Dramatists -- Fiction; Greenwich Village (New York, N.Y.) -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction
“It is true. I'm not blaming you. But it is a fact I have to meet....
Sue, do you think for one moment I intend being beaten in this
enterprise? Don't you know me better than that? You are failing me. Not
in love--that is personal. But in the work. Lately I have feared that
Peter had your love. Now, Sue, if I am not to have you I can almost wish
he had. When you do accept love it will hurt you. I have no doubt of
that. There will be reactions. The conventional in you will stab and
stab. But you are not little, and you will feel the triumph of it. It
will make you. After all, however it may come, through door or window,
love is life.”
She had folded her hands in her lap and was looking down at them. “I
have no doubt you are right,” she said slowly and quietly.
He gave a weary sigh. “Of course. Your own intelligence tells you....
If you won't go with me, Sue, I may slip away alone. I've got to think.
I've got to get money. I can get it, and I will. A little more energy,
a little more expenditure of personality will do it. It can always be
done.”
Her mind roused and seized on this as a momentary diversion. “Do you
mean to go outside for it?”
“If it comes to that. Don't you know, Sue, that we're too far in with
this thing to falter. The way to make money is to spend money. Peter's a
chicken. If he won't come through, somebody's got to. Why it would cost
more than a thousand dollars--perhaps two thousand--merely to do what I
have planned to do with the picture you so suddenly dislike,” He looked
about for his hat. “I'm going, Sue. I've let myself get stirred up;
and that, of course, is foolishness. I'm just tiring you out. You can't
help, I see that--not as you are.”
She rose and leaned against the wall by the door. He took her arm as
he reached her side. “Buck up, little girl,” he said; “don't blame
yourself.”
She did not answer, and for a long moment they stood thus. Then she
heard him draw in his breath.
His arms were around her. He held her against him.
“Have you got a kiss for me, Sue?” he asked.
She shook her head.
He let her go then, and again she leaned against the walk
“Good-by,” said he. “If you could bring yourself to share the real
thrill with me, I could help you. But I'm not going to wear you out with
this crude sex-duel stuff. Good-by.”
“Wait,” she said then. She moved over to the table, and fingered
the photograph. He stood in the doorway and watched her. She was
thinking--desperately thinking. He could see that. The flush was still
on her temples and cheeks. Finally she straightened up and faced him.
“Jacob,” she said, “I can't let you go like that. This thing has got to
be settled. Really settled.”
He slowly nodded.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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