“Wilmer,” he says to the night watchman who runs it, “there ought to be more light in these halls at night. … During this crime wave I should think you ought to keep the building brightly lit.”
“Yassir maybe you’re right sir … but there cant nobody get in unless I sees em first.”
“You might be overpowered by a gang Wilmer.”
“I’d like to see em try it.”
“I guess you are right … mere question of nerve.”
Cynthia is sitting in the Packard reading a book. “Well dear did you think I was never coming.”
“I almost finished my book, dad.”
“All right Butler … up town as fast as you can. We’re late for dinner.”
As the limousine whirs up Lafayette Street, Blackhead turns to his daughter. “If you ever hear a man talking about his duty as a citizen, by the Living Jingo dont trust him. … He’s up to some kind of monkey business nine times out of ten. You dont know what a relief it is to me that you and Joe are comfortably settled in life.”
“What’s the matter dad? Did you have a hard day at the office?” “There are no markets, there isnt a market in the goddam world that isnt shot to blazes. … I tell you Cynthia it’s nip and tuck. There’s no telling what might happen. … Look, before I forget it could you be at the bank uptown at twelve tomorrow? … I’m sending Hudgins up with certain securities, personal you understand, I want to put in your safe deposit box.”
“But it’s jammed full already dad.”
“That box at the Astor Trust is in your name isnt it?”
“Jointly in mine and Joe’s.”
“Well you take a new box at the Fifth Avenue Bank in your own name. … I’ll have the stuff get there at noon sharp. … And remember what I tell you Cynthia, if you ever hear a business associate talking about civic virtue, look lively.”
They are crossing Fourteenth. Father and daughter look out through the glass at the windbitten faces of people waiting to cross the street.
Jimmy Herf yawned and scraped back his chair. The nickel glints of the typewriter hurt his eyes. The tips of his fingers were sore. He pushed open the sliding doors a little and peeped into the cold bedroom. He could barely make out Ellie asleep in the bed in the alcove. At the far end of the room was the baby’s crib. There was a faint milkish sour smell of babyclothes. He pushed the doors to again and began to undress. If we only had more space, he was muttering; we live cramped in our squirrelcage. … He pulled the dusty cashmere off the couch and yanked his pyjamas out from under the pillow. Space space cleanness quiet; the words were gesticulating in his mind as if he were addressing a vast auditorium.
He turned out the light, opened a crack of the window and dropped wooden with sleep into bed. Immediately he was writing a letter on a linotype. Now I lay me down to sleep … mother of the great white twilight. The arm of the linotype was a woman’s hand in a long white glove. Through the clanking from behind amber foots Ellie’s voice Dont, dont, dont, you’re hurting me so. … Mr. Herf, says a man in overalls, you’re hurting the machine and we wont be able to get out the bullgod edition thank dog. The linotype was a gulping mouth with nickelbright rows of teeth, gulped, crunched. He woke up sitting up in bed. He was cold, his teeth were chattering. He pulled the covers about him and settled to sleep again. The next time he woke up it was daylight. He was warm and happy. Snowflakes were dancing, hesitating, spinning, outside the tall window.
“Hello Jimps,” said Ellie coming towards him with a tray.
“Why have I died and gone to heaven or something?”
“No it’s Sunday morning. … I thought you needed a little luxury. … I made some corn muffins.”
“Oh you’re marvelous Ellie. … Wait a minute I must jump up and wash my teeth.” He came back with his face washed, wearing his bathrobe. Her mouth winced under his kiss. “And it’s only eleven o’clock. I’ve gained an hour on my day off. … Wont you have some coffee too?”
“In a minute. … Look here Jimps I’ve got something I want to talk about. Look dont you think we ought to get another place now that you’re working nights again all the time?”
“You mean move?”
“No. I was thinking if you could get another room to sleep in somewhere round, then nobody’d ever disturb you in the morning.”
“But Ellie we’d never see each other. … We hardly ever see each other as it is.”
“It’s terrible … but what can we do when our office-hours are so different?”
Martin’s crying came in a gust from the other room. Jimmy sat on the edge of the bed with the empty coffeecup on his knees looking at his bare feet. “Just as you like,” he said dully. An impulse to grab her hands to crush her to him until he hurt her went up through him like a rocket and died. She picked up the coffeethings and swished away. His lips knew her lips, his arms knew the twining of her arms, he knew the deep woods of her hair, he loved her. He sat for a long time looking at his feet, lanky reddish feet with swollen blue veins, shoebound toes twisted by stairs and pavements. On each little toe there was a corn. He found his eyes filling with pitying tears. The baby had stopped
