Part 55 (1/2)
”Your ward, Peter?”
”Yes. I don't know whether I can make you understand it. I didn't at first. You see I became a.s.sociated with the ward, in people's minds, after I had been in politics for a few years. So I was sometimes put in positions to a certain extent representative of it. I never thought much how I dressed, and it seems that sometimes at public meetings, and parades, and that sort of thing, I wasn't dressed quite as well as the other men. So when the people of my ward, who were present, were asked to point me out to strangers, they were mortified about the way I looked. It seemed to reflect on the ward. The first inkling I had of it was after one of these parades, in which, without thinking, I had worn a soft hat. I was the only man who did not wear a silk one, and my ward felt very badly about it. So they made up a purse, and came to me to ask me to buy a new suit and silk hat and gloves. Of course that set me asking questions, and though they didn't want to hurt my feelings, I wormed enough out of them to learn how they felt. Since then I've spent a good deal of money on tailors, and dress very carefully.”
”Good for 'de sixt'! Hurrah for the unwashed democracy, where one man's as good as another! So a 'Mick' ward wants its great man to put on all the frills? I tell you, chum, we may talk about equality, but the lower cla.s.ses can't but admire and wors.h.i.+p the tinsel and flummery of aristocracy.”
”You are mistaken. They may like to see brilliant sights. Soldiers, ball-rooms or the like, and who does not? Beauty is aesthetic, not aristocratic. But they judge people less by their dress or money than is usually supposed. Far less than the people up-town do. They wanted me to dress better, because it was appropriate. But let a man in the ward try to dress beyond his station, and he'd be jeered out of it, or the ward, if nothing worse happened.”
”Oh, of course they'd hoot at their own kind,” said Watts. ”The hardest thing to forgive in this world is your equal's success. But they wouldn't say anything to one of us.”
”If you, or Pell, or Ogden should go into Blunkers's place in my ward, this evening, dressed as you are, or better, you probably would be told to get out. I don't believe you could get a drink. And you would stand a chance of pretty rough usage. Last week I went right from a dinner to Blunkers's to say a word to him. I was in evening dress, newcastle, and crush hat--even a bunch of lilies of the valley--yet every man there was willing to shake hands and have me sit down and stay. Blunkers couldn't have been dressed so, because it didn't belong to him. For the same reason, you would have no business in Blunkers's place, because you don't belong there. But the men know I dressed for a reason, and came to the saloon for a reason. I wasn't putting on airs. I wasn't intruding my wealth on them.”
”Look here, chum, will you take me into Blunkers's place some night, and let me hear you powwow the 'b'ys?' I should like to see how you do it.”
”Yes,” Peter said deliberately, ”if some night you'll let me bring Blunkers up to watch one of your formal dinners. He would enjoy the sight, I'm sure.”
Leonore c.o.c.ked her little nose up in the air, and laughed merrily.
”Oh, but that's very different,” said Watts.
”It's just as different as the two men with the toothache,” said Peter.
”They both met at the dentist's, who it seems had only time to pull one tooth. The question arose as to which it should be. 'I'm so brave,' said one, 'that I can wait till to-morrow.' 'I'm such a coward,' said the other, 'that I don't dare have it done to-day.'”
”Haven't you ever taken people to those places, Peter?” asked Leonore.
”No. I've always refused. It's a society fad now to have what are called 'slumming parties,' and of course I've been asked to help. It makes my blood tingle when I hear them talk over the 'fun' as they call it. They get detectives to protect them, and then go through the tenements--the homes of the poor--and pry into their privacy and poverty, just out of curiosity. Then they go home and over a chafing dish of lobster or terrapin, and champagne, they laugh at the funny things they saw. If the poor could get detectives, and look in on the luxury and comfort of the rich, they wouldn't see much fun in it, and there's less fun in a down-town tenement than there is in a Fifth Avenue palace. I heard a girl tell the other night about breaking in on a wake by chance.
'Weren't we lucky?' she said. 'It was so funny to see the poor people weeping and drinking whisky at the same time. Isn't it heartless?' Yet the dead--perhaps the bread-winner of the family, fallen in the struggle--perhaps the last little comer, not strong enough to fight this earth's battle--must have lain there in plain view of that girl.
Who was the most heartless? The family and friends who had gathered over that body, according to their customs, or the party who looked in on them and laughed?” Peter had forgotten where he was, or to whom he was talking.
Leonore had listened breathlessly. But the moment he ceased speaking, she bowed her head and began to sob. Peter came down from his indignant tirade like a flash. ”Miss D'Alloi,” he cried, ”forgive me. I forgot.
Don't cry so.” Peter was pleading in an anxious voice. He felt as if he had committed murder.
”There, there, Dot. Don't cry. It's nothing to cry about.”
Miss D'Alloi was crying and endeavoring at the same time to solve the most intricate puzzle ever yet propounded by man or woman--that is, to find a woman's pocket. She complicated things even more by trying to talk. ”I--I--know I'm ver--ver--very fooooooolish,” she managed to get out, however much she failed in a similar result with her pocket-handkerchief.
”Since I caused the tears, you must let me stop them,” said Peter. He had produced his own handkerchief, and was made happy by seeing Leonore bury her face in it, and re-appear not quite so woe-begone.
”I--only--didn't--know--you--could--talk--like--like that,” explained Leonore.
”Let this be a lesson for you,” said Watts. ”Don't come any more of your jury-pathos on my little girl.”
”Papa! You--I--Peter, I'm so glad you told me--I'll never go to one.”
Watts laughed. ”Now I know why you charm all the women whom I hear talking about you. I tell you, when you rear your head up like that, and your eyes blaze so, and you put that husk in your voice, I don't wonder you fetch them. By George, you were really splendid to look at.”
That was the reason why Leonore had not cried till Peter had finished his speech. We don't charge women with crying whenever they wish, but we are sure that they never cry when they have anything better to do.
CHAPTER XL.