about nine-thirty and hanging heavy and yellow over the
chimney tops. He was so lonely.
But at ten, the moon becoming too bright, and no Roberta
appearing, he decided to leave. It was not wise to be
hanging about here. But the night being so fine he resented
the thought of his room and instead walked up and down
Wykeagy Avenue, looking at the fine houses there—his
uncle Samuel’s among them. Now, all their occupants were
away at their summer places. The houses were dark. And
Sondra Finchley and Bertine Cranston and all that company
—what were they doing on a night like this? Where
dancing? Where speeding? Where loving? It was so hard
to be poor, not to have money and position and to be able
to do in life exactly as you wished.
And the next morning, more eager than usual, he was out
of Mrs. Peyton’s by six-forty-five, anxious to find some way
of renewing his attentions to Roberta. For there was that
crowd of factory workers that proceeded north along
Central Avenue. And she would be a what in it, of course,
at about 7.10. But his trip to the factory was fruitless. For,
after swallowing a cup of coffee at one of the small
restaurants near the post-office and walking the length of
Central Avenue toward the mill, and pausing at a cigar
store to see if Roberta should by any chance come along
alone, he was rewarded by the sight of her with Grace Marr
again. What a wretched, crazy world this was, he at once
decided, and how difficult it was in this miserable town for
anyone to meet anyone else alone. Everyone, nearly, knew
everyone else. Besides, Roberta knew that he was trying to
get a chance to talk to her. Why shouldn’t she walk alone
then? He had looked at her enough yesterday. And yet here
she was walking with Grace Marr and appeared seemingly
contented. What was the matter with her anyhow?
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395
By the time he reached the factory he was very sour. But
the sight of Roberta taking her place at her bench and
tossing him a genial “good morning” with a cheerful smile,
caused him to feel better and that all was not lost.
It was three o’clock in the afternoon and a lull due to the
afternoon heat, the fag of steadily continued work, and the
flare of reflected light from the river outside was over all.
The tap, tap, tap of metal stamps upon scores of collars at
once—nearly always slightly audible above the hum and
whirr of the sewing machines beyond was, if anything,
weaker than usual. And there was Ruza Nikoforitch, Hoda
Petkanas, Martha Bordaloue, Angelina Pitti and Lena
Schlict, all joining in a song called “Sweethearts” which
some one had started. And Roberta, perpetually conscious
of Clyde’s eyes, as well as his mood, was thinking how long
it would be before he would come around with some word
in regard to something. For she wished him to—and
because of his whispered words of the day before, she was
sure that it would not be long, because he would not be
able to resist it. His eyes the night before had told her that.
Yet because of the impediments of this situation she knew
that he must be having a difficult time thinking of any way
by which he could say anything to her. And still at certain
moments she was glad, for there were such moments when
she felt she needed the security which the presence of so
many girls gave her.
And as she thought of all this, stamping at her desk along
with the others, she suddenly discovered that a bundle of
collars which she had already stamped as sixteens were
not of that size but smaller. She looked at it quickly and
nervously, then decided that there was but one thing to do—
lay the bundle aside and await comment from one of the
foremen, including Clyde, or take it directly to him now—
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396
really the better way, because it prevented any of the
foremen seeing it before he did. That was what all the girls
did when they made mistakes of any kind. And all trained
girls were supposed to catch all possible errors of that kind.
And yet now and in the face of all her very urgent desires
she hesitated, for this would take her direct to Clyde and
give him the opportunity he was seeking. But, more
terrifying, it was giving her the opportunity she was seeking.
She wavered between loyalty to Clyde as a superintendent,
loyalty to her old conventions as opposed to her new and
dominating desire and her repressed wish to have Clyde
speak to her—then went over with the bundle and laid it on
his desk. But her hands, as she did so, trembled. Her face
was white—her throat taut. At the moment, as it chanced,
he was almost vainly trying to calculate the scores of the
different girls from the stubs laid before him, and was
having a hard time of it because his mind was not on what
he was doing. And then he looked up. And there was
Roberta bending toward him. His nerves became very taut,
his throat and lips, dry, for here and now was his
opportunity. And, as he could see, Roberta was almost
suffocating from the strain which her daring and self-
deception was putting upon her nerves and heart.
“There’s been a distake” (she meant to say mistake) “in
regard to this bundle upstairs,” she began. “I didn’t notice it
either until I’d stamped nearly all of them. They’re fifteen-
and-a-half and I’ve stamped nearly all of them sixteen. I’m
sorry.”
Clyde noticed, as she said this, that she was trying to smile
a little and appear calm, but her cheeks were quite
blanched and her hands, particularly the one that held the
bundle, trembled. On the instant he realized that although
loyalty and order were bringing her with this mistake to him,
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397
still there was more than that to it. In a weak, frightened,
and yet love-driven way, she was courting him, giving him
the opportunity he was seeking, wishing him to take
advantage of it. And he, embarrassed and shaken for the
moment by this sudden visitation, was still heartened and
hardened into a kind of effrontery and gallantry such as he
had not felt as yet in regard to her. She was seeking him—
that was plain. She was interested, and clever enough to
make the occasion which permitted him to speak.
Wonderful! The sweetness of her daring.
“Oh, that’s all right,” he said, pretending a courage and a
daring in regard to her which he did not feel even now. “I’ll
just send them down to the wash room and then we’ll see if
we can’t restamp them. It’s not our mistake, really.”
He smiled most warmly and she met his look with a
repressed smile of her own, already turning and fearing that
she had manifested too clearly what had brought her.
“But don’t go,” he added quickly. “I want to ask you
something. I’ve been trying to get a word with you ever
since Sunday. I want you to meet me somewhere, will you?
There’s a rule here that says a head of a department can’t
have anything to do with a girl who works for him—outside I
mean. But I want you to see me just the same, won’t you?
You know,” and he smiled winsomely and coaxingly into her
eyes, “I’ve been just nearly crazy over you ever since you
came in here and Sunday made it worse. And now I’m not
going to let any old rule come between me and you, if I can
help it. Will you?”
“Oh, I don’t know whether I can do that or not,” replied
Roberta, who, now that she had succeeded in
accomplishing what she had wished, was becoming
terrorized by her own daring. She began looking around
nervously and feeling that every eye in the room must be
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398
upon her. “I live with Mr. and Mrs. Newton, my friend’s sister
and brother-in-law, you know, and they’re very strict. It isn’t
the same as if—” She was going to add “I was home,” but
Clyde interrupted her.
“Oh, now please don’t say no, will you? Please don’t. I want
to see you. I don’t want to cause you any trouble, that’s all.
Otherwise I’d be glad to come round to your house. You
know how it is.”
“Oh, no, you mustn’t do that,” cautioned Roberta. “Not yet
anyhow.” She was so confused that quite unconsciously
she was giving Clyde to understand that she was expecting
him to come around some time later.
“Well,” smiled Clyde, who could see that she was yielding in
part. “We could just walk out near the end of some street