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Title: The Adjuster
Author: F. Scott Fitzgerald
eBook No.: 1800341h.html
Language: English
Date first posted: May 2018
Most recent update: May 2018

This eBook was produced by: Ramesh Chakrapani

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The Adjuster

by

F Scott Fitzgerald


This story appeared inAll the Sad Young Men (1926)
a collection of short stories by F. Scott Fitzgerald


I.

At five o'clock the sombre egg-shaped room at the Ritz ripens tosubtle melody—the light clat-clat of one lump, two lumps,into the cup, and the ding of the shining teapots and cream-pots asthey kiss elegantly in transit upon a silver tray. There are thosewho cherish that amber hour above all other hours, for now thepale, pleasant toil of the lilies who inhabit the Ritz isover—the singing decorative part of the day remains.

Moving your eyes around the slightly raised horse-shoe balconyyou might, one spring afternoon, have seen young Mrs. Alphonse Karrand young Mrs. Charles Hemple at a table for two. The one in thedress was Mrs. Hemple—when I say "the dress" I refer to thatblack immaculate affair with the big buttons and the red ghost of acape at the shoulders, a gown suggesting with faint and fashionableirreverence the garb of a French cardinal, as it was meant to dowhen it was invented in the Rue de la Paix. Mrs. Karr and Mrs.Hemple were twenty-three years old, and their enemies said thatthey had done very well for themselves. Either might have had herlimousine waiting at the hotel door, but both of them muchpreferred to walk home (up Park Avenue) through the Apriltwilight.

Luella Hemple was tall, with the sort of flaxen hair thatEnglish country girls should have, but seldom do. Her skin wasradiant, and there was no need of putting anything on it at all,but in deference to an antiquated fashion—this was the year1920—she had powdered out its high roses and drawn on it anew mouth and new eyebrows—which were no more successful thansuch meddling deserves. This, of course, is said from thevantage-point of 1925. In those days the effect she gave wasexactly right.

"I've been married three years," she was saying as she squashedout a cigarette in an exhausted lemon. "The baby will be two yearsold to-morrow. I must remember to get—"

She took a gold pencil from her case and wrote "Candles" and"Things you pull, with paper caps," on an ivory date-pad. Then,raising her eyes, she looked at Mrs. Karr and hesitated.

"Shall I tell you something outrageous?"

"Try," said Mrs. Karr cheerfully.

"Even my baby bores me. That sounds unnatural, Ede, but it'strue. He doesn't begin to fill my life. I love him with all myheart, but when I have him to take care of for an afternoon, I getso nervous that I want to scream. After two hours I begin prayingfor the moment the nurse'll walk in the door."

When she had made this confession, Luella breathed quickly andlooked closely at her friend. She didn't really feel unnatural atall. This was the truth. There couldn't be anything vicious in thetruth.

"It may be because you don't love Charles," ventured Mrs. Karr,unmoved.

"But I do! I hope I haven't given you that impression with allthis talk." She decided that Ede Karr was stupid. "It's the veryfact that I do love Charles that complicates matters. I criedmyself to sleep last night because I know we're drifting slowly butsurely toward a divorce. It's the baby that keeps us together."

Ede Karr, who had been married five years, looked at hercritically to see if this was a pose, but Luella's lovely eyes weregrave and sad.

"And what is the trouble?" Ede inquired.

"It's plural," said Luella, frowning. "First, there's food. I'ma vile housekeeper, and I have no intention of turning into a goodone. I hate to order groceries, and I hate to go into the kitchenand poke around to see if the ice-box is clean, and I hate topretend to the servants that I'm interested in their work, whenreally I never want to hear about food until it comes on the table.You see, I never learned to cook, and consequently a kitchen isabout as interesting to me as a—as a boiler-room. It's simplya machine that I don't understand. It's easy to say, 'Go to cookingschool,' the way people do in books—but, Ede, in real lifedoes anybody ever change into a model Hausfrau—unless theyhave to?"

"Go on," said Ede non-committally. "Tell me more."

"Well, as a result, the house is always in a riot. The servantsleave every week. If they're young and incompetent, I can't trainthem, so we have to let them go. If they're experienced, they hatea house where a woman doesn't take an intense interest in the priceof asparagus. So they leave—and half the time we eat atrestaurants and hotels."

"I don't suppose Charles likes that."

"Hates it. In fact, he hates about everything that I like. He'slukewarm about the theatre, hates the opera, hates dancing, hatescocktail parties—sometimes I think he hates everythingpleasant in the world. I sat home for a year or so. While Chuck wason the way, and while I was nursing him. I didn't mind. But thisyear I told Charles frankly that I was still young enough to wantsome fun. And since then we've been going out whether he wants toor not." She paused, brooding. "I'm so sorry for him I don't knowwhat to do, Ede—but if we sat home, I'd just be sorry formyself. And to tell you another true thing, I'd rather that he'd beunhappy than me."

Luella was not so much stating a case as thinking aloud. Sheconsidered that she was being very fair. Before her marriage menhad always told her that she was "a good sport," and she had triedto carry this fairness into her married life. So she always sawCharley's point of view as clearly as she saw her own.

If she had been a pioneer wife, she would probably have foughtthe fight side by side with her husband. But here in New York therewasn't any fight. They weren't struggling together to obtain afar-off peace and leisure—she had more of either than shecould use. Luella, like several thousand other young wives in NewYork, honestly wanted something to do. If she had had a little moremoney and a little less love, she could have gone in for horses orfor vagarious amour. Or if they had had a little less money, hersurplus energy would have been absorbed by hope and even by effort.But the Charles Hemples were in between. They were of that enormousAmerican class who wander over Europe every summer, sneering ratherpathetically and wistfully at the customs and traditions andpastimes of other countries, because they have no customs ortradition or pastimes of their own. It is a class sprung yesterdayfrom fathers and mothers who might just as well have lived twohundred years ago.

The tea-hour had turned abruptly into the before-dinner hour.Most of the tables had emptied until the room was dotted ratherthan crowded with shrill isolated voices and remote, surprisinglaughter—in one corner the waiters were already covering thetables with white for dinner.

"Charles and I are on each other's nerves." In the new silenceLuella's voice rang out with startling clearness, and she loweredit precipitately. "Little things. He keeps rubbing his face withhis hand—all the time, at table, at the theatre—evenwhen he's in bed. It drives me wild, and when things like thatbegin to irritate you, it's nearly over."

She broke off and, reaching backward, drew up a light fur aroundher neck. "I hope I haven't bored you, Ede. It's on my mind,because to-night tells the story. I made an engagement forto-night—an interesting engagement, a supper after thetheatre to meet some Russians, singers or dancers or something, andCharles says he won't go. If he doesn't—then I'm going alone.And that's the end."

She put her elbows on the table suddenly and, bending her eyesdown into her smooth gloves, began to cry, stubbornly and quietly.There was no one near to see, but Ede Karr wished that she hadtaken her gloves off. She would have reached out consolingly andtouched her bare hand. But the gloves were a symbol of thedifficulty of sympathizing with a woman to whom life had given somuch. Ede wanted to say that it would "come out all right," that itwasn't "so bad as it seemed," but she said nothing. Her onlyreaction was impatience and distaste.

A waiter stepped near and laid a folded paper on the table, andMrs. Karr reached for it.

"No, you mustn't," murmured Luella brokenly. "No, I invited you!I've got the money right here."

II.

The Hemples' apartment—they owned it—was in one ofthose impersonal white palaces that are known by number instead ofname. They had furnished it on their honeymoon, gone to England forthe big pieces, to Florence for the bric-a-brac, and to Venice forthe lace and sheer linen of the curtains and for the glass of manycolors which littered the table when they entertained. Luellaenjoyed choosing things on her honeymoon. It gave a purposeful airto the trip, and saved it from ever turning into the rather dismalwandering among big hotels and desolate ruins which Europeanhoneymoons are apt to be.

They returned, and life began. On the grand scale. Luella foundherself a lady of substance. It amazed her sometimes that thespecially created apartment and the specially created limousinewere hers, just as indisputably as the mortgaged suburban bungalowout of The Ladies' Home Journal and the last year's car that fatemight have given her instead. She was even more amazed when it allbegan to bore her. But it did. The evening was at seven when sheturned out of the April dusk, let herself into the hall, and sawher husband waiting in the living-room before an open fire. Shecame in without a sound, closed the door noiselessly behind her,and stood watching him for a moment through the pleasant effectivevista of the small salon which intervened. Charles Hemple was inthe middle thirties, with a young serious face and distinguishediron-gray hair which would be white in ten years more. That and hisdeep-set, dark-gray eyes were his most noticeablefeatures—women always thought his hair was romantic; most ofthe time Luella thought so too.

At this moment she found herself hating him a little, for shesaw that he had raised his hand to his face and was rubbing itnervously over his chin and mouth. It gave him an air ofunflattering abstraction, and sometimes even obscured his words, sothat she was continually saying "What?" She had spoken about itseveral times, and he had apologized in a surprised way. Butobviously he didn't realize how noticeable and how irritating itwas, for he continued to do it. Things had now reached such aprecarious state that Luella dreaded speaking of such matters anymore—a certain sort of word might precipitate the imminentscene.

Luella tossed her gloves and purse abruptly on the table.Hearing the faint sound, her husband looked out toward thehall.

"Is that you, dear?"

"Yes, dear."

She went into the living-room, and walked into his arms andkissed him tensely. Charles Hemple responded with unusualformality, and then turned her slowly around so that she facedacross the room.

"I've brought some one home to dinner."

She saw then that they were not alone, and her first feeling wasof strong relief; the rigid expression on her face softened into ashy, charming smile as she held out her hand.

"This is Doctor Moon—this is my wife." A man a littleolder than her husband, with a round, pale, slightly lined face,came forward to meet her.

"Good evening, Mrs. Hemple," he said. "I hope I'm notinterfering with any arrangements of yours."

"Oh, no," Luella cried quickly. "I'm delighted that you'recoming to dinner. We're quite alone."

Simultaneously she thought of her engagement to-night, andwondered if this could be a clumsy trap of Charles' to keep her athome. If it were, he had chosen his bait badly. This man—atired placidity radiated from him, from his face, from his heavy,leisurely voice, even from the three year old shine of hisclothes.

Nevertheless, she excused herself and went into the kitchen tosee what was planned for dinner. As usual they were trying a newpair of servants, the luncheon had been ill-cooked and ill-servedshe would let them go to-morrow. She hoped Charles would talk tothem—she hated to get rid of servants. Sometimes they wept,and sometimes they were insolent, but Charles had a way with him.And they were always afraid of a man.

The cooking on the stove, however, had a soothing savor. Luellagave instructions about "which china," and unlocked a bottle ofprecious chianti from the buffet. Then she went in to kiss youngChuck good night.

"Has he been good?" she demanded as he crawled enthusiasticallyinto her arms.

"Very good," said the governess. "We went for a long walk overby Central Park."

"Well, aren't you a smart boy!" She kissed him ecstatically.

"And he put his foot into the fountain, so we had to come homein a taxi right away and change his little shoe and stocking."

"That's right. Here, wait a minute, Chuck!" Luella unclasped thegreat yellow beads from around her neck and handed them to him."You mustn't break mama's beads." She turned to the nurse. "Putthem on my dresser, will you, after he's asleep?"

She felt a certain compassion for her son as she wentaway—the small enclosed life he led, that all children led,except in big families. He was a dear little rose, except on thedays when she took care of him. His face was the same shape ashers; she was thrilled sometimes, and formed new resolves aboutlife when his heart beat against her own.

In her own pink and lovely bedroom, she confined her attentionsto her face, which she washed and restored. Doctor Moon didn'tdeserve a change of dress, and Luella found herself oddly tired,though she had done very little all day. She returned to theliving-room, and they went in to dinner.

"Such a nice house, Mrs. Hemple," said Doctor Moon impersonally;"and let me congratulate you on your fine little boy."

"Thanks. Coming from a doctor, that's a nice compliment." Shehesitated. "Do you specialize in children?"

"I'm not a specialist at all," he said. "I'm about the last ofmy kind—a general practitioner."

"The last in New York, anyhow," remarked Charles. He had begunrubbing his face nervously, and Luella fixed her eyes on DoctorMoon so that she wouldn't see. But at Charles's next words shelooked back at him sharply.

"In fact," he said unexpectedly, "I've invited Doctor Moon herebecause I wanted you to have a talk with him to-night."

Luella sat up straight in her chair.

"A talk with me?"

"Doctor Moon's an old friend of mine, and I think he can tellyou a few things, Luella, that you ought to know."

"Why—" She tried to laugh, but she was surprised andannoyed. "I don't see, exactly, what you mean. There's nothing thematter with me. I don't believe I've ever felt better in mylife."

Doctor Moon looked at Charles, asking permission to speak.Charles nodded, and his hand went up automatically to his face.

"Your husband has told me a great deal about your unsatisfactorylife together," said Doctor Moon, still impersonally. "He wondersif I can be of any help in smoothing things out."

Luella's face was burning.

"I have no particular faith in psychoanalysis," she said coldly,"and I scarcely consider myself a subject for it."

"Neither have I," answered Doctor Moon, apparently unconsciousof the snub; "I have no particular faith in anything but myself. Itold you I am not a specialist, nor, I may add, a faddist of anysort. I promise nothing."

For a moment Luella considered leaving the room. But theeffrontery of the suggestion aroused her curiosity too.

"I can't imagine what Charles has told you," she said,controlling herself with difficulty, "much less why. But I assureyou that our affairs are a matter entirely between my husband andme. If you have no objections, Doctor Moon, I'd much prefer todiscuss something—less personal."

Doctor Moon nodded heavily and politely. He made no furtherattempt to open the subject, and dinner proceeded in what waslittle more than a defeated silence. Luella determined that,whatever happened, she would adhere to her plans for to-night. Anhour ago her independence had demanded it, but now some gesture ofdefiance—had become necessary to her self-respect. She wouldstay in the living-room for a short moment after dinner; then, whenthe coffee came, she would excuse herself and dress to go out. Butwhen they did leave the dining-room, it was Charles who, in aquick, unarguable way, vanished.

"I have a letter to write," he said; "I'll be back in a moment."Before Luella could make a diplomatic objection, he went quicklydown the corridor to his room, and she heard him shut his door.

Angry and confused, Luella poured the coffee and sank into acorner of the couch, looking intently at the fire.

"Don't be afraid, Mrs. Hemple," said Doctor Moon suddenly. "Thiswas forced upon me. I do not act as a free agent—"

"I'm not afraid of you," she interrupted. But she knew that shewas lying. She was a little afraid of him, if only for his dullinsensitiveness to her distaste.

"Tell me about your trouble," he said very naturally, as thoughshe were not a free agent either. He wasn't even looking at her,and except that they were alone in the room, he scarcely seemed tobe addressing her at all.

The words that were in Luella's mind, her will, on her lips,were: "I'll do no such thing." What she actually said amazed her.It came out of her spontaneously, with apparently no co-operationof her own.

"Didn't you see him rubbing his face at dinner?" she saiddespairingly. "Are you blind? He's become so irritating to me thatI think I'll go mad."

"I see." Doctor Moon's round face nodded.

"Don't you see I've had enough of home?" Her breasts seemed tostruggle for air under her dress. "Don't you see how bored I amwith keeping house, with the baby—everything seems as if it'sgoing on forever and ever? I want excitement; and I don't care whatform it takes or what I pay for it, so long as it makes my heartbeat."

"I see."

It infuriated Luella that he claimed to understand. Her feelingof defiance had reached such a pitch that she preferred that no oneshould understand. She was content to be justified by theimpassioned sincerity of her desires.

"I've tried to be good, and I'm not going to try any more. IfI'm one of those women who wreck their lives for nothing, then I'lldo it now. You can call me selfish, or silly, and be quite right;but in five minutes I'm going out of this house and begin to bealive."

This time Doctor Moon didn't answer, but he raised his head asif he were listening to something that was taking place a littledistance away.

"You're not going out," he said after a moment; "I'm quite sureyou're not going out."

Luella laughed.

"I am going out."

He disregarded this.

"You see, Mrs. Hemple, your husband isn't well. He's been tryingto live your kind of life, and the strain of it has been too muchfor him. When he rubs his mouth—"

Light steps came down the corridor, and the maid, with afrightened expression on her face, tiptoed into the room.

"Mrs. Hemple—"

Startled at the interruption, Luella turned quickly.

"Yes?"

"Can I speak to—?" Her fear broke precipitately throughher slight training. "Mr. Hemple, he's sick! He came into thekitchen a while ago and began throwing all the food out of theice-box, and now he's in his room, crying and singing—"Suddenly Luella heard his voice.

III.

Charles Hemple had had a nervous collapse. There were twentyyears of almost uninterrupted toil upon his shoulders, and therecent pressure at home had been too much for him to bear. Hisattitude toward his wife was the weak point in what had otherwisebeen a strong-minded and well-organized career—he was awareof her intense selfishness, but it is one of the many flaws in thescheme of human relationships that selfishness in women has anirresistible appeal to many men. Luella's selfishness existed sideby side with a childish beauty, and, in consequence, Charles Hemplehad begun to take the blame upon himself for situations which shehad obviously brought about. It was an unhealthy attitude, and hismind had sickened, at length, with his attempts to put himself inthe wrong. After the first shock and the momentary flush of pitythat followed it, Luella looked at the situation with impatience.She was "a good sport"—she couldn't take advantage of Charleswhen he was sick.

The question of her liberties had to be postponed until he wason his feet. Just when she had determined to be a wife no longer,Luella was compelled to be a nurse as well. She sat beside his bedwhile he talked about her in his delirium—about the days oftheir engagement, and how some friend had told him then that he wasmaking a mistake, and about his happiness in the early months oftheir marriage, and his growing disquiet as the gap appeared.Evidently he had been more aware of it than she hadthought—more than he ever said.

"Luella!" He would lurch up in bed. "Luella! Where are you?"

"I'm right here, Charles, beside you." She tried to make hervoice cheerful and warm.

"If you want to go, Luella, you'd better go. I don't seem to beenough for you any more."

She denied this soothingly.

"I've thought it over, Luella, and I can't ruin my health onaccount of you—" Then quickly, and passionately: "Don't go,Luella, for God's sake, don't go away and leave me! Promise me youwon't!—I'll do anything you say if you won't go."

His humility annoyed her most; he was a reserved man, and shehad never guessed at the extent of his devotion before.

"I'm only going for a minute. It's Doctor Moon, your friend,Charles. He came to-day to see how you were, don't you remember?And he wants to talk to me before he goes."

"You'll come back?" he persisted.

"In just a little while. There—lie quiet."

She raised his head and plumped his pillow into freshness. A newtrained nurse would arrive to-morrow.

In the living-room Doctor Moon was waiting—his suit moreworn and shabby in the afternoon light. She disliked himinordinately, with an illogical conviction that he was in some wayto blame for her misfortune, but he was so deeply interested thatshe couldn't refuse to see him. She hadn't asked him to consultwith the specialists, though—a doctor who was so down at theheel.

"Mrs. Hemple." He came forward, holding out his hand, and Luellatouched it, lightly and uneasily.

"You seem well," he said.

"I am well, thank you."

"I congratulate you on the way you've taken hold of things."

"But I haven't taken hold of things at all," she said coldly. "Ido what I have to—"

"That's just it." Her impatience mounted rapidly. "I do what Ihave to, and nothing more," she continued: "and with no particulargood-will."

Suddenly she opened up to him again, as she had the night of theCatastrophe—realizing that she was putting herself on afooting of intimacy with him, yet unable to restrain her words.

"The house isn't going," she broke out bitterly. "I had todischarge the servants, and now I've got a woman in by the day. Andthe baby has a cold, and I've found out that his nurse doesn't knowher business, and everything's just as messy and terrible as it canbe!"

"Would you mind telling me how you found out the nurse didn'tknow her business?"

"You find out various unpleasant things when you're forced tostay around the house."

He nodded, his weary face turning here and there about theroom.

"I feel somewhat encouraged," he said slowly. "As I told you, Ipromise nothing; I only do the best I can."

Luella looked up at him, startled.

"What do you mean?" she protested. "You've done nothing forme—nothing at all!"

"Nothing much—yet," he said heavily. "It takes time, Mrs.Hemple."

The words were said in a dry monotone that was somehow withoutoffense, but Luella felt that he had gone too far. She got to herfeet.

"I've met your type before," she said coldly. "For some reasonyou seem to think that you have a standing here as the old friendof the family. But I don't make friends quickly, and I haven'tgiven you the privilege of being so"—she wanted to say"insolent," but the word eluded her—"so personal withme."

When the front door had closed behind him, Luella went into thekitchen to see if the woman understood about the three differentdinners—one for Charles, one for the baby, and one forherself. It was hard to do with only a single servant when thingswere so complicated. She must try another employmentagency—this one had begun to sound bored.

To her surprise, she found the cook with hat and coat on,reading a newspaper at the kitchen table.

"Why"—Luella tried to think of the name—"why, what'sthe matter, Mrs.—"

"Mrs. Danski is my name."

"What's the matter?"

"I'm afraid I won't be able to accommodate you," said Mrs.Danski. "You see, I'm only a plain cook, and I'm not used topreparing invalid's food."

"But I've counted on you."

"I'm very sorry." She shook her head stubbornly. "I've got myown health to think of. I'm sure they didn't tell me what kind of ajob it was when I came. And when you asked me to clean out yourhusband's room, I knew it was way beyond my powers."

"I won't ask you to clean anything," said Luella desperately."If you'll just stay until to-morrow. I can't possibly get anybodyelse to-night."

Mrs. Danski smiled politely.

"I got my own children to think of, just like you."

It was on Luella's tongue to offer her more money, but suddenlyher temper gave way.

"I've never heard of anything so selfish in my life!" she brokeout. "To leave me at a time like this! You're an old fool!"

"If you'd pay me for my time, I'd go," said Mrs. Danskicalmly.

"I won't pay you a cent unless you'll stay!"

She was immediately sorry she had said this, but she was tooproud to withdraw the threat.

"You will so pay me!"

"You go out that door!"

"I'll go when I get my money," asserted Mrs. Danski indignantly."I got my children to think of."

Luella drew in her breath sharply, and took a step forward.Intimidated by her intensity, Mrs. Danski turned and flounced,muttering, out of the door.

Luella went to the phone and, calling up the agency, explainedthat the woman had left.

"Can you send me some one right away? My husband is sick and thebaby's sick—"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hemple; there's no one in the office now. It'safter four o'clock."

Luella argued for a while. Finally she obtained a promise thatthey would telephone to an emergency: woman they knew. That was thebest they could do until to-morrow.

She called several other agencies, but the servant industry hadapparently ceased to function for the day. After giving Charles hismedicine, she tiptoed softly into the nursery.

"How's baby?" she asked abstractedly.

"Ninety-nine one," whispered the nurse, holding the thermometerto the light. "I just took it."

"Is that much?" asked Luella, frowning.

"It's just three-fifths of a degree. That isn't so much for theafternoon. They often run up a little with a cold."

Luella went over to the cot and laid her hand on her son'sflushed cheek, thinking, in the midst of her anxiety, how much heresembled the incredible cherub of the "Lux" advertisement in thebus.

She turned to the nurse.

"Do you know how to cook?"

"Why—I'm not a good cook."

"Well, can you do the baby's food to-night? That old fool hasleft, and I can't get anyone, and I don't know what to do."

"Oh, yes, I can do the baby's food."

"That's all right, then. I'll try to fix something for Mr.Hemple. Please have your door open so you can hear the bell whenthe doctor comes. And let me know."

So many doctors! There had scarcely been an hour all day whenthere wasn't a doctor in the house. The specialist and their familyphysician every morning, then the baby doctor—and thisafternoon there had been Doctor Moon, placid, persistent,unwelcome, in the parlor. Luella went into the kitchen. She couldcook bacon and eggs for herself—she had often done that afterthe theatre. But the vegetables for Charles were a differentmatter—they must be left to boil or stew or something, andthe stove had so many doors and ovens that she couldn't decidewhich to use. She chose a blue pan that looked new, sliced carrotsinto it, and covered them with a little water. As she put it on thestove and tried to remember what to do next, the phone rang. It wasthe agency.

"Yes, this is Mrs. Hemple speaking."

"Why, the woman we sent to you has returned here with the claimthat you refused to pay her for her time."

"I explained to you that she refused to stay," said Luellahotly. "She didn't keep her agreement, and I didn't feel I wasunder any obligation—"

"We have to see that our people are paid," the agency informedher; "otherwise we wouldn't be helping them at all, would we? I'msorry, Mrs. Hemple, but we won't be able to furnish you with anyone else until this little matter is arranged."

"Oh, I'll pay, I'll pay!" she cried.

"Of course we like to keep on good terms with ourclients—"

"Yes—yes!"

"So if you'll send her money around to-morrow? It's seventy-fivecents an hour."

"But how about to-night?" she exclaimed. "I've got to have someone to-night."

"Why—it's pretty late now. I was just going homemyself."

"But I'm Mrs. Charles Hemple! Don't you understand? I'mperfectly good for what I say I'll do. I'm the wife of CharlesHemple, of 14 Broadway—"

Simultaneously she realized that Charles Hemple of 14 Broadwaywas a helpless invalid—he was neither a reference nor arefuge any more. In despair at the sudden callousness of the world,she hung up the receiver.

After another ten minutes of frantic muddling in the kitchen,she went to the baby's nurse, whom she disliked, and confessed thatshe was unable to cook her husband's dinner. The nurse announcedthat she had a splitting headache, and that with a sick child herhands were full already, but she consented, without enthusiasm, toshow Luella what to do.

Swallowing her humiliation, Luella obeyed orders while the nurseexperimented, grumbling, with the unfamiliar stove. Dinner wasstarted after a fashion. Then it was time for the nurse to batheChuck, and Luella sat down alone at the kitchen table, and listenedto the bubbling perfume that escaped from the pans.

"And women do this every day," she thought. "Thousands of women.Cook and take care of sick people—and go out to worktoo."

But she didn't think of those women as being like her, except inthe superficial aspect of having two feet and two hands. She saidit as she might have said "South Sea Islanders wear nose-rings."She was merely slumming to-day in her own home, and she wasn'tenjoying it. For her, it was merely a ridiculous exception.

Suddenly she became aware of slow approaching steps in thedining-room and then in the butler's pantry. Half afraid that itwas doctor Moon coming to pay another call, she looked up—andsaw the nurse coming through the pantry door. It flashed throughLuella's mind that the nurse was going to be sick too. And she wasright—the nurse had hardly reached the kitchen door when shelurched and clutched at the handle as a winged bird clings to abranch. Then she receded wordlessly to the floor. Simultaneouslythe door-bell rang; and Luella, getting to her feet, gasped withrelief that the baby doctor had come.

"Fainted, that's all," he said, taking the girl's head into hislap. The eyes fluttered. "Yep, she fainted, that's all."

"Everybody's sick!" cried Luella with a sort of despairinghumor. "Everybody's sick but me, doctor."

"This one's not sick," he said after a moment. "Her heart isnormal already. She just fainted."

When she had helped the doctor raise the quickening body to achair, Luella hurried into the nursery and bent over the baby'sbed. She let down one of the iron sides quietly. The fever seemedto be gone now—the flush had faded away. She bent over totouch the small cheek.

Suddenly Luella began to scream.

IV.

Even after her baby's funeral, Luella still couldn't believethat she had lost him. She came back to the apartment and walkedaround the nursery in a circle, saying his name. Then, frightenedby grief, she sat down and stared at his white rocker with the redchicken painted on the side.

"What will become of me now?" she whispered to herself."Something awful is going to happen to me when I realize that I'llnever see Chuck any more!"

She wasn't sure yet. If she waited here till twilight, the nursemight still bring him in from his walk. She remembered a tragicconfusion in the midst of which some one had told her that Chuckwas dead, but if that was so, then why was his room waiting, withhis small brush and comb still on the bureau, and why was she hereat all?

"Mrs. Hemple."

She looked up. The weary, shabby figure of Doctor Moon stood inthe door.

"You go away," Luella said dully. "Your husband needs you."

"I don't care." Doctor Moon came a little way into the room. "Idon't think you understand, Mrs. Hemple. He's been calling for you.You haven't any one now except him."

"I hate you," she said suddenly.

"If you like. I promised nothing, you know. I do the best I can.You'll be better when you realize that your baby is gone, thatyou're not going to see him any more."

Luella sprang to her feet.

"My baby isn't dead!" she cried. "You lie! You always lie!" Herflashing eyes looked into his and caught something there, at oncebrutal and kind, that awed her and made her impotent andacquiescent. She lowered her own eyes in tired despair.

"All right," she said wearily. "My baby is gone. What shall I donow?"

"Your husband is much better. All he needs is rest and kindness.But you must go to him and tell him what's happened."

"I suppose you think you made him better," said Luellabitterly.

"Perhaps. He's nearly well."

Nearly well—then the last link that held her to her homewas broken. This part of her life was over—she could cut itoff here, with its grief and oppression, and be off now, free asthe wind.

"I'll go to him in a minute," Luella said in a far-away voice."Please leave me alone."

Doctor Moon's unwelcome shadow melted into the darkness of thehall.

"I can go away," Luella whispered to herself. "Life has given meback freedom, in place of what it took away from me."

But she mustn't linger even a minute, or Life would bind heragain and make her suffer once more. She called the apartmentporter and asked that her trunk be brought up from the storeroom.Then she began taking things from the bureau and wardrobe, tryingto approximate as nearly as possible the possessions that she hadbrought to her married life. She even found two old dresses thathad formed part of her trousseau—out of style now, and alittle tight in the hip—which she threw in with the rest. Anew life. Charles was well again; and her baby, whom she hadworshipped, and who had bored her a little, was dead.

When she had packed her trunk, she went into the kitchenautomatically, to see about the preparations for dinner. She spoketo the cook about the special things for Charles and said that sheherself was dining out. The sight of one of the small pans that hadbeen used to cook Chuck's food caught her attention for amoment—but she stared at it unmoved. She looked into theice-box and saw it was clean and fresh inside. Then she went intoCharles's room. He was sitting up in bed, and the nurse was readingto him. His hair was almost white now, silvery white, andunderneath it his eyes were huge and dark in his thin youngface.

"The baby is sick?" he asked in his own natural voice.

She nodded.

He hesitated, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he asked:

"The baby is dead?"

"Yes."

For a long time he didn't speak. The nurse came over and put herhand on his forehead. Two large, strange tears welled from hiseyes.

"I knew the baby was dead."

After another long wait, the nurse spoke:

"The doctor said he could be taken out for a drive to-day whilethere was still sunshine. He needs a little change."

"Yes."

"I thought"—the nurse hesitated—"I thought perhapsit would do you both good, Mrs. Hemple, if you took him instead ofme."

Luella shook her head hastily.

"Oh, no," she said. "I don't feel able to, to-day."

The nurse looked at her oddly. With a sudden feeling of pity forCharles, Luella bent down gently and kissed his cheek. Then,without a word, she went to her own room, put on her hat and coat,and with her suitcase started for the front door.

Immediately she saw that there was a shadow in the hall. If shecould get past that shadow, she was free. If she could go to theright or left of it, or order it out of her way! But, stubbornly,it refused to move, and with a little cry she sank down into a hallchair.

"I thought you'd gone," she wailed. "I told you to go away."

"I'm going soon," said Doctor Moon, "but I don't want you tomake an old mistake."

"I'm not making a mistake—I'm leaving my mistakesbehind."

"You're trying to leave yourself behind, but you can't. The moreyou try to run away from yourself, the more you'll have yourselfwith you."

"But I've got to go away," she insisted wildly. "Out of thishouse of death and failure!"

"You haven't failed yet. You've only begun."

She stood up.

"Let me pass."

"No."

Abruptly she gave way, as she always did when he talked to her.She covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.

"Go back into that room and tell the nurse you'll take yourhusband for a drive," he suggested.

"I can't."

"Oh, yes."

Once more Luella looked at him, and knew that she would obey.With the conviction that her spirit was broken at last, she took upher suitcase and walked back through the hall.

V.

The nature of the curious influence that Doctor Moon exertedupon her, Louella could not guess. But as the days passed, shefound herself doing many things that had been repugnant to herbefore. She stayed at home with Charles; and when he grew better,she went out with him sometimes to dinner, or the theatre, but onlywhen he expressed a wish. She visited the kitchen every day, andkept an unwilling eye on the house, at first with a horror that itwould go wrong again, then from habit. And she felt that it was allsomehow mixed up with Doctor Moon—it was something he kepttelling her about life, or almost telling her, and yet concealingfrom her, as though he were afraid to have her know.

With the resumption of their normal life, she found that Charleswas less nervous. His habit of rubbing his face had left him, andif the world seemed less gay and happy to her than it had before,she experienced a certain peace, sometimes, that she had neverknown.

Then, one afternoon, Doctor Moon told her suddenly that he wasgoing away.

"Do you mean for good?" she demanded with a touch of panic.

"For good."

For a strange moment she wasn't sure whether she was sorry.

"You don't need me any more," he said quietly. "You don'trealize it, but you've grown up."

He came over and, sitting on the couch beside her, took herhand. Luella sat silent and tense—listening.

"We make an agreement with children that they can sit in theaudience without helping to make the play," he said, "but if theystill sit in the audience after they're grown, somebody's got towork double time for them, so that they can enjoy the light andglitter of the world."

"But I want the light and glitter," she protested. "That's allthere is in life. There can't be anything wrong in wanting to havethings warm."

"Things will still be warm."

"How?"

"Things will warm themselves from you."

Luella looked at him, startled.

"It's your turn to be the centre, to give others what was givento you for so long. You've got to give security to young people andpeace to your husband, and a sort of charity to the old. You've gotto let the people who work for you depend on you. You've got tocover up a few more troubles than you show, and be a little morepatient than the average person, and do a little more instead of alittle less than your share. The light and glitter of the world isin your hands."

He broke off suddenly.

"Get up," he said, "and go to that mirror and tell me what yousee."

Obediently Luella got up and went close to a purchase of herhoneymoon, a Venetian pier-glass on the wall.

"I see new lines in my face here," she said, raising her fingerand placing it between her eyes, "and a few shadows at the sidesthat might be—that are little wrinkles."

"Do you care?"

She turned quickly. "No," she said.

"Do you realize that Chuck is gone? That you'll never see himany more?"

"Yes." She passed her hands slowly over her eyes. "But that allseems so vague and far away."

"Vague and far away," he repeated; and then: "And are you afraidof me now?"

"Not any longer," she said, and she added frankly, "now thatyou're going away."

He moved toward the door. He seemed particularly weary to-night,as though he could hardly move about at all.

"The household here is in your keeping," he said in a tiredwhisper. "If there is any light and warmth in it, it will be yourlight and warmth; if it is happy, it will be because you've made itso. Happy things may come to you in life, but you must never goseeking them any more. It is your turn to make the fire."

"Won't you sit down a moment longer?" Luella ventured.

"There isn't time." His voice was so low now that she couldscarcely hear the words. "But remember that whatever sufferingcomes to you, I can always help you—if it is something thatcan be helped. I promise nothing."

He opened the door. She must find out now what she most wantedto know, before it was too late.

"What have you done to me?" she cried. "Why have I no sorrowleft for Chuck—for anything at all? Tell me, I almost see,yet I can't see. Before you go—tell me who you are!"

"Who am I?—"

His worn suit paused in the doorway. His round, pale face seemedto dissolve into two faces, a dozen faces, a score, each onedifferent yet the same—sad, happy, tragic, indifferent,resigned—until threescore Doctor Moons were ranged like aninfinite series of reflections, like months stretching into thevista of the past.

"Who am I?" he repeated; "I am five years."

The door closed.


At six o'clock Charles Hemple came home, and as usual Luella methim in the hall. Except that now his hair was dead white, his longillness of two years had left no mark upon him. Luella herself wasmore noticeably changed—she was a little stouter, and therewere those lines around her eyes that had come when Chuck died oneevening back in 1921. But she was still lovely, and there was amature kindness about her face at twenty-eight, as if suffering hadtouched her only reluctantly and then hurried away.

"Ede and her husband are coming to dinner," she said. "I've gottheatre tickets, but if you're tired, I don't care whether we go ornot."

"I'd like to go."

She looked at him. "You wouldn't."

"I really would."

"We'll see how you feel after dinner."

He put his arm around her waist. Together they walked into thenursery where the two children were waiting up to say goodnight.


THE END

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