“But don’t you see what she can do for us, ma? She knows people that I know, and she can ruin me with them.”
“I ain’t never bowed my haid to Minty Brown an’ I ain’t a-goin’ to do it now,” was his mother’s only reply.
“Oh, ma,” Kitty put in, “you don’t want to get talked about up here, do you?”
“We’d jes’ as well be talked about fu’ somep’n we didn’t do as fu’ somep’n we did do, an’ it wouldn’ be long befo’ we’d come to dat if we made frien’s wid dat Brown gal. I ain’t a-goin’ to do it. I’m ashamed o’ you, Kitty, fu’ wantin’ me to.”
The girl began to cry, while her brother walked the floor angrily.
“You’ll see what’ll happen,” he cried; “you’ll see.”
Fannie looked at her son, and she seemed to see him more clearly than she had ever seen him before—his foppery, his meanness, his cowardice.
“Well,” she answered with a sigh, “it can’t be no wuss den what’s already happened.”
“You’ll see, you’ll see,” the boy reiterated.
Minty Brown allowed no wind of thought to cool the fire of her determination. She left Hattie Sterling’s soon after Joe, and he was still walking the floor and uttering dire forebodings when she rang the bell below and asked for the Hamiltons.
Mrs. Jones ushered her into her fearfully upholstered parlour, and then puffed upstairs to tell her lodgers that there was a friend there from the South who wanted to see them.
“Tell huh,” said Mrs. Hamilton, “dat dey ain’t no one hyeah wants to see huh.”
“No, no,” Kitty broke in.
“Heish,” said her mother; “I’m goin’ to boss you a little while yit.”
“Why, I don’t understan’ you, Mis’ Hamilton,” puffed Mrs. Jones. “She’s a nice-lookin’ lady, an’ she said she knowed you at home.”
“All you got to do is to tell dat ooman jes’ what I say.”
Minty Brown downstairs had heard the little colloquy, and, perceiving that something was amiss, had come to the stairs to listen. Now her voice, striving hard to be condescending and sweet, but growing harsh with anger, floated up from below:
“Oh, nevah min’, lady, I ain’t anxious to see ’em. I jest called out o’ pity, but I reckon dey ’shamed to see me ’cause de ol’ man’s in penitentiary an’ dey was run out o’ town.”
Mrs. Jones gasped, and then turned and went hastily downstairs.
Kit burst out crying afresh, and Joe walked the floor muttering beneath his breath, while the mother sat grimly watching the outcome. Finally they heard Mrs. Jones’ step once more on the stairs. She came in without knocking, and her manner was distinctly unpleasant.
“Mis’ Hamilton,” she said, “I’ve had a talk with the lady downstairs, an’ she’s tol’ me everything. I’d be glad if you’d let me have my rooms as soon as possible.”
“So you goin’ to put me out on de wo’d of a stranger?”
“I’m kin’ o’ sorry, but everybody in the house heard what Mis’ Brown said, an’ it’ll soon be all over town, an’ that ’ud ruin the reputation of my house.”
“I reckon all dat kin be ’splained.”
“Yes, but I don’t know that anybody kin ’splain your daughter allus being with Mr. Thomas, who ain’t even divo’ced from his wife.” She flashed a vindictive glance at the girl, who turned deadly pale and dropped her head in her hands.
“You daih to say dat, Mis’ Jones, you dat fust interduced my gal to dat man and got huh to go out wid him? I reckon you’d bettah go now.”
And Mrs. Jones looked at Fannie’s face and obeyed.
As soon as the woman’s back was turned, Joe burst out, “There, there! see what you’ve done with your damned foolishness.”
Fannie turned on him like a tigress. “Don’t you cuss hyeah befo’ me; I ain’t nevah brung you up to it, an’ I won’t stan’ it. Go to dem whaih you larned it, an whaih de wo’ds soun’ sweet.” The boy started to speak, but she checked him. “Don’t you daih to cuss ag’in or befo’ Gawd dey’ll be somep’n fu’ one o’ dis fambly to be rottin’ in jail fu’!”
The boy was cowed by his mother’s manner. He was gathering his few belongings in a bundle.
“I ain’t goin’ to cuss,” he said sullenly, “I’m goin’ out o’ your way.”
“Oh, go on,” she said, “go on. It’s been a long time sence you been my son. You on yo’ way to hell, an’ you is been fu’ lo dese many days.”
Joe got out of the house as soon as possible. He did not speak to Kit nor look at his mother. He felt like a cur, because he knew deep down in his heart that he had only been waiting for some excuse to take this step.
As he slammed the door behind him, his mother flung herself down by Kit’s side and mingled her tears with her daughter’s. But Kit did not raise her head.
“Dey ain’t nothin’ lef’ but you now, Kit;” but the girl did not speak, she only shook with hard sobs.
Then her mother raised her head and almost screamed, “My Gawd, not you, Kit!” The girl rose, and then dropped unconscious in her mother’s arms.
Joe took his clothes to a lodging house that he knew of, and then went to the club to drink himself up to the point of going to see Hattie after the show.
XI
Broken Hopes
What Joe Hamilton lacked more than anything else in the world was someone to kick him. Many a man who might have lived decently and become a fairly respectable citizen has gone to the dogs for the want of someone to administer a good resounding kick at the right time. It is corrective and clarifying.
Joe needed especially its clarifying property, for though he knew himself a cur, he went away from his mother’s house feeling himself somehow aggrieved, and the feeling grew upon him the more
