BUtterfield 8 (26 page)

She decided to go away. Alone. Think things out. She opened her desk drawer where she kept her money, and she counted more than thirty dollars. Where to on thirty dollars, without asking anyone for more? This place, that place, no, no, no. Then yes: at five-thirty she could take a boat to Massachusetts. The
City of Essex
was leaving at five-thirty. She had enough to go there and back, pay all her meals, tips, magazines. She would take a small overnight bag.

“Miss Glaw-ria, telephone.” Elsie from downstairs.

The
City of Essex
was built in the late 1870’s, and though to this day she is a fairly sturdy craft, her designers were working to catch the custom of a public that was different from today’s. Different in quite a few ways, the citizens of the Republic in the Rutherford Birchard Hayes administration were especially different from the Hoover citizens in regard to the sun. When the
City of Essex
was built, the American people, traveling on ocean-going and coastal steamers, liked to be in the shade, or at least did not feel like climbing from one deck to another just to get sunburned. Thus the
City of Essex
had a top deck that was little more than a roof for the dining-room. It had a sort of cat-walk around this roof, abaft the wheelhouse.

If they were putting that much money into a boat today they would have a place on the top deck where people could lie and sit in the sun when the weather was fine. They would of necessity have proper handrailing along the edge of the deck. The handrailing would be high enough and strong enough to withstand the usual wear and tear on handrailing.

The
City of Essex
, however, was built in the late 1870’s, and no matter how amusing passengers might find the elaborate decorations and furnishings of the dining-room, they could not say much for the handrailing along the top deck of this old side-wheeler. That handrailing was too low; it was dangerous.

But one of the last things Weston Liggett was worrying about, two decks below the top deck, was the handrailing two decks above him. The big worry was whether Gloria was on board the
City of Essex
, and there were other lesser worries. He was a man who a week ago had a home and now had only a hotel room. He was insanely infatuated with a girl young enough to be his daughter (he would not call it love: he was too angry with her for that). He had reason to believe that the girl was aboard this old tub, but he was not absolutely sure. He was not positive. What was more, he did not want to take any step toward finding out. He did not want to do any of the things by which he could find out. He did not want to ask the purser (he did not want to have anything to do with the purser, who was a round-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed mustache; thin, and with a way of holding his cigarette between the knuckles of his first two fingers that made you think right away of a man fast drying up who at one time had been a great guy with the women—a man who would be nastily suspicious of any inquiry about a young woman, rather tall, well dressed, about twenty-two). He did not want to ask a steward or anyone else if such a young woman had come on board. Probably in the back of Liggett’s mind all this and the preceding day had been a strong doubt that his marriage had busted up. The habit of married thinking does not break so soon, not if the marriage has had time to mean anything good or bad, and hence the precautions he had been taking: when he telephoned Gloria he did not leave his name, because he was not registered at the hotel under his real name but under the name of Walter Little. He had made the reservation on the
City of Essex
under the name of Walter Little (the initials were the same as his own). When he tried to reach Gloria he had not left the phony name because he was afraid she would not call back any Walter Little. He had not left his own name because he was almost certain she would not call any Weston Liggett. And so, all the precautions before getting on the boat, and after boarding it. Aboard the
City of Essex
he did not, as he thought of it, wish to show his hand.

So far as anyone could be sure, he was sure that Gloria had no suspicion that he was aboard. She did not know where he was. He had been in his room when she phoned, but he had deliberately not answered. He had not called anyone else from the hotel, and it was therefore reasonable to suppose that any call would be from Gloria. He did not at first know why he had not answered, but the moment the phone stopped ringing he congratulated himself on a master stroke. Gloria’s phoning meant that she was home. It just possibly meant only that she had phoned her home to find out if there had been any messages for her, but that was unlikely. It was more likely that she was home when she phoned his room at the hotel. Acting on his hunches and as part of the master stroke he took a cab to within a block of her house. He dismissed the cab. He was going to be patient. He had his mind made up that if Gloria was in that house he would wait ten hours if necessary until she came out. He bought a couple of afternoon papers at the newsstand at the end of Gloria’s block, and looking at his watch very big, so that anyone who saw him would think he had an appointment, he stood with his papers, one open, one folded and tucked under his arm. He did not have long to wait. Less than ten minutes after he—as he thought of it—took up his vigil, Gloria appeared, carrying a bag. He got out of her sight until she got into a taxi. Liggett got into a taxi across the street. He pretended to be undecided about where to go (as he certainly was until Gloria’s cab got under way). Then noticing that her cab was turning into a one-way street he told his driver to go through that street until he made up his mind. His mind was made up for him. From one one-way street Gloria’s cab went to another one-way street, westbound as was the first. He followed her cab and watched her get out at the Massachusetts and Rhode Island Steamship Company pier. He kept his cab a few blocks longer, got out and took another cab to the M. & R. I. pier, having given Gloria time to get aboard. He knew enough about the M. & R. I. ships, because he had taken them many times when Emily would be spending summers with her family at Hyannisport. He knew that they never left on the dot of 5:30, and he could take the
City of Essex
at the last minute if he so chose. He did so choose, because at next to the last minute a thought came that almost made him give up today’s chase: What if Gloria was going on a trip with some other man? Some cheap fellow, to be going on a trip of this kind. It was common and cheap. Worse than Atlantic City. He almost didn’t go, but then he thought what the hell? If she wanted to do that, now would be the time to find it out, and if she didn’t, it would be a swell opportunity to talk to her and get her to listen to reason about the coat and all the other things he wanted to discuss with her. He felt weak and impotent when he thought how much of his life depended on her consent. Just her consent. A whim, perhaps. She might say no now to something that next week she would say yes to. So much depended on her consent, and her consent depended so much on his approach. If he went at her threateningly she might tell him to go ——— himself, but if he went at it in the right way he might easily get her to agree to everything. And one of the things he was beginning to want very much to have her agree to was that she should sleep with him tonight. So when he came aboard the
City of Essex
his plan was to lie low and after dinner he would talk to her and then see what happened. He hoped she wasn’t the kind that gets seasick on Long Island Sound.

On the
City of Essex
there is a narrow space of deck belting all the outside cabins except four on each side of the ship. On the starboard and on the port side are two sets of four cabins each which the reader must remember never to take when traveling in the
City of Essex
. These uncomfortable cabins are just forward of the housing that covers the side-wheels which propel the ship. Liggett had one of these cabins.

There was nothing to do but sit and look out the cabin window. The cabin was very narrow, and Liggett parked his ass on a little stool and put his forearms on the window sill and smoked cigarettes. He took off his coat and was more comfortable, and really it wasn’t bad when you looked out the window. The
City of Essex
goes at a pretty good clip down the North River and up the East, under the bridges, past the (Liggett was on the port side) wasted municipal piers of the East River, the unheard-of tramp steamers docked north of the Brooklyn Bridge, and on up into the section from Mitchel Place north, occupied by Beekman and Sutton Place buildings which Liggett knew, inhabited by people he knew. He knew by the sound when he was near and under the Queensborough Bridge. There was so much hysterical noise of thousands of straphangers and motorists hurrying home to their hutches in Queens and Nassau counties. All the way up the river, and especially in the vicinity of Hell Gate Liggett kept thinking what a big job it is to be mayor of New York. All the dock employees, the cop on Exterior Street, the hospital people, the cops of the Marine Division, the people who worked on Welfare Island (which Liggett of course could not see), the hospital people on one island and the rat-fighters on another, the woman who had to live on a city-owned island because she spread typhoid fever, the men running the ferry-boats, the fellows making repairs under one of the bridges—there were enough of them to make up a good-sized (and probably very horrible-looking) city. And the only name they all knew was James J. Walker. Liggett wondered if Walker ever thought of that—and if he did was it a good thing for him to think of? Maybe he thought of it too often. It was too much of a job for one man. Liggett decided that the next time he saw Walker he would tell him he ought to have a rest (although Walker had just got back from one). Still daylight, and too early by his watch for Liggett to hunt out Gloria.

Blueprints. Did the average person know how many blueprints had to be kept on file for, say, a coal hoist like the one he was passing? There were prints of all the elevations of the building itself, and floor plans and so on; but the prints that a plan engineer had to use, for instance. The average man would look at a switchboard and not know that there was a blueprint for the board itself, then prints for the wiring and insulation, prints for a dynamo, a separate print for various parts like a bearing. Good Lord! what if you could invent a blueprint material that would be a lot better than any now in existence, and marketable at a profit but selling a little lower than any other today? You’d make a fortune that would be like gold. For all the blueprints Liggett had looked at he knew nothing about how the paper was made. Oh, well. That wasn’t his line, but all the same it was a fascinating thing to think about. All those thousands of blueprints. Why, in one plant alone, like the Edison plant . . .

A commuting boat, owned by a fellow Liggett knew, and supported by five acquaintances of Liggett’s, caught up with and passed the
City of Essex
like a bat out of hell. The commuting boat, a two-step hydroplane with Wright Typhoons, was up out of the water and going like a bat out of hell. Why did people take such chances in the East River, when a floating cigar box hitting the hull when the commuting boat was going that fast, would smash through the hull and raise hell, probably kill all the passengers and the small crew. “Jesus, but some guys are God damn fools,” said Liggett. If that was their idea of a thrill, all right; but as a way to get home it was lousy. Granted that the Long Island was not the ideal railroad, it would still be better than getting killed in a boat like that. It would be safer and quicker to take a plane, because you could land a plane near the yacht club which was this boat’s home port. It wouldn’t be more expensive to use a plane, either.
What
God damn fools some fellows were! Every single one of them a married man with at least one kid, and at least one of the fellows really was not in a position to pay his share of the tremendous cost of this boat. Why did they do things that way, or anyway why go so fast?

But Liggett was only thinking from momentum after reminding himself that those fellows were married. He wasn’t thinking much at all; because the sight of a boat speeding husbands homeward did not make him feel good. The next time he went home there would be strain even between the girls and himself. Emily, naturally you would expect it of her. But it would have communicated itself to the girls—if indeed Emily had not actually told them that their father would not be living at home any more. Ruth. The thing that made him kiss her hand in the station wagon. The way she had taken charge at the family luncheon. Oh, the things he wanted to do for her, the things he wanted to do with her. He realized that for a couple of years now he had been having the beginning of anticipation of the day when he would be able to take her out to dinner and the theater and a night club, to boat races and football games. Probably there wouldn’t be many times like that; she was a beautiful kid. “Jesus, sometimes she takes your breath away,” he thought. Not beautiful in a conventional way. It was more in the eyes, the set of her chin when she was sitting quietly on a porch or in a corner, not knowing she was being watched. He guessed there were no new things that a father could feel about his daughter. But he guessed no father felt so deeply, little though he might show it. You couldn’t show it much with Ruth. Kissing her hand like that on Sunday—it had just come over him and he had done it, and he knew she liked it. That was good. Her liking it. She liked him better than she did Emily. No, but in a different way. And he liked her so much better than when she was a little kid. She got bigger, and your love got bigger. She was more completely a girl, a person, and your love was more complete. He wanted to be with her all the time she was pregnant, when she was having her first baby by the swell young guy she would marry. Not some older guy who had gone around and laid a lot of girls and was out of college five or ten years, but someone her own age. Like those two people in one of the Galsworthy novels, only they were cousins, weren’t they? And they had to be careful not to have children. Ruth. Lovely, dear Ruth, that a father could love.

The tears were in his eyes and one or two out over the lower lid, and he became aware that he had not noticed it at first because dusk had come and darkness was coming. The light was gone. You were conscious of the curtains in the windows of the small yachts that the
City of Essex
passed. He was hungry. The clean feeling he had from loving Ruth did not last long. He remembered what he was to do on this boat.