swing of Mr. Temple Boyle. That man was a sort of god to him – strong and successful. To be like that!
The girl noted a change for what she deemed the better. He was so nice now, she thought, so white-skinned and clear-eyed and keen.
She pretended to be looking at the drawing of a nude when she saw him.
"How are you?" he asked, smiling, venturing to speak to her because he was lonely and because he knew no other girl.
She turned gaily, and returned the question, facing him with smiling lips and genial eyes.
"I haven't seen you for some time," he said. "Are you back here now?"
"For this week," she said. "I'm doing studio work. I don't care for classes when I can get the other."
"I thought you liked them!" he replied, recalling her gaiety of mood.
"Oh, I don't dislike it. Only, studio work is better."
"We've missed you," he said. "The others haven't been nearly as nice."
"Aren't you complimentary," she laughed, her black eyes looking into his with a twinkle.
"No, it's so," he returned, and then asked hopefully, "Are you going to the dinner on the 16th?"
"Maybe," she said. "I haven't made up my mind. It all depends."
"On what?"
"On how I feel and who asks me."
"I shouldn't think there'd be any trouble about that," he observed. "If I had a girl I'd go," he went on, making a terrific effort to reach the point where he could ask her. She saw his intention.
"Well?" she laughed.
"Would you go with me?" he ventured, thus so shamelessly assisted.
"Sure!" she said, for she liked him.
"That's fine!" he exclaimed. "Where do you live? I'll want to know that." He searched for a pencil.
She gave him her number on West Fifty-seventh Street.
Because of his collecting he knew the neighborhood. It was a street of shabby frame houses far out on the South Side. He remembered great mazes of trade near it, and unpaved streets and open stretches of wet prairie land. Somehow it seemed fitting to him that this little flower of the muck and coal yard area should be a model.
"I'll be sure and get you," he laughed. "You won't forget, will you, Miss – "
"Just Ruby," she interrupted. "Ruby Kenny."
"It's a pretty name, isn't it?" he said. "It's euphonious. You wouldn't let me come out some Sunday and see just where it is?"
"Yes, you may," she replied, pleased by his comment on her name. "I'm home most every Sunday. Come out next Sunday afternoon, if you want to."
"I will," said Eugene.
He walked out to the street with her in a very buoyant mood.
CHAPTER X
Ruby Kenny was the adopted child of an old Irish laborer and his wife who had taken her from a quarrelling couple when they had practically deserted her at the age of four years. She was bright, good natured, not at all informed as to the social organization of the world, just a simple little girl with a passion for adventure and no saving insight which would indicate beforehand whither adventure might lead. She began life as a cash girl in a department store and was spoiled of her virtue at fifteen. She was rather fortunate in that her smartness attracted the rather superior, capable, self-protecting type of man; and these were fortunate too, in that she was not utterly promiscuous, appetite with her waiting on strong liking, and in one or two cases real affection, and culminating only after a period of dalliance which made her as much a victim of her moods as were her lovers. Her foster parents provided no guidance of any intelligent character. They liked her, and since she was brighter than they were, submitted to her rule, her explanations of conduct, her taste. She waved aside with a laughing rejoinder any slight objections they might make, and always protested that she did not care what the neighbors thought.
The visits which Eugene paid, and the companionship which ensued, were of a piece with every other relationship of this character which he ever entered into. He worshiped beauty as beauty, and he never wholly missed finding a certain quality of mind and heart for which he longed. He sought in women, besides beauty, good nature and sympathy; he shunned criticism and coldness, and was never apt to select for a sweetheart anyone who could outshine him either in emotion or rapidity or distinction of ideas.
He liked, at this time, simple things, simple homes, simple surroundings, the commonplace atmosphere of simple life, for the more elegant and imposing overawed him. The great mansions which he saw, the great trade structures, the great, significant personalities, seemed artificial and cold. He liked little people – people who were not known, but who were sweet and kindly in their moods. If he could find female beauty with anything like that as a background he was happy and settled down near it, if he could, in comfort. His drawing near to Ruby was governed by this mood.
The Sunday Eugene called, it rained and the neighborhood in which she lived was exceedingly dreary. Looking around here and there one could see in the open spaces between the houses pools of water standing in the brown, dead grass. He had crossed a great maze of black cindered car tracks, where engines and cars were in great masses, and speculated on the drawings such scenes would make – big black engines throwing up clouds of smoke and steam in a grey, wet air; great mazes of parti-colored cars dank in the rain but lovely. At night the switch lights in these great masses of yards bloomed like flowers. He loved the sheer yellows, reds, greens, blues, that burned like eyes. Here was the stuff that touched him magnificently, and somehow he was glad that this raw flowering girl lived near something like this.
When he reached the door and rang the bell he was greeted by an old shaky Irish-American who seemed to him rather low in the scale of intelligence – the kind of a man who would make a good crossing guard, perhaps. He had on common, characterful clothes, the kind that from long wear have taken the natural outlines of the body. In his fingers was a short pipe which he had been smoking.
"Is Miss Kenny in?" Eugene inquired.
"Yus," said the man. "Come in. I'll git her." He poked back through a typical workingman's parlor to a rear room. Someone had seen to it that almost everything in the room was red – the big silk-shaded lamp, the family album, the carpet and the red flowered wall paper.
While he was waiting he opened the album and looked at what he supposed were her relatives – commonplace people, all – clerks, salesmen, store-keepers. Presently Ruby came, and then his eye lighted, for there was about her a smartness of youth – she was not more than nineteen – which captivated his fancy. She had on a black cashmere dress with touches of red velvet at the neck and elsewhere, and she wore a loose red tie, much as a boy might. She looked gay and cheerful and held out her hand.
"Did you have much trouble in getting here?" she asked.
He shook his head. "I know this country pretty well. I collect all through here week days. I work for the Peoples' Furniture Company, you know."
"Oh, then it's all right," she said, enjoying his frankness. "I thought you'd have a hard time finding it. It's a pretty bad day, isn't it?"
Eugene admitted that it was, but commented on the car tracks he had seen. "If I could paint at all I'd like
