. From her little room, Mildred Latham peeped out through the small window, and was glad it was an ugly day without; for, being so, she did not feel as lonesome, and so desirous of going forth, as she had the few days previous; or, since Xmas day.

She would never forget the moments she went through, wondering how she would extricate herself, when her friends entered the show and seated themselves behind her.

She had sat with her heart beating a tattoo against her ribs, and hardly dared to breathe. The play was a deep one that flashed upon the screen, but her attention had wandered. She was trying, with all her senses, to think of some way out, and the way would have to come quickly, for if not, at the best, it would be only a question of minutes, possibly seconds, before one of the trio saw and recognized her. She was almost choking when there was a noise in the rear. All eyes turned quickly, and then there was a snapping of films, or something; but, whatever it was, the place was dark in a moment.

Now was her chance, she thought, as the theater was suddenly plunged into darkness. She arose. Could she make it? In a flash the lights might be on. "Great G.o.d!" she trembled. "Suppose they should be turned on!"

And with this fear gripping her heart until the perspiration started, she struggled toward the door. She stepped on many toes, while growls and complaints came from the lips of the owners, but she felt her way resolutely forward and toward the aisle. It seemed like an age before her feet found it. Through the place now, matches were flas.h.i.+ng. She glanced for a brief second in the direction of those from whom she was fleeing, and, as she did so, someone struck a match. In that moment, the faces of the four came full into view. "Oh, my G.o.d!" she cried inaudibly, "they are looking straight at me." But before the flare had died, she breathed a sigh of relief, for, at that moment the lights came on, and they were looking toward the screen.

She pa.s.sed quietly out, and, when once outside, hurried in the direction of her room.

They had not seen her.

The day was fading into twilight. The sun had set, and with it the wind had fallen; the air had become still, and the stars shone brightly from above.

"If I don't get out of this place for an hour, I will surely die," cried Mildred, walking the floor in a fit of impatience. Having become accustomed to plenty of exercise, the days that had come and gone since Xmas day had seemed like an eternity. Perhaps it was hard for her, because she had not been further than the restaurant since that day. She admitted to herself that she was afraid to go anywhere now. She had not the courage to run the risk of being seen again, and had, therefore, remained confined to her room.

She paused before the window, and looked long and earnestly into the street. Never before had anything seemed so inviting. She was simply mad to be in it, if for only a half hour; but to be in it, she felt she must. After a time, she resolved to run the risk. She fixed herself as best she could, and shuddered when she realized that she had not changed her clothes for a week. At last, with a suppression of her excited nerves, she slipped out of the house, and entered the street just as darkness had set in, and the stars were the brightest.

She hurried along, and when she had arrived at the end of the street, she turned into another, and in a direction she had not been before.

Along this she hurried, feeling the sting of the air, which brought the blood to her cheeks, and made her feel real life, after many days of fear and worry. She had been downtown one day before Xmas, where she dispatched a telegram, and now, as she hurried along, it occurred to her to go to the office again. She walked boldly in that direction, and a moment after she had entered, she came out with a satisfied smile playing about the corners of her mouth.

"Now," she whispered softly, "where shall I go?" Without answering her own question, she began walking. She walked until she had exercised her limbs, and they were tired. So she felt like sitting down and resting.

Still she continued the way she was going until, in turning a corner, she ran fully into someone and fell back with: "I beg your pardon!" And then suddenly the other fell back.

"Why, Miss Latham!" the other exclaimed, amazed.

"Miss Jones, I declare!" echoed the other, and stood abashed.

"I have not seen or heard of you for months. Indeed, I thought you left town long since!"

"No-o," Mildred mumbled, frightened and embarra.s.sed, all in one.

"And--what--what are you doing--in _this_ part of town!" the other exclaimed, now regarding her suspiciously.

"_This_ part of town?" she echoed bewilderingly. "I--I--don't understand. _Why_ this part of town?"

"Yes, _this_ part of town." She paused a moment and surveyed Mildred in wonder, and then went on: "Why, didn't you know? _This_ part of town--is the _restricted district_!"

"Oh--Miss Jones!" she wailed. "Heaven help me! I didn't know!"