Susan's answer was a strange laugh.Ahead of them, a woman warmly and showily dressed was sauntering along."That's one of them," said Etta."Let's see how _she_ does it.We've got to learn quick.I can't stand this cold much longer."The two girls, their rags fluttering about their miserable bodies, kept a few feet behind the woman, watched her with hollow eyes of envy and fear.Tears of anguish from the cold were streaming down their cheeks.Soon a man alone--a youngish man with a lurching step--came along.They heard the woman say, "Hello, dear.Don't be in a hurry."He tried to lurch past her, but she seized him by the lapel of his overcoat."Lemme go," said he."You're old enough to be a grandmother, you old hag."Susan and Etta halted and, watching so interestedly that they forgot themselves, heard her laugh at his insult, heard her say wheedlingly, "Come along, dearie, I'll treat you right.You're the kind of a lively, joky fellow I like.""Go to hell, gran'ma," said the man, roughly shaking her off and lurching on toward the two girls.He stopped before them, eyed them by the light of the big electric lamp, grinned good-naturedly."What've we got here?" said he."This looks better."The woman rushed toward the girls, pouring out a stream of vileness."You git out of here!" she shrilled."You chippies git off my beat.I'll have you pinched--I will!""Shut up!" cried the drunken man, lifting his fist."I'll have _you_ pinched.Let these ladies alone, they're friends of mine.
Do you want me to call the cop?"
The woman glanced toward the corner where a policeman was standing, twirling his club.She turned away, cursing horribly.
The man laughed."Dirty old hag--isn't she?" said he."Don't look so scared, birdies." He caught them each by an arm, stared woozily at Etta."You're a good little looker, you are.Come along with me.There's three in it.""I--I can't leave my lady friend," Etta succeeded in chattering.
"Please really I can't."
"Your lady friend?" He turned his drunken head in Susan's direction, squinted at her.He was rather good-looking."Oh--she means _you_.Fact is, I'm so soused I thought I was seein'
double.Why, _you're_ a peach.I'll take you." And he released his hold on Etta to seize her."Come right along, my lovey-dovey dear."Susan drew away; she was looking at him with terror and repulsion.The icy blast swept down the street, sawed into her flesh savagely.
"I'll give _you_ five," said the drunken man."Come along." He grabbed her arm, waved his other hand at Etta."So long, blondie.'Nother time.Good luck."Susan heard Etta's gasp of horror.She wrenched herself free again."I guess I'd better go with him," said she to Etta.
Etta began to sob."Oh, Lorna!" she moaned."It's awful.""You go into the restaurant on the corner and get something to eat, and wait for me.We can afford to spend the money.And you'll be warm there.""Here! Here!" cried the tipsy man."What're you two whispering about? Come along, skinny.No offense.I like 'em slim." And he made coarse and pointed remarks about the sluggishness of fat women, laughing loudly at his own wit.
The two girls did not hear.The wind straight from the Arctic was plying its hideous lash upon their defenseless bodies.
"Come on, lovey!" cried the man."Let's go in out of the cold.""Oh, Lorna! You can't go with a drunken man! I'll--I'll take him.I can stand it better'n you.You can go when there's a gentleman ""You don't know," said Susan."Didn't I tell you I'd been through the worst?""Are you coming?" broke in the man, shaking his head to scatter the clouds over his sight.
The cold was lashing Susan's body; and she was seeing the tenement she had left--the vermin crawling, the filth everywhere, the meal bugs in the rotting corn meal--and Jeb Ferguson."Wait in the restaurant," said she to Etta."Didn't Itell you I'm a nobody.This is what's expected of me." The wind clawed and tore at her quivering flesh."It's cold, Etta.Go get warm.Good-by."She yielded to the tipsy man's tugging at her arm.Etta stood as if paralyzed, watching the two move slowly westward.But cold soon triumphed over horror.She retraced her steps toward Vine Street.At the corner stood an elderly man with an iron-gray beard.She merely glanced at him in passing, and so was startled when he said in a low voice:
"Go back the way you came.I'll join you." She glanced at him again, saw a gleam in his eyes that assured her she had not imagined the request.Trembling and all at once hot, she kept on across the street.But instead of going into the restaurant she walked past it and east through dark Eighth Street.A few yards, and she heard a quiet step behind her.A few yards more, and the lights of Vine Street threw a man's shadow upon the sidewalk beside her.From sheer fright she halted.The man faced her--a man old enough to be her father, a most respectable, clean looking man with a certain churchly though hardly clerical air about him."Good evening, miss," said he.
"Good evening," she faltered.
"I'm a stranger--in town to buy goods and have a little fun,"stammered he with a grotesque attempt to be easy and familiar.
"I thought maybe you could help me."
A little fun! Etta's lips opened, but no words came.The cold was digging its needle-knives into flesh, into bone, into nerve.
Through the man's thick beard and mustache came the gleam of large teeth, the twisting of thick raw lips.A little fun!
"Would it," continued the man, nervously, "would it be very dear?""I--I don't know," faltered Etta.
"I could afford--say--" he looked at her dress--"say--two dollars.""I--I" And again Etta could get no further.
"The room'd be a dollar," pleaded the man."That'd make it three.""I--I--can't," burst out Etta, hysterical."Oh, please let me alone.I--I'm a good girl, but I do need money.But I--I can't.
Oh, for God's sake--I'm so cold--so cold!"
