Part 1 (1/2)
Traffic in Souls.
by Eustace Hale Ball.
TO THAT FEARLESS AMERICAN CITIZEN AND STERLING PUBLIC OFFICIAL, CHARLES S. WHITMAN, DISTRICT ATTORNEY FOR THE BOROUGH OF MANHATTAN, IN THE CITY OF NEW YORK, THIS BOOK IS ADMIRINGLY DEDICATED.
E. H. B.
”_What has man done here? How atone, Great G.o.d, for this which man has done?
And for the body and soul which by Man's pitiless doom must now comply With lifelong h.e.l.l, what lullaby Of sweet forgetful second birth Remains? All dark. No sign on earth What measure of G.o.d's rest endows The Many mansions of His house._
”_If but a woman's heart might see Such erring heart unerringly For once! But that can never be._
”_Like a rose shut in a book In which pure women may not look, For its base pages claim control To crush the flower within the soul; Where through each dead roseleaf that clings, Pale as transparent psyche-wings, To the vile text, are traced such things As might make lady's cheek indeed More than a living rose to read; So nought save foolish foulness may Watch with hard eyes the sure decay; And so the lifeblood of this rose, Puddled with shameful knowledge flows Through leaves no chaste hand may unclose; Yet still it keeps such faded show Of when 'twas gathered long ago, That the crushed petals' lovely grain, The sweetness of the sanguine stain, Seen of a woman's eyes must make Her pitiful heart, so p.r.o.ne to ache, Love roses better for its sake:-- Only that this can never be:-- Even so unto her s.e.x is she!_
”_Yet, Jenny, looking long at you, The woman almost fades from view.
A cipher of man's changeless sum Of l.u.s.t, past, present, and to come, Is left. A riddle that one shrinks To challenge from the scornful sphinx._
”_Like a toad within a stone Seated while Time crumbles on; Which sits there since the earth was curs'd For Man's transgression at the first; Which, living through all centuries, Not once has seen the sun arise; Whose life, to its cold circle charmed, The earth's whole summers have not warmed; Which always--whitherso the stone Be flung--sits there, deaf, blind, alone;-- Aye, and shall not be driven out 'Till that which shuts him round about Break at the very Master's stroke, And the dust thereof vanished as smoke, And the seed of Man vanished as dust:-- Even so within this world is l.u.s.t!_”
--From ”Jenny,” by Dante Gabriel Rosetti.
TRAFFIC IN SOULS
CHAPTER I
NIGHT COURT
Officer 4434 beat his freezing hands together as he stood with his back to the snow-laden north-easter, which rattled the creaking signboards of East Twelfth Street, and covered, with its merciful shroud of wet flakes, the ash-barrels, dingy stoops, gaudy saloon porticos and other architectural beauties of the Avenue corner.
Officer 4434 was on ”fixed post.”
This is an inst.i.tution of the New York police department which makes it possible for citizens to locate, in time of need, a representative of the law. At certain street crossings throughout the boroughs bluecoats are a.s.signed to guard-duty during the night, where they can keep close watch on the neighboring thoroughfares. The ”fixed post” increases the efficiency of the service, but it is a bitter ordeal on the men.
Officer 4434 s.h.i.+vered under his great coat. He pulled the storm hood of his cap closer about his neck as he muttered an opinion, far from being as cold as the biting blast, concerning the Commissioner who had installed the system. He had been on duty over an hour, and even his st.u.r.dy young physique was beginning to feel the strain of the Arctic temperature.
”I wonder when Maguire is coming to relieve me?” muttered 4434, when suddenly his mind left the subject, as his keen vision descried two struggling figures a few yards down the dark side of Twelfth Street.
There was no outcry for help. But 4434 knew his precinct too well to wait for that. He quietly walked to the left corner and down toward the couple. As he neared them the mist of the eddying snowflakes became less dense; he could discern a short man twisting the arm of a tall woman, who seemed to be top heavy from an enormous black-plumed hat. The faces of the twain were still indistinct. The man whirled the woman about roughly. She uttered a subdued moan of pain, and 4434, as he softly approached them, his footfalls m.u.f.fled by the blanket of white, could hear her pleading in a low tone with the man.
”Aw, kid, I ain't got none ... I swear I ain't... Oh, oh ... ye know I wouldn't lie to ye, kid!”
”Nix, Annie. Out wid it, er I'll bust yer d.a.m.n arm!”
”Jimmie, I ain't raised a nickel to-night ... dere ain't even a sailor out a night like dis... Oh, oh, kid, don't treat me dis way...”
Her voice died down to a gasp of pain.