Jennie Gerhardt: A Novel. Dreiser Theodore
I haven't," she said, innocently.
"Oh yes, you have," he went on, pleasantly, interested by her transparent evasiveness. "You must think something of me. Now, what is it?"
"Do you mean do I like you?" she asked, frankly, looking down at the big mop of black hair well streaked with gray which hung about his forehead, and gave an almost lionine cast to his fine face.
"Well, yes," he said, with a sense of disappointment. She was barren of the art of the coquette.
"Why, of course I like you," she replied, prettily.
"Haven't you ever thought anything else about me?" he went on.
"I think you're very kind," she went on, even more bashfully; she realized now that he was still holding her hand.
"Is that all?" he asked.
"Well," she said, with fluttering eyelids, "isn't that enough?"
He looked at her, and the playful, companionable directness of her answering gaze thrilled him through and through. He studied her face in silence while she turned and twisted, feeling, but scarcely understanding, the deep import of his scrutiny.
"Well," he said at last, "I think you're a fine girl. Don't you think I'm a pretty nice man?"
"Yes," said Jennie, promptly.
He leaned back in his chair and laughed at the unconscious drollery of her reply. She looked at him curiously, and smiled.
"What made you laugh?" she inquired.
"Oh, your answer" he returned. "I really ought not to laugh, though. You don't appreciate me in the least. I don't believe you like me at all."
"But I do, though," she replied, earnestly. "I think you're so good." Her eyes showed very plainly that she felt what she was saying.
"Well," he said, drawing her gently down to him; then, at the same instant, he pressed his lips to her cheek.
"Oh!" she cried, straightening up, at once startled and frightened.
It was a new note in their relationship. The senatorial quality vanished in an instant. She recognized in him something that she had not felt before. He seemed younger, too. She was a woman to him, and he was playing the part of a lover. She hesitated, but not knowing just what to do, did nothing at all.
"Well," he said, "did I frighten you?"
She looked at him, but moved by her underlying respect for this great man, she said, with a smile, "Yes, you did."
"I did it because I like you so much."
She meditated upon this a moment, and then said, "I think I'd better be going."
"Now then," he pleaded, "are you going to run away because of that?"
"No," she said, moved by a curious feeling of ingratitude; "but I ought to be going. They'll be wondering where I am."
"You're sure you're not angry about it?"
"No," she replied, and with more of a womanly air than she had ever shown before. It was a novel experience to be in so authoritative a position. It was so remarkable that it was somewhat confusing to both of them.
"You're my girl, anyhow," the Senator said, rising. "I'm going to take care of you in the future."
Jennie heard this, and it pleased her. He was so well fitted, she thought, to do wondrous things; he was nothing less than a veritable magician. She looked about her and the thought of coming into such a life and such an atmosphere was heavenly. Not that she fully understood his meaning, however. He meant to be good and generous, and to give her fine things. Naturally she was happy. She took up the package that she had come for, not seeing or feeling the incongruity of her position, while he felt it as a direct reproof.
"She ought not to carry that," he thought. A great wave of sympathy swept over him. He took her cheeks between his hands, this time in a superior and more generous way. "Never mind, little girl," he said. "You won't have to do this always. I'll see what I can do."
The outcome of this was simply a more sympathetic relationship between them. He did not hesitate to ask her to sit beside him on the arm of his chair the next time she came, and to question her intimately about the family's condition and her own desires. Several times he noticed that she was evading his questions, particularly in regard to what her father was doing. She was ashamed to own that he was sawing wood. Fearing lest something more serious was impending, he decided to go out some day and see for himself.
This he did when a convenient morning presented itself and his other duties did not press upon him. It was three days before the great fight in the Legislature began which ended in his defeat. Nothing could be done in these few remaining days. So he took his cane and strolled forth, coming to the cottage in the course of a half hour, and knocked boldly at the door.
Mrs. Gerhardt opened it.
"Good-morning," he said, cheerily; then, seeing her hesitate, he added, "May I come in?"
The good mother, who was all but overcome by his astonishing presence, wiped her hands furtively upon her much-mended apron, and, seeing that he waited for a reply, said:
"Oh yes. Come right in."
She hurried forward, forgetting to close the door, and, offering him a chair, asked him to be seated.
Brander, feeling sorry that he was the occasion of so much confusion, said: "Don't trouble yourself, Mrs. Gerhardt. I was passing and thought I'd come in. How is your husband?"
"He's well, thank you," returned the mother. "He's out working to-day."
"Then he has found employment?"
"Yes, sir," said Mrs. Gerhardt, who hesitated, like Jennie, to say what it was.
"The children are all well now, and in school, I hope?"
"Yes," replied Mrs. Gerhardt. She had now unfastened her apron, and was nervously turning it in her lap.
"That's good, and where is Jennie?"
The latter, who had been ironing, had abandoned the board and had concealed herself in the bedroom, where she was busy tidying herself in the fear that her mother would not have the forethought to say that she was out, and so let her have a chance for escape.
"She's here," returned the mother. "I'll call her."
"What did you tell him I was here for?" said Jennie, weakly.
"What could I do?" asked the mother.
Together they hesitated while the Senator surveyed the room. He felt sorry to think that such deserving people must suffer so; he intended, in a vague way, to ameliorate their condition if possible.
"Good-morning," the Senator said to Jennie, when finally she came hesitatingly into the room. "How do you do to-day?"
Jennie came forward, extending her hand and blushing. She found herself so much disturbed by this visit that she could hardly find tongue to answer his questions.
"I thought," he said, "I'd come out and find where you live. This is a quite comfortable house. How many rooms have you?"
"Five," said Jennie. "You'll have to excuse the looks this morning. We've been ironing, and it's all upset."
"I know," said Brander, gently. "Don't you think I understand, Jennie? You mustn't feel nervous about me."
She noticed the comforting, personal tone he always used with her when she was at his room, and it helped to subdue her flustered senses.
"You mustn't think it anything if I come here occasionally. I intend to come. I want to meet your father."
"Oh," said Jennie, "he's out to-day."
While they were talking, however, the honest woodcutter was coming in at the gate with his buck and saw. Brander saw him, and at once recognized him by a slight resemblance to his daughter.
"There he is now, I believe," he said.
"Oh, is he?" said Jennie, looking out.
Gerhardt, who was given to speculation these days, passed by the window without