paused, rather saddened by the last reflection, and turned in a more pathetic strain, the substance of which was self-commiseration.
“I don’t know how it is,” he said. “I try, I try! Every night I pray that the Lord will let me do right, but it is no use. I might work and work. My hands,” he said, putting them out, “are rough with work. All my life I have tried to be an honest man. Now—now—” his voice broke, and it looked for a moment as if he would give way to tears. Suddenly he turned on his wife, the major passion of anger possessing him.
“You are the cause of this,” he exclaimed. “You are the sole cause. If you had done as I told you to do, this would not have happened. No, you wouldn’t do that. She must go out! out!! out!!! She must have something to do. Well, she has had something to do now. She has become a street-walker, that’s what she has become. She has set herself right to go to hell. Let her, now. Let her go. I wash my hands of the whole thing. This is enough for me.”
He made as if to go off to his little bedroom, but he had no sooner reached the door than he came back.
“I throw back his job to him, the scoundrel!” he said, thinking of his own part in the miserable procession of events. “I would rather starve on the streets than take anything from such a hound as that. My family seems accursed.”
He went on a little while longer, all the weakness and passion of his nature manifesting itself, when suddenly he thought of Jennie in connection with the future. Mrs. Gerhardt had been expecting this, a keen, nervous tension holding her to the point. It was none the less painful as a shock, however, when it came.
“She shall get out!” he said electrically. “She shall not stay under my roof! Tonight! At once! I will not let her enter my door again! I will show her whether she will disgrace me or not!”
“You mustn’t turn her out on the streets tonight,” pleaded Mrs. Gerhardt. “She has no place to go.”
“Tonight!” he repeated. “This very minute! Let her find a home! She did not want this one. Let her get out now. We will see how the world treats her.”
There seemed to be an element of satisfaction in this for him, for he quieted down to a dull, silent pace, giving vent only to a few short ejaculations. The minutes passed, and he asked other questions, upbraiding Mrs. Gerhardt, pouring invective upon Brander, reaffirming his opinion and intention concerning Jennie.
At half-past five, when Mrs. Gerhardt was tearfully going about the duty of getting supper, Jennie returned. Her mother started when she heard the door open, for now she knew the storm would burst afresh. Jennie was prepared though, if pallor and depression make suitable preparation for the expected.
“Get out of my sight!” he said, when he saw her coming into the room. “You shall not stay another hour in my house. I don’t want to see you any more. Get out!”
Jennie stood before him pale, trembling a little, and silent. The children she had brought home with her ranged about in frightened amazement. Veronica and Martha, who loved her dearly, began to cry.
“What’s the matter?” George asked, his mouth open in wonder.
“She shall get out,” reiterated Gerhardt. “I don’t want her under my roof. If she wants to be a street-walker, let her be one, but she shall not stay here. Pack your things,” he added, staring at her.
Jennie moved, but the children cried loudly.
“Be still,” said Gerhardt. “Go into the kitchen.”
He drove them all out and followed stubbornly himself.
Knowing what had been coming, Jennie was partially prepared. She gathered up her few little belongings and began, with tears, to put them into a valise her mother brought her. The little girlish trinkets that she had accumulated, all were left in their places. She saw them but thought of her younger sisters and let them stay. Martha and Veronica thought of her deeply, and wanted to go in the room where she was working, but when they started, their father exclaimed, “Stay here!” It was a trying hour, and in it she seemed to move absolutely forsaken.
At six o’clock Bass came in, and seeing the queer nervous assembly in the kitchen, inquired what the trouble was.
Gerhardt looked at him oppressively, for he was in a grim, determined mood, but did not answer.
“What’s the trouble?” insisted Bass. “What are you all sitting around for?”
Gerhardt was getting ready to make a speech, but Mrs. Gerhardt whispered, with tears but ill-concealed:
“He is driving Jennie away.”
“What for?” asked Bass, opening his eyes in astonishment.
“I shall tell you what for,” said Gerhardt, still speaking in German. “Because she’s a street-walker, that’s what for. She goes and gets herself ruined by a man thirty years older than she is, a man old enough to be her father. Let her get out of this. She shall not stay here another minute.”
Bass looked about him, and the children opened their eyes. All felt clearly that something terrible had happened, even the little ones. None but Bass understood.
“What do you want to send her out tonight for?” he inquired. “This is no time to send a girl out on the streets. Can’t she stay here until morning?”
“No,” said Gerhardt.
“He oughtn’t to do that,” put in the mother.
“She goes now,” said Gerhardt. “Let that be an end of it.”
Bass stood still, feeling that it was too bad to have her go out in the night, but no thought of his own responsibility for her condition afflicting him. What the father had said about age proved that her seducer was Brander, but that anything had happened to her the night of his jailing did not cross his mind. In a vague way, he thought it was a pretty bad scrape that Jennie had got herself into, but did not want to see her harshly abused. Still, no fine magnanimity called him to any striking action.
“Where is she going to go?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Gerhardt interpolated weakly.
Bass looked around, but did nothing until Mrs. Gerhardt motioned him toward the front door when her husband was not looking.
“Go in! Go in!” was the import of her gesture.
Bass went in, and then Mrs. Gerhardt dared to leave her work and follow. The children stayed awhile, but, one by one, even they slipped away, leaving Gerhardt alone. When he thought that time enough had elapsed, he arose.
In the interval, Jennie had been hastily coached by her mother. She should go to a private boarding-house somewhere and send her address. Bass would not go directly with her, but she should wait a little way up the street, and he would follow. When her father was away, the mother might get to see her, or Jennie could come home. All was to be postponed until they could meet again.
While the instructions were still going on, Gerhardt came in.
“Is she going?” he asked harshly.
“Yes,” answered Mrs. Gerhardt, with her first and
