Root of His Evil [= Shameless]

Chapter One

It is hard to write on the deck of a sloop that is anchored here, off the Bay Islands, for if a swell from the Caribbean doesn’t tilt the boat so the typewriter slides off the hatch, then a Bay Islander is aboard, telling about his ancestors, how they are really English and what they are going to do if Honduras tries to collect taxes. So the interruptions are many, but I want to tell my story, partly because to me it is my story, and partly to correct false impressions. Yes, I am Carrie Selden, the Modern Cinderella, but if a girl emerges who is different from the girl the newspapers pictured, then all I can say is that the newspapers printed a great many surprising things, and if they are shown up it is no more than they deserve. My story really begins, of course, with the appearance of Grant, but perhaps I should give some of my background, for it is not true that I was raised in an orphan asylum, and was scrubbing pots in the Karb kitchen at the time I met him.

I was born in Nyack, New York, and I don’t know who my parents are, that much of the story is true. Also I was taken in by the orphan asylum, but the length of time I spent there was only six months. I then was taken in by Pa and Ma Selden, before I can remember, and they are the only parents I have ever known. The reason I don’t know who my parents are is that the asylum had a rule that no information about parents would be given out, as it was better that the child have an entirely fresh start when it was adopted, rather than be the child of two families, and not really know where it belonged. But by the time I was old enough to be told that I was not the child of Pa and Ma Selden, and wanted to know who I really was, the asylum was not there any more, having been torn down to make way for a box factory, and I never was able to find but two of the matrons, who did not remember me very clearly, and did not know what had become of the records. Not knowing who your parents are is a matter worth a book in itself, but I shall try not to say much about it, as I do not want to seem self-pitying. However, from my experience and certain traits of my character, I would say I must be Scotch. I am small, with yellow hair that has a touch of red in it, very large blue eyes, and a skin that has a tendency to freckle in the sun, as alas it is doing here on the sloop. My figure is very neat and pretty, and I am a little vain about it. But I am quite strong and nimble, and can do handstands and back flips, and often thought if I had to I could earn my living as an acrobat in a circus. I may as well confess that I am very careful in money matters, and always have been. From time to time certain of my friends have viewed this as a fault, and perhaps it is. But to me, money is something to be saved and used, not wasted.

I went to work when I was fifteen, that is, nearly ten years ago, because Pa Selden lost his farm to his sister, when she stood for interest on the mortgage, and while it was acceptable that Pa and Ma come to live with her, she wouldn’t have me, as she had never approved of the adoption. So I had to find employment in Nyack, which presented some difficulties, as I had lived on the farm ever since I could remember, was only in the second year high school, and wasn’t used to town ways. But as I have pointed out, I have always rejoiced in a strong body, and so was able to take a place as waitress in one of the hotels, although I had to misrepresent my age as eighteen. The salary was six dollars a week, but the first money I got was a dime tip. This I still have. At first I carried it tucked into a corner of my pocketbook, but now it is made into a little pendant, and hangs on a silver chain around my neck. While at the hotel, I enrolled for night classes at the high school, continuing the regular course, and graduated when I was nineteen. This was a year late, but it is not true that I write my name with a mark, as one newspaper said. I have a high school diploma.

Also, when I received my first salary at the hotel, I began a practice which I have never relaxed, which was to make a regular deposit in a savings bank. At first, I was able to spare only $1 a week, as I had to contribute to Pa and Ma Selden, since Aunt Lorna would not allow them any money for their needs. But after they died, when I had my nights free and could take extra work at the Diamond Cafe, I was able to increase my savings. And then when I came to New York and saw the night deposit boxes maintained by the banks there, I came to the resolution that has been an important part of my life: Let no working day go by which does not represent an amount saved. In New York I made my deposits nightly.

Thus it was that when I became twenty-one, I had a thoughtful day with myself, and decided that bigger things lay ahead of me than could be found in Nyack. This may sound conceited, but I had a little to go on. I had $855 saved up in the bank, representing principal and interest for six years, I had a knowledge of at least one business, and I had an education. So I began to consider New York, and after a trip down there to look around, I moved there, and two weeks later I took employment with the Karb restaurant chain, operating seventeen places in greater New York, in which I had a three-fold object. First, I wanted to enter a service big enough to hold a future by way of promotion, if I cared to remain there. Next, I wanted to save more money, in case I wanted to start a place of my own. Next, I wanted opportunity to study New York eating tastes, as well as restaurant methods, before coming to any decision at all. I had to start in one of the Brooklyn restaurants, and wait my turn for a Manhattan assignment, but I didn’t have to wait long, as I agreed to transfer to the place on Lower Broadway, not regarded as very desirable. As the clientele was mostly from the Wall Street financial district, and as Wall Street is practically deserted after six o’clock, the restaurant did a luncheon business exclusively, so that the girls were only on call for four hours, hardly enough to make much. However, I made an arrangement with a cocktail bar within walking distance, near the City Hall, to work from three-thirty to six-thirty, and that way it came out very nicely. I worked from eleven to three at Karb’s, and just had time to reach the Solon and change without an idle period. The pay at both places was sixty cents an hour, which came to about twenty-five dollars a week, counting occasional overtime. The tips at Karb’s came to about five dollars a day, about the same at the Solon, where although the rush time was shorter the patrons were a little more generous. I got my meals, breakfast and lunch at Karb’s, and dinner at the Solon. So, exclusive of subway fare, which has to be subtracted, I made about eighty-five dollars a week in addition to my meals. I debated where to live, and tried a furnished room for a few days, but there was something lonely about it, and besides I think any girl owes it to herself to live in a decent way. So I made inquiries, and finally located a hotel, the Hutton, on West 58th Street, which catered to women, and had a desirable suite which would shortly become vacant, consisting of living room, bedroom, bath and pantry, for $150 a month. I took it. Then I invited one of the girls at the restaurant, Lula Schultz, to share it with me. Yes, that is how I came to be associated with Lula Schultz, but let me say right now she was not as bad as the newspapers painted, even if she was a source of much trouble to me.

About the same time I thought it advisable to pay more attention to my dressing, and accordingly began to study the stock of the good shops, and presently bought myself two fine dresses, one for $59.50, and one for much more, more than I care to admit at the moment, but they were so becoming to me, and wore so beautifully, that I think they were worth what they cost. One was dark blue, the other dark green, and harmonious with my coloring. Miss Eubanks, the saleslady who sold me the green, made some hint about shoes, and when I drew her out, she told me that the foundation of all good dressing was fine shoes, which I never forgot. From that time on I paid money for what I put on my feet, but then again I have pretty feet.

Such was my general condition when I met Grant. I was twenty-two years old, strong, healthy and good-looking. I was saving $35.00 a week, I had ambitions for my future. Our manner of meeting was not in the least romantic, in fact the other way around. I remember the day: it was the 13th of August, two years ago, for it was the date of the big organization meeting for the Karb waitresses, as it was the only one of the big chains still unorganized, under a big op deal that had been made by one of the four Karb brothers, one of whom had once been president of some printers’ union. Indeed the local we were going to form, and all the big plans for the night, were very much in the air, and the girls could hardly talk about anything else. Personally, I was not greatly excited, but I felt if a union would do us any good we might as well have one, but possibly because I took such an unbiased attitude, the other girls kept gathering around me to know what I thought. Then in the middle of the lunch rush, one of them came back with a tray, and muttered out of the side of her mouth at us as she went up to the counter, “Company spy, girls, watch your step.”

“Where?”

“By the rail, and he’s asking me plenty.”

“In the brown suit?”

“That’s him.”

I looked, but what I saw certainly didn’t look like a company spy. He was big, and black-haired, and shaggy, and sunburned almost the color of copper. But the rest of them knew at once what he was, and began saying what they thought of him, and then Lula Schultz, my roommate, started for him. “Who do they think they are, snooping around on us? Can’t we have a union if we want to? Isn’t it in the Constitution or something?”

Lula is very impulsive, that is one of her main troubles, but another girl grabbed her. “Where you going?”

“I’m going to tell the bum where he gets off.”

“And tip him to what we’re doing?”

“What do we care?”

“You stop that, they’ll know everything.”

“We going to let them get away with this?”

Then one of them shoved her against the counter. “You stay right where you are. Let Carrie talk to him.”

“That’s it. Carrie can handle him.”

“Sure, leave it to Carrie.”

I didn’t see that it made much difference what he was up to, but they seemed to place some kind of reliance in me, so it was up to me. One of the girls took the ammonia and cleared two or three places in my station. I mean she wiped the tables with ammonia so the customers that were sitting there had to get up and leave, and another on duty as hostess that day, brought Grant over and sat him down, and I went and put the menu in front of him, and there we were. But if he had been inquisitive about the union, he didn’t bring it up then. He seemed to be in a sulky mood, and after he studied the menu he looked up. “What in the hell is Korn on the Karb?”

“Sweet corn on the ear, sir. Would you care for some?”

“No, just asking.”

“The corn all comes from our selected farms, and the contract specifies that it must be pulled the morning of delivery, and arrive by special truck. If you like the dish, you might try the Mess o’ Karb Korn on the a la carte — three large ears, cooked to order and served right out of the pot. The order includes drawn butter and a Karbtassle brush. It’s really quite good.”

“It’s a socko sales talk.”

“Would you care to try it?”

“I’ll try it, but no silver handles, no drawn butter, and no Karbtassle brush. Now listen to what I tell you. That corn goes in the pot in the husk. Six minutes in the pot, put it on a plate, and bring it over. Give me a double hunk of regular butter, and that’s all. The idea is, I don’t want you to take trouble with it. I want it as is. Do you understand me? No Karbnificence.”

“Did you say — in the husk?”

“Indian.”

“Oh.”

“And besides it stays tender. And it stays hot. If Montezuma had 50,000 slaves to serve his table, you could certainly trust him on this.”

“Yes, sir.”

When I went over to the counterman they gathered around me like flies. “What does he want?”

“Korn on the Karb.”

“Boil three, Charlie.”

“Not so fast.”

I then explained how the order was to be cooked, and Charlie’s eyes almost popped out. He picked up three ears in the husk and shook his head. “One for the mule, girls. This is a new one we got.”

That was a big laugh, but I kept thinking it was a very peculiar way for a company spy to act. So I decided to find out what he was, but first I would have to know his name.

I filled a water glass and went up behind him. As I reached over him to set it down, I spilled a spoonful of it on his shirt, where his coat was hanging open. He jumped, but I had my napkin ready, and before he could say anything I was apologizing and wiping the water off. Then I pretended there was some on the inside of his coat, and began wiping that off. As I did so, I turned down the inside pocket, and there, sure enough, was his name, written in by his tailor. It said: Grant Harris.

I went to the pay telephone, took the receiver off the hook, and came back. “Pardon me, are you Mr. Grant Harris?”

He looked up, very surprised, and I stood right over him, looking down into his eyes so I could see everything they did. “Why yes. Harris is my name. Why?”

“They’ve been trying to locate you. Mr. Roberts is on the line. He wants to speak to you.”

Nobody was on the line, but if he went over there and got no answer, I could pretend they must have hung up. What I wanted was to see how he reacted to that name Roberts when I spoke it that way, suddenly, because Mr. Roberts was general manager for Karb’s, Inc. He didn’t react at all. His face screwed up, and he looked at me as though I must be crazy. “Roberts? I don’t know any Roberts.”

“He’s on the line.”

“I don’t know him, I didn’t tell anybody I was coming here, so it must be some mistake.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“What for?”

Not once did his eyes give that little flicker that a man’s eyes will usually show when he is trying to hide something, so I felt all the more strongly that the girls were wrong about him. I went to the phone, pretended to hold a little conversation in case he was looking, hung up, and then went and got the corn. I put down the plate, butter, and the little platter with the three ears, still in the green husks. “May I remove the husks for you, sir?”

“No, thanks, but you can watch, so you’ll know how next time.”

“Yes, sir.”

He began stripping the corn, very neatly, as though he had done it that way often. “...Why aren’t you watching?”

It came like a shot, and his eyes were drilling me through. They were big and perfectly black, but now they were hard, as I found out they could be when there was reason. “I am watching.”

“Me, you’re watching, not the corn. I’ve been keeping book on you in that mirror.”

“I’m sorry if I—”

“What is this, anyway? What was that phony call?”

Now there is such a thing as knowing when to stop the fooling, and besides I couldn’t help having some admiration for the way he had caught me, even if I felt very silly. “All right, I’ll tell you.”

“Please do.”

“They thought you were a company spy.”

“Who did?”

“The girls. You asked some questions.”

“Oh. So I did. Oh, now I begin to get it. That’s why they’re all watching us out of the corner of their eyes, is that it?”

“Yes. So they picked me to find out.”

“Why you?”

“I don’t know. They often rely on me.”

“Because you’re a pretty slick little spy yourself, maybe. How did you find out my name?”

“I found out all I wanted to know.”

“Such as?”

“Anyway, that you’re no company spy.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I don’t think you’re anything, much.”

I only meant to get back at him for saying I was slick, but my remark had the most unfortunate effect on him. His eyes dropped, his face got red as mahogany, and he picked up the corn and started to eat it. I waited for him to say something, but all he did was gnaw around the corn, with even his neck getting red. I went and got his salad. When I got back, he was almost through his second ear. I picked up the other ear and stripped it exactly the way he had. “Just to show you I really was paying attention.”

“Thanks.”

“I never had it that way, but it looks good.”

“What’s your name?”

“Carrie. Carrie Selden.”

“Well, Carrie, I think you’re trying to be friendly, but you hit me below the belt. What made you say that? Was it just a crack, or — did you have something to go on?”

“I had to have some kind of a comeback.”

“Yes, but I’m thinking of something.”

“What’s that?”

“Those girls. Why did they pick you out?”

“Oh, they often do.”

“Not for nothing. They thought you’d take my measure.”

“They just thought I’d be careful.”

He looked at me a long time, in a way that made me feel very peculiar, because to me at least there was something unusual about his eyes, something very warm and tender. Then he said: “Well, all I can say, Carrie, is that I find you very baffling.”

“In what way, may I ask?”

“Everything about you seems delicate, and flowerlike, except that really you’re very cold and knowing.”

“I don’t think I’m cold.”

“Let’s get on to this other thing. They’re organizing here?”

“...Why?”

“There you go again, with that fishy look. You ought to do something about your eyes, Carrie. They give you away... Why? I’m curious, that’s all. I’m no company spy, or anything like that. Just an interested bystander. But interested. I’ve got my reasons. I’m not just talking.”

“What reasons?”

His lace got very hard and bitter, and what he said next was almost between his set teeth. “Malice. Pure, unadulterated malice. They’ve got it coming to them, plenty.”

“Who is they?”

“All of them. The system.”

“I don’t see any system.”

“All right, I do. The foxholes improve your eyesight, maybe. Anyway, I’ve got interested in this social reform thing, and I’m going into it. I want to see how it works right from the beginning, and here in this restaurant is a good place to start. I want to see how they go about it, this organizing, I mean. Does that clear it up?”

“You sound awfully sore about something.”

“I am sore.”

“Well — sure we’re organizing.”

“A.F. of L. or this other one?”

“...It’s not the other one.”

“How far has it gone?”

“It’s all lined up.”

“When does it pop?”

“That all depends. The meeting’s tonight.”

“Where?”

“Reliance Hall.”

“Third Avenue, up near Eightieth?”

“Yes, it’s over in Yorkville somewhere.”

“Can I get in?”

“If you were a newspaper reporter—?”

“Ah, that’s an idea.”

“They’re letting reporters in later, after the main part is over. I could get you in. Are you a reporter?”

“No, but I could muss up my collar. Would you?”

He made that sound very personal, so I quickly said, “Why not?” as though I didn’t notice it.

“...why did you make that crack?”

“If it bothers you all that much, I’ll take it back.”

“You can’t. The truth is, I’m not anything, much.”

“Well, my goodness, you’re young yet.”

“I’m twenty-seven. My farthest worth in the way of accomplishment was to get made a second louie in infantry... Napoleon conquered Italy at twenty-six.”

“Maybe that wasn’t so hot. Maybe Italy didn’t think so.”

“That’s very sweet of you.”

The girls lost interest when I said he was a reporter, as that seemed the simplest way out, but I could feel him following me about with his eyes wherever I went. More customers came in, so we didn’t get any more chance to talk. When he left, a half dollar was on the table.

Chapter Two

I tell all this to refute insinuations that were made, that I knew all about Grant, and took advantage of him from the start. The truth is I knew almost nothing about him, and what was said at our first meeting, it seems to me, proves that he acted very mysteriously with me, from the very beginning, and in spite of many peculiar hints, told me almost nothing about himself, and in fact concealed the main things from me. He did that, I know now, from modesty, and from being sick and tired of having people get excited over who he was, and from not being able to see that it made much difference anyway, since regardless of who he was he was not what he wanted to be, or even headed in that direction. However, I should like to make it clear that regardless of his motives, he did practice concealment. Now then, why didn’t I compel him to be more candid? Why was I content to be kept in the dark? That part I shall explain too, when I get to it, and merely say at this point that there was a reason, equally strong to me as his reasons were to him, and yet nothing I need be ashamed of. I want it understood that until the terrible storm broke, Grant and I were practically strangers to each other, intimate and yet barely acquainted. It set me thinking about social customs in a way I never did before, of the importance of introductions and mutual friends and the various guarantees that people receive concerning each other.

We had the big meeting that night, and Lula and I went, and I must confess I wondered if Grant would come, which surprised me, for one does not as a rule think much about customers after working hours. Once in the hall, however, I was in the midst of events which transpired so rapidly and unexpectedly that he was momentarily driven from my mind.

In general, I criticize all labor activities for being most inefficient and slipshod, and the meeting in Reliance Hall that night was no exception. There were 473 girls present, as my records later showed, all anxious to organize and get it over with. But just as most of them had found seats, word came that the girls of the Borough Hall restaurant in Brooklyn, who had previously been lukewarm, had decided to join, and were on their way over in a big bus, and that the meeting would wait for them. Why that had to be was never explained. So we marked time, and there were speeches, the gentlemen from the main council went into a huddle at one end of the platform, and nobody seemed really to be in charge, although a union lady from out of town was in the chair. All this gave time for factions to develop. Particularly there was a girl from the Union Square restaurant, by the name of Clara Gruber, who had a great deal to say about the full social value of our labor, which meant nothing to me, and in a few minutes, a lot of them were yelling for her to be president. This annoyed the girls from the Lower Broadway place, who were going to put me up for president.

So very soon the meeting was split into two groups, one yelling for me, the other for Clara Gruber, and in a very disorderly manner, with names being called. So as soon as I could get the attention of the lady in the chair, I got up and declined the nomination, if indeed there had been any nomination, for there didn’t seem to be any rules or motions or anything you could go by. This made things still worse, and the faction in favor of me threatened to secede. So then I hurriedly whispered to Lula and had her get up and say that if Clara Gruber was going to be president, then I had to be secretary-treasurer. My object in this was that I thought if our side had the money, it didn’t make much difference who was president. So that satisfied Clara Gruber, and she was elected, and so was I, and we both went up on the platform, and the union lady stepped down, and Clara Gruber began making another speech about the full social value of our labor.

She was interrupted by the arrival of the girls from Brooklyn. And then before she could get going, a little man in glasses came in, rushed up the aisle, and joined the huddle of the gentlemen from the main council of the culinary workers’ union. And then he turned around, and without paying any attention to Clara Gruber, he clapped his hands for order, and announced very excitedly that Evan Holden, the big C.I.O. organizer, was going to speak to them, because on a question of that kind jurisdictional lines should be wiped out, and labor should present a united front. So then in came Mr. Holden, and behind him came about ten newspaper reporters, in the midst of whom was Grant. The reporters took seats down front, but I wasn’t paying any attention to Grant at the moment. I was looking at Evan Holden. He was the special representative from International headquarters, and I must say I have rarely seen a more striking-looking man. He was over six feet tall, almost as tall as Grant, about thirty-five years old, with light hair and fair skin. His eyes were dark grey and very commanding. He had on a light double-breasted suit, which somehow brought out his heavy shoulders and the strong way he was built. But he walked rapidly like a cat.

He came marching up the aisle to the platform steps, and took these at one hop. Then he turned and faced the crowd and the girls began to cheer, so there was nothing for Clara Gruber to do but sit down. Then he began to talk. He didn’t talk loud, and he didn’t say anything about the full social value of our labor. He started off with jokes, and he had a sort of brogue which I took to be Irish, so in a minute he had them all laughing and orderly, and ready to listen. Then in the simplest way he told us what we were doing, about how Capital and Labor are really in a partnership, but it had to be an equal partnership, so it seemed that all we were really doing was demanding our rights. So pretty soon he had them very excited and then he said he wanted them to pass a resolution which was something about how we would all stick. And in order to get the resolution passed, he turned the meeting back to Clara Gruber, but from the quick way he peeped at his watch I knew he had done his good deed and wanted to be on his way.

But instead of putting the resolution, Clara Gruber went on making her speech right where she was interrupted, and I saw Mr. Holden begin to look annoyed because my faction began to make unfriendly remarks, and take another peep at his watch. But how well they would stick was something that had been worrying me, so I determined to get in it. I said, “One moment, Madame President,” and before she could stop me I began making a speech of my own. I had never made a speech, but I thought if the way to get them interested is to tell them a joke, then I will tell them a joke. So I said:

“Once upon a time there were some mice that were going to bell a cat, but when the time came to do it they did not have any bell, but if they had had a little money maybe they could have gone out and bought one.”

Instead of making them laugh this provoked a perfect storm, and there were screams from all over the house that it was distinctly understood no money was to be collected. I took the gavel, where it lay on the table, pounded with it and went on: “It has been proposed that you pass a resolution telling how you are going to stick, and I don’t know what that’s going to prove, but to me it will not prove anything except that you passed a resolution. But if you put up some money, then I’ll believe you mean to stick, and so will Karb’s and so will everybody.”

Clara Gruber tried to get in it again, but they yelled her down. Even her own side was getting pretty sick of her by then. And then there came cries of, “Let Carrie talk. Carrie knows what she’s doing. Go on, Carrie, you tell us and damn right we’ll stick.”

So I went on: “Before I leave here tonight I’m going to collect one dollar off every one of you. The money will be deposited tonight in the Fiftieth and Seventh Avenue Branch of the Central Trust Company, receipt of deposit will be mailed to your president, Clara Gruber, but I’m going to collect it and anybody who refuses to pay is not going to be enrolled and had better not come around to me bragging about how they are going to stick.”

There was a cheer for that, but I talked right through it. “Get out your pencils.”

I waited till they got out their pencils. “Now take the leaflets that were distributed and write on the back as I direct. ‘August 13th, received of — put your name in here — one dollar on account of union enrollment dues.’ Write that down, present it to me with the cash and I will sign it and it will be your receipt. Then form in line around the hall, pass by my desk, pay your dues, get your receipt, and be enrolled. While you are writing and forming in line I will ask Lula Schultz to step down to the drug store on the corner and buy me a small account book in order that the record can be kept straight.”

Lula went out, and while they were writing and forming in line I noticed Evan Holden looking at me in a very sharp way. Then he came over, sat on the edge of the table in front of me, and leaned down close. “You’re a pretty smart girl.”

“Money is power. If they mean it, they can pay.”

“We generally do it a little differently. The money comes from the outside, from the older locals. But your principle is correct.”

“One dollar isn’t much, but it proves they mean it.”

Lula came back with the account book, and I got up and said they could begin passing by, and that then I thought it would be a good idea if they all went home, as there had already been enough talk. I didn’t mean it for a joke, but they all laughed and clapped. He got up, still looking at me. “A smart girl and a pretty girl. Carrie, they call you. What’s the rest of it?”

I told him and he said: “H’m.”

I was kept pretty busy for the next twenty minutes, but by the time the last of the line was by most of the girls had gone home, except for Lula and four or five others from our restaurant, who were waiting for me. But Clara Gruber was still there, and Mr. Holden was still there too, but he wasn’t looking at his watch any more, he was looking at me. And then at last Grant came edging up to me. “Hello.”

“Hello.”

“I got in.”

“I see you did. Without any help from me.”

“You certainly stirred things up.”

“Just saying what I thought.”

We talked a few minutes that way, not saying anything, and yet it was nice and friendly. Then he drew a long breath. “Do you suppose we could go somewhere for a cup of coffee or something, or maybe a little snack — there are quite a few things I’d like to ask you about it.”

I was just opening my mouth to say I didn’t see why not, but Mr. Holden must have been nearby, because he tapped me on the shoulder and then spoke to Grant. “Sorry, old man, but this little girl is going to be pretty busy tonight. We’ve only just started. Organizing a new union, you know — keeps us hopping.”

“I see.”

Grant looked disappointed, but I didn’t believe one word of what Mr. Holden had said. What more did we have to do? I knew I was between two men who were interested in me, and I wanted Grant to put up some kind of a fight. But I would have died rather than let him know that, so I simply said: “I guess there’s nothing I can do.”

“I guess not.”

Next, we were all edging toward the door, and Lula had me by the arm, all excited at what we had done, and Mr. Holden was with Clara Gruber, and I saw him hand her some money. I didn’t know what for at the time, but later I found out that he said he thought it would be a good idea if she and the leaders went out and had a little supper together, but that it would look better if she did it rather than he, because she was president. So this appealed to her sense of importance, which was really quite strong, and she fell right into what was really a deliberate trap. Because as soon as we were out on the sidewalk he began waving for a taxi, and as soon as one came up he said: “Come on, girls, we’re all going out for something to eat just to start the thing off right.” Then he put Clara Gruber in the taxi, and Lula, and the other girls one by one until of course the taxi was all filled up. So then he told the driver to go on, to take them to Lindy’s, that we would be right over in another cab. So then they drove off, and he and I got in another cab.

I knew perfectly well he and I weren’t going to Lindy’s, and under other circumstances I might have made objection, but there was Grant still standing on the curb and looking like a poor fish, and I was furious at him. So when Mr. Holden told the driver to go to the Hotel Wakefield I pretended not to notice, and when he waved at Grant and said, “Good night, old man,” I waved and smiled too, just as though it was perfectly natural.

When the taxi moved off he asked me in the most casual way if I minded stopping by his hotel first, as he was expecting telegrams, and had to keep in touch. I said not a bit, and we rolled down Third Avenue talking about what a fine set of girls they were who had assembled in the hall. The hotel was on Sixth Avenue not far from where I lived, and when we went in there he went at once to the desk. They handed him some mail and telegrams, and he tore one open. Then he came over to me, looking very depressed. “It was what I was afraid of. No Lindy’s for us tonight, Carrie. I’ve got to stand by for a Washington call.”

“It’s all right.”

“But we’ll have our supper. Come on.”

“If you’re busy—”

“Don’t be silly. We’re having supper.”

We went up in the elevator and entered his suite. He at once went in the bedroom and I could hear him phoning Lindy’s with a message to Miss Clara Gruber that he had been unavoidably detained and would not be able to come. Then he came back and asked me what I would like to eat, and I said I didn’t care, and he went back and ordered some sandwiches, coffee and milk. Then he called to know if I wanted something to drink, and I said thanks I didn’t drink. He said he didn’t either, and hung up. Then he came back. I was highly amused, and yet I felt some admiration for him. He had intended it that way from the beginning, and yet not one word had been said which indicated he had deliberately contrived to get me up here, and for some reason this made it much more exciting. I began to see that one reason men had previously left me somewhat indifferent was that they were extremely clumsy.

However, he continued to act very casual, and looked at his watch, and gave a little exclamation. “We can still get them.”

“Get whom?”

“The Eisteddfod Strollers. They’re broadcasting.”

“At this hour?”

“It’s midnight here, but it’s nine o’clock in California. They’re on tonight at KMPC, Hollywood.”

He went to the radio and turned it on, and vocal music began to come in. “Yes, they’re just beginning.”

“Who are the — what strollers did you say?”

“Winners of our Welsh bardic contest called the Eisteddfod. They’re terribly good.”

“Are you Welsh?”

“A Welshman from Cardiff. A lot of us are Welsh in this movement.”

“I thought you were Irish.”

“The brogues are similar, but an Irishman isn’t much good in a big labor union. He’s too romantic.”

“Aren’t you romantic?”

I didn’t know I was going to say that, and he laughed. “In some parts of my nature I might be, but not about labor. An Irishman messes things up, fighting for lost causes, exhibiting to the world his fine golden heart, but a Welshman fights when he can win, or thinks he can win. He knows when to fight, and he can fight hard, but he also knows when to arbitrate. It was characteristic of Lloyd George, another Welshman and a fine one. They called him an opportunist, but they won that war just the same. It’s characteristic of John L. Lewis. A Welshman is a formidable adversary.”

“Are you acquainted with Mr. Lewis?”

“Well, I hope so. I came up through the miners.”

“To me he seems very theatrical.”

“Like all specialists in power, he knows the value of underestimation of his abilities on the part of his adversaries. The newspapers call him the great ham, and I don’t say he doesn’t love the boom of his voice. But theatricality is not the dominant side of him. John L. is the greatest specialist in direct action that has ever been seen in the American labor movement, and to that extent I think he has a profounder understanding of labor than anybody we ever had, not even excluding Furuseth, who was a great man. What is a strike? They call it a phase of collective bargaining, but it is really coercion. It suits John L. to be thought a ham, for it distracts attention from his club. The club’s the thing, just the same. He has a side though, that not many know about. At heart he’s a boy and loves things like jumping contests. He can put his feet together and jump the most incredible number of steps on the front stoop of the hotel, or wherever it is. And over tables — anything. Or could. That was in the old days. I haven’t seen him since the row with Murray.”

“You went with Murray?”

“Aye, and there’s a man, too.”

“But aren’t we culinary workers A.F. of L.?”

“Oh, there’s plenty of fraternizing in areas where there’s no real conflict, if that’s what’s worrying you. There is in any war.”

“Are you in charge of our strike?”

“I wonder.”

“Well — don’t you know?”

“All I expected to do when the little fellow phoned me earlier in the evening, was go over and pull together a meeting he was getting somewhat worried about. But developments since then—”

“Meaning me?”

“Quite nice development, I would say.”

He looked me over in a very bold way, and I could feel my face get hot, and I reached over and turned up the radio, as he had tuned it down during some announcement or other. The singing came through again, beautiful things I had never heard before, and I hated it when a waiter came in with our supper, and interrupted it. When the waiter had gone we began to eat the sandwiches, and Mr. Holden came over beside me. For the first time I felt a little frightened, and after a few minutes said: “I’ll fix up the deposit slips.”

I got out the money and counted it again, and put it in hotel envelopes, and then made out the slips, which I always carried with me. He watched and put the tray outside to be collected. The singers sang a song I loved, “All Through The Night.” Mr. Holden came closer to me, and the music seemed to be saying a great deal to him. We looked at each other and smiled. Then he put his arm around me. Then he took off my hat and laid it on the table in front of us. Then he kissed me. I was very frightened, and at the same time I was very limp and helpless. He kissed me again and I felt dreamy and carried away, and that time I kissed back.

I don’t know how long I sat there in his arms, but it must have been quite some time, because my dress was all disarranged, and I didn’t care whether it was or not, and I kept feeling that this was something I had been hungry for a long time. And yet at the same time there was something about it I didn’t like. So long as the Strollers were singing, and I felt sad and at the same time happy, I was very glad about it all, but now there was nothing but swing music coming out of the radio it wasn’t the same. I knew I had to get out of there, or something was going to happen that I was not in the least prepared for in my own mind, and that I did not want to happen. I loosened his arms and sat up, and began to shake my hair as though to straighten it out. “Do you have a comb?”

He got up and went in the bedroom. I grabbed my hat, the envelopes with the money in them, and my handbag, and scooted. I didn’t wait for the elevator. As soon as I was in the hall I dived for the stairs, and ran down them, four or five flights. When I reached the lobby I ran out of the hotel, jumped in a taxi and told the driver, “Straight ahead, quick.”

He started up, and I was so busy looking back to see if anyone was following, and straightening myself up, that I didn’t notice how far we had gone. When we got to Fiftieth Street I told him to turn west, because I had to go to the bank before I went home. But it was a one-way street going east, and I paid him and got out to walk the one block to Seventh Avenue. I got to the corner, turned it, and started for the night deposit box. As I did so, somebody grabbed my arm from behind.

I jumped, shook loose and dived for the deposit box. I flipped the envelopes in, spun the cylinder, and turned around. If it was a bandit, I was going to scream. If it was Mr. Holden, I didn’t know what I was going to do. It wasn’t a bandit, and it wasn’t Mr. Holden. It was Grant standing there and looking very sheepish. “I had an idea that money would be deposited.”

“My, you frightened me.”

“Feel like a walk?”

“It’s terribly late.”

“It’s two o’clock — about the only time you can walk in this God-awful town. But that isn’t the real reason.”

“And what is the real reason?”

“You.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

Chapter Three

We began to walk over toward the East River, but I wasn’t any too friendly because while I was really glad he was there, I couldn’t forget the way he had let me be dragged off from the hall without doing anything about it. So he began asking questions about the union, which I answered as well as I could. It was rather hard to explain it to him, however, as he apparently thought there had been a lot of preliminary phases, as he called them, all occurring in some extremely complicated way, although all that had happened was that some of the girls had become dissatisfied with conditions, and when they found out about the big op deal that had been made, had themselves gone to the union for help. Then the word was passed around, and one thing led to another, and it all happened very quickly with hardly any of the elaborate preliminaries that he seemed to think were involved. He kept asking me if I had read this or that book on the labor movement, but I hadn’t, and didn’t even know what he was talking about. So he died away pretty soon, and then he said: “I guess that about covers it. It’s what I’ve been trying to find out.”

“Then I’m very glad to be of help, if that’s what you wanted because if it was really me you were interested in you took a strange way to show it.”

“Well — here I am.”

“Rather late, don’t you think?”

“I told you. I like it this time of night.”

“Between this time of night and that time of night three very fateful hours have elapsed. A lot can happen in that time.”

“Happen? How?”

“There are other men in the world besides yourself.”

“They don’t start anything at Lindy’s.”

“I haven’t been to Lindy’s.”

“You—?”

“Some people are more enterprising than you.”

He stopped, jerked me by the arm and spun me around. “Where have you been?”

“Never mind.”

“I asked you where you’ve been.”

“With a gentleman at his hotel, if you have to know.”

“So.”

We went along, he about a half step in front of me, his head hunched down in his shoulders. Then he whirled around in front of me. “And what did happen?”

“None of your business.”

We had reached Second Avenue by that time. He looked at me hard and I could see his mouth twitching. Then he turned around with his back to me and stood at the curb. I waited and still he stood there. “I thought we were taking a walk.”

“We were. Now we’re waiting for a cab.”

“For what purpose, may I ask?”

“To send you home. Or to a gentleman at his hotel. Or wherever you want.”

“Very well.”

We stood there a long time, and still no cab came by, for it must have been getting on toward three o’clock. He lit a cigarette and something about the fierce way he blew the smoke out made me want to laugh. But I merely remarked: “If anything had happened I hardly think I’d be out here at this hour and under these circumstances — at least not this night.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t do things by halves.”

I couldn’t help saying it, he looked so silly. He sucked at his cigarette and the light came up very bright. Down the street a cab appeared and when it got near us it cut in quickly and slowed down. He threw away his cigarette and waved the cab on. “We were taking a walk, did you say?”

We got over to Sutton Place and stood at the rail watching the sign come on and off, across the river. A fish flopped and we waited a long time hoping to see another. It was so still you could hear the water lapping out there. But no other fish appeared, and we started back. He hooked his little finger in mine and we swung hands, and it wasn’t at all expert, but it was sweet and there was something about it that was exactly what hadn’t been there on the sofa with Mr. Holden. A cop came around a corner, and we broke hands, but he said: “Don’t mind me, chilluns,” and we laughed and hooked fingers again. We came to a place where the sidewalk was barricaded over a water pipe or something, with two red lanterns on each end. Grant let go my hand, put both feet together and jumped over, then turned around to see what I was going to do. I pulled my handbags up over my wrist, took hold of my dress and held it away from me so it wouldn’t fly up over my head, and then did a kind of one-hand cartwheel over the barricade. I came up right in front of Grant and made a little bow. He stared at me, then took me by the arms and pulled me toward him, and I thought he was going to kiss me but he didn’t. He just kept looking down at me and his voice was shaky when he spoke. “Gee, you’re swell.”

“Am I? Why?”

“I don’t know. Nobody else could have done that. Coming up cool as a cucumber that way with no foolish squealing or anything. And you’ve got no idea how pretty you looked — going over, I mean.”

“That was nothing. I can turn back flips.”

“I believe it.”

We got to the Hutton and there was no doorman out there or anything, at that hour, and we stood there under the marquee for a minute. He took my arms again and seemed to be thinking about something. “Are you going to be down there today — for lunch, I mean?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Can I come in?”

“It’s a public restaurant.”

“There’s something that bothers me.”

“What is it?”

“I want a certain half dollar back.”

“Why?”

“I want it back. I... don’t want to feel that we started with me giving you a half dollar.”

“Have we started?”

“I don’t know what we’ve done. But I want it back.”

Now that half dollar was much on my mind up there in the room with Mr. Holden. Because when I made out the slips for the union money I also made out the slip for my own regular deposit, and ordinarily that half dollar would have gone right in the pile with the rest of it. But for some reason I had kept it in the coin purse of my handbag. “How do you know I still have it?”

“Well, then — if you still have it.”

“All right, then, I kept it. But I want it.”

“Is that why you kept it?”

“It might be.”

“All right, then, we’ll make an agreement. I’ll keep it. But I want it back.”

“Very well, but I want something.”

He looked a little funny, but fumbled around and then handed over his gold tie clip. “It... it seems to be about the only thing I have.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that won’t do.”

I then held up my face in a very fresh way. He caught me in his arms and kissed me, and was very clumsy about it, but I kissed him back and held him there a long time. Then I drew back, and just before I skipped into the hotel I held out my hand and left the half dollar on his fingers.

I had to walk up, and when I went in our suite I didn’t turn on the light and went carefully on tiptoe so as not to wake up Lula. But then I jumped because I could see her there, her eyes big and terrible-looking. I snapped on the light. She was sitting in her kimono facing the door and staring at me without saying a word. I spoke to her, and she began using dreadful language at me in a kind of whisper. “But, Lula, what on earth is the matter?”

“You know what’s the matter!”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“And you know what you been doing!”

“I haven’t been doing anything.”

“Oh, yes, you have.” And she launched into the most terrible imaginary account of all that had taken place between me and Mr. Holden, and why I didn’t go to Lindy’s, and a great deal more that I prefer to forget. I thought it best to say that Mr. Holden had only wanted to take his calls, and talk a few plans with me while he was waiting, and that I had only stayed with him a little while anyway. “And, besides, I don’t see what you have to do with it. I don’t try to come between you and any of your friends, and certainly you have plenty of them.” Which was the truth because Lula was not at all particular where men were concerned, and certainly went out with them a lot.

But nothing I could say had any effect on her, and she kept it up and kept it up, and it was easy to see that she was afflicted by some kind of jealousy which I didn’t understand and still don’t quite understand. But I think she had some kind of motherly feeling about me because she was several years older than I was, and it upset her to think I had at last taken some step with a man, as she assumed I had. She kept raving until long after daylight, and we got a call from the desk that we would have to keep quiet as people were ringing to complain. I didn’t close my eyes until the sun was shining in the windows, and then when the nine-thirty call came I was almost dead from lack of sleep, but Lula wouldn’t get up at all. “But Lula, you’ve got to go to work. And it’ll look bad if somebody isn’t there, the very day after we formed the union.”

“To hell with the union.”

“But we’ve all got to do our part.”

“What I care about the union? Go on, let me sleep. Go on down and see your friend Holden. Stay out all night with him, stay out every night with him, do anything you please — but let me alone.”

I went to work, and Lula didn’t come, and I said she wasn’t feeling well, and when I got back that night the hotel said she had gone and hadn’t left any forwarding address. She didn’t show up for work again. I would like this episode kept in mind, for it was the thing that caused most of my trouble later on, and if it had not been for Lula perhaps none of the rest of it would have happened. Or perhaps it would, I don’t know. But Lula was certainly a large part of it.

Grant came for lunch that day, and the next, but was prevented from seeing me at night because of the tactics of Mr. Holden who didn’t exactly take charge of us, or quite get out but kept having meetings at his hotel suite. He insisted that I attend every night, and Clara Gruber, and the girls from all the restaurants in the chain so that, as he said, we could discuss the minimum basic agreement we were going to demand from the company. Some wanted one thing and some wanted another, for example, seventy-five cents an hour wages, with “Please Pay Waitress” instead of “Please Pay Cashier,” as it was felt the tips would be bigger if the waitresses presented the change, as they do in the hotels and higher class restaurants, and free uniforms. But I could see objections to all of these, from the management’s point of view, and I didn’t believe we could obtain them. What I wanted was the same hourly wages as we had, as what the restaurant paid us was only a small part of what we made anyhow, with a straight ten per cent charge for tips, as they have in a number of restaurants, with a minimum tip of twenty-five cents. Because in the first place it would be the customer who paid this, rather than the restaurant. And in the second place, it would come to more than the system we already had because what cut our tips down was the people who sat around for a long time occupying the chairs in our station during rush hour, and then leaving a dime tip. So I thought my plan would yield us quite a lot more, without costing the restaurant anything.

However, the others, and especially Clara Gruber, were all hot for making the management pay, and to my great surprise, Mr. Holden seemed willing to do whatever they wanted. This I could not understand until we were having some coffee in a restaurant one night, after the other girls had gone home. If he was going to see me alone, I had insisted that we go out. My running away that night, by the way, he had merely taken as a sort of joke and intimated that he would make progress with me yet. As to that, I had my own ideas, so I usually led the talk around to the union and our demands. His attitude he explained one night, first giving me a long wink. “Demands are poetry.”

“They’re what?”

“I’m surprised at the narrow limits of your soul. Let the girls demand. It expands their natures, makes them feel good, acts as a fine, stimulating tonic.”

“But they won’t get their demands.”

“Oh — now you’re speaking of settlement. That’s reality.”

“Isn’t it all reality?”

“Not at all. They demand the stuff that dreams are made upon. They settle for what they can get.”

“But that way we’re sure to have a strike.”

“No doubt we are.”

“But that’s terrible.”

“Think, my pretty friend — it’s August.”

“Well?”

“It’s hot. And a strike makes a holiday.”

“They give vacations.”

“Two weeks at Brighton, with mosquito bites. But a strike — there’s something real. They have speeches and parades and lofty thoughts, and patriotic music.”

“My but you sound cold-blooded.”

“The main thing to remember in all labor matters, the point they all forget about, is the state of the weather. Cold-blooded? It’s you that’s cold-blooded, thinking always of the money. I remember that workers are human.”

“They’ll lose their wages.”

“If they drew their wages, would they have their wages, will you tell me that? If they wind up broke in any case, why not have fun? Besides, it solidifies the union spirit.”

“It’s — wasteful.”

“Your pretty dress is wasteful, for the matter of that.”

“But it’s pretty.”

“So is a strike, in its way — a lot of girls, finding the courage to lift their heads at last. Perhaps they don’t get all they want, but they had the fun of a fight. There’s an element of beauty in it.”

“To me it’s just foolishness.”

“Are you never foolish, Carrie?”

“Not willingly.”

“A little folly would become you, I think.”

The Saturday following our first meeting Grant came in for lunch again, and sat there very moody and didn’t eat any of his Korn on the Karb, although the way he wanted it was rapidly becoming a restaurant joke. Then he wanted to see me that night, but I couldn’t, and then he proposed that we spend the next day, which was Sunday, on the Sound. He said he had the use of a shack near Port Washington and a boat, and we could have a good time. Well, I thought, why not? I was all alone in the hotel now, and besides it was very hot. “Very well — if we get back by night.”

“You have a date?”

“No, but there’s a big meeting.”

“Oh, the union.”

“I’m an officer, you know.”

“So you are. All right, I’ll have you back in time.”

So on my way up to the cocktail bar, I hurriedly bought a little sport dress and hat, a bathing suit, slippers and beach robe. Sure enough, next morning at nine o’clock the desk phoned that a Mr. Harris was in the lobby, and I went down wearing my sports outfit and carrying the beach things in a little bag that went with them. I supposed we were to take a train at Grand Central, but he had a car out there, a nice-looking green coupe. It was very pleasant riding along without any train to think about, even if the traffic was so heavy we could barely crawl. It was about eleven o’clock when we reached the shack, which was on a bluff above a little cove, with steps leading down. Well, he called it a shack, but I would have said estate, for it was a very fine place, with luxurious furniture on the veranda, and a big hall inside with a grand piano in it and soft chairs all around. I couldn’t help expressing surprise. “Did you say you just — borrowed this?”

“Belongs to some friends of mine.”

“Do all your friends have such places?”

“I hope not. Some of them actually have taste.”

“It’s very luxurious.”

“And very silly.”

Now all of this was a complete evasion, as you will see, and I put it in to illustrate once more that during this period Grant was never frank with me. Also, he at once changed the subject. “What do you want to do? Swim, sail or eat?”

“Well — can’t we do all three?”

“That’s an idea.”

He took me to what seemed to be a guest bedroom, showed me the bath and anything I might want, and went. I changed into my swimming suit, put on my slippers, and tied a ribbon around my hair. Then I put the bathing cap into the bag, slipped on my beach robe, and went out. I thought I looked very pretty, but I forgot about that when I saw him. He was ready and standing at a table flipping over the pages of a magazine. He had on a pair of faded blue shorts, big canvas shoes, and a little wrinkled duck cap with a white sweater over his arm. But he looked like some statue poured out of copper, and the few things he had on hardly seemed to matter. The deep sunburn was all over him, but that was only part of it. He was big and loose and lumbering, and yet he seemed to be made completely of muscle. The hunch-shouldered look that he had in his clothes came from big bunches of muscle back of his arms, and in fact his whole back spread out like a fan from his hips to his shoulders. His legs tapered down so as to be quite slim at the ankles and altogether he looked like one of the Indians he was always talking about. He turned, smiled and nodded. “Ready?”

“All ready.”

“Come on while we still have a breeze.”

He picked up a wicker basket and started for the veranda. I said: “Is that our lunch? Where did it come from?”

“We brought it with us.”

“I thought I’d have to fix it.”

“It’s fixed.”

I took hold of the handle too, we went out on the veranda, he picked up a paddle that was standing against a post, and we went down the steps of the bluff to the beach. The lunch he put in a little skiff that was pulled upon the sand, then he dragged the skiff to the edge of the water and motioned me into the bow. He gave it a running push and jumped in very neatly. Then he picked up the paddle and paddled out to a sailboat that was moored to a round white block of wood that he called a buoy. He made the skiff fast to a ring in the buoy, and we climbed into the sailboat. It had no bowsprit or any thing, just a mast that went straight up from the bow, with one big triangular sail. He set down the basket, un wound some rope from a cleat, and began to pull up the sail. I helped him, and it took about a minute to get it up, and the boat swung slowly around and the sail began flapping in the wind. It was quite exciting. Then he went to the bow and cast loose, but held onto the short mooring cable that was attached to the buoy. Then he made me come and hold it, first showing me how to hold onto a cleat with the other hand so as not to be pulled over board. Then he went back to the tiller. “All right, I’m going to put her over, and for just one second it’ll slack. When it does, let go.”

He put the tiller over, and the boat gave a lurch and all of a sudden I felt the cable slack. I let go, and when I looked up we were moving away from shore, toward the other side of the cove, with the sail out over the side, but still flapping. I climbed back to the middle of the boat. He kept watching and then he stood up. “Now I’m coming about. She’ll go into the wind, the sail will flap like hell, then slam over, and for God’s sake duck for that boom.”

Suddenly he put the tiller over, the boat began to swing around and the sail set up a terrible flapping. Then without any warning it slammed across the boat, and I saw the boom coming and screamed and ducked. Then the sliding pulley to which it was attached by some ropes slid as far as it would go and caught it, and it filled, and the boat heeled over so far I thought we were going to upset. Then I saw we were pulling out of the cove very rapidly. Then the first swell from the Sound hit us and lifted us, and all sensation of being afraid left me, and I realized that for the first time in my life I was sailing, the way I had read about in books. I clapped my hands, and he laughed. “You like it?”

“I love it.”

Chapter Four

We sailed quite a little while, and then he came about, and payed out some of the rope that held the sail, and we began to move again, but we didn’t heel over. “Are we going back?”

“Just keeping in sight of home base.”

“Make it tilt. I like that.”

“We’re running before the wind. We only heel over when we’ve got it across us. And it’s a she.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

It wasn’t exciting the way it was before, but the water was smooth and green, so it was still quite pleasant. After quite awhile, he said: “Now, how about that lunch?”

“I’ll get it ready.”

“We’ll both get it ready.”

“But you’ll have to steer.”

“Steer what?”

“Why — her.”

“You’re the funniest sailor I ever saw. Haven’t you noticed that for the last fifteen minutes we haven’t had even the sign of a breeze?”

“Oh, that’s why the water’s so smooth.”

“Yes, so now’s our chance to eat. She’ll drift, without much help from us.”

So he kept one hand on the tiller, and we opened the lunch, sitting in the shadow of the sail. It was marvelous, with little thin sandwiches, stuffed eggs, and iced tea in thermos bottles. Every sandwich was in a little paper envelope marked: Loudet, Caterer. “Do you always deal with a caterer?”

“Him? Oh, he’s just a Frenchman that puts up lunches.”

“Rather expensive, I imagine.”

“Is he?”

“So I judge. And I know about sandwiches.”

“They’re all right?”

“I’ll say.”

“Then eat ’em.”

So we ate them, and then he lay there with his arm over the tiller and his eyes closed, smoking a cigarette. It was so hot little beads of sweat were dotted all over his upper lip, and not far from us were several other boats, their sails just hanging there as motionless as we were. But the water looked green and cool, and I longed to be in it. I got up, took the bathing cap out of my bag and put it on, then slipped off the beach robe and dived off. It felt so nice down there, and looked so pretty, with the sunlight filtering down, that I began to swim under water, and stayed down until my breath gave out and I had to come up. I looked back to wave at him, and to my surprise I was quite a distance from the boat, and he was standing there, his hand still on the tiller, swearing at me in a way I wouldn’t have believed him capable of. He ordered me back at once, but I took my time, and finally he pulled me over the side. Then he explained that I had done a very dangerous thing in going so far, as a sailboat can’t be maneuvered like a motorboat, and especially requires that one person always remain aboard it. So if anything had happened, and he had had to go overboard after me, a puff of wind might drift the boat away, and there both of us would be, out there in the Sound, two miles from land. I knew he was right, but didn’t feel at all guilty, so I merely made a fresh remark: “And besides, the water is nice.”

He sulked for a time, then unwound a rope and dropped the sail, then took another rope and tied it to a small wooden grating on the bottom of the boat and dropped the grating overboard, so it trailed in the water. “What’s that?”

“That’s our lifeline, so we don’t get separated from our ship.”

“How would we get separated from our ship?”

“Swimming.”

“Are we going to swim?”

“Didn’t you say the water was nice?”

He lifted his foot, put it square in the middle of my chest and pushed me over backwards. When I came up he was in the water beside me. We both laughed and splashed water at each other, but he made me hold onto the lifeline, and wouldn’t let me swim off at all. I didn’t mind. We both held onto the rope and floated side by side, looking up at the sky. Then he went under me and when he came up he floated facing me, so my head was at his feet, and our hands came together under water. I could feel his toes sticking out behind my head, but my toes stuck out near his ear, as he was a great deal taller than I. I moved my toe in front of his face and wobbled it, and he pretended he was going to bite it. So I pulled it away quick, but that pulled me off balance, and when I got straightened out again we floated for a little while, facing each other. Then he gave my hand a little tug, and my toes went past his head and his face began to come nearer and nearer. We hardly moved but our lips met and then he put his hand up to keep me from floating past him, and we lay there, his face against mine, just looking up at the sky. Then a swell lifted us, and to me it was heavenly, but he whipped away from me as though he had been shot. He looked off to the west and then began going up the rope, hand over hand, and he was hardly in the boat before he motioned to me and pulled me in after him. “Get all that stuff in the basket. Hurry up.”

I still didn’t know what was bothering him, but there seemed to be a great deal of activity in the boats that were near us. A man on the nearest one yelled at Grant. “What you going to do?”

“I’m going to run for it.”

“You can’t make it. I’m riding it out.”

“Suit yourself. I’m going to run.”

I was much mystified, and did as I was told, getting all our things in the basket, and yet I noticed that the water, while it was still green and the sun was out, was running long swells. By this time Grant was laboring to get up the sail. Pretty soon it was up and while there didn’t seem to be any wind, it was flapping in a queer sort of way. He came back and put the tiller over, and suddenly we came about. The sail filled with a jerk, and once more we were running before the wind, except that this time we were lifting along with big swells that went past us, and yet carried us along. As we went past the nearest boat they were dropping the sail and running around highly excited. The man again called to Grant. “You can’t make it, you’ll crack, up sure as hell on that shore.”

“All right, so I crack up.”

“Well, will you please tell me what it is?”

“Squall.”

He was very grim, but except for the water I couldn’t see any signs of a squall. Then, however, all of a sudden the sun wasn’t shining any more and almost at once it turned cold as an icebox. Between the time Grant first ran up the sail and the time it turned cold was five or ten minutes, as well as I can remember. We had been about two miles offshore, and now we had covered about half that distance, headed for a point somewhat beyond the mouth of the cove. He put me at the tiller and went to the foot of the mast. “Hold her just as she is.”

I held her and he kept looking back, and I heard him mutter: “Here it comes.” I looked back and there on the water was a long streak almost completely black, and approaching us at a terrifying speed. When I looked again at Grant he was throwing a rope off a cleat, and the sail came piling down on the boom. He leaped back where I was and began hauling at the rope that held the boom. It came in with the sail dragging in the water, and just as it was in and Grant was wrestling the wet sail into the boat, it hit us. It was like a hurricane, with a splatter of big raindrops mixed with it, and the swells that were racing past us suddenly turned foamy white.

“Put her down!”

He pushed the tiller hard over, and we lurched straight for the cove, the wind and swells carrying us along without any sail at all. The mouth of the cove, I would say, was about a hundred yards away, and we covered the distance in almost no time, scudding rapidly past the grass which was flattened down on the water by the wind and looked white, not green, as indeed everything looked queer, for while it was almost dark a peculiar light seemed to be everywhere. As we entered the cove the first lightning flash came, followed almost at once by a clap of thunder. Not far away I could see our buoy, with the little skiff bouncing up and down on the waves. He took the tiller and pointed for the buoy, yet not quite for it. “Hold her that way till I tell you, then put her up, hard. Have you got it? I want to overshoot the buoy, then hit it upwind.”

“I’ve got it.”

He went to the bow and lay down with his head hanging over. I headed as he said, and we bore down on the buoy at terrifying speed. When we were almost on it, and yet a little to one side, he called, like a shot: “Put her up!”

I jammed the tiller over hard, and we came lurching around on the buoy, with the swells slamming us sidewise. Then we seemed to hesitate for a moment, but that was enough for him. He made fast, and we whipped around so the boat strained on the mooring cable with a jerk that almost threw me overboard. The wind tore at our faces and the little skiff began slamming and bumping alongside. “Come on!”

He grabbed the basket, we jumped into the skiff, and he cast off. He grabbed up the paddle, and spun us bow on to the shore. It was out of the question to paddle for the foot of the stairs for the wind was driving us about fifty yards farther down, and he didn’t even come back to the stern. He stayed in the bow using the paddle to keep us headed right, and it was only a few seconds before he jumped overboard, grabbed the bow of the skiff and ran it up on the shore with me, the basket, and all right in it. “Out!”

As I jumped out the sheet of rain hit us. He grabbed the basket and we raced into the rain for the stairs, then up and over the grass to the veranda. Lightning and thunder crashed as we ran up the stairs. We stood there panting and looking out at it.

When he got his breath he turned to me and half laughed. “Were you scared?”

“No.”

“I was.”

He put the paddle away, then carried the basket inside and I went in too. Suddenly he dropped the basket and caught me in his arms. “So scared, Carrie — I didn’t know what to do.”

“On account of me?”

“Who else?”

Next thing we were sitting on the big sofa, and he was holding me very close and we were watching the rain come down in sheets. He took off my bathing cap and began running his fingers through my hair. I pulled off the ribbon and it fell all over his bare shoulder. We sat there a long time that way, and every time the thunder crashed I was a little nearer to him and I felt terribly happy and didn’t want it ever to stop raining.

But it stopped, and the sun came out and when we went outside to look at the rainbow there were the Sunday papers, all wet and soggy on the grass where we hadn’t seen them in the morning. We took them in, and the middle sections weren’t so wet, and we looked at them for a while and then turned on the radio. I went to the powder room to straighten up — then decided to dress, and went to the bedroom where my things were. When I came out he wasn’t the same any more. He began marching around, then said he had to stow the sail, and went out.

I felt it had something to do with the radio. I turned it on and noticed the station, but Bergen was on and that didn’t seem to explain anything. The sail took a long time. When he came in he went in and changed into his regular clothes, then came out and kept up that restless tramping around.

By now it was getting dark and I kept thinking of the meeting. “Isn’t it time for us to be starting back?”

“Is it?”

“It must be getting on toward seven o’clock.”

“H’m.”

He sat down and began to glower at his feet. “I’ve been organizing a junior executives’ union. Or trying to.”

I didn’t think it was at all what had been bothering him, but just to be agreeable, I said: “Are you a junior executive?”

“Me? I’m nothing.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Yes, I’m a junior executive, God help me. I’ve got a desk, a phone extension and a title. Statistician. You can’t beat that, can you? It sounds as important as a member of the Interstate Commerce Commission. But all I can make out of it is slave. In the Army we had slaves and overseers, and I was both. Here I’m one, but I’m supposed to pretend I’m the other. But I’ve accepted my lowly lot. Did you hear me? I’ve accepted it.”

“I don’t accept my lowly lot. I’m nothing too. I’m only a waitress, but I have ambitions to be something more.”

“The emancipated slave wants to drive slaves.”

“All right, but they can get emancipated if they’ve got enough gump.”

“But you still see no objection to slavery.”

“It’s not slavery.”

“Oh, yes, it is, yes, it is.”

“To me, it’s work.”

“Suppose you wanted to do work that didn’t pay, and yet they made you be an office worker?”

“All real work pays.”

“Oh, no. That’s where you’re wrong. Some work doesn’t pay. And yet you want to do it, and you can choose between going to them with your hat in your hand — a junior executive. Either way you’re their slave.”

“Whose slave?”

“All of them. The system.”

“I don’t see any system. All I see is a lot of people trying to make a living.”

“Well, I see it. And I accept it. But I’m going to make them accept it too — accept the other side, show them there’s two sides to it. I’ve been trying to organize a junior executives’ union.”

“Any success?”

“...No!”

“Why not?”

“They won’t admit they’re slaves!”

“Maybe they’re not, really.”

“Maybe the dead are not dead, really. They want to pretend they’re something they’re not — white-collar workers thinking they’re part of the system, on the other side. They think they’re going to be masters, too—”

“Like me.”

“Like you, and a fat chance—”

“You can just leave me out. I don’t want to drive any slaves, but one day I’m going to be something, and I can’t be stopped—”

“You can be, and you will be!”

“Oh, no. Not me.”

There was a great deal more, all in the same vein, and finally I got very annoyed. “I don’t like this kind of talk and I wish you’d stop.”

“Because at heart you’re a cold little slave-driver.”

“No, that’s not it at all.”

“And what is it?”

“Because you sound so weak.”

He sulked a long time over that and then he said: “I am weak. You’re weak—”

“I am not!”

“We’re all weak, that’s why we’ve got to organize, it’s the only way to beat them!”

“All right, maybe I’m weak, I’m only a girl that came to the city a few months ago, and I’m nothing to brag about. But I’d die rather than admit it!”

“I admit it! I admit the truth! I—”

“You stop that kind of talk right now! The idea! A big, strong healthy galoot like you, only twenty-seven years old, admitting you’re licked before you even start!”

I was very angry. It was completely dark by now, and I knew I could never get to the meeting, so didn’t even say any more about it. I knew that he still wasn’t talking about what was really on his mind, although he certainly felt very strongly about this labor business, but in some way I felt it was important and I wanted to have it out with him.

When I called him a big strong galoot, I yelled very loud, and then he seemed to realize that there might be neighbors, and subsided for a time. I went out in the kitchen to see what there might be to eat. The icebox was empty, but there was plenty of English biscuit and canned things, so I made some canapes and coffee and served them on a table in the living room, although I had to use condensed cream with the coffee. He gobbled it down, as I did, for we were very hungry. Then I took the dishes out, and he came and helped me wash them, and then we went back. I took his hand in mine. “What on earth is the matter with you anyway? Why don’t you tell me what it’s all about — what it’s really all about?”

He gulped, and I saw he was about to cry, and I knew he wouldn’t want me to see him doing it. I snapped the lights out quick, and went to the door of the veranda. “Let’s sit out here. It’s such a pretty night.”

It was a pretty night, with no moon but the stars shining bright and frogs croaking down near the water. We sat in a big canvas porch seat and I took his hand in mine again. “Go on. Tell me.”

“What the hell? You want the story of my life?”

Now right there was where I should have said yes, I want the story of your life, it’s most important that I know the story of your life. But at his words something like a knife shot through me. Because if he told the story of his life I might have to tell the story of my life, and I didn’t want to have to say I had been an orphan, that I didn’t know who I was, that I didn’t even know my proper name. Perhaps you think this is far-fetched, but there are many of us in that situation in the world. We form a, little club, and if you ever meet any of them they will tell you the same thing: it is a terrible thing not to know who you are, a secret shame that gnaws at you constantly, and all the more because you are helpless to do anything about it. So I merely said: “Not if you don’t want to.”

“I’m — just no good, that’s all.”

“Some people might not think so.”

“Oh, yes, if they knew it all.”

“Most of the time I think you’re — a lot of good. And fine inside, I mean. But I don’t like it when you talk this way. I don’t mind what you are. I don’t mind if you’re never anything — of what you mean. But I hate it when you stop fighting. That’s the main thing — to do your best.”

“I’m blocked off from my best.”

Again, what was he talking about? I didn’t know, and for my own reasons, I was afraid to ask. So I merely patted his hand and said: “Nobody can be blocked off from their best, if they really try. It’s got to come out.”

He put his head on my shoulder, and we sat a long time without talking, and then he went to the end of the veranda and sat for awhile with his back to me, looking out over the water. Then he came and stood looking down on me. “There’s one way I can get back at them.”

“How?”

“By marrying you.”

It was like a dash of cold water in the face somehow. Up to then, in spite of all the talk he had been indulging in, I had felt very near him, but now I felt very queer, and must have hesitated for a time before I said anything. “Is that the only reason you want to marry me? To get back at them?”

“Well — let’s say to get clear of them.”

“To show your independence?”

“All right, put it that way.”

“It doesn’t interest me to be the Spirit of ’76 to your little revolution — whatever it’s about, as I haven’t found out yet.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“There’s only one reason I’d marry you, or anybody. If you loved me, and I felt I loved you, that would be enough reason. But just to get back at them — well, that may be your idea of a reason, but it’s not mine.”

“There’s plenty I haven’t told you.”

“I doubt if I’d be interested.”

I went in, put my wet bathing things back into the bag, put on my hat and went out. He was sitting on the step. “Where are you going?”

“Well, there seems to be a town or something over there, so I thought I’d take the train back. I was supposed to be brought back long ago, but nothing seems to have been done about it.”

He threw my bag into a corner, took off my hat and sat me down in the canvas porch seat. Then we started arguing again, and were right back where we started.

We argued and argued, and it was dreary and didn’t make any sense, and he said of course he loved me, and I said he didn’t say it the right way. Then he said his vacation started the next day, and we could have a two-weeks’ honeymoon, and I said I didn’t see what that had to do with it. Then the frogs stopped croaking as though somebody had given them a signal, and it was so still you almost held your breath and everything we had been talking about seemed unreal, and all that mattered was that he was there and I was there, and peace came down upon us. And after awhile I said: “How much do you make?”

“...Hundred bucks a week.”

“All right, then, I make eighty-five. That’s enough.”

“Do you mean yes.”

“I might as well. I really want to. Do you?”

“You know I do.”

“Then yes.”

Next thing I knew, the sun was shining and I was lying there under a blanket, and he was shaking me. “Breakfast’s ready.”

I got up and went inside. He was all shaved and fresh-looking, but my sports dress was wrinkled, and my eyes were red and my face shiny, and my hair all rough and ratty. I took a bath, gave the dress a quick press with an electric iron that was there, and made myself look as decent as I could. Then we had the toast and coffee he had made, and when we got in the car the dew was still on the grass. We were before the big Monday rush, and made good time. We parked near Brooklyn Bridge and went over to the City Hall and got married. We were the first couple. We got in the car again and started uptown. I looked at him and realized I had never yet called him Grant, and yet he was my husband.