Part 14 (1/2)

_CHAPTER XXII

POOR SEMANTHA_

It has happened to every one of us, I don't know why, but every mother's son or daughter of us can look back to the time when we habitually referred to some acquaintance or friend as ”poor So-and-So”; and the curious part of it is that if one pauses to consider the why or wherefore of such naming, one is almost sure to find that, financially at least, ”poor So-and-So” is better off than the person who is doing the ”pooring.” Nor is ”poor So-and-So” always sick or sorrowful, stupid or ugly; and yet, low be it whispered, is there not always a trace of contempt in that word ”poor” when applied to an acquaintance? A very slight trace, of course,--we lightly rub the dish with garlic, we do not slice it into our salad. So when we call a friend ”poor So-and-So,”

consciously or unconsciously, there is beneath all our affection the slight garlic touch of contemptuous pity; how else could I, right to her merry, laughing face, have called this girl poor Semantha?

I had at first no cause to notice her especially; she was poor, so was I; she was in the ballet, so was I. True, I had already had heads nodded sagely in my direction, and had heard voices solemnly murmur, ”That girl's going to do something yet,” and all because I had gone on alone and spoken a few lines loudly and clearly, and had gone off again, without leaving the audience impressed with the idea that they had witnessed the last agonized and dying breath of a girl killed by fright.

I had that much advantage, but we both drew the same amount of salary per week,--five very torn and very dirty one-dollar bills. Of course there could have been no rule nor reason for it, but it had so happened that all the young women of the ballet--there were four--received their salary in one-dollar bills. However, I was saying that we, the ballet, dressed together at that time, and poor Semantha first attracted my attention by her almost too great willingness to use my toilet soap, instead of the common brown was.h.i.+ng soap she had brought with her. At some past time this soap must have been of the shape and size of a building brick, but now it resembled a small dumb-bell, so worn was its middle, so n.o.bby its ends. Then, too, my pins were, to all intents and purposes, her pins; my hair-pins her hair-pins; while worst of all, my precious, real-for-true French rouge was _her_ rouge.

At that point I came near speaking, because poor Semantha was not artistic in her make-up, and she painted not only her cheeks but her eyes, her temples, her jaws, and quite a good sample of each side of her neck. But just as I would be about to speak, I would bethink me of those nights when, in the interest of art, I had to be hooked up behind, and I would hold my peace.

On the artistic occasions alluded to, I hooked Semantha up the back, and then Semantha hooked up my back. Ah, what a comfort was that girl; as a hooker-up of waists she was perfection. No taking hold of the two sides of the waist, planting the feet firmly, and taking a huge breath, as if the Vendome column was about to be overthrown. No hooking of two-thirds of the hooks and eyes, and then suddenly unhooking them, remarking that there was a little mistake at the top hook. No putting of thumbs to the mouth to relieve the awful numbness caused by terrible effort and pinching. Ah, no! Semantha smiled,--she generally did that,--turned you swiftly to the light, caught your inside belt on the fly, as it were, fastened that, fluttered to the top, exactly matched the top hook to the top eye, and, high presto! a little pull at the bottom, a swift smooth down beneath the arms, and you were finished, and you knew your back was a joy until the act was over.

That was all I had known of Semantha. Probably it was all I ever should have known had not a sharp attack of sickness kept me away from the theatre for a time, during which absence Semantha made the discovery which was to bring her nearer to me.

Finding my dressing place but a barren waste of pine board, Semantha with smiling readiness turned to the dressing place on her left for a pin or two, and was stricken with amazement when the milder of her two companions remarked in a grudgingly unwilling tone, ”You may take a few of my pins and hair-pins if you are sure to pay them back again.”

While she was simply stunned for a moment, when the other companion, with that rare, straightforward brutality for which she became so deservedly infamous later on, snorted angrily: ”No, you don't! Don't you touch anything of mine! You can't sponge on me as you do on Clara!”

Now Semantha was a German, as we were apt to find out if ever she grew excited over anything; and whenever she had a strange word used to her, she would repeat that word several times, first to make sure she fully understood its meaning, next to impress it upon her memory; so there she stood staring at her dressing mate, and slowly, questioningly repeated, ”Spoonge? spoonge? w'at is that spoonge?” And received for answer, ”_What is_ it? why, it's stealing.” Semantha gave a cry. ”Yes,”

continued the straightforward one, ”it's stealing without secrecy; that's what sponging is.”

Poor Semantha--astonished, insulted, frightened--turned her quivering face to the other girl and pa.s.sionately cried, ”Und she, my Fraulein Clara, tink she dat I steal of her?”

Then for the first time, and I honestly believe the last time in her life, that other pretty blond, but woolly-brained, young woman rose to the occasion--G.o.d bless her--and answered stoutly, ”No, Clara never thought you were stealing.”

So it happened that when I returned to work, and Semantha's excited and very German welcome had been given, I noticed a change in her. When my eyes met hers, instead of smiling instantly and broadly at me, her eyes sank to the ground and her face flushed painfully. At last we were left alone for a few moments. Quick as a flash, Semantha shut the door and bolted it with the scissors. Then she faced me; but what a strange, new Semantha it was! Her head was down, her eyes were down, her very body seemed to droop. Never had I seen a human look so like a beaten dog. She came quite close, both hands hanging heavily at her sides, and in a low, hurried tone she began: ”Clara, now Clara, now see, I've been usen your soap--ach, it smells so goot!--nearly all der time!”--”Why,” I broke in, ”you were welcome!”

But she stopped me roughly with one word, ”Wait,” and then she went on.

”Und der pins--why, I can't no more count. Und der hair-pins, und der paint,” (her voice was rising now), ”oh, der lofely soft pink paint! und I used dem, I used 'em all. Und I never t'ought you had to pay for dem all. You see, I be so green, fraulein, I dun know no manners, und I did, I did use dem, I know I did; but, so help me, I didn't mean to spoonge, und by Gott I didn't shteal!”

I caught her hands, they were wildly beating at the air then, and said, ”I know it, Semantha, my poor Semantha, I know it.”

She looked me brightly in the eyes and answered: ”You do? you _truly_ know dat?” gave a great sigh, and added with a fervour I fear I ill-appreciated, ”Oh, I hope you vill go to heaven!” then quickly qualified it, ”dat is, dat I don't mean right avay, dis minute--only ven you can't keep avay any longer!”

Then she sprang to her dress hanging on the hook, and after struggling among the roots of her pocket, found the opening, and with triumph breathing from every feature of her face, she brought forth a small white cube, and cried out, ”Youst you look at dat!”

I did; it seemed of a stony structure, white with a chill thin line of pink wandering forlornly through or on it (I am sure nothing could go through it); but the worst thing about it was the strange and evil smell emanating from it. And this evil, white, hard thing had been purchased from a pedler under the name of soap, fine shaving or toilet soap, and now Semantha was delightedly offering it to me, to use every night, and I with immense fervour promised I would use it, just as soon as my own was gone; and I mentally registered a solemn vow that the shadow of my soap should never grow less.

I soon discovered that poor Semantha was very ambitious; yes, in spite of her faint German accent and the amusing abundance of negatives in her conversation, she was ambitious. One night we had been called on to ”go on” as peasants and sing a chorus and do a country dance, and poor Semantha had sung so freely and danced so gracefully and gayly, that it was a pleasure to look at her. She was such a contrast to the two others. One had sung in a thin nasal tone, and the expression of her face was enough to take all the dance out of one's feet. With frowning brows and thin lips tightly compressed, she attacked the figures with such fell determination to do them right or die, that one could hardly help hoping she _would_ make a mistake and take the consequences. The other,--the woolly-brained young person,--having absolutely no ear for music or time, silently but vigorously worked her jaws through the chorus, and affably ambled about, under everybody's feet, through the dance, displaying all the stiff-kneed grace of a young, well-meaning calf.

When we were in our room, I told Semantha how well she had sung and danced, and her face was radiant with delight. Then becoming very grave, she said: ”Oh, fraulein, how I vant to be an actor! Not a common van, but” and she laid her hand with a childish gesture on her breast--”I vant to be a big actor. Don' you tink I can ever be von--eh?”

And looking into those bright, intelligent, squirrel-like eyes, I answered, ”I think it is very likely,” Poor Semantha! we were to recall those simple remarks, later on.

Christmas being near, I was very busy working between acts upon something intended for a present to my mother. This work was greatly admired by all the girls; but never shall I forget the astonishment of poor Semantha when she learned for whom it was intended.

”Your mutter lets you love her yet--you would dare?” And as I only gazed dumbly at her, she went on, while slow tears gathered in her eyes, ”My mutter hasn't let me love her since--since I vas big enough to be knocked over.”