MRS1 The Under Dogs (14 page)

They embarked on an innocent flirtation.

The other ladies streamed out on the porch, where tea was to be served. Mother Simonds' eyes fluttered over Jessie from head to foot, but gave nothing away. With
her
entrance on the scene, Jessie had to let a little awkwardness, a little self-consciousness appear. The complicated part that she was called on to play taxed all her powers. Fortunately, the Warden and his wife were now obliged to attend to their other guests, and they were aware of no change in "Mrs. Boker."

Tea was—well, like all such affairs. There was a tremendous gabble on the Warden's porch. In the middle of it the host was summoned into the house. He came back trying to hide a worried look under his smiles. Jessie manoeuvred herself so that she stood in front of Mrs. Insull when her husband joined her. She overheard their whispered conversation.

"What was it?"

"Another escape."

"Oh, my dear!"

"And all these damned women on the ground! It's too much! I ordered them not to blow the siren. There's been too much scandal about these escapes. Anything more would finish us here. I'm going to keep it quiet." Accompanied by the smiling Warden and the wives of the officials, the lady visitors, still talking vociferously, ambled across the grass to the waiting automobiles. Jessie found herself between a fat lady in cocoa brown and a thin one in American Beauty. Pleasantly excited by tea and talk, they included her in their conversation as if they had known her all their lives.

Warden Insull was not so worried but that he was able to single out the handsome Mrs. Boker for a word of farewell. "Come to see us again when it's not so hot."

"I shall," she sang back.

The great gates of the prison opened wide to permit of the egress of the Warden's guests; and the faces of all the guards wore a respectful expression that Jessie Seipp was not accustomed to see there. When the last car had passed through, she heard the gates clang, and her heart sang just as blithely as if she had been a bona fide prisoner. She looked around at the free fields and the wide sky, and found them good.

Upon their arrival in New York, Jessie and Mother Simonds had dinner at a modest hotel. The latter now signified that she was to be addressed as Mrs. Pullen. Beyond a brief commendation of the way Jessie had played her part, she was entirely uncommunicative. Evidently a hard taskmistress. But that was nothing to Jessie. Jessie made believe to be only anxious to accommodate herself to her mistress's every mood. Her task was easier now that she had only the part of Jessie Seipp to think of. By this time she felt thoroughly at home in Jessie's skin.

Between mouthfuls Mrs. Pullen (as she must henceforth be called) busied herself writing messages on a pad of the tiny sheets such as Jessie had received from her. Before the meal was over, a boy appeared on the scene to take the messages. He was a bright-eyed boy of sixteen with an attractive grin, who looked at the new member of the gang with strong curiosity. Jessie thought: "He's worth saving. I'll keep an eye on him."

Issuing from the hotel they entered a dingy, inconspicuous-looking car which was waiting nearby. No word passed between Mrs. Pullen and the driver. Inside the car was furnished with black cloth blinds all around, which Mrs. Pullen coolly drew down. Jessie made no comment, but the other woman felt impelled to say:

"You understand, of course, that you'll be on probation for a while. You've got to satisfy us of two things; are you good enough to be of any use to us; can we depend on you to stick to the organisation. If we can't use you, it's back to Woburn for you."

You see, there was no longer any attempt to hide the nature of the business that Jessie was wanted for.

"Only try me," murmured Jessie humbly.

Mrs. Pullen only spoke once again during the drive. "Pull off the hair net and shake your hair out. There's no use letting them all see you can look so much like a lady."

Notwithstanding the drawn curtains, Jessie, by the exercise of those faculties which had made her famous in her other sphere of life, was able to follow the course they took. They drove west on Forty-Second Street. She got the Fifth Avenue crossing from the sound of the bell in the traffic tower, and Sixth from the rumble of the elevated road; the hubbub of Times Square was unmistakable. At Times Square they turned to the left, that is down town, and the street must have been Seventh Avenue, for they bowled along, unhindered by traffic. She marked in turn: Thirty-Fourth Street; Twenty-Third and Fourteenth by the bump of the car over the cross-town rails. The next slight bump meant the Eight Street line; as they had made no turn, they must be continuing on towards Varick Street. Presently they turned west for a short distance, south for a block, east again, and drew up at the kerb—the north side of a cross-town street, Jessie noted.

Mrs. Pullen took a peep through the door. "You must let me blindfold you," she said peremptorily.

Jessie submitted, as a matter of course. While Mrs. Pullen was tying the handkerchief, she used her ears to good effect. The elevated road could be heard a short distance behind them, and beyond that, but not very far away, the whistles of the ferry-boats in the North river. From just ahead of them came the sound of motor traffic moving at a considerable speed.

"Lower Greenwich Village," said Jessie to herself. "That's Varick Street just ahead. This is one of the little side streets off Varick, such as King, Charlton or Vandam."

Jessie was hustled across the sidewalk, and on over a worn brick pavement. By lurching a little, she made out that they were in a narrow passage; it must have been open to the air at each end. They then crossed some ancient, cracked flagstones, and Mrs. Pullen (who had Jessie by the elbow) unlocked a door.

"We are entering a tenement in the rear of one of the old dwellings of the village," Jessie said to herself.

The house they entered had that empty sound, unmistakable to sharp ears. So far they had been moving straight ahead; now they turned to the right, and Mrs. Pullen stopped again, letting Jessie stand alone. There were certain sounds Jessie could not identify, then a creak and a thud that suggested a sliding door.

"Some sort of secret entrance," she thought.

They then passed straight through another little house which had the same sound of emptiness, and out across another flagged yard. "We are approaching the rear of a house which fronts on Varick Street," Jessie said to herself.

"Four steps down. Watch yourself," said Mrs. Pullen.

They passed through an open door into a room which contained several people. Somebody freed Jessie's eyes.

It was an old-fashioned basement-kitchen with a cook-stove built into the chimney, and the built-in wooden cupboards, characteristic of old New York, which always exhale a strong smell of mice and croton bugs. There was an old gas-stove, too, which added its quota to the smell. The place was furnished with the usual kitchen paraphernalia, and it was lighted by a single gas jet, most depressing in effect.

There were four men in the room. Jessie got them by degrees. With one exception they all wore a hang-dog look, which suggested to her keen eyes that the morale of the house was low. It was curious that nobody spoke at their entrance. They all looked at Jessie with a strong curiosity that was not without the suspicion of a leer. Then they looked uneasily at Mrs. Pullen, waiting for her to speak.

The exception that I spoke of was the youngest man of the quartet. He was a youth of middle height, unnaturally thin, with sandy hair and an expression of unpleasant sharpness. Clearly he fancied himself; and something about him made Jessie's bristles rise. Before ever he addressed a word to her, she was conscious of the desire to slap his face. Him Mrs. Pullen addressed.

"Anything to report, Sam?"

"Quiet as the grave all day," he said. "The telephone only rang once. That was Lippett to ask what time you'd be back."

Mrs. Pullen turned to Jessie. "These are your partners," she said with a contemptuous air; "get acquainted." (How different this was from the insinuating tone of her first overtures to Jessie!) "For the present," she went on, "you are to confine yourself to this room, the room overhead, which is the general sitting-room, and your own room on the second floor, that I'll show you later. You are not to enter any other room in the house until I give you leave. The boys will tell you the other rules of the house. There's only one thing I want to impress on you. All rules are the same, see? and there's only one penalty. I tell you this for your own good. You're a clever girl, and you ought to make a valuable member of the organisation. But there must be absolute obedience in all things great and small, or back you go." She beckoned to Sam, and they left the room together.

The other three men followed them out with significant glances, and Jessie was aware of a certain relief in the atmosphere when the door closed. But for the present the men were guarded in their talk before Jessie. The leering quality in their glances made the woman in her shudder. She braced herself.

"They are not dangerous to me unless I think they are," she told herself. "There's only one way for me to act towards them, and that is with frank and matter-of-fact camaraderie, as if I were a man like themselves."

One of them was an old man, the worst type of jailbird. His years in prison seemed to have rotted him; his skin was of a corpselike pallor; many of his teeth were missing, and his unreverend white hair was coming out in patches. The others called him Pap, and it appeared that he was the cook. He said in a flip way:

"Have a pleasant journey, kid?"

"Tip-top," said Jessie. "In a parlour-car and all."

"Glad to get here, I guess, eh?"

"I'll tell you later," said Jessie dryly. "You three don't appear to be enjoying it much."

They all laughed, but it had a bitter sound. Pap said, with twisted lips:

"You get us wrong, kid. We're always merry and bright."

"Any cigarettes in the joint?" asked Jessie.

The second man got up. He was a fine specimen of physical youth; taller than the average, with a torso so deep it made his shoulders look narrow, well carried on slender, muscular legs. His skin was pink, and he had bright brown curly hair; asleep, he must have been uncommonly handsome, but when his eyes were open, no one on earth would have trusted him. He came closer to Jessie than was necessary, and sought to charm her with his masculinity; his voice purred.

"Here's cigarettes, kid. I'll keep you supplied. And anything else you want. I'm Cliff Hutchins."

The third man growled with a surprising suddenness: "Back up, Hutch! You cut that out!" The deep husky voice was full of suppressed fury.

The young man whipped around. "What's biting you, Combs? Can't I be civil to the girl?"

"Civil nothing!" growled the other. "D'ye think we're blind? d'ye think Pap and me is goin' to stand for yer lalligaggin' before our eyes?"

"Oh, excuse
me
, Bill," said the young man with heavy sarcasm. "I didn't know as you had any ambitions in that direction. Far be it from me to..."

After his surprising outburst, Bill relapsed into stolidity. "It's a waste of time to talk to you," he said. "I'll say no more. But I got this to speak for me!" And he showed a clenched fist as crude and massive as a bull-dog's head.

"Well, I'll talk to him!" Pap put in stridently (but all three were careful not to raise their voices). "I'm with you, Bill, on this. Does the —— fool think we're goin' to be bound by the rules if he chucks them?"

"Listen to Pap, now," sneered Cliff. "Durned if he don't want to lalligag, too, as Bill puts it so elegant. Say, Pap, if you was to go in for it, with your looks, I wouldn't be one, two, three."

Pap cursed him with a horrid fluency. His eyes rolled wildly. He looked around for a weapon.

Jessie took the floor. "Hey, cut it out!" she said with strong scorn. "Have you all gone bugs suddenly. Anyhow, I guess this rests with me!"

At this simple and indisputable statement, all three men fell silent. Pap turned to the gas-stove, muttering in a senile way. Jessie looked at this Bill Combs, full of curiosity. He was much the most impressive of the three, a huge man in his forties, with shoulders like a bull, and a heavy, brutalised face. But Jessie's keen eyes perceived something human and wistful there.

"I can make a friend of this one," she told herself; "he'll stand by me in this stew!"

To relieve the tension, she asked at large: "What are the rules she was talking about?"

Pap turned around with his fleering laugh: "The first one is, no sparking. There ain't been no occasion for it lately."

"What else?" asked Jessie.

"No fighting."

"That doesn't interest me. What else?"

"You mustn't show yourself at the front windows. Don't matter about the back, 'cause there's no windows overlooking ourn."

"Anything more?"

"When the missus is out, you got to take your orders from Skinny Sam, see? Sam has the power of life and death over yeh." This was accompanied by a horrid sneer.

"Oh, to hell with rules!" Cliff burst out. "The rules is whatever the old —— happens to feel like."

"And are you men content to let a woman run you?" asked Jessie.

"Easy, sister," said Big Bill softly. "You'd best stop, look and listen awhile, before you make up your mind about this house. It ain't no kindergarten."

"I'm only asking for info," said Jessie. "I want to know what I'm up against. All she told me was she kept a lodging-house for men, and she wanted me for company."

Bill and Pap laughed mirthlessly. Young Cliff was glooming. "And did you fall for that?" asked Bill.

"No," said Jessie frankly. "I didn't want to ask no questions. I wanted to get out."

"Well, I'll tell you this much," said Bill, "since you've got to know it anyhow; the dame upstairs is only a deputy here for the big boss."

"What's his name?" asked Jessie, making her eyes big.

"Anything you like," said Bill dryly. "Boss is enough name for me."

"Where is he?"