FOR some time Spenser had been rowing well in toward the Kentucky shore, to avoid the swift current of the Kentucky River which rushes into the Ohio at Carrollton.A few yards below its mouth, in the quiet stretch of backwater along shore, lay the wharf-boat, little more than a landing stage.The hotel was but a hundred feet away, at the top of the steep levee.It was midnight, so everyone in the village had long been asleep.After several minutes of thunderous hammering Roderick succeeded in drawing to the door a barefooted man with a candle in his huge, knotted hand--a man of great stature, amazingly lean and long of leg, with a monstrous head thatched and fronted with coarse, yellow-brown hair.He had on a dirty cotton shirt and dirty cotton trousers--a night dress that served equally well for the day.His feet were flat and thick and were hideous with corns and bunions.Susan had early been made a critical observer of feet by the unusual symmetry of her own.She had seen few feet that were fit to be seen; but never, she thought, had she seen an exhibition so repellent.
"What t'hell----" he began.Then, discovering Susan, he growled, "Beg pardon, miss."Roderick explained--that is, told the prearranged story.The man pointed to a grimy register on the office desk, and Roderick set down the fishing bag and wrote in a cramped, scrawly hand, "Kate Peters, Milton, Ky."The man looked at it through his screen of hair and beard, said, "Come on, ma'am.""Just a minute," said Roderick, and he drew "Kate" aside and said to her in a low tone: "I'll be back sometime tomorrow, and then we'll start at once.But--to provide against everything--don't be alarmed if I don't come.You'll know I couldn't help it.And wait."Susan nodded, looking at him with trustful, grateful eyes.
"And," he went on hurriedly, "I'll leave this with you, to take care of.It's yours as much as mine."She saw that it was a pocketbook, instinctively put her hands behind her.
"Don't be silly," he said, with good-humored impatience."You'll probably not need it.If you do, you'll need it bad.And you'll pay me back when you get your place."He caught one of her hands and put the pocketbook in it.As his argument was unanswerable, she did not resist further.She uttered not a word of thanks, but simply looked at him, her eyes swimming and about her mouth a quiver that meant a great deal in her.Impulsively and with flaming cheek he kissed her on the cheek."So long, sis," he said loudly, and strode into the night.
Susan did not flush; she paled.She gazed after him with some such expression as a man lost in a cave might have as he watches the flickering out of his only light."This way, ma'am," said the hotel man sourly, taking up the fishing bag.She started, followed him up the noisy stairs to a plain, neat country bedroom."The price of this here's one fifty a day," said he.
"We've got 'em as low as a dollar."
"I'll take a dollar one, please," said Susan.
The man hesitated."Well," he finally snarled, "business is slack jes' now.Seein' as you're a lady, you kin have this here un fur a dollar.""Oh, thank you--but if the price is more----""The other rooms ain't fit fur a lady," said the hotel man.Then he grinned a very human humorous grin that straightway made him much less repulsive."Anyhow, them two durn boys of mine an'
their cousins is asleep in 'em.I'd as lief rout out a nest of hornets.I'll leave you the candle."As soon as he had gone Susan put out the light, ran to the window.She saw the rowboat and Spenser, a black spot far out on the river, almost gone from view to the southwest.Hastily she lighted the candle again, stood at the window and waved a white cover she snatched from the table.She thought she saw one of the oars go up and flourish, but she could not be sure.She watched until the boat vanished in the darkness at the bend.She found the soap in the bag and took a slow but thorough bath in the washbowl.Then she unbraided her hair, combed it out as well as she could with her fingers, rubbed it thoroughly with a towel and braided it again.She put on the calico slip as a nightdress, knelt down to say her prayers.But instead of prayers there came flooding into her mind memories of where she had been last night, of the horrors, of the agonies of body and soul.She rose from her knees, put out the light, stood again at the window.In after years she always looked back upon that hour as the one that definitely marked the end of girlhood, of the thoughts and beliefs which go with the sheltered life, and the beginning of womanhood, of self-reliance and of the hardiness--so near akin to hardness--the hardiness that must come into the character before a man or a woman is fit to give and take in the combat of life.
The bed was coarse, but white and clean.She fell asleep instantly and did not awaken until, after the vague, gradually louder sound of hammering on the door, she heard a female voice warning her that breakfast was "put nigh over an' done." She got up, partly drew on one stocking, then without taking it off tumbled over against the pillow and was asleep.When she came to herself again, the lay of the shadows told her it must be after twelve o'clock.She dressed, packed her serge suit in the bag with the sailor hat, smoothed out the pink calico slip and put it on.For more than a year she had worn her hair in a braid doubled upon itself and tied with a bow at the back of her neck.
She decided that if she would part it, plait it in two braids and bring them round her head, she would look older.She tried this and was much pleased with the result.She thought the new style not only more grown-up, but also more becoming.The pink slip, too, seemed to her a success.It came almost to her ankles and its strings enabled her to make it look something like a dress.Carrying the pink sunbonnet, down she went in search of something to eat.
