Marion 
 
 MXHf'i "tf-*i ^i 
 
 s Clelland
 
 KALEEMA
 
 "That is a lie," she said
 
 KALEEMA 
 
 BY 
 
 MARION MCCLELLAND 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THE CENTURY CO. 
 
 1921
 
 Copyright, 1921, by 
 THE CENTURY Co.
 
 PART I 
 
 2137036
 
 KALEEMA 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IN a dreary town of snow-bound North Dakota a 
 girl was standing before a make-up shelf and 
 looking into a cheap, distorting little mirror that 
 elongated her pretty nose and foreshortened her 
 chin beyond recognition. A feeble light in a cage 
 hung against the wall over the glass. She had just 
 fastened a gilt hoop earring on one of her ears and 
 was idly looking into her own darkish-gray eyes with 
 their dark lashes and fine, clear lines of dark brows ; 
 but her thoughts were with some one whom she sup- 
 posed to be two thousand miles away. 
 
 In that supposition she was wrong. She had 
 once been somewhat psychic about him, but half a 
 year of nerve-racking uncertainty had deadened that. 
 To-night she might well be tired for all the work 
 she had just done; but, though the wretched cubby- 
 hole of a dressing-room was icy cold, the work had 
 only sent the blood rushing through her young body, 
 making her feel warm and just ready to begin. 
 
 But "Camille" of Dillon & Skamon's " mag- 
 3
 
 4 KALEEMA 
 
 nificent productions," had expired for the night ; the 
 last curtain was down, the slim audience of sniffling 
 women and self-conscious men was awkwardly fil- 
 ing out of the theater, while back of the gaudy cur- 
 tain the untrained, half -drunken stage hands were 
 raising a cloud of dust as they noisily shoved the 
 battered scenery and furniture across the small stage. 
 There was an ominous silence among the dressing- 
 rooms, save for an occasional knock and " come in." 
 A fresh vapor of the actors' tobacco was floating 
 over the partitions that divided the dressing-rooms 
 and was filling the dark, musty hall. Somewhere 
 out of sight an open faucet was letting a small stream 
 of water splash on the cement floor and soak a pile 
 of posters that the next show had trustingly sent 
 on. 
 
 Presently the knocking came to the girl's door. 
 
 " Are you decent? " said a man's voice outside. 
 
 " Wait a minute," she answered ; then, " Come 
 in." 
 
 When the man went in, the girl had slipped a waist 
 over her bare shoulders, and as she turned toward 
 him she gave him a quick little smile of welcome. 
 It always mystified him when she did that. He 
 knew little but guessed a good deal more about the 
 person who was not two thousand miles away. 
 Yet that look of welcome was unmistakable, and the 
 blood in him rose quickly to meet it. 
 
 She was so lovable, so soft and warm and allur-
 
 KALEEMA 5 
 
 ing. It always disappointed and angered him when, 
 the next instant, her lashes were lowered and the 
 eyes with their look of welcome were shut away from 
 him. To Carney it was very nearly like a slap in 
 the face. He almost hated her for an instant, but 
 as she had never encouraged any intimacy, what 
 right had he to be angry ? With all her quick mag- 
 netism it seemed to George Carney that she was sur- 
 rounded by an invisible wall. 
 
 Most of the company took her for a wild little 
 animal. Sarah Skamon, the manager's fat wife, 
 understood her, and now and then a man with a mite 
 of imagination could understand her as tall Sam 
 Taney could, for he was a Jew, very keen and eager 
 but poor big Carney had no imagination. He 
 was just a man, an ex-pugilist, with a sort of 
 smiled-in dent under each eye. Besides his imagina- 
 tion, Sam had his violin. That opened many doors 
 and helped him understand many things. Often, 
 after the hotel question was settled and Sam had at- 
 tended to the mail and advised Miss Traxler to take 
 a nap, to get her out of the way, he would take his 
 violin and go into Kaleema's room, and she would 
 embroider perfectly hideous clothes for the Giniven 
 child while she listened to him. The Giniven child 
 was the pest of Kaleema's days and nights. She de- 
 tested its mother and father so profoundly that she 
 pitied the unlovely child. She saved it many merci- 
 less whippings, just to spare her own nerves, so she
 
 6 KALEEMA 
 
 said, and at night she often jerked it into her own 
 room and washed and hugged and kissed it and made 
 it warm and comfortable in her own bed. Nobody 
 else ever kissed the tantalizing, squalling little thing. 
 Even on the trains she worked like a slave embroid- 
 ering for it those unsuccessful clothes. Just that 
 day she had finished making it a wadded hood of 
 blood-red satin that old John Crichton, who was 
 Irish and English and therefore knew all about tea 
 fixings, said looked exactly like a homely tea cozy. 
 
 For a moment George Carney looked at the girl 
 from the doorway, then he went to her and put 
 something into her hand. For an instant she gazed 
 at it, then she shot a glance of withering disgust at 
 him and began talking much more loudly than 
 was necessary, which visibly got on his nerves. 
 
 " Three dollars ! " she exclaimed. " Great big 
 heavy, chunky silver dollars. Would n't that trip 
 a snake? " 
 
 She opened his overcoat pocket and dumped the 
 whole three offending dollars into it. 
 
 " I say, Carney, take those back to that old Harry 
 Skamon and don't you ever come near my door 
 again until you have an envelope. I need some real 
 money ; I Ve waited long enough for it ; and I 'm 
 sick and tired of being paid off like a cheap dago 
 with a pickax that can't do anything better than dig 
 up the sewer gas in Sixth Avenue." 
 
 She turned him around and pushed him out, try-
 
 KALEEMA 7 
 
 ing to slam the door ; but he stood there smiling, his 
 fine white teeth showing and the dents deepening un- 
 der his eyes, the door calmly held open by the width 
 of his broad shoe. 
 
 " Better take it when you can get it," he said peace- 
 ably. 
 
 She closed her eyes and imperiously waved her 
 hand for him to vanish. But he did not vanish. 
 Moreover, her hand was not be jeweled as the hand 
 of the magnificent Camille might justifiably have 
 been, but instead was quite bare and very grimy. 
 Both her soap and her jewels were rattling around 
 in the bottom of her trunk; the soap as hard as a 
 rock, and the jewels divorced from their settings. 
 
 "How will you pay your hotel bill, Kaleema?" 
 
 " Jump it. I don't care if I do disgrace the damn 
 show. You owe me for three weeks." 
 
 " You can't spend any other money in this town." 
 
 " Yes, I can. Have to buy a hat." 
 
 " What 's the matter with your hat ? " 
 
 " Fell into the water pail last night." 
 
 "Clean water?" 
 
 " Whole company had washed in it ! " 
 
 " Oh, come on, 'Leema. Behave yourself. . . . 
 Oh, well, if you don't want the money for the hotel 
 it 's not up to me to force it on you." 
 
 He knew that would make her talk, anyway. And 
 it did. She turned like a flash. 
 
 "What ails that old Harry Skamon? Is this
 
 8 KALEEMA 
 
 show closin' ? This is n't the first time we 've been 
 ditched by a fool leadin' man. Of course they won't 
 stay. We stay " flinging her hands into the air 
 to accentuate her disgust " because we 're just as 
 happy as if we had sense. ... I would n't have 
 your job! And you once a respectable prize fighter ! 
 Carney, I 'd go back to it if I had to spend my life 
 boxin' a kangaroo. ... I would n't be Skamon's 
 business manager ! In the first place there 's no busi- 
 ness to manage. It 's degradin' simply degrad- 
 in'." 
 
 With that he allowed himself to be pushed out, 
 and she closed the door. The ominous silence deep- 
 ened as he went. 
 
 Two minutes later there was another knock at that 
 same door. This time it was the departing leading 
 man. He put his suitcase down on the floor and 
 turned up his coat collar ready for the long walk 
 through the dark and cold to get the midnight train 
 that went east. Because he was young and a de- 
 cent sort, he felt guilty that he was leaving them, 
 but in the bottom of his heart there was a silent cry 
 of joy that the ordeal was over and he was going 
 out of that bleak country. Kaleema knew it, too. 
 
 " Train 's two hours late," he observed as he 
 stood there. " Leaves at two o'clock instead of at 
 midnight." 
 
 " Of course," she responded lightly, rubbing off 
 a streak of paint under her eye. " Ain't it hell ! "
 
 KALEEMA 9 
 
 " Good-by, Miss West," he said. " You 've been 
 a brick of a friend to have with a show. I '11 see you 
 again, I know I shall." 
 
 " You never will," she said cynically. " I never 
 run across any of the boys who stay sober. It 's 
 the others I see when they 've a skinful and need 
 a shave." Then, earnestly, " I wish to God that I 
 were going, too." 
 
 She was fastening the other hoop earring on 
 the other ear, and again looking at herself in 
 the dizzy mirror. The earrings were immensely 
 becoming. 
 
 " Why don't you go, Miss West? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, why don't I ? " she drawled mockingly. 
 
 She began screwing the top on her can of cold 
 cream and throwing things into the tray of her trunk, 
 the earrings dangling wildly at her ears. Suddenly 
 she began fumbling with something and talked with- 
 out looking at him. 
 
 " Do me a favor? Remember that dreadful 
 woman who was begging last summer on Broadway 
 
 around Times Square and down as far as Macy's 
 
 short hair, and a little black hat selling pencils 
 and whining ' Please help a poor paralyzed 
 woman ' ? " 
 
 Yes, he remembered her. " About as paralyzed 
 as I am," he commented. 
 
 " Perhaps. But if you get back there and see 
 her, give her this." Kaleema put a dollar into his
 
 10 KALEEMA 
 
 limp hand. " Last night I had a dream and she was 
 in it." 
 
 As she spoke she turned back to the powder and 
 confusion on the shelf. 
 
 " One whole dollar! " groaned the departing lead- 
 ing man. " Two dinners at Joubert's." 
 
 " Once I knew a woman who had that same kind 
 of slow voice," Kaleema responded. 
 
 " But I 'm not going to Broadway ; it 's only Ran- 
 dolph and Clark this winter." 
 
 " Then give it there to any woman who looks 
 as if she had crawled out into the daylight after a 
 dreadful night." 
 
 He dropped the money into his pocket, picked up 
 his suitcase and went out, closing her door. For 
 the wild hoodlum that she really was, she was very 
 depressing all of a sudden. 
 
 A few minutes later George Carney came back 
 to the theater for something. The place was de- 
 serted. Even the trunks had gone, and her door 
 was standing open ; but the light was on and he went 
 and looked in. She was still there. 
 
 " You here ! " he said in surprise. " Everybody 
 has gone. It 's a wonder they did n't lock you in." 
 
 " I suppose so," she answered. 
 
 He started to ask something, then stopped. He 
 was wondering where the boys were who usually 
 took her to a restaurant and back to the hotel. 
 
 " I 'm mad at everybody and tired out," she went
 
 KALEEMA n 
 
 on, " and the leadin' man 's skipped and Heaven 
 knows what we '11 draw now. If he 's a fright, 
 he'll stay; if he's fit to be seen, he'll go. I bet 
 the next one will whistle in the dressing-room. If 
 he does, I '11 break his head. This chap that just 
 left would n't admit it, but I know perfectly well 
 that he has a home. If managers were wise to this 
 game they would n't take anybody but penniless 
 orphans. Compared to a signed certificate from an 
 orphan asylum, experience and press notices would 
 mean nothing." She made a face and shrugged 
 her shoulders up under the hoop earrings. " And I 
 had to go to the bottom of my trunk, too ! " 
 
 Her hat and jacket were hanging on a nail, and 
 she was fastening her belt. As he stood there 
 watching her he was a serious, good-looking, busi- 
 ness-like man, with the odd dent in the cheek under 
 each eye. Perhaps he was born with those dents, 
 but they seemed as if he had smiled them in. It 
 was his physical perfection that had first made her 
 notice him. He was clean and strong, with the 
 ease and freedom of his own consciousness of these 
 things. She did n't bother with the fact that he 
 had finally broken in training, or that there could 
 ever have been anything brutal in his life; but with 
 him, as with the acrobats she knew, the something 
 pagan in her took recognition of the way the head 
 was poised on the shoulders and the firmness of the 
 mold. She had never seen a fine statue, but many
 
 12 KALEEMA 
 
 a time she had stood in the tent or in the wings, her 
 keen eyes watching the muscles of the circus men 
 work and tighten under the naked skin. 
 
 Carney never said very much, but she did not have 
 to look at him to know what was in his face just 
 then. And she dared not look. She wanted it so 
 much his affection just because it went a little 
 deeper, a good deal deeper, than the banter and 
 nonsense of every day. She knew it so well the 
 old longing and heart-hunger of the road, where all 
 faults are worn on the outside, and the primitive in- 
 stincts, too. She talked on cheerfully, hurrying to 
 get out of the stillness of the building, keenly 
 aware that it was not often that he came to her door 
 this way. Carney tried not to look at her. He al- 
 ways kept away from her when things were relaxed 
 and quiet after the show. 
 
 " You 're queer, Kaleema," he said. " I don't 
 believe you ever had a sweetheart with a show." 
 
 " Just chums are better like the boys. They 're 
 easier to manage. And every time you speak to 
 somebody else they don't go on the warpath." 
 
 " And it does n't hurt so when it is over," said the 
 man. 
 
 She could not speak, and the next instant he was 
 beside her, holding her in his arms with her head 
 back, her face very, very close to his own. 
 
 " Don't, Carney," she said sharply. " Let me 
 go."
 
 KALEEMA 13 
 
 For a moment he held her fiercely, then let her go 
 and stood looking at her, wondering why he was such 
 a fool that she could stop him. 
 
 Kaleema jerked down her hat and jacket and put 
 them on as she and Carney crossed the deserted stage 
 and went out into the cold wind. 
 
 Less than a hundred miles away, in the Park 
 Hotel at Three Rivers, a young man just that day 
 arrived from the East was waiting and shivering in 
 his room. He had left the evening crowd collected 
 in the warm office below the office and the kitchen 
 being the only warm places in the hotel and sat 
 huddled in his overcoat for the sake of being alone. 
 Angry impatience was smoldering within him, for 
 to make sure that he would not arrive too late he 
 had come a day too soon. 
 
 He was a very different sort from those who usu- 
 ally came this way. He was slight but tall; his 
 head was handsome, with close-cut hair brushed 
 well off the brow. He had the air of a subordinate 
 who was highly trained to come in contact with im- 
 portant men and to be discreet about big business. 
 He was well dressed, and his hands were unusually 
 white for a man. Cleanliness fairly radiated from 
 him. 
 
 His head was bent over a scattering of business 
 letters that he was trying to answer, but between his 
 eyes and the page there kept appearing to his mental 
 vision a girl's face sweet and restless and weak
 
 14 KALEEMA 
 
 and strong, but in her eyes there was no answer. 
 He admitted now that he loved her; he thought 
 but only thought that she loved him. He kept 
 seeing, too, very vividly the place where he had 
 first seen her in New York a cheap boarding- 
 house in West Thirty-eighth Street where he had 
 gone with another fellow that hot Saturday after- 
 noon. The hurdy-gurdy music was resounding 
 loudly through the sweltering street and booming 
 in at the open windows. She was sitting on the 
 stairs, throwing pennies to the hand-organ child who 
 had come into the lower hall. Then suddenly the 
 hand-organ monkey escaped and ran in, and she 
 was afraid of it and ran screaming up the stairs, 
 the monkey at her heels, tripped on her dress and 
 fell right in front of him. Of course he picked 
 her up, and of course the two boys gazed at her 
 pretty face while she swore shockingly at the fright- 
 ened monkey, and kept them all laughing for half an 
 hour afterward. And of course another girl came 
 into the hall to investigate the excitement, and then 
 they all had dinner together at a cheap cafe. 
 
 In his face there was not the stamp of many 
 decisions, but perhaps that was because he was 
 young.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 LONG past train-time the next day the young 
 man in the dreary hotel was still waiting. The 
 natives were accustomed to this state of affairs, but 
 the stranger was not, and he kept running down- 
 stairs to ask questions, until the old man in the 
 office audibly wished to Heaven that he had never 
 come near the town. What 's to be expected of a 
 railroad when it 's buried three feet under the snow ! 
 
 Four miles away was Sunflower Junction. 
 
 "If we ever live to get home we '11 all go to a 
 resort for invalids," said Sarah Skamon, coming 
 back into the junction station and banging the door 
 against the blizzard. Sarah was fat and short, with 
 big black eyes and swarthy skin. She was about 
 forty-five years old, looking sixty in the daytime 
 and sixteen at night when she had on a short dress 
 and her soubrette wig with a pink bow pinned over 
 one ear. Now she was playing Prudence and she 
 hated it, too. She liked much better to be a sou- 
 brette and sing. That, however, distressed poor old 
 Harry; even Trilby, the big, fat, lazy, white dog, 
 winced at her top notes. 
 
 " No resort for me, not when I 'm sober," re- 
 15
 
 16 KALEEMA 
 
 sponded Kaleema. " Once I went to Atlantic City, 
 and inside of a week I was engaged to a cripple. 
 I 'm that kind-hearted." 
 
 She took a look at her cards and threw a penny 
 on the suitcase that was balanced on a few knees 
 to serve as a table. For a minute Mr. Giniven 
 pondered and kept the game waiting. 
 
 " Grout," she continued to enlighten the company. 
 " Legs the size of his waist. And he was no fairy." 
 
 "What became of him?" asked Sarah. Being 
 fat, she was inclined to be sympathetic. 
 
 " Went on the rampage," replied Kaleema. 
 " Threw a shoe at me and his servant. You know 
 how long I stood for that. ... Go on, Giniven, 
 or quit playin' ! You have n't brains enough to 
 think for half an hour without hurtin' your head. 
 . . . That night I went to the pier and danced with 
 a guy I did n't know, and the next morning I beat 
 it. He's lucky if God and his mother still love 
 him. . . . Say, Giniven, is this a game of poker or 
 an absent treatment? " 
 
 Jimmy Giniven, thus pressed, put down a penny, 
 then regretted it. Miss Florence Daymond, other- 
 wise Mrs. Jimmy Giniven, had already lost five cents, 
 so she slammed down her cards and left, and the 
 suitcase, deprived of her knee, tipped wistfully. 
 
 " Gee, she 's lost five cents ! " yelled Kaleema. 
 " Say, that would buy a pie for the kid or a whole 
 slam handwich. Gee! but they 've got speed."
 
 KALEEMA 17 
 
 " Shut up, 'Leema," said Sarah. 
 
 The quarreling and wrangling began all over 
 again. Carney was watching Kaleema, wondering 
 if she would n't be equally sweet and lovable if she 
 had some manners. He hated a racket. She knew 
 it, and suddenly she looked at him and smiled. 
 
 A Swedish countrywoman sitting in a corner 
 behind the stove looked frightened and gathered in 
 her children. Save for them, the company had a 
 monopoly of the station for the time being. Miss 
 Godiva Traxler, a wispy blond, sat in a corner read- 
 ing " Science and Health." 
 
 "What doin', Miss Traxler?" shouted Kaleema. 
 
 " Minding my own business," shouted back Miss 
 Traxler. 
 
 Nobody dared laugh. 
 
 " Good night ! " said Kaleema. " Lord, you must 
 be blue." 
 
 " Such swearing ! " expostulated Sarah, but no- 
 body heard her. The men were talking angrily, and 
 Kaleema was laughing. 
 
 " It 's not that I care, but I hate a crooked game," 
 said somebody. 
 
 " Crooked ! " yelled Mr. Giniven. " Don't judge 
 others by yourself. See? " 
 
 It was pandemonium let loose. Old John 
 Crichton was n't in the game but he hated Giniven 
 so that he was telling him what he thought of him. 
 Charley Forbes, whose two hundred and ten pounds
 
 i8 KALEEMA 
 
 seemed to consist mostly of profanity, was saying 
 all he knew, and Sam Taney, his black eyes flashing, 
 was silently waiting to exterminate the whole crowd 
 in the next deal. The man behind the ticket window 
 looked perfectly disgusted. 
 
 " Next season," said Kaleema, " I 'm goin' to take 
 out a show of my own. No kids or ^.r-managers 
 wanted. That lets out some of my best friends. 
 See?" 
 
 " Better carry your own audience, too," suggested 
 Miss Daymond, " and let 'em in on that. You '11 
 need 'em." 
 
 " 'Leema, shut up," said Sarah, pushing her 
 shoulder. But it was no use. Kaleema was started. 
 
 " I knew we were goin' to pull off a fight to-day," 
 she was announcing. 
 
 "Yes? Who told you?" This sarcastically 
 from Mr. Giniven. 
 
 "Sportin' editor of the 'War Cry,'" politely 
 answered Kaleema. 
 
 The ticket agent, who was a man of resource, 
 quickly decided that if they took to killing one an- 
 other he would pull the Swedes into the office and 
 barricade the door. 
 
 " A hot bunch," he remarked to the telegraph 
 operator, who agreed with him perfectly. They 
 were sure that all had been drinking, but as a matter 
 of fact nobody but old John Crichton had seen a 
 drop for days. He drank instead of eating.
 
 KALEEMA 19 
 
 Sarah tried again. 
 
 " Harry, make them behave. Harry ! Heaven 
 forgive me that I should ever live to call that wab- 
 bling man my husband ! " This last was directed 
 to the stove or the coal scuttle or whomsoever it 
 might concern, as she swept past the big, fat, despised 
 Harry. But as Harry was the manager and not 
 very popular just then, he had sense enough to mind 
 his own business; so from out the depths of his 
 scraggy fur collar he continued to gaze silently and 
 raptly through the grimy window at the snow. 
 Mentally he was vowing never again to so much 
 as look at snow pudding. As for Sarah, he never 
 paid much attention to her suggestions, anyway. 
 To him she was still a child. When she was only 
 sixteen he had taken her home to his mother, who 
 made her her first long dress to be married in. In 
 a way, it was like a boy who finds a stray dog, 
 takes it home, feeds it, loves it and makes a chum 
 of it. 
 
 John Crichton, he of the frayed clothes and fine 
 intelligence, had stood it as long as he could, so he 
 went out to pace the platform in the driving wind, a 
 smile half tolerant, half cynical, on his once hand- 
 some face. Cold as it was, he forgot his overcoat 
 and left it inside. This was for two reasons, though 
 from one cause. He was always drinking, so that 
 he did not so much feel the cold, and to buy the 
 drink the overcoat was often sold. He so seldom
 
 20 KALEEMA 
 
 had one that he forgot it when he had it. Always 
 the flush of liquor was in his face, but his work was 
 invariably perfect, and to a woman he was ever the 
 same kind, courteous gentleman. 
 
 Above the din there was a whine over in the pile 
 of luggage, and Mrs. Giniven went to see if it were 
 the Skamon dog or the Giniven child. Apparently 
 it was the Skamon dog, for the Giniven child lay 
 pallid and still, asleep on the bench, one grimy hand 
 grasping the out-grown go-cart, more ridiculous than 
 ever in the face of the snow. 
 
 " Oh, come on ; be a sport and put up your pink 
 ring, Charley," suggested Kaleema. " I '11 put up 
 my ti-ra-ra." 
 
 " I paid fifty dollars for that ring, Miss West," 
 said Charley. He was very young, and he had a 
 little mustache. Also, he was a rich man's son and 
 he could n't forget it, nor did he want anybody else 
 to forget it. Every week he got money from his 
 mother. And he went to the best hotels. His 
 father considered him legally dead, and fervently 
 hoped he soon would be, physically. 
 
 " Yes, we have heard that before," observed 
 Giniven, very dryly. 
 
 " Sure, that 's all right, Charles, my boy ; we all 
 know you 're a darn fool," said Kaleema. 
 
 "'Dam,' is it?" came from Mrs. Giniven's 
 direction. " Sure, you must be reforming." 
 
 " I 'm glad that it is noticeable," Kaleema retorted
 
 KALEEMA 21 
 
 urbanely, a tantalizing inflection in her voice; but, 
 though it passed unobserved, a quick flush covered 
 her face. All unwittingly Mrs. Giniven had touched 
 a deep secret of the girl's soul. She was reforming. 
 And she was mightily ashamed of it. 
 
 Charley Forbes threw the stub of his cigarette on 
 the floor and planted his large foot on it. 
 
 " I '11 put it up against every scrap of your false 
 hair," he said, leaning forward and staring at the 
 girl. 
 
 For an instant she looked into his bold, round, 
 stupid eyes. She was thinking of Camille's pretty 
 golden wig with its soft little curls. She did love 
 it. She knew she could n't work or even remember 
 her lines without it. She had paid ten dollars for 
 it. And Charley was lucky, and she was not. 
 
 " Done," she said, very faintly. 
 
 Sam handed over the cards, and Charley shuffled 
 and dealt them. 
 
 Kaleema looked bored and drew four. Charley 
 looked bored and drew one. The hand was played 
 and Charley won. 
 
 Kaleema whistled softly through her teeth, then 
 she sang softly : 
 
 "There won't be any show to-night, 
 The leadin' lady 's lost her tights." 
 
 " Well, anyway, this is a good time to get full to 
 the wig-band," she observed.
 
 22 KALEEMA 
 
 The big fellow leaned back and laughed uproari- 
 ously, a coarse chuckle, his derby on the back of his 
 head, his fingers, stained to the knuckles by ciga- 
 rettes, sprawled on his knees, the pink ring very 
 obvious. 
 
 Kaleema was thinking. 
 
 " Charley," she said, " I '11 play you another hand. 
 You put up the wig and I '11 put up my nightgown, 
 and honest to Gawd I have n't but one." 
 
 Charley shuffled and dealt. Kaleema won. 
 
 She was through, and she got up and left him 
 chuckling deeper and longer. He had plenty of 
 good nature, a readiness both to work and to boast 
 and to cheat the railroads about the baggage. 
 
 Miss Traxler went out to fill her lungs with 
 fresh air, Charley following her. She jumped up 
 on an empty truck and sat watching an old freight 
 train coming down the track. It entered Charley's 
 head to give her a ride. He seized the handles and 
 rushed the truck down the length of the platform, 
 out to the very edge, and suddenly swung it around 
 the corner. Having nothing to hold to, there was 
 only one possible thing for Miss Traxler to do, so 
 she promptly did it. She shot through the air and 
 landed on her hands and knees in the middle of the 
 track, her blue eyes still fixed on the approaching 
 freight cars. They were then about a hundred feet 
 away. Charley stood as if struck dumb and glued 
 to the platform, so Godiva picked herself up and
 
 KALEEMA 23 
 
 stepped out of the way as the cars jerked over the 
 spot where she had landed. 
 
 " You 've torn your dress," Charley said limply. 
 
 " / have torn my dress ? " demanded Godiva. 
 " Yes, and / have skinned my knees and hands and / 
 have lost my Christian Science book under the freight 
 train. And our train will come before that big snail 
 gets out of the way ! " 
 
 " No danger of that, Miss Traxler," interrupted 
 John Crichton, who was by that time brushing the 
 snow from her dress. " Open my bag and get the 
 liniment, Charley." 
 
 Charley's power of locomotion returned, and when 
 he came back with the liniment his tongue was 
 running in profuse apologies, while they were sop- 
 ping her bruises. 
 
 Inside the station Kaleema went to look at the 
 Giniven child. It was fat and fluffy and spoiled ; a 
 wave of bitterness swept over the girl as she stood 
 there. The blood-red bonnet accentuated its pallor 
 (it seldom got any air and was fed mostly on pie), 
 and she saw that there were dark blue circles under 
 its eyes. The sound of some of its past punish- 
 ments came ringing in her ears and made her shud- 
 der. She looked over at the mother as she had 
 looked a hundred times selfish, coarse, with full 
 lips and bold eyes, once a burlesque woman; then 
 at the young father, a cad, dressed in freakish 
 clothes, looking like a fool. From him her glance
 
 24 KALEEMA 
 
 met squarely and suddenly the honest gray eyes of 
 Carney who was standing in the middle of the floor. 
 
 " Some day that kid will just fit into her mother's 
 tights," she said bitterly. 
 
 She went to a window and looked out. It was the 
 back of the station and she could not see where the 
 railroads crossed, but she could look ahead and see 
 where one road disappeared in the distance. The 
 tracks had been cleared recently, and on either side 
 was a ridge of snow. At a short distance from the 
 station was a shed; and before it some old farm 
 implement which, covered over as it was, made a 
 white mound. At a little distance was a long, low 
 row of old wooden buildings an eating place, 
 a harness shop, a grocery, two saloons, a hotel. 
 Hidden somewhere, of course, was a wagon road. 
 As the girl gazed idly, a figure emerged from the 
 side of the station. It was a woman plodding to- 
 ward the old wooden row. The wind was not blow- 
 ing hard now, but presently she fell. She lay still 
 for a moment, then she staggered to her feet and 
 continued her uncertain way. After a short dis- 
 tance she fell again, and again she lay quite still. 
 She was evidently getting her breath. But this time 
 it seemed longer; then her head fell forward, and 
 Kaleema saw that around her neck was a soiled 
 bright ribbon. In the next breath the girl's hand 
 was on the doorknob, and as she slipped out she 
 quietly closed the door after her. When she reached
 
 KALEEMA 25 
 
 the woman, she bent over and looked at her; at 
 the old ribbon that was wet and staining her neck, 
 at her face yes, in that condition she would have 
 frozen in an incredibly short time. Kaleema shook 
 her and made her get up. 
 
 " Thanks, dearie, thank you so much. Is n't this 
 dreadful weather, darling? Yes, darling, I can go 
 alone. Yes, I '11 hurry." 
 
 But the girl waited until she had disappeared 
 behind a sheltering door. 
 
 Kaleema looked sharply at the track, the shed, 
 the mound, the row of old wooden buildings. She 
 took a deep breath. She understood. She had seen 
 so many of those weary faces, and heard so many of 
 those fumbling, scant-breathed voices; the soiled 
 bright ribbons were like links of a chain of pity 
 dragged through her life. But she had found it use- 
 less to think against God. 
 
 As she reentered the station the front door sud- 
 denly opened and John Crichton came in briskly and 
 picked up his bag. He completely forgot his over- 
 coat. 
 
 At last the train !
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 FOR some minutes the office of the Park Hotel 
 at Three Rivers had been deserted. Ice and 
 snow covered the windows, and a broken pane, 
 stuffed up with newspapers, let the wind sift through. 
 To the right was the desk and the narrow flight of 
 stairs ; to the left were the swinging barroom doors, 
 with the sociable sound of voices beyond. The stove 
 was in the middle of the room and on it was a pail 
 of water that was supposed to be heating. Vain 
 hope! 
 
 In the windows facing the street and above the 
 desk were sheets of flaring show-paper announcing: 
 
 DILLON & SKAMON 
 
 MANAGERS 
 
 OPERA HOUSE 
 
 JANUARY 7 
 
 CAMILLE 
 
 A county map and railroad time-tables were hang- 
 ing on the walls. Newspapers were scattered about 
 on chairs, table, and floor, and a small rusty oil- 
 stove was pushed into a corner. 
 
 Presently a surly middle-aged man came in, half 
 26
 
 KALEEMA 27 
 
 frozen, his mustache covered with frost. He closed 
 the door with a bang, then went to the stove and 
 looked in. Black as night in there, and he closed 
 that door also with a bang; then he buttoned his 
 overcoat again, picked up a newspaper and sat down 
 by the writing table. The next instant the swinging 
 doors opened and the old landlord came in. The 
 noise had done that much, anyway. 
 
 " Did you meet the train? " he inquired. 
 
 " Meet the train ! " repeated Adam James, giving 
 the 'newspaper a jerk. " No. I 've something else 
 to do besides standing on a platform this weather 
 waiting for an engine to come along." Then he 
 added, " I 've been up at the mine. The trains can't 
 get through." 
 
 " Eastern 's just come. Boys just telephoned. 
 Two hours late. H'ope the show gets in on the 
 Southern. Coin' to the Oprey House to-night? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 The old man busied himself about the desk, then 
 gazed at the zigzags of frost on the windows for a 
 while. 
 
 " Wakes a place up to have a company come 
 along," he observed. He hated silence, especially in 
 mean weather. " The first one that ever came this 
 way brought the Gipsy " 
 
 " It did ? " interrupted James. 
 
 " Came the first year I had this place. My, but 
 she had handsome eyes ! "
 
 28 KALEEMA 
 
 " Yes, when she was drunk," said Adam James. 
 He gave the newspaper another jerk. " She was too 
 bad to die ; the devil did n't want her. Neither did 
 I. When she came near a camp of mine, I had 
 her driven out. And one night she lay drunk in 
 the road, crying." 
 
 " Why, when she came here " began the old 
 man, but stopped, for there was a sound at the door. 
 
 A traveler bustled in, put down his suitcase, and 
 for a moment surveyed the office before he went 
 to the stove and held out his hands. The old man 
 dipped the pen and swung the register around for the 
 stranger to come and sign his name. It was an 
 unprepossessing creature that had arrived, large and 
 awkward, very tired, very disheveled, and with oily 
 black hair. He soon discovered the secret of the 
 stove and, that hope abandoned, went and regis- 
 tered. Brian de Bassonville. The old man gazed 
 at it. He could n't read, much less pronounce it, 
 and he mechanically scrawled an S, for supper, and 
 the number of a room. 
 
 " Has the ' Camille ' company come ? " asked Mr. 
 de Bassonville. His voice sounded as if he had a 
 dreadful cold, and he lisped a little, too. 
 
 " Not yet," replied the old man. " But that 
 Southern should have been here three hours ago. 
 They '11 be comin' along now any minute, most likely. 
 Are you with the show? " 
 
 Brian's lids drooped nonchalantly. " I am just
 
 KALEEMA 29 
 
 joining. I am the new leading man." He lighted 
 a cigarette while this took root. " A rotten show, 
 I suppose," he observed. " They all are." 
 
 Nobody bothered to encourage him. The old man 
 went back into the barroom and de Bassonville 
 flopped into a chair, took some papers from his 
 pocket and puffed at his cigarette. He was so sleepy 
 he could scarcely hold up his head. 
 
 " Very cold," he remarked to Mr. James. 
 
 " Yes, sir, it is," James replied. 
 
 De Bassonville roused himself and sat upright, 
 something inquisitive in the tilt of his nose. " Do 
 you run across a good many shows? " he inquired. 
 
 Adam James looked at him an instant before he 
 answered, " I did, years ago." 
 
 " Years ago. How interesting," said de Basson- 
 ville. " In those days, on the whole, what did you 
 think of them?" 
 
 " That all the women ought to have been hung." 
 He said it viciously, and then he went into the bar- 
 room. 
 
 As the door swung closed there was a quick step 
 on the stairs, and a young man came down, the 
 one who had been waiting since the day before. 
 When he saw de Bassonville he stopped short. 
 
 " Has the show come? " he asked eagerly. 
 
 De Bassonville turned and looked at him a 
 good-looking, well-dressed man, young but self- 
 reliant in speech and manner. That was as far as
 
 30 KALEEMA 
 
 de Bassonville's observation was capable of pene- 
 trating. 
 
 " No," replied de Bassonville. " Are you join- 
 ing? " 
 
 " No." Irritable impatience flashed into his face, 
 and he shouted for the landlord. 
 
 " Yes, yes, Mr. Barton," said the old man, hurry- 
 ing in. 
 
 " I say, can't you put some kind of heat in this 
 place?" 
 
 " Why, do you feel chilly, Mr. Barton? " 
 
 " Chilly? " snapped Barton. " No. I 'm so cold 
 I 'm numb." 
 
 The old man peered into the stove. It seemed 
 almost a pity so ruthlessly to shatter his dreams. 
 " Usually," he said, " this heats the whole house very 
 nicely. Now, if you could sit down here 
 
 " Which I can not," interrupted Barton. " It may 
 seem unbelievable but nevertheless I have some 
 work to do, and I can't write letters and be dis- 
 turbed. I '11 just take this oil stove - He made 
 a quick dive for it, as if there were danger of some- 
 body's getting it before him. 
 
 " I would n't, Mr. Barton," said the old man 
 calmly. " I would n't bother with that stove. 
 It 's been broken, the important part of it, for a 
 year." 
 
 By the time the sentence was finished Harold 
 Barton was half way up the stairs; then he turned
 
 KALEEMA 31 
 
 and called down, this time his voice coming in a 
 polite, apologetic wail. 
 
 " Have you heard from that Southern " 
 
 The old man knew what was coming and cut him 
 short. " No. She 's more than three hours " 
 
 But he did not finish either, for he saw the pest 
 disappear three steps at a time. 
 
 " He 's been running down here every ten minutes 
 for the last three hours," said the old man, appealing 
 to the stranger for a sympathetic ear. " I don't 
 care at all how soon he packs his grip and leaves, 
 not at all. He 's been more nuisance in the last 
 twenty-four hours . . . and he did n't eat his 
 breakfast, not at all. The breakfast was all right, 
 too good coffee, good ham, good buckwheat cakes. 
 I don't care how soon he goes ! Not at all." 
 
 " Well, you see, he 's not a real actor. We actors 
 get used to knocking around," lisped de Bassonville 
 with a haughty, off-hand pride. 
 
 Upstairs, behind a closed door, Harold Barton 
 stood in the middle of his bare, cold room, motion- 
 less but for his heavy breathing and the twitching 
 of his lips and eyes. If the boy could pray, he was 
 praying then for God or chance to show him what 
 to do. 
 
 Yes, the train was more than three hours late ; and 
 with his brain and body strung to a torturing ten- 
 sion he was trying to divine what that delay meant 
 for him. Perhaps fate was pointing. He had had
 
 32 KALEEMA 
 
 time to think during that long night and longer day. 
 But the thinking had got him nowhere. He was 
 adrift and helpless, at the mercy of the half -con- 
 quered pride and sensitiveness that clung to him, 
 caught in a merciless battle between family blood 
 and tradition and the man's assertiveness that his 
 life is his own to be lived in his own way. 
 
 On the table lay a letter that he had written. It 
 was sealed, and addressed to Kaleema West. In it 
 he had told her brutally, because it could n't 
 be told in any other way that he had come to see 
 her, but had gone before she came and would never 
 see her or write to her again. For a moment as 
 he stood there his gaze rested on it, and then he 
 bit his lips and turned his back on it as if it were 
 the pistol with which he had thought he meant to 
 take his own life. Above everything, he was think- 
 ing of his mother. He respected and loved her. 
 Kaleema West was something that she could never 
 understand. This was the third time in his life that, 
 for more than a few hours at a time, his mother had 
 not reasonable knowledge of where he was. Those 
 three times he had gone to some distant place to 
 see Kaleema West. 
 
 Twice since they had known each other the girl 
 had taken his head in her strong little hands and 
 kissed his lips, and then caught her breath and 
 pushed him away. He was trying not to remember 
 that.
 
 KALEEMA 33 
 
 Suddenly he picked up his things that lay scat- 
 tered about the room and threw them into his 
 bag and closed it with a sharp snap. He would 
 
 go- 
 But he was no nearer to going. He sat down 
 
 by the table and stared at the unrelenting room. 
 He could not marry her. That was too dear a cost 
 of infatuation. 
 
 The habit of his whole life took his thoughts back 
 home. When he was through college his father 
 had got him into a broker's office and he was work- 
 ing there desperately hard. He had always worked. 
 He had had to grind to get through college. He 
 wanted money. He did not exactly envy his brother 
 his wealth, but there was such a big difference in their 
 lives. He did not let even his mother know it, but 
 often he was desperately discouraged and blue. In 
 a way, he felt entirely cut off from his family and 
 their friends; for in their lives there was wealth 
 and luxury everywhere and the enjoyments that only 
 money can bring. Into his loneliness bitterness had 
 begun to come. He must have companionship of 
 some kind, and amusement that had fellowship 
 mixed in, and it was while indulging in that of his 
 own financial limits that he gravitated toward Bo- 
 hemia and saw the girl with the dark gray eyes and 
 the fine dark brows. 
 
 Suddenly he picked up the letter and put it in 
 his pocket. Lying there, he felt that the girl could
 
 34 KALEEMA 
 
 read it before she came. He did not want her to 
 do that before he made up his mind. 
 
 Then he closed his eyes to shut out memories, but 
 that only shut them in. He wondered how long it 
 had been since he came back upstairs. He stood up 
 and looked again for his decision. All that he could 
 see to do was something he was ashamed of. 
 
 Downstairs the landlord still stood stupid behind 
 the desk, and de Bassonville was talking on and on. 
 
 " Now, for instance, these people needed a leading 
 man so desperately that I was persuaded to come. 
 Been dickering with Frohman and Brady all season, 
 but as yet they have n't come to my terms. Been 
 getting a divorce, too. Expensive things, these 
 divorces." 
 
 " Yes," said the old man suddenly, when it dawned 
 on him that it was time for him to speak. 
 
 " Bad season, anyway," de Bassonville went on. 
 " All bad seasons ever since I 've been in the busi- 
 ness. I know pos-i-tively that Mansfield was just 
 ready to fail completely when he died. . . . Now 
 this piece is n't my line. My line is melodrama - 
 heavies in melodrama, where you can get hold of it 
 and make a scene of it." 
 
 He flipped the papers that he held and lighted 
 another cigarette. 
 
 " Now this light stuff makes tricky study. I Ve 
 been at it for two nights but I don't know any more 
 than when I began. But I '11 be all right to-night.
 
 KALEEMA 35 
 
 O-oh yes! It's the inspiration of the crowd and 
 the applause that the actor needs. And Armand 
 is a great part, oh-h yes, a great part." 
 
 But it was all lost, for the landlord had pricked 
 up his ears in quite another direction, shamelessly 
 indifferent to continuing his education. There was 
 the sound of voices outside, and one of the hurrying 
 figures was already at the door ; it was pushed open, 
 and Kaleema rushed in. 
 
 She had been running, and she was laughing up- 
 roariously. De Bassonville stuffed his part into his 
 pocket, seized a newspaper and began reading as if 
 his life depended on it, but he surreptitiously watched 
 her from the corner of his eye. 
 
 " Gee ! what a small stage ! Where 's the mail ? 
 ... I choose the stove. I choose the stove ! " She 
 dropped her suitcase in the middle of the floor, 
 dashed over to the oil stove, pulled it to a chair, sat 
 down and began hugging it. "I knew there would 
 be one in this town ! " 
 
 The landlord and de Bassonville eyed her in dis- 
 may as she sat there shaking with laughter. Then 
 the Skamons hurried in he tall, she short; both 
 bundled to their eyes in scraggly, moth-eaten furs, 
 and both dejected. Sarah, carrying a huge bundle 
 and very indignant, went straight to Kaleema. 
 
 " I suppose 7 shall have to freeze," she said. 
 
 Kaleema turned kindly to her. " Well, why in 
 hell did n't you run faster ? "
 
 36 KALEEMA 
 
 Sarah bounced away. The old landlord's heart 
 missed three beats. 
 
 By that time they had all come in, Carney dignified 
 and anxious, the rest of them only dejected. Even 
 the suitcases looked blue as they sat on the floor 
 and waited. Somebody registered for the crowd. 
 
 Sarah Skamon hunched up her bundle. " I never 
 saw such a place as this is," she observed. 
 
 Kaleema began singing. 
 
 " All wildcat towns look alike to me, 
 
 I play three hundred and sixty-five a year, you see " 
 
 " Sir, I must have a warm room," Sarah an- 
 nounced to the landlord. 
 
 " And I want a nice little cold one on the roof 
 roses on the mantel and pictures on the wall," said 
 Kaleema. 
 
 Carney's nerves could not stand it a minute longer, 
 and he disappeared into the barroom. Of course it 
 was none of his business, but between Sarah Skamon 
 and that 'Leema he was ready for a nervous break- 
 down. 
 
 The hotel-keeper was trying to be good-natured 
 and calm. " Certainly, certainly," he said, " a nice 
 room for everybody. Who 's the leading lady ? " 
 
 "I'm her," yelled Kaleema. "Gets all the 
 scoldin's and does all the work." 
 
 By that time Charley Forbes was at her elbow. 
 " Shut up ! " he said. He had seen de Bassonville,
 
 KALEEMA 37 
 
 and here was a fine beginning to make a good im- 
 pression on the new man. 
 
 Kaleema seemed not to hear him. 
 
 " Here, Trilby ! " she called, and whistled, and 
 Sarah's big bundle began to jump. Godiva Traxler 
 was trying not to laugh. 
 
 Sarah was furious. " Don't call the dog ! Is n't 
 the stove enough for you ? " 
 
 Kaleema snapped back. " Can't I call my own 
 dog even if it is dead? Here, doggie, doggie, 
 doggie!" 
 
 The perspiration started on Charley's pasty brow. 
 Sarah's bundle began to bound, and finally she 
 opened it and pushed out the big, fat dog that had 
 to stay in the bag on the trains. 
 
 "What ails you to-day, 'Leema?" she said 
 crossly. " You '11 be crying before the day 's over 
 see if you don't." She held up a grimy finger 
 to warn her. 
 
 By this time de Bassonville had introduced him- 
 self to Harry Skamon. Charley was angry and dis- 
 gusted. He went back to Kaleema. " Shut up ! " 
 he hissed. 
 
 " Mind your own business," snapped Miss Trax- 
 ler, on her behalf, and Kaleema began investigating 
 her oil stove. Nothing inside but the broken can. 
 She looked at Traxler and then at Charley. Then 
 she called out to the landlord. 
 
 " Say ! she 's busted ! Say ! she has n't any in-
 
 38 KALEEMA 
 
 sides ! " Nobody heard her but Traxler and 
 Charley. Sarah was talking to the new man. 
 Kaleema carefully closed the stove and carried it 
 over to her. " Here, honey," she said, " I was just 
 teasin' you." She patted Sarah's fat back. " I 
 never did mean to keep the stove." 
 
 All of a sudden Sarah was very forgiving. " No, 
 I won't take it," she said, meaning that she was wait- 
 ing to be urged. 
 
 " Yes, you will, honey," said Kaleema. " The 
 manager's wife always has the stove." 
 
 Sarah took it reluctantly. " Then you come up 
 to my room and get good and warm. Come, baby ! 
 come with mother. Come, baby! come with 
 mother." This was for Trilby. 
 
 The landlord went ahead, and Sarah, carrying 
 the stove, the dog waddling after her, struggled up 
 the stairs. They passed right by the closed door 
 behind which Harold Barton was standing. 
 
 Already there was a lump of worry in Harry 
 Skamon's throat. The moment had arrived when 
 the company must formally meet the new man. Of 
 course it was none of their business to make any 
 comments, but that would not keep them from doing 
 it. While he stood in the middle of the floor screw- 
 ing up his courage, he saw Charley Forbes go over 
 to the three women and heard what he said to them. 
 
 " Well, Miss West, guess you 've queered the new 
 man, all right."
 
 KALEEMA 39 
 
 They turned suddenly and stared at de Basson- 
 ville, in their faces horror and despair. Skamon, 
 the agony of decision taken from him, hurried over 
 to them. 
 
 " Now, Kaleema, don't swear ! " he implored ex- 
 citedly. He scarcely knew what he was saying. 
 
 " He was queered some time ago," was all she 
 said. She did n't even want to swear. 
 
 Skamon wiped his brow. " Yes. Now don't 
 swear so he '11 hear it." 
 
 Kaleema turned to Godiva Traxler. " Now, what 
 do you know about that ? He '11 close the show. 
 Take a peep at him. He 's the most awful lookin' 
 thing I ever saw." 
 
 Skamon spoke to de Bassonville, trying to be very 
 amiable. 
 
 " You go on to-night, of course? " 
 
 " O-oh yes," he answered, " I '11 be all right to- 
 night." He caressingly tapped the thumb- worn part 
 that was poking its head out of his pocket. 
 
 " Bet he does n't know two lines," Skamon heard 
 Kaleema say to some one. 
 
 With that he turned to them, very pompous, to 
 show his authority. 
 
 " Mrs. Giniven, Miss West, Miss Traxler, this is 
 Mr. de Bassonville." 
 
 Florence Giniven and Godiva Traxler nodded and 
 stared at him, Kaleema got up and gave him her 
 firm, grimy little hand. This time a lump of sur-
 
 40 KALEEMA 
 
 prise was in Skamon's throat. People always forgot 
 the mercy that was in her. 
 
 " I know you have had a long, hard jump to reach 
 us," she said, and for the first time in two days 
 the oily creature felt that life was still in him. He 
 did not know that she was furious at him for being 
 so homely and uncouth and greasy. He could have 
 gone down on his knees in gratitude. 
 
 Thus encouraged, he became talkative. " Oh, 
 we '11 soon have things in great shape," he lisped. 
 With a nod of her head Kaleema emphatically 
 agreed with him. " Have n't been working for some 
 time. Been getting a divorce. Expensive things, 
 these divorces. But I 'm going to break the record. 
 Beat Lillian Russell. Been dickering with Frohman 
 and Brady, too, but they have n't yet come to my 
 terms." 
 
 Skamon dared not look at Kaleema, and he was 
 so nervous by this time that he disappeared into the 
 barroom. Carney was there, not drinking anything, 
 looking like a sphinx. 
 
 " He 's hung himself in three words, George," 
 Skamon said, " and in five minutes there won't be a 
 thread of him left. We may as well get drunk. 
 I don't see that there is anything else to do." 
 
 " Now this is n't exactly my line," continued the 
 excited leading man, " but it 's all experience. My 
 line is melodrama heavies in melodrama where 
 you can get hold of something and make a scene out
 
 KALEEMA 41 
 
 of it." He clenched his big fists and shook them 
 in the air. " Now this stuff makes tricky study. 
 But I '11 be all right to-night. Oh-h yes ! It 's the 
 inspiration of the crowd and the applause " 
 
 " Crowd ? " Kaleema repeated, and she sadly 
 shook her head. " We have n't been having any 
 crowds. You '11 have to work up without the crowd. 
 We have even been sendin' the stage hands out front 
 and askin' 'em to look pleasant until it was time 
 to cry. But we could n't ask 'em to give us a 
 hand." 
 
 The melodramatic expression darkened in his face. 
 He put his arms akimbo and glanced cautiously 
 after Skamon, and lowered his voice. 
 
 "Bad business?" 
 
 " Rotten," Kaleema said through her teeth. 
 
 " Dear me ! Never mind, little one, we '11 pull 
 through." 
 
 He patted her shoulder, seized his part, and 
 vanished by way of the stairs. 
 
 For a moment they gazed at one another, speech- 
 less, then " My Gawd! " It seemed to come from 
 everybody. 
 
 " Now don't anybody say that the worst is always 
 yet to come," said Kaleema, her eyes flashing. 
 
 " Don't worry," said Taney. " He won't stay 
 long. Frohman and Brady won't let him." 
 
 " Well, I don't like the look of things," said Miss 
 Traxler, staring at Taney as if he were to blame.
 
 42 KALEEMA 
 
 "Who does?" inquired Mrs. Giniven; then she 
 said, with an oath, " Marry him, one of you girls, 
 and help him beat Lillian Russell." 
 
 " Better do it yourself," retorted Godiva. 
 " Neither of us has married a freak yet." 
 
 Nobody missed her meaning. 
 
 Mrs. Giniven flared up. " Oh, callin' Jimmy 
 Giniven a freak, are you? " 
 
 " Shut up," commanded Jimmy, glaring at his 
 loyal spouse. " Better mind your own business, 
 see ? " A terrible thrust at Traxler was on the tip 
 of Mrs. Giniven's tongue, but Jimmy wisely did not 
 give her time. " Here we are in the wilderness," he 
 continued, " no money for weeks, none in sight, this 
 crazy fool for a leading man " 
 
 " The man that sent him ought to be given a pass 
 to the show and made to come to it," interrupted 
 Kaleema. 
 
 " Skamon going crazy " said Charley. 
 
 " The rest of 'em crazy before they left home," 
 said Miss Traxler. 
 
 " All of us playing parts we can't play," said Mrs. 
 Giniven, and she added further remarks as she turned 
 away. 
 
 " Me playin' Camille! " said Kaleema. " Ain't it 
 awful! and not gettin' paid for so much as the 
 eyelashes. Would n't it trip a snake ! " 
 
 " Well, 7 am going to ask Mr. Carney for some 
 money," announced Jimmy.
 
 KALEEMA 43 
 
 " Let the rest of us look at it when you get it," 
 said Taney, but instead of answering Jimmy picked 
 up the Giniven suitcases and went upstairs, followed 
 by Mrs. Giniven with the folded go-cart and the 
 Giniven child. 
 
 " I 'm going to demand some money, too, Sam 
 Taney," said Godiva Traxler. They were supposed 
 to be chums, or sweethearts, or something. " Lots 
 I 've had out of this show! And pretty soon I 'm 
 going home. You take it very calmly, don't you? 
 Don't even bat an eye. It 's real funny, is n't it ? 
 And I suppose you '11 be lettin' me beat it back 
 alone, Sam Taney. You bet I '11 size up the next 
 bunch better than I did this one before I hit the road 
 again." 
 
 " Oh, stop talking. You did n't leave much," said 
 Taney. 
 
 "Oh, didn't I? You know all about it, don't 
 you ? " retorted Miss Traxler, and she, too, took her 
 suitcase and disappeared up the stairs. 
 
 Dreamily Kaleema put her finger down the neck 
 of her dress and began to pull out a string, and the 
 next moment came a sad-looking little bag. She 
 opened it and began to count her money. Charley's 
 face was merely blank and pasty, for he did not 
 understand, but there was a smile in Taney's dark 
 eyes as he gazed down at her. 
 
 " Going to jump, 'Leema ? " he inquired. 
 
 " You 're right, Sam," she answered. " If that
 
 44 KALEEMA 
 
 bum legit upstairs lives through the rehearsal, I '11 
 give Skamon a week; if he does n't, I go. I never 
 did want to see that north pole, anyway." 
 
 She counted the money. It did n't take long. 
 
 " I can let you have five," said Taney. 
 
 " I don't want it, Sam. I 'd rather stick in Kala- 
 mazoo." 
 
 " You '11 stick there all right," he answered. 
 
 Her shoulders went up under the hoop earrings. 
 It certainly did look like Kalamazoo. 
 
 " I wish I had taken Carney's silver dollars last 
 night," she observed meditatively. She stuffed the 
 money back into the sad-looking bag, then it de- 
 scended down her neck, quite solemnly. 
 
 The two men went into the barroom. 
 
 For a few moments the girl sat alone, her thoughts 
 very far away ; then she heard voices and knew that 
 Sarah Skamon and Miss Traxler were coming down- 
 stairs. They both had pitchers to get warm water, 
 and Sarah began dipping it out from the pail on the 
 stove. 
 
 " 'Leema, that oil stove is broken, so you did n't 
 miss anything," she said. Kaleema scarcely heard 
 her. 
 
 Godiva had gone over to look at the register. 
 Idly inspecting it, she read, " Harold Barton, New 
 York City." She checked an exclamation and sailed 
 over to Kaleema.
 
 KALEEMA 45 
 
 " Did I tell you that Harold Barton is here to- 
 day?" 
 
 Kaleema turned and looked at her. For an instant 
 her lips were dry and she could not speak. Then, 
 " Harold here ? " she said. 
 
 " Yes. He may be here now for all I know," 
 Miss Traxler answered, and began to fill her pitcher. 
 
 Kaleema's face went white. For a moment she 
 looked at her, stunned, then she turned on Godiva in 
 a flash of jealous rage. 
 
 " How did you know ? " 
 
 " Go and look at the register, silly," drawled Miss 
 Traxler. " I just this minute saw it." 
 
 Kaleema went and looked at the open page. The 
 name was there, written the previous day. For an 
 instant she covered her face with her hands. 
 
 " Forgive me, Godiva. I was a fool." 
 
 " Sure," said Godiva. 
 
 " You 're a fool, all right, 'Leema, and in love, 
 too," said Sarah Skamon as Miss Traxler went back 
 up the stairs. 
 
 " No, I 'm not," said Kaleema. " It was just my 
 temper, and because I was surprised." She bit 
 her white lips and pressed her grimy little hands 
 over her heart, for it seemed to her that Sarah could 
 hear it beating. Then she added nervously, her 
 voice lower, " I wish that he would stay away." 
 In a sort of panic she was foreseeing what would
 
 46 KALEEMA 
 
 come. And just at a time when she was down on 
 her luck, and lonesome so lonesome. 
 
 ' 'Leema, why don't you marry that man ? " 
 Sarah came nearer and spoke very seriously. 
 
 Kaleema laughed harshly. " Why, it 's nothing 
 but a flirtation." Her white lips twisted in a little 
 sneer. 
 
 " Flirtation ! " retorted Sarah. " See here, 
 'Leema, this is the third time that he has been to 
 see you this season." 
 
 "Well? " said the girl, as Sarah paused. 
 
 " And a man does n't follow a show for a flirta- 
 tion." 
 
 " I wish he would let me alone and stay away," 
 said Kaleema. 
 
 Sarah earnestly put a hand on her shoulder. 
 " Don't be a fool, 'Leema. And don't be such a 
 wild, secretive little thing. He is a gentleman, and 
 he has a little more than his wits. And you have 
 worked so hard and been so good that you deserve 
 some happiness on earth. Even if he has n't any 
 money I wish that you would marry him, dear, and 
 get out of this hard work and have a home." 
 
 Kaleema closed her eyes and laid her hand on 
 Sarah's. " Oh, Sarah, don't bring it down to mate- 
 rial things ! " 
 
 The quick tears welled up in Sarah Skamon's eyes. 
 That sounded so young, so full of youth's idolatry! 
 For a moment she held Kaleema close, praying an
 
 KALEEMA 47 
 
 unformed prayer that the idols might not be broken. 
 
 "Kaleema!" 
 
 It was a man's voice from the stairs. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Barton ! " exclaimed Sarah. 
 
 " How do you do, Mrs. Skamon ! " He ran down 
 and seized both her hands. 
 
 " We were just talking about you," said Sarah. 
 " Saw your name on the register. You must be 
 crazy to follow a show this terrible weather. Pity 
 you can't act, you 're so fond of starvin' and 
 freezin'." She started off upstairs. 
 
 " I am afraid that depends on who is at the other 
 end of the road, Mrs. Skamon," he answered, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " Yes, that makes a difference," said Sarah, and 
 disappeared.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 KALEEMA." 
 "Harold!" 
 
 They were alone in the office and he kissed her. 
 
 " You have no idea how surprised I was when 
 Godiva discovered your name on the register," said 
 Kaleema. 
 
 To Harold's mind she was tiresomely calm. He 
 did not know precisely what he had supposed she 
 would say, but, at any rate, his vague expectancy 
 was not fulfilled ; far from it, considering the expen- 
 sive journey and the wretched night in the cold hotel 
 where the bedclothes were so short that his feet 
 stuck out when his shoulders were covered and his 
 shoulders stuck out when his feet were covered. 
 So he had come from the Atlantic Ocean to North 
 Dakota to meet this perfect composure? He had 
 just got that thought clearly defined in his mind 
 when she perched on the arm of a chair and began 
 laughing and talking with childish joy, so happy that 
 she did n't even look battered and tired as she had a 
 moment ago. There was something undefinable 
 about her that was very beautiful in Harold Barton's 
 eyes. That was what was combating family tradi- 
 tion. 
 
 48
 
 KALEEMA 49 
 
 " When did you come? " she demanded. 
 
 " Yesterday." 
 
 " Why did n't you write to me that you were 
 
 coming? " 
 
 " I did n't want to." 
 
 " But you nearly missed me." 
 
 " Missed you ? " 
 
 " Hush! Yes, I am leaving." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " Possibly to-day." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " Where are you going? Don't you know where 
 you are going? " 
 
 " I believe the show will close here. They owe 
 everybody money and a dreadful man has just come 
 on. ... What brought you ? . . . Business ? " 
 She knew perfectly well it was n't business. 
 
 " No," said Harold. He thrust his hands in his 
 pockets and walked away. The girl suppressed a 
 smile as she watched his retreating back. He was 
 most natural when he was irritable ; she felt motherly 
 toward him then. But suddenly she closed her eyes, 
 as if the sight of him hurt her. It did; even the 
 thought of the handsome head over there made her 
 heart ache with longing. 
 
 " Why have n't you answered my letters ? Where 
 in thunder did you get those earrings ? " 
 
 There was a half -conscious air of ownership about
 
 50 KALEEMA 
 
 him as he came back to her. Then suddenly he 
 seized and kissed her until she lost her breath. How 
 he loved her! 
 
 " Letters ? " she repeated, laughing when she could. 
 "If you could have followed this show you would 
 know why I have n't written any letters. For the 
 same reason that I have n't slept for two weeks 
 except on the top of my trunk, between acts. Such 
 jumps, such business, such luck, such wildcat towns, 
 such leading men! We have had three in three 
 weeks. If they 're any good they don't stay. And 
 business ! " 
 
 "What's the matter?" he asked mechanically, 
 not as if he cared a great deal. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. " And people 
 don't know how bad the show is until they have 
 seen it. It 's just instinct that keeps 'em away. 
 Why, I 'm so tired I 'm nearly ready to be saved." 
 
 " Kaleema, I want to talk to you seriously to- 
 day." He spoke earnestly; he had been only half- 
 listening to what she said. He did not care at all 
 for her chatter. The show did not interest him ; he 
 was tired of it. 
 
 It seemed to her that the blood left her heart and 
 that she was cold enough to shiver, but she went on 
 quickly. " The advance man might as well go home, 
 t think myself he is eatin' the paper and the glue. 
 He looks as cadaverous as the show is. He 's 
 enough to queer a circus or ' East Lynne.' '
 
 KALEEMA 51 
 
 "Kaleema!" She had acted this way many 
 times before when she did not want to listen. 
 Harold put his hand over her mouth and pressed 
 her head against his shoulder. " Do you hear me ? " 
 he said. " I want to talk seriously to you to-day. 
 Have I come to this God- forsaken place to be treated 
 like a fool?" 
 
 She shook herself loose and pushed him away. 
 
 " You did n't come to this God- forsaken place 
 because I asked you to," she said. 
 
 Again he thrust his hands into his pockets and 
 walked over and stood by the frost-covered window, 
 seeing nothing beyond. The girl went on, speaking 
 nervously, her fingers working though she tried to 
 keep them still. 
 
 " You know you have talked seriously before, and 
 it always results in nothing but heartache." 
 
 Her lips twitched as she said it, reluctantly. That 
 was the way he always did. He said very little 
 just the same words and phrases, repeated over and 
 over, and always when he left her her head was 
 aching, as if she were very tired, and a sickening 
 regret was eating at her heart. 
 
 By this time she was struggling to keep back 
 words, and there was mingled anger and helplessness 
 in her eyes. It was so hard to face it. She knew 
 what he meant and wanted, though his boyishness 
 shamefacedly kept the awkward words from being 
 uttered. In his mind he blamed her for not under-
 
 52 KALEEMA 
 
 standing. Yet she did understand him. She was 
 younger than he in years, but she had lived differ- 
 ently. 
 
 She loved him with the whole strength of what 
 had been awakened in her. More than that, to her 
 he typified the best and cleanest that God had put 
 on earth. His handsome head, his intelligence and 
 pride and sensitiveness the whole clear-cut man 
 was so different from those who peopled the life she 
 knew that it made him seem honest and clean all 
 through. In him she touched all the good that was 
 striving for expression in her own soul. Ever since 
 she was a child she had been reaching out from the 
 darkness in which she lived and grew and only 
 God and she knew the depth and the humiliation of 
 that darkness for this response. It was since she 
 had known him that she wanted to forget everything 
 and begin life anew. 
 
 When she spoke again it was more slowly. 
 
 " You know perfectly well that I have my work 
 to do to earn my living, but you want me to settle 
 down and stay in one place so that I shall be near 
 you and whenever you please you can come." 
 
 An old man passed through the office and Kaleema 
 went over to a writing-table in a far corner and 
 sat down, her elbows on the table, her lips pressed 
 against her hands. 
 
 That was what had made the fall and early winter 
 so hard to live through this half- formed plan
 
 KALEEMA 53 
 
 that Harold had made. That was what had driven 
 her restlessly through each day, dreading the letters 
 that she longed for dreading more his presence. 
 
 Carney had divined very nearly the whole truth. 
 The company had spent a glorious autumn in the 
 northern towns and forests, and day after day she 
 and Carney would set out, after his first work was 
 done, for long walks in the woods and along the 
 streams, watching the great chained logs float by 
 and the lumberjacks working away over the helpless 
 monsters. They would ramble on until she was 
 tired enough to rest, then they would stop a while, 
 the man often lying on the ground, not talking very 
 much, but thinking about her and watching her. 
 And she with the ache in her heart for Harold. He 
 was sorry for her, the poor little thing, but he would 
 not admit that he loved her; he told himself he had 
 never yet loved a woman who belonged in any way 
 to another man. That was Carney's cleanness, that 
 was his ideal. Kaleema understood him, too, as 
 she did Harold. She was thinking of him now. 
 
 When the old man had gone Harold followed her 
 and sat on the edge of the table, his back to the room. 
 
 " I was sick last week, too," she said. " I never 
 felt so dreadful in all my life." 
 
 He did not seem to hear her. 
 
 " It started with my throat, and I felt burning up ; 
 my head was pounding and my throat was choking. 
 And I was working just the same. I don't know
 
 54 KALEEMA 
 
 what would have become of me without George 
 Carney. For three nights he never closed his eyes." 
 
 Suddenly the boy looked at her, his lips parted. 
 
 " He said he slept some, but I know he did n't. 
 That 's just like him. He would say anything to 
 keep me from worrying. He kept ice on my throat 
 and gave me the medicine and drinks of water and 
 talked to me when I woke up." 
 
 " Where ? " asked Harold. He was staring at 
 her. 
 
 " In North Dakota. Where did you suppose ? " 
 She glanced up and saw the strange look in his eyes. 
 
 " In your room? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " All night ? Was the door closed ? " 
 
 For a moment she could not speak. Something 
 clutched her that was like fright. She leaned back 
 and looked at him. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "tight. All night. Except 
 when he went in and out. The hall was very cold." 
 Then she leaned toward him. The fright was gone. 
 " See here, Harold, if you can't believe in God be- 
 cause you can't see him, and you can't trust anything 
 human, then you 'd better get down on your knees 
 sometimes and worship the sun." 
 
 She rose and walked across the room. He sat 
 still, looking at the floor. Presently she came back 
 and stood before him. 
 
 " George Carney is the most splendid man I ever
 
 KALEEMA 55 
 
 knew. Try to understand him, Harold. It will 
 make a bigger man of you. Sometimes I think that 
 gentlemen, like thieves, in their hearts never trust 
 anybody, but Carney can see through you and 
 through me and through nearly everybody, and if 
 he trusts he trusts, that 's all." 
 
 She sat down again and leaned her elbows on the 
 table. He was looking at her, at the color that had 
 come into her cheeks and at her soft, dark hair. 
 His face was flushed and he half closed his eyes. 
 He did not want to frighten her by letting her see 
 all. 
 
 " Listen to me," he said. " You shall listen ! " 
 
 " Don't, Harold," she begged of him. " We have 
 had this all out too often." Her low voice only 
 drove him on. 
 
 " Yes, I will. Kaleema ! Don't bother about 
 work for a while. Just come back with me. Why 
 can't we be happy for the rest of the winter? Some- 
 thing will turn up in town. What 's the use ? Who 
 is going to thank you for grinding like a slave? 
 Why don't you take a little happiness? " 
 
 " Don't ! " she said angrily. " I have listened to 
 you for the last time. Every word that you say is 
 rot." She defiantly met his eyes. 
 
 " You are going back with me." 
 
 She began playing with the pen. 
 
 " You don't care anything for me or you could n't 
 treat me like this," he said at last.
 
 56 KALEEMA 
 
 A look of disgust crossed her face. He had said 
 that so many times! Her only answer was an ex- 
 clamation, half laugh, half sneer. 
 
 He put his arm around her neck and whispered to 
 her. " Then go back with me, dear. Don't be so 
 stubborn about a little thing." 
 
 " Don't call me stubborn. It makes it so hard 
 when you do." Her lips were white again. 
 
 " Then come." 
 
 " When I am alone I make resolutions," she went 
 on, not heeding him, " and then the minute you 
 speak to me you pull them down. And you know it. 
 I have begged of you not to do it, and it is cowardly, 
 cowardly of you, Harold." 
 
 " 'Leema, you know how I love you you know 
 how I have loved you ever since those first days." 
 
 " Yes, I know," she answered quietly, turning 
 away. If there was bitterness in the words, at least 
 he heard none. 
 
 " I write to you," he went on, " and you don't 
 answer; and if I beg of you to stay, off you go. 1 
 have loved you for a long time now. When it began 
 it seemed only something that would soon be forgot- 
 ten. But it can't be forgotten night or day. It 
 is half a year now and every day I love you more." 
 It was the truth being wrung from him. 
 
 " Oh, don't," she said beseechingly. 
 
 He leaned very near to her and covered her hand 
 with his. He could see that her eyes were closed.
 
 KALEEMA 57 
 
 All that was brutal in his love for her was glad that 
 she was suffering. 
 
 "Will you go?" 
 
 "No!" she answered, and when the word was 
 spoken her lips went white as death. " You are a 
 coward, and I hate you when you ask me to go. . . . 
 Keep on now, if you want to, but I have given you 
 my answer ! " 
 
 He flung himself from her. His own face was 
 white and drawn. He was confronting the first big 
 decision of his life, fighting the first struggle of 
 heart and body and brain, of tradition and his own 
 intense young manhood. The next moment he was 
 back at her side. He did not look at her; he did 
 not wait for anything. He rushed on blindly. 
 
 " Kaleema, will you marry me here to-day ? 
 Will you ? W T e '11 not wait until we get back home. 
 Then there can be no question about your going 
 with me." 
 
 He talked as if this, too, were an old harped-on 
 question, as if for the hundredth time he were 
 begging her. Two men came through the swinging 
 doors and went out on the street, but even while 
 they were in the office he seemed incapable of seeing 
 them or of lowering his voice. 
 
 " I am jealous of you but I can't help trusting 
 you. I do believe that you are straight and truthful, 
 'Leema. And I must have you I can't live with- 
 out you I can't, I can't."
 
 58 KALEEMA 
 
 He did not see the frightened unbelief that was 
 in her eyes. She was dizzy ; the whole dreary place 
 seemed dark and whirling. She was trying her best 
 to recollect what she had planned to do or say if 
 things ever should come to this, but only irrelevant 
 thoughts would come into her mind. Besides, he 
 had said it so differently from the way she had 
 dreamed it not at all as he had loved her and talked 
 to her at other times especially at the beginning. 
 But she set about to meet what had come. She must 
 speak so that he should not know she was trembling. 
 
 "Are you sure that you know?" she asked 
 quietly. 
 
 " Know what ? What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Are you sure you should ask me this in spite of 
 what we both have been thinking all this time 
 that a man like you should n't marry any one like 
 me." 
 
 The barrier was down. They both breathed 
 easier. 
 
 "Kaleema!" 
 
 " You know that you have your own way to fight 
 in the world, now that your family has started 
 you . . ." 
 
 "Well, what of that?" 
 
 ". . . and perhaps your wild oats should be 
 left to die." 
 
 " Don't say such things," he said. He wiped the 
 perspiration from his forehead. What was the use
 
 KALEEMA 59 
 
 of talking about it now? He was trying his best 
 to put all that out of his mind. 
 
 The landlord came in and sat down at the other 
 side of the room, watching them curiously. 
 
 " I must," she said quickly, her voice very low, 
 " for it is true. And it has made me fear the sight 
 of you, because I knew what you were thinking 
 yes, I knew, Harold, and I knew what was com- 
 ing to me . . ." 
 
 " Have you loved me? " 
 
 She covered her face with her hands. " Yes." 
 
 For a moment there was silence, and he laid his 
 hand on her shoulder. He did that so often to cover 
 an insufficiency of words. But it was difficult to 
 find just the right things to say to her. Probably 
 words would have come easily enough, but the ideas 
 themselves stuck outside his brain. 
 
 " I knew you were afraid of me " she went on. 
 
 "Afraid of you?" 
 
 " Yes, afraid of me," she answered, " for you 
 know all that it would mean " She checked her- 
 self and turned away. 
 
 " Afraid of you? " he repeated. 
 
 " Yes," she rejoined almost fiercely, " and I 
 would rather face it now, myself, than have it 
 slapped at me afterward . . ." She had started 
 bravely, looking straight into his eyes ; then her lips 
 went very white and she stopped suddenly. 
 
 " What do you mean? " he asked.
 
 60 KALEEMA 
 
 She covered her face with her hands as if to shut 
 out the self-inflicted inquisition. Something re- 
 minded her that happiness was here, and she was 
 stopping on the threshold to forestall punishment. 
 He put his hand against her cheek, and when she 
 looked up at him the fierce courage was gone. 
 
 " For the last three months," she said slowly, " I 
 have tried to be different, but . . . And I 've noth- 
 ing in the world, Harold, but three hundred dollars 
 in a New York bank and three trunks full of rub- 
 bish! " She was very serious. 
 
 "Well?" he said. 
 
 Sometimes she did wish that he would say a little 
 more. 
 
 "And and you know the rest. All my life 
 I have been just knocking around. It makes me 
 afraid of so many things." 
 
 "Afraid of what?" 
 
 " Afraid of what life will be after the thing is 
 done, when you look things squarely in the face." 
 
 " I have done that already," he said. 
 
 "You were such a fool six months ago," she 
 went on with a little laugh. " You took me for a 
 curiosity " 
 
 He did not hear what she was saying. He tried 
 not to look at her, but she could hear him breathing. 
 " Will you marry me to-day? " he asked her. 
 
 " What will your mother say when you marry 
 some of your wild oats and take them home? "
 
 KALEEMA 61 
 
 " I don't know and I don't care. I will do the 
 talking now." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you will talk enough," she said, " and 
 she will make kindling wood of every word you say. 
 And she will blame me, not you " 
 
 " She can't," he interrupted. 
 
 " Leave that to her. And there will be questions, 
 unanswerable questions " She stopped abruptly. 
 She went over to the stove and from there she 
 looked back at him. " But she shall never hate me, 
 Harold, never. For I shan't let her. I am so happy 
 now that nothing can go wrong." 
 
 The old landlord's interest grew. 
 
 Harold went to her eagerly. " Are you going 
 to marry me now ? " he asked very low, much to the 
 disappointment of the old man. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " To-morrow? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Yes, you will. To-day. I 'm the boss, from 
 this on. 
 
 Kaleema laughed. That was what she wanted 
 him to say. It made him seem more like a man.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 SARAH SKAMON came clattering down the bare 
 stairs, Trilby laboriously waddling after her. 
 Sarah's heels clicked and Trilby's toes scratched. 
 
 It was a rude awakening from the dream. Har- 
 old turned impetuously. More than ever he hated 
 the show. From the first it had taken her away 
 from him. 
 
 When Sarah appeared Kaleema retreated to a 
 corner to wait for what would happen. Even with 
 her new happiness singing in her heart, she had still 
 her work and her duty to the company to think of. 
 
 " Re-hears-al," Sarah drawled at the top of her 
 voice. 
 
 Skamon and Carney heard it out in the barroom 
 and came in and presently Mrs. Giniven, Godiva, and 
 John Crichton arrived. Skamon had arranged with 
 the landlord that considering how cold it was in 
 every other part of the house they might use the 
 deserted office for an hour. 
 
 Skamon came in with the battered book. Carney 
 stayed in the barroom. He could hear much more 
 than enough out there. Harold sat on a table out 
 of the way, his eyes sulkily and hungrily on Ka- 
 leema. Skamon placed some chairs, and they all 
 
 62
 
 KALEEMA 63 
 
 stood around waiting for somebody else to come. 
 
 " Re-hears-al," Sarah called, going to the foot of 
 the stairs. "Where's that man, Harry?" 
 Skamon did not even reply, but sat down and opened 
 the book. " Armand! " she called again, " we 're 
 waiting." 
 
 Upstairs a door opened and closed; there was a 
 hurried tread, and de Bassonville, nervous and di- 
 sheveled, appeared on the stairs. His part was stick- 
 ing out of his pocket and he was smoking a cigarette. 
 Skamon, chewing a big cigar, began amiably ex- 
 plaining things to the new man. He was always 
 amiable to the new men. Every word of the stale 
 old details wore on Kaleema's nerves. She glanced 
 over at Harold and half smiled, then she came back 
 to listening to Skamon's explanations about en- 
 trances and windows and the fireplace and furniture. 
 
 "Where are the other folks?" he demanded as 
 he finished. When he spoke to Sarah he nearly 
 snapped off her head. 
 
 " I don't know," answered Sarah, pacifically. 
 After all, she was sorry for the poor, cross man. 
 He had had a hard time of it that season with lead- 
 ing men. 
 
 " Well, go on, go on ! " exclaimed Skamon, trying 
 to control his temper. " I thought we had a few 
 men with this show, but go on, go on. Mr. de Bas- 
 sonville, we will begin with your entrance. Nanine! 
 where is she? "
 
 64 KALEEMA 
 
 " Right here," replied Mrs. Giniven, very haughty. 
 It was not necessary for him to yell when she was 
 not three yards from his nose! 
 
 Skamon got up and began prancing about. 
 
 De Bassonville was standing up-stage, wild-eyed 
 and listening intently. Sarah and Kaleema looked 
 at him and then at each other. Then they began to 
 cough, so that they should not laugh. Kaleema was 
 in a state halfway between laughing and crying. 
 She was nervously twisting her fingers, hoping and 
 hoping the new man would fail. That would set 
 her free. 
 
 Skamon went on explaining to the new man. 
 
 " Nanine comes on, announces Madame Prudence 
 and Monsieur Armand Duval, goes off, and Camille 
 sits down. Then you come on with Prudence." De 
 Bassonville nodded wildly. " After you acknowl- 
 edge the introduction you cross left " 
 
 " No, right," interrupted Sarah. 
 
 " Who 's managing this show ? " snapped 
 Skamon. 
 
 "Nobody," snapped Sarah. "That's what ails 
 it." 
 
 " Keep still ! " snapped Skamon. 
 
 " I won't," retorted Sarah. " I think I know." 
 
 Skamon looked at the book. 
 
 " Yes, it 's right. Well, cross right. . . . Now ! " 
 He sat down, took out his ragged handkerchief and 
 wiped his brow.
 
 KALEEMA 65 
 
 Another wait. 
 
 Skamon writhed. 
 
 " Will Camille be good enough to come on the 
 stage ? " he groaned. 
 
 " Pahdon me! " exclaimed Kaleema. She picked 
 up her skirts and stalked in. The others turned 
 away to hide their silly laughter. She did not care 
 what Skamon said now. She was going to have a 
 little fun. She had not meant to make him wait, 
 but she was thinking of something else. Anyway, 
 she was not very much afraid of him, perhaps be- 
 cause he owed her ninety dollars. Under such cir- 
 cumstances any manager would be rather lenient to 
 his Camille. 
 
 Skamon closed his eyes, and de Bassonville stared 
 open-mouthed at her as she stood on her heels. 
 
 " ' Bid them enter,' " Kaleema said, with an ex- 
 aggerated wave of her hand. Then she sat down 
 on one of the chairs so precisely placed by Skamon. 
 
 Sarah turned de Bassonville around and beckoned 
 him to follow her. 
 
 " ' My dear Camille, allow me to present to you 
 Monsieur Armand Duval,' " mumbled Sarah in a 
 sing-song that sounded to de Bassonville like nothing 
 but a hum until she reached the cue. 
 
 " ' Must I rise ? ' ' demanded Camille, who evi- 
 dently had no intention of doing so. 
 
 Finally it dawned on de Bassonville that they 
 were waiting for him. He knocked his brow and
 
 66 KALEEiMA 
 
 struggled with his memory, then he seized the part, 
 looked at it and thrust it back into his pocket. 
 
 " ' No, Mademoiselle ; it} is not necessary,' " he 
 said. 
 
 Then Sarah surreptitiously motioned him to get 
 out of the way. Of course it was none of her busi- 
 ness, but Harry seemed to be asleep. Somebody 
 had to tell the new man what to do, for he was stand- 
 ing there like a lamp-post. 
 
 " ' M m not go mad,' " Camille mum- 
 bled until she got to the cue. 
 
 Jimmy Giniven suddenly appeared from some 
 mysterious direction and took his cue with mum- 
 bling while he slid across the floor. 
 
 " ' at Tours,' " he said quite calmly. 
 
 Again everybody stood looking at de Bassonville. 
 He seized the part and read it, hopelessly. He was 
 really wondering where Giniven was when he picked 
 up that cue. 
 
 Again there was a wait. Harry suddenly looked 
 up. 
 
 " Well, go on, go on ! What are you waiting 
 for?" 
 
 " Vannlle" said Sarah, very calmly. 
 
 "Vairvillel Vannlle I" shouted Skamon. 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 " At the post office," said Giniven, also very 
 calmly. 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," said Skamon, very bit-
 
 KALEEMA 67 
 
 terly. " The post office can't wait but the rehearsal 
 can. Well, go on, go on! Skip to Camille." 
 
 Camille pointed her grimy thumb at de Basson- 
 ville and winked at Prudence as she spoke to her. 
 
 " ' I begin to like your friend,' " she said mean- 
 ingly. 
 
 Poor Sarah choked trying to keep back her laugh- 
 ter. She wished to goodness Kaleema would be- 
 have. Harry would soon be raving and cursing. 
 
 " ' I guessed it would be so,' " she answered. 
 
 Camille's shoulders went up under the hoop ear- 
 rings and she clutched her hands under her 
 chin. " ' And did he really tell you that he loves 
 me ? ' she demanded, looking pleadingly into 
 Sarah's eyes. 
 
 " ' He did, and more,' " poor Sarah had to answer. 
 
 " ' Monsieur Duval,' " said Camille. 
 
 Another wait for the new man. Trilby waddled 
 across the floor and got stepped on, which made her 
 yelp. Sarah slapped her soundly, which made her 
 yelp more. Skamon rose and put the torn prompt 
 book in his pocket. 
 
 " The rehearsal is off," he said. " Look over 
 your part this afternoon," he added to de Basson- 
 ville with horrible restraint ; then he sat down at the 
 office desk to write a telegram which should evoke 
 another leading man. 
 
 " Dear me," said de Bassonville, " this really is n't 
 my line." And he dashed upstairs.
 
 68 KALEEMA 
 
 " He 's got too much on his mind, dickering with 
 Frohman and Brady," said Jimmy Giniven. 
 
 " And with getting divorces ' expensive things, 
 divorces,' " burlesqued Mrs. Giniven. 
 
 " He '11 burst his head before night," said Godiva. 
 " I wonder if he thinks there 's going to be a show ? " 
 
 Kaleema stood watching Skamon. She knew he 
 was sending for another man. So now was the time 
 for him to get another Camillc. She went over to 
 him, dreading it, because he could be very ugly. She 
 sat down by the table and spoke in an undertone. 
 
 " Mr. Skamon," she said, " this seems to be a 
 good time for me to go, as I have decided on leav- 
 ing." 
 
 Skamon's eyes blazed. 
 
 " At the end of your two weeks' notice, Miss 
 West," he said. 
 
 " To-night, unless you pay me the ninety dollars 
 you owe me," she answered. 
 
 " I shall hold your trunk on your contract," he 
 threatened. 
 
 " And I shall have you arrested if you owe me 
 five cents when you do it," she retorted. 
 
 Skamon sneered, and she got up. 
 
 " I had intended giving you your notice to-mor- 
 row," he lied. " I have decided to let Miss Traxler 
 play Camille. You will have to wait for your 
 money."
 
 KALEEMA 69 
 
 " Everybody does, with you," she replied, and 
 walked away. 
 
 The ninety dollars meant three weeks of hard 
 work and piercing cold and sleepless nights and 
 eternal traveling. She was accustomed to this sort 
 of treatment. Only she hoped that Harold had not 
 heard it. She had always been ashamed of these 
 disgusting degradations, and her pride had done its 
 best to keep them from him. He could never for- 
 give all the meanness of her world. She felt that 
 what she had been forced to accept from it would 
 so lower her in his eyes. She meant to forget it 
 herself now. 
 
 Carney had come in, and everybody understood 
 what was going on. She asked Carney for the 
 check for her trunk, and he gave it to her. Then she 
 spoke to Sarah. 
 
 " I 'm sorry, Sarah, on your account. But that 
 creature will never know his lines." 
 
 Sarah did not reply. Kaleema was leaving them 
 in a pretty plight. It was likely enough to close 
 the show. What if they did owe her some money? 
 Show business is show business ; and she was lucky 
 that season to be keeping a roof over her head. 
 It was that Harold Barton ; that 's what it was. 
 Sarah sat glumly looking at the floor. 
 
 Kaleema walked over to the window just as 
 Charley Forbes and Sam Taney came in. She
 
 7 o KALEEMA 
 
 rubbed some of the frost off the pane and looked 
 through the cleared hole, and the boys could in- 
 stantly see that something had gone wrong. Ka- 
 leema was calculating that the midnight train which 
 the last leading man had taken the night before 
 would come through this town, then go to Sunflower 
 Junction, and that she and Harold could be married 
 and get that train at about ten o'clock. In spite of 
 Skamon she smiled. A throb of joy came as she 
 stood there planning. Of course everybody would 
 blame her, but they had no right ; she was sick and 
 tired of being cheated and cheated and cheated. 
 
 The silence was becoming uncomfortable. Sarah 
 spoke to the old landlord. 
 
 " The show business is n't much good," she said. 
 
 A big, coarse man with a newspaper came in 
 from the barroom and sat down in a chair by the 
 stove. It was Adam James. 
 
 " No, it is n't," the landlord said wisely. " Just 
 before you folks came Mr. James here and I were 
 talking about the Gipsy." 
 
 There was a quick motion over by the window, 
 but nobody noticed it. It was just that Kaleema 
 partly turned her head. There was no outward sign 
 that for an instant her heart stood still. 
 
 " She was with the first show that ever came to 
 this town," continued the landlord. 
 
 ' The Gipsy," mused Sarah. " Seems to me 
 I Ve heard of her out here. Did you know her? "
 
 KALEEMA 71 
 
 "Just saw her once," replied the old man. 
 " Wore earrings like that young lady over there," 
 nodding toward Kaleema. 
 
 " I knew her," said Adam James, tipping back 
 in his chair. 
 
 " What did she do ? " asked Sarah. " Soubrette ? 
 Did she dance and sing ? " 
 
 " And steal," said Adam James. 
 
 " What do you mean? " said Sarah. 
 
 " Just what I say. She bewitched the men out 
 'here and got their money and spent it in gewgaws 
 and drink, or threw it away. When she came near 
 a camp of mine I had her driven out, for she was 
 bad clear through." 
 
 " Don't say that about a woman who is dead." 
 
 The protest came from over by the frost-covered 
 window, and the girl's voice was clear and low. 
 But the blood was pounding in her throat and 
 temples. Her dizzy eyes could scarcely see. 
 
 " She should have thought of that when she was 
 alive." 
 
 " But she was n't bad clear through." 
 
 " That was before your day," said he. " She was 
 out here years ago, a dissolute, besotted thing. She 
 was bad when she came, and she had a child that 
 she always kept with her and dragged through the 
 same mire." 
 
 The words were barely uttered when Kaleema 
 was at his side and had struck him such a blow across
 
 72 KALEEMA 
 
 the mouth that his chair fell back, and he lay on 
 the floor. 
 
 Nobody could speak or move. Carney alone 
 started; then his glance fell on Harold. As if for 
 some place to look, Harold sat staring at Sarah 
 Skamon, his eyes glassy and his dry lips pressed to- 
 gether. The girl stood and watched the man as he 
 dizzily got to his feet. When he was up she stood 
 looking steadily into his blurring, angry eyes. His 
 lip was bleeding. 
 
 " That is a lie," she said. " She was my mother." 
 
 The man's hand closed and he started to move, 
 but he suddenly found that Carney was standing be- 
 fore him. 
 
 " Well, what have you got to say about it ? " 
 James sneered. 
 
 " Nothing as long as you hold your tongue and 
 stay right where you are," quietly answered Carney. 
 
 James's hand relaxed. He understood the ac- 
 curacy in the ring-man's eyes. 
 
 Again the silence. It seemed as if the others had 
 been turned to stone, but the girl had forgotten them. 
 She saw nothing but Adam James, and there was 
 nothing in her mind but the consciousness of her 
 own purity and bitter memories. When she spoke 
 her voice rang with their intensity. 
 
 " She did keep me with her, through every misery 
 on earth ; there was good in her and she gave it all 
 to me. I was with her when you drove her from
 
 KALEEMA 73 
 
 the camps. I suppose you are Adam James. Be- 
 cause she hated you and would never take a copper 
 from you, you hated her. But you never conquered 
 her!" 
 
 She picked up her suitcase and went upstairs ; they 
 heard her go into a room and close the door. 
 
 She had been there perhaps a minute when the 
 door was opened and Harold came in. 
 
 His face was livid.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 KALEEMA had stood her suitcase on the only 
 chair in the room and thrown her hat and 
 coat on the bed. When Harold opened the door 
 she was at the dresser, idly fingering the edge of the 
 soiled towel that covered the top of it. She kept 
 this up, in silence, for perhaps half a minute after 
 he came in. It did not surprise her that he stood 
 there tongue-tied in the middle of the floor. 
 
 Moreover, she was not frightened and imploring 
 as he expected she would be. Instead, though he 
 did not know it, the agonizing strain of the past 
 months was ended and it seemed to her that for the 
 first time since she had known him the blood was 
 flowing freely through her veins. She had tried, in 
 a way, to make him understand about her, but now 
 all deception was over. Thank God for that! 
 
 Her struggle was over, too. Many a sleepless night 
 she had tossed through, trying to decide whether 
 to hold to the laws and the customs that the women 
 of his own world lived by, or accept the happiness 
 he offered and its degradation. There was nothing 
 on earth to stop for or consider; only, mysteri- 
 ously rooted in her nature, was the dream and the 
 longing for the best that life could give. Now she 
 
 74
 
 KALEEMA 75 
 
 had done her best, and the outcome was left to him. 
 She was sure that everything between them was 
 over. Somehow she did not much care. She felt 
 that she had been slowly climbing to a great height, 
 and when it was attained had fallen with a whirring 
 crash back into the depths. She was stunned and 
 tired enough not to care. It was such a relief to 
 have the climbing over. She had always been fight- 
 ing and struggling for something beyond her. That 
 was foolish, and she would never do it again. 
 
 She was surprised that when she tried to speak 
 it was a little hard to keep back the tears. But 
 Harold was standing there like a statue, and she 
 did not want to exasperate him by keeping silent. 
 
 " You asked me a little while ago why I was 
 afraid to marry you," she said. She bit her lips 
 to steady them. ". . . Now you know. ... It 
 was n't to spare you. I 'm as ' good,' so far, as any 
 one. It was just to spare myself. It was because 
 I know what the world is, and what I might expect, 
 and I could n't bear it after we were married, and 
 and you had had your way, to be thrown out 
 when you knew." 
 
 It hurt her to say it and the tears filled her eyes. 
 Harold winced and moved uncomfortably. His 
 mouth opened, but it seemed as if there were no 
 words in it. 
 
 " No, listen to me," she said, and he sat down on 
 the edge of the bed.
 
 76 KALEEMA 
 
 " I am different from you," she went on. " I 
 know it, and I was afraid of you. I was afraid of 
 your mother, and your father, and your whole 
 world. You know I am not a child. I have seen 
 nearly all the misery that life can know. My mother 
 showed me that. She kept me safe, but my child 
 eyes saw what she could not hide. And she made 
 it my lesson. I was hers and she loved me, and all 
 the good in her she put in me. She taught me her 
 lesson and mine. . . . That is what every mother 
 wants her child to do to begin where she ended, 
 and go on, on And it is so cruel when God 
 throws each one back to the beginning." 
 
 She said it very simply, without looking at him, 
 standing there before him, her hands hanging at 
 her sides. 
 
 " She was n't really a gipsy, but she came from 
 the eastern part of Europe and she wore big brace- 
 lets and earrings and was very dark, and they called 
 her that. When she came to this country she was 
 young and pretty and strange, and when her father 
 died they put her in a cafe to sing. There were 
 other women there. That is all I remember of 
 the first that music jingle, jingle, clang, clang, 
 and the fall of money on the tables or on the floor, 
 every night for years, it seems to me. She used to 
 take me with her and put me on a pile of rags in a 
 corner out of the way. We were both of us dread- 
 fully dirty.
 
 KALEEMA 77 
 
 " And then we traveled, and everything came 
 that ought not to have come even when I was 
 working and we had honest money. And she was 
 always wishing that she could die. It was terrible. 
 Because I loved her just as if she were all right. 
 But she thought I should be better off without her. 
 ... I used to buy her decent clothes and make her 
 clean up. But she had n't the knack of staying 
 clean. She would take a new dress and wrap it 
 around a dirty bundle. Once, when I was little, she 
 stole an old trunk, and she had n't half enough stuff 
 to put in it, so when she was singing out in the 
 camps she used to lay me in it to sleep until she 
 was ready to put me to bed. Often I used to stay 
 there all night. When I was naughty she used to 
 take me by the hands and dance me around in funny 
 dances until I stopped crying. 
 
 " She could n't stand it to be lonesome. She 
 wanted to be always talking. And she always quar- 
 reled with women. In the camps she played cards 
 and cheated the men. She always started the fight 
 and they were glad enough to let her go. Then, 
 as you already know, she was killed two years ago 
 in a wreck, when she was coming to me. . . . Some 
 way I seem never to miss seeing those women with 
 old, bright ribbons around their necks, and old thin 
 feathers on their hats and old rags of handkerchiefs 
 squeezed up in their hands. 
 
 "If you had been what I was used to, that sort
 
 78 KALEEMA 
 
 of man, I should have remembered the lessons, but 
 you are so different, Harold. God always catches 
 us unawares. . . . That 's the reason life's lessons 
 don't do any good. And these months, how bit- 
 terly I have blamed my mother ! not for what she 
 was but that she should have got me here. Nobody 
 has a right to do that. Life is too cruel. She tried 
 to be good to me and I loved her, but I have always 
 suffered; at first because I was always tired and 
 too hot or too cold, and then because she would n't 
 be decent and clean, and now because I have lived 
 at all. If I had a child I would rather it should die 
 than have it suffer what God has sent to me." 
 
 She slowly turned back to the battered old dresser 
 and began again absently fingering the edge of the 
 soiled cover.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 AGAIN it seemed to Kaleema that Harold would 
 never speak. But still she did not care. Still 
 the feeling of rest and relief was with her. 
 
 As for Harold, he sat staring at her, but his brain 
 seemed to have stopped. He had not heard all that 
 she said, and of what he did hear he got very little 
 of the poignant meaning. His anger had abated, 
 because considerable time had passed, and also be- 
 cause she was quiet and did not attempt to force the 
 issue. That was all her truth and simplicity meant 
 to him. 
 
 Finally he moved, and she knew he wanted to say 
 something but the words were sticking in his throat. 
 
 "What sort was your father?" he managed to 
 get out at last. 
 
 She gave a little low laugh. " What sort would 
 you imagine? " she said. 
 
 She had never had any illusions concerning her 
 father. She wondered if, even yet, Harold did not 
 understand. His adolescent wisdom had always 
 doubted her because she did not belong in the cate- 
 gory where his lot was cast, but it shrank from fac- 
 
 79
 
 8o KALEEMA 
 
 ing the worst of things. She pitied him with all the 
 maternal instinct in her as she went on. 
 
 " You see," she said, determined to open wide his 
 eyes, " I really had n't any." 
 
 Again there was silence. And again his brain 
 was standing still. The impetuosity of his boyish 
 need for companionship had let him mingle with 
 cheap girls and share their fun and sympathy and 
 take their friendship and buy their cigarettes, but 
 it had never revealed to him that he would suffer 
 through them. 
 
 Then she heard him get up and come toward her. 
 He stood very close, but he did not touch her. 
 
 " Kaleema, what will become of you? " 
 
 " I don't know. What becomes of most human 
 beings? " 
 
 " You can't be human and be ... always good." 
 
 " Good ! " It broke from her in a desperate cry as 
 she turned and faced him. It was his nearness that 
 wrung it from her, and to have him stand there 
 without touching her. " Good ! What does it 
 mean, anyway ? Oh, I 'm not good ! I 'm only 
 afraid of the degradation. I know it so well so 
 well!" 
 
 She turned back to the dresser. What was the 
 use of talking to him ! 
 
 Suddenly he seized her and kissed her until her 
 breath was nearly gone. When finally she lay weak 
 in his arms he raised his head and looked at her ex-
 
 KALEEMA 81 
 
 ultingly; then gave a little nervous laugh because 
 she was so sweet and so like a frightened child, and 
 he loved her. 
 
 " Don't ! don't touch me ! " she gasped. 
 
 "Why? "said Harold. 
 
 She wrenched herself free from him and went 
 over to the bed and picked up her hat. 
 
 " Because," she answered, putting her hand to 
 her lips to keep back a groan, " because I love you 
 and you have made me tell you so! And because 
 I am lonesome, and because now it is only a step 
 to hating you, and and to killing you " 
 
 She put on the hat and picked up her gloves and 
 coat. 
 
 '"Leema!" 
 
 " Don't ! For God's sake, don't ! " 
 
 She got the suitcase and went to the door and 
 threw it open. 
 
 " 'Leema, we are going to be married just the 
 same." 
 
 " Unless you are sure," she answered, " don't 
 come. I am going to Chicago to-night. You know 
 where to find me there. Don't move! Stay where 
 you are. A train leaves in a few minutes. I am 
 going alone to the station. You stay right where 
 you are." 
 
 She turned to go out, and her hand was on the 
 door to close it. 
 
 "'Leema, won't you say good-by?"
 
 82 KALEEMA 
 
 She put down the suitcase, turned, and went back 
 to him. He took her in his arms and kissed her. 
 Then she went out and closed the door. 
 
 Downstairs the office was deserted. She found 
 the landlord and told him the manager would pay for 
 her room. She asked no advice about trains, and 
 the old man watched her suspiciously as she picked 
 up the suitcase and left. 
 
 None of the company was in sight. She knew 
 that Sarah was keeping them away from her so that 
 she could be alone with Harold. She wanted to 
 see Sarah for just a moment, but she was afraid 
 that if she looked for her she would see Harold 
 again. She knew the others would understand that 
 she could not endure to say good-by. 
 
 At the station she found that in an hour she could 
 get a slow train and go to the junction, and she was 
 glad that she could wait for the through train there. 
 It seemed such an eternity until half -past ten, when 
 the through train was due, and probably it would 
 be much later. Even that first hour seemed as if 
 it would never end. 
 
 Every time she heard a step outside on the snow 
 she thought her heart would stop beating. She 
 wondered if Carney were in his room at the hotel. 
 She wondered if Harold believed what she had told 
 him about the train's leaving immediately, or if 
 he would come to find out for himself. After she
 
 KALEEMA 83 
 
 had been pacing the waiting-room for half an hour 
 she heard another step outside and, turning quickly, 
 saw Carney pass the window. He stamped the 
 snow from his shoes and came in. 
 
 " I saw you leave the hotel and knew you would 
 have to wait an hour for a train," he said. 
 
 While she was pacing the forsaken station, he had 
 been walking the narrow floor of his room or sitting 
 with his face buried in his hands. He had meant 
 to go to her just a few minutes before train time. 
 Then, at the end of a half hour, he could stand it no 
 longer and, almost breathless, reached the station 
 in five minutes. Of course it was none of his busi- 
 ness. But over and over and over again that scene 
 at the hotel kept running through his mind how 
 Harold had sat silent, his face livid, while Adam 
 James staggered to his feet and Kaleema talked to 
 him and then took her suitcase and went upstairs. 
 When he got to that sight of her he would close his 
 big hands and walk still faster. 
 
 " I have brought you down a little money," he 
 said. 
 
 " Money! " exclaimed Kaleema. 
 
 He took out the money and a receipt for her to 
 sign. He had remembered all the details. He 
 counted out forty dollars. She could scarcely be- 
 lieve it. 
 
 " What has happened ? " she said. " How did 
 you get it? "
 
 84 KALEEMA 
 
 " Take it," said Carney. 
 
 " Has it made trouble for you ? " 
 
 " See here, 'Leema, do you take me for a fool ? 
 I have a little something to say about this show." 
 
 " Yes, you have," she muttered ; " about as much 
 as you have about the weather." She signed the 
 receipt and took the money. 
 
 Carney folded the receipt and put it back in his 
 pocket. An hour later he burned it over his lamp 
 and threw the ashes out of the window. That was 
 the best he could do to stand between her and her 
 misery with Harold. 
 
 "Oh! but I 'm glad to have that," said the girl. 
 She had pulled out the " grouch bag " and was stuff- 
 ing the money in. " Carney, if it gets you into 
 trouble " she began, but he interrupted. 
 
 " I 'm nearly through, myself," he said. 
 
 " Poor Sarah," said Kaleema. " She would like 
 to be honest. Think of living with Skamon all these 
 years! " 
 
 There were so many things that they wanted to 
 say. But back at the hotel Carney had made up his 
 mind not to linger. Why should he? 
 
 " Well," he said, " you know what address will 
 reach me in New York, and if I can ever do anything 
 for you " He could not finish the sentence. He 
 had been afraid before he started that this would be 
 the way. He walked over to the window.
 
 KALEEMA 85 
 
 Kaleema followed him. Unashamed tears were 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " I can't say good-by to anybody," she sobbed, 
 " but I would like to. Tell 'em " 
 
 The man could not speak. He put his arm around 
 her shoulders and put his hand against her cheek. 
 
 In the distance they heard the whistle of the 
 train. 
 
 He wondered if Kaleema had any idea of what 
 being with her these months had meant to him. 
 He thought grimly that no one would ever know 
 as well as he did how true she had been to her love 
 for Harold. He remembered last night, when he 
 had gone back to her dressing-room after every one 
 else had left, her apparent desperate loneliness and 
 yet the swift repulse of his advances. 
 
 Then it came to him that he had determined not 
 to stay until the train came. 
 
 " Good-by," he said, pulling himself together. 
 Three other people came into the waiting-room. He 
 shook hands with her and patted her shoulder ; then 
 he went out and started to walk across a great un- 
 broken stretch of snow. 
 
 Kaleema did not see him leave the station. By 
 the time she had dried her eyes and got her suitcase 
 out on the platform the train was in, and she hurried 
 aboard. Then she looked out of the window. 
 
 But Carney was not there. A terrible homesick-
 
 86 KALEEMA 
 
 ness seized her. It seemed as i f she could never stay 
 on that train and feel it bearing her away. Carney, 
 the towns and their busy streets, the beautiful woods, 
 the giant trees, the pretty roads, the fields of green 
 or of glistening snow, the sunsets, the air and sky 
 everything free and fine that she had ever known 
 seemed to have turned its back on her. 
 
 She covered her lips to keep back a cry, and the 
 long- fought tears came. How she wanted all those 
 people that she was leaving even the wretched lit- 
 tle Giniven child! As the train pulled along she 
 sat with her face buried in her hands, regardless of 
 the curious, staring people in the seats near by, sob- 
 bing as if her heart were breaking.
 
 PART II
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MOTHER, it is a telegram." 
 Though the girl tried to keep her voice 
 calm, it nevertheless sounded somewhat unsteady. 
 The family was rather high-strung. 
 
 When Gertrude had chanced to see the messenger 
 just going out of the door she had intercepted the 
 maid, and that much quicker got the dreaded thing 
 into her own hand. It was addressed to " Mrs. 
 Joseph Lloyd Barton," and Gertrude went hur- 
 riedly into her mother's room to deliver it. 
 
 Mrs. Barton turned from her desk, took the tele- 
 gram, then in her haste dropped her glasses on the 
 floor. She did not wait to see if they were broken. 
 Gertrude impatiently picked them up, but her mother 
 was already fumbling with the envelope and a lorg- 
 nette. Finally the envelope was torn open and Mrs. 
 Barton read the message. 
 
 " What ! " she exclaimed, and sat staring at the 
 paper. 
 
 Without further ceremony Gertrude seized it. 
 
 " Good heavens ! " she gasped, and looked, wild- 
 eyed, at her mother. 
 
 Then she read the message aloud, to be sure that 
 89
 
 90 KALEEMA 
 
 they had both got the same meaning. " Was mar- 
 ried this morning. Start home to-morrow." 
 
 Mrs. Barton and Gertrude stared at each other. 
 
 "Mother!" exclaimed Gertrude; then again, 
 " Mother ! " She looked at the telegram again. 
 " Sent from Chicago. . . . Had you the faintest 
 idea?" 
 
 " Why, certainly not," answered Mrs. Barton im- 
 patiently, indignant at the suggestion. She took 
 the telegram back into her own hand. " When it 
 came I knew it was from Harold, but I supposed he 
 had been killed or was dying." 
 
 " In that case he would not be sending telegrams," 
 said Gertrude curtly. She hated shocks in the fam- 
 ily. Usually they were in some way connected with 
 her father's crankiness, which set all their nerves 
 shivering. This was a new kind of shock. 
 
 Again Mrs. Barton reverted to the telegram, as 
 if with sufficient persistency more information could 
 be squeezed from it. Her lips were set very tight, 
 with a white streak of excitement around them, 
 and one of her slippered feet was nervously trotting 
 on the rug. 
 
 Gertrude pulled up a chair and sat down. They 
 were both too confused for continued speech. Mrs. 
 Barton began tapping her lorgnette on the letters 
 and bills scattered on the desk. This was the first 
 time in two months that she had even opened the 
 bills, and she had been upset enough before the tele-
 
 KALEEMA 91 
 
 gram came. She and Gertrude were still staring 
 vacantly at each other. 
 
 " I don't believe it," said Mrs. Barton. That was 
 the way she disposed of many annoying things. She 
 was a very pretty woman, plump and very young- 
 looking when one considered that Edna, her oldest 
 child, already married and divorced, was thirty years 
 old. 
 
 " Well, here 's the telegram. You don't think he 
 has lost his mind?" said Gertrude. 
 
 " He certainly has lost it if he is married," was 
 her mother's cheerful rejoinder. " That boy ! 
 I 'm so shocked, Gertrude, that I can't think ration- 
 ally." 
 
 " He is twenty-five," reminded Gertrude. She 
 was twenty-three, and was far from considering her- 
 self a child. She was, though, more capable and 
 better poised than Harold. He was the petted one 
 of the family. 
 
 " And to think that he never What will your 
 father say? I am positively afraid to tell him. 
 Can we get Lloyd by telephone ? I must talk to him. 
 That was sent this afternoon. They start home to- 
 morrow. Who on earth has he married ? " 
 
 " I told you that he was lying when he went away," 
 Gertrude said suddenly. " And he lied the last time, 
 too, for that matter. Don't you remember when he 
 went West before? " 
 
 " Yes, I do," admitted Mrs. Barton.
 
 92 KALEEMA 
 
 " He has n't business that takes him to any place 
 but Pittsburgh, to see Mr. Thomas. And last No- 
 vember he simply snapped when I asked him where 
 he was going. He 's acted queer all winter," con- 
 tinued Gertrude, " and I told Edna so, but as usual 
 she did n't see it. Perhaps if we had paid more at- 
 tention to the simpleton we might have saved him 
 some nice trouble." 
 
 " I suppose," said Mrs. Barton, following her own 
 trend of thought, " that I ought to go and tell your 
 father. Is he in his room ? . . .. But I can't believe 
 that it is true, and I don't like to get him excited for 
 nothing. He will be offended if I don't tell him, 
 though." 
 
 She rose abruptly. It was very apparent that she 
 did not expect much comfort or support from the 
 interview. 
 
 " Why, Gertrude, I can't think of a soul " 
 
 " Neither can I," interrupted Gertrude, knowing 
 perfectly what her mother was going to say. 
 " Anne Thomas would never marry him that 
 way." 
 
 " Certainly not," said Mrs. Barton. " Besides, 
 he has n't treated her decently for a year. Tele- 
 phone to the club and ask if your brother Lloyd is 
 there. But don't tell him until I come. I always 
 supposed Harold would marry Anne. She has so 
 much money, and he knows perfectly well that he 
 has n't a cent to his name."
 
 KALEEMA 93 
 
 She picked up her handkerchief that was on the 
 desk, stopped by sheer force of habit before a mir- 
 ror, and then went to her husband's room. 
 
 It was an apartment up in the Eighties, East, in 
 which they lived. It was expensive, of course, but 
 it was just as inexpensive as they could possibly find 
 of the required size and location. Evidently there 
 was money somewhere in the family. There was. 
 And in a most awkward place, too. 
 
 Twenty-six years ago it had belonged to Grand- 
 mother Barton. By that time in her life she keenly 
 appreciated what a spoiled and selfish creature she 
 had made of her only child, Joseph Lloyd Barton. 
 She loved his wife and their two children, Edna and 
 Lloyd; and when she died her adored son found to 
 his horror and everlasting chagrin that she had left 
 him her jewelry, silver, pictures, and her once grand 
 but now shabby furniture, but had bequeathed every 
 cent of her money and every scrap of her property 
 to his two little children. The old lady's heart was 
 in the right place, but quite unintentionally she did 
 two very unjust things : she did not leave her son's 
 wife, whom she dearly loved, so much as a pin, and 
 she entirely overlooked the fact that more babies 
 might arrive. 
 
 The upholstering was the worst that ailed the old 
 mahogany furniture. And this Mrs. Barton had 
 spasmodically changed and repaired as best she could 
 on her husband's income. He had stepped into his
 
 94 KALEEMA 
 
 father's law office but not into his father's shoes, and 
 the firm paid him for his name rather than for his 
 brains. For some time these, such as they were, 
 had seemed to be softening. Now for days he sel- 
 dom went near the office. Instead, he stayed at 
 home and bothered the servants and tortured his 
 family. 
 
 Edna, now thirty, and Lloyd, twenty-eight, came 
 with glorious independence and completeness into 
 their money when they were of age. But they were 
 thrifty and had always lived on their incomes, 
 which they well might, considering the size of them. 
 Lloyd got through college and then started in on a 
 life that seemed chiefly to require his eating as 
 much as he could, with the result that he was very 
 soft and fat, and looked about played out. Al- 
 though Edna was two years older she looked ten 
 years younger. She had already been married, to 
 a pompous Judge Gibson, but he had made her very 
 unhappy, and none of the family blamed her for 
 leaving him. One tyrant on their hands was con- 
 sidered enough. At present she was engaged to 
 Arthur Haydn, a young novelist who earned a de- 
 cent living. She and Lloyd bore the greater part 
 of the household expenses, for they adored their 
 mother and loved their home, and nothing but matri- 
 mony could induce them to leave it. Mrs. Barton 
 was utterly devoted to her children. She neglected 
 every outside interest for them and would break any
 
 KALEEMA 95 
 
 engagement if they asked her to go with them for 
 any amusement or to do them a favor. 
 
 There was an especially sympathetic spot in her 
 heart for Harold and Gertrude, the two little strag- 
 glers. She admitted that perhaps the lack of patri- 
 mony would be best for Harold in the end, but it 
 was hard on both of them and not quite fair. 
 Ever since Harold's first college days she had been 
 banking on Anne Thomas. The families were life- 
 long friends, and the girl herself was adorable. 
 Motherlike, she had Harold's life all planned out for 
 him. Only, motherlike, she had forgotten to tell 
 him about it ; and she quite overlooked the fact that 
 whether he was shut up in his room, just a few rods 
 away from her, or was downtown in his office or ex- 
 ploring strange places such as she never dreamed of, 
 his life was developing and his brain working quite 
 independently of her. The surprise was so sudden 
 that the shock left her stupid. 
 
 Mrs. Barton tapped at her husband's door and 
 without waiting for an answer opened it and went 
 in. She stood in actual fear of him, he was so child- 
 ish and unreasonable. 
 
 " My dear boy," she began, " I have just had a 
 telegram from Harold." She always tried to be 
 good to her husband and assuage the jealous mis- 
 givings of his brain. 
 
 It was about five o'clock and he had come back 
 from his afternoon walk only a short time before.
 
 96 KALEEMA 
 
 A red carnation was in his buttonhole. He was a 
 good deal of an old dandy. He was tall and thin, 
 with full eyes, introspective, suspicious. His mus- 
 tache had been skilfully touched with dye and waxed ; 
 the lips beneath it were loose and full, and, when he 
 was alone, kept moving. He would sit by the hour, 
 his head down, silently talking to himself. 
 
 He grudgingly put down the magazine he was 
 holding, as his wife drew up a chair. Of course 
 Harold would never think of sending the telegram 
 to him. 
 
 " He says that he was married this morning," she 
 went on. 
 
 For a moment there was silence. 
 
 " I suppose the rest of you knew all about this 
 before," was his opening observation. 
 
 " My dear boy, no! " exclaimed his wife. " Cer- 
 tainly not. I was never more astounded in my 
 life." 
 
 "Oh, that's all right, Nellie," he said with 
 grieved dignity, strumming his ringers on the maga- 
 zine. 
 
 " My dear boy, ask the children," she insisted, lay- 
 ing her hand appeasingly on his sharp knee. " Ask 
 Harold himself when he comes home. Perhaps 
 Lloyd and Edna knew, I have n't seen them yet, 
 but Gertrude and I did not. 
 
 By that time his curiosity was getting the better 
 of his dignity.
 
 KALEEMA 97 
 
 " What has he married? " 
 
 " I don't know. I have n't the remotest idea. 
 He simply says that he is married and starts home 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 " Chicago." 
 
 He sneered his digust. 
 
 " Well," he threatened, "if he has done anything 
 outrageous he '11 regret it. He '11 hear from me." 
 
 " Wait until we know," she answered consolingly. 
 " And we must not forget that fate has not been 
 very kind to Harold." 
 
 " Yes, and what has fate done for me? " he de- 
 manded, hitching himself up in his chair. She knew 
 she had got that started before the words were off 
 her lips. But it was too late to take them back. 
 " At the mercy of my children," he went on. " At 
 my age. Living in a way that / can't afford." 
 
 " But you and Harold and Gertrude and I could 
 be just as comfortable and happy if Edna and Lloyd 
 had their own homes. There, there. Don't let us 
 worry about that, dear boy." 
 
 She gave a last pat to his sharp knee and rose. 
 She never could bring herself to abuse his mother 
 and the two older children, even though she knew 
 that that was exactly what he wanted. Anyway, it 
 was too late now by many years for her to win his 
 good graces. For some unaccountable reason she 
 was the one whom he blamed for all his misfor-
 
 98 KALEEMA 
 
 tunes. And his worst grudge against her was her 
 " there, there, dear boy," and the pat on his knee. 
 The poor, nervous woman had done it for years, 
 never dreaming how it exasperated him. He was 
 morbidly jealous of her, too. Yet he had repeatedly 
 threatened to leave her, and the dread of her life 
 was that some day he would fulfil the threat and 
 leave her stranded ; for stranded she would be. She 
 had not a penny of her own or any family to turn 
 to, and she never would^take money from her chil- 
 dren for herself, even should it enter their heads 
 to offer it to her. And it was not likely that the 
 two with money would. They would insist that she 
 live with thfcm, of course (whether she liked it or 
 not), but Edna -and Lloyd seemed possessed of a 
 very strong belief in the divine rights of kings and 
 inheritors. 
 
 Having accomplished her duty of breaking the 
 news to her husband, Mrs. Barton straightened some 
 of his furniture, patted some of his cushions, and 
 then left. She always so wanted to run from his 
 presence that she habitually forced herself to tarry 
 and bestow these careful attentions. And it just 
 as regularly infuriated the children to see her flut- 
 tered attendance on him. But she knew best. 
 There were some things that the children, wise as 
 they were, did not understand. 
 
 If ever a woman earned her living, Mrs. Joseph 
 Lloyd Barton earned hers. Only she did not have
 
 KALEEMA 99 
 
 the satisfaction of being comfortable while she was 
 about it, for her heart was in her throat most of the 
 time. Often when her husband had been threaten- 
 ing and sulking for days, she would hunt up the 
 maid's duster and vigorously polish his furniture 
 and talk about the weather and having his clothes 
 pressed, trying to convince him that he was not 
 abused and forsaken. If Harold caught her before 
 she got into the room, he would take the duster from 
 her, slam it in a corner, and lead her back to her 
 own room, angrily denouncing his sulking father. 
 She would cautiously close the door and sit trembling 
 until the boy's voice was lowered. If he had had 
 money enough to take care of his mother, he swore 
 there would have been one grand upheaval in the 
 family. He himself was just helpless enough to 
 sympathize with her. And she loved him for his 
 sympathy, though its demonstrations frightened her. 
 
 When she left her husband's room and regained 
 the hall she found that Lloyd, in his riding clothes, 
 had returned from the park. He stood by a light, 
 his gaze glued to the telegram, Gertrude, her arms 
 akimbo, standing before him and volubly explain- 
 ing that nothing could be explained. When his 
 mother appeared he stared at her stupidly, then threw 
 the telegram on a table and walked on into his own 
 room. 
 
 The next moment he was back. They knew he 
 would be.
 
 ioo KALEEMA 
 
 " I suppose he thinks he 's a very bright boy," 
 he observed disgustedly, dropping on a chair near 
 the tea table. 
 
 Mother and sister remained silent. 
 
 " Nice mess he '11 make of it on what he earns," 
 he added. 
 
 A minute later the door-bell rang and Mrs. Gib- 
 son and Arthur Haydn came in. Gertrude thrust 
 the telegram at them and then stood back to see the 
 effect. 
 
 " Um-hum," said Edna, calmly, staring at her 
 mother. " I hope she has more money than he has. 
 ... Is n't he a little fool ! " Matrimony and di- 
 vorce had made her very wise and patronizing. 
 
 Arthur Haydn assisted her to remove her furs 
 and said nothing, but in the bottom of his heart he 
 was hoping that, for Harold's sake, his wife's money 
 was lacking. He had recently discovered one or 
 two flaws in the disposition of Edna Barton Gibson. 
 And they were caused chiefly by her income. 
 
 Then Edna began to laugh. 
 
 " Really, it 's too ridiculous. That kid ! Do you 
 suppose it could be Anne Thomas ? I 've a notion 
 to call up Pittsburgh and ask if Anne is at home." 
 
 "And what will you say if you get her?" de- 
 manded Gertrude. 
 
 " Tell her the news," answered Edna. 
 
 " Much she cares ! " exclaimed Lloyd.
 
 KALEEMA 101 
 
 " I really think she did like Harold," said Mrs. 
 Barton. 
 
 " Then worse and more of it," said Gertrude. 
 " Let 's not be ridiculous, but wait until he somes." 
 
 "My poor boy!" exclaimed Mrs. Barton. 
 " What trouble has he got into ! " 
 
 Then Mr. Barton, too curious to stay away, came 
 in and sat down, and the children looked frightfully 
 bored, and Mrs. Barton very punctiliously fixed his 
 tea.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 WHEN Kaleema walked out of the station 
 and stood in Forty-second Street that Janu- 
 ary morning, it seemed to her that she had opened 
 her eyes in another world. For the first time in all 
 her experiences of landing there she saw the sky as 
 well as the sidewalk. 
 
 The sole purpose in her mind was not the mad 
 search for an expressman to get her trunk across 
 town, hoping she would immediately afterward have 
 to get it out again for another engagement. 
 
 It was only a few months ago that she had last 
 stood there, but the buildings and the streets and 
 the policemen all seemed changed. They were not : 
 Kaleema was happy. 
 
 It was Sunday, so there was no need for Harold 
 to rush for the office, wondering the while whether 
 or not he would find himself discharged for his ab- 
 sence. He had had permission grudgingly given 
 to go, but he had never been allowed to feel too 
 secure, and he was not aware of the fact that it 
 was suspected, and most profoundly hoped, that he 
 would soon be married, and that his mind would 
 then more than occasionally be centered on his work. 
 
 102
 
 KALEEMA 103 
 
 Indeed, whatever was erratic in that office was either 
 understood or given permission to depart. It just 
 happened that Harold had made himself valuable 
 and that his employers had taken the trouble to un- 
 derstand him. 
 
 He and Kaleema had stopped at a telephone booth 
 in the station while he talked to his mother long 
 enough to tell her that he was in town and would 
 be at home immediately. Kaleema had insisted on 
 that in the train, for she knew how his mother would 
 be worrying. 
 
 Her teeth nearly chattered when she thought of 
 Mrs. Barton, though it was only intuition that led 
 her to suspect what sort she must be. Harold had 
 scarcely mentioned the other members of the family, 
 and they seemed so vague that they did not even 
 frighten her. She did not quite realize that they 
 existed. Indeed, he had been very reticent about 
 himself. That had always puzzled her. But she 
 had never asked him any questions. She did not 
 know that he had been a long time perplexed over 
 which address to give her for his mail, home or 
 office. Finally he had given her the office, and his 
 heart was in his throat ever after in the fear that 
 trouble might come of it. She had often wondered 
 if he were already married. But asking him 
 would n't have done any good. 
 
 His own nerves were strung to the breaking point. 
 He had arranged that while he went home she
 
 104 KALEEMA 
 
 would get them settled for a day or two at one of 
 the cheaper Broadway hotels. A good deal of what 
 little money he had saved had been spent in these 
 wild journeys. 
 
 At the corner she took her suitcase and they sep- 
 arated, Kaleema glad enough to be alone for a little 
 while so she could shampoo her hair and make her- 
 self pretty. She would have said good-by to him, 
 however, but he darted off like a young deer without 
 a word of parting. 
 
 It seemed to Harold that he never would reach 
 home. He expected all degrees of horror, dismay, 
 and scolding; but he had braced himself against 
 them. Now that he had made the plunge, he would 
 face it, and he could hardly wait to get there and 
 have the whole business off his mind. He meant 
 not to gloss things over but to tell the truth that 
 is, nearly the whole truth. There were one or two 
 little things that they need never know. Such as 
 about Adam James and the dead gipsy. Otherwise, 
 by the time he reached the apartment, he was ready 
 to justify Kaleema to them. 
 
 His key was scarcely in the lock when his mother 
 herself opened the door. She threw her arms 
 around him and he bent down and kissed her. He 
 hoped that she was alone. Then she set his bag 
 on the floor and drew him into the living-room, 
 where she could get a better look at her beloved boy. 
 The whole family was present, even Arthur Haydn.
 
 KALEEMA 105 
 
 Harold wondered what he was doing there at that 
 hour in the morning. It was no business of his. 
 
 Edna was broadly smiling. She never did have 
 any sense, anyway! 
 
 " My dear child ! " said his mother. 
 
 It was not at all what he had expected. 
 
 " I should have told you, Mother," he said apolo- 
 getically, " only I did n't realize it myself until after 
 it was done." 
 
 " Were you married looking down the muzzle of 
 a gun? " asked Edna. 
 
 " I was not, Mrs. Gibson," he replied angrily. 
 " And let me tell you " 
 
 " There, there, children, don't quarrel," interposed 
 Mrs. Barton. 
 
 " Then tell Edna to mind her own business," mut- 
 tered Harold. 
 
 His mother helped him to pull off his overcoat; 
 then she reached up her chubby arms and put her 
 hands on his shoulders. 
 
 " Whom have you married, Harold? " 
 
 " A little actress, Mother. A nice girl, though." 
 
 " I hope you '11 be happy, Harold," said his 
 mother, and turned away with a profound sigh. 
 
 Harold sat down and rested his elbows on his 
 knees and his head on his hands. The pose was not 
 cheerful. Edna glanced at Haydn, but he was star- 
 ing at the floor. For fully a minute there was si- 
 lence. They knew he was regretting it already.
 
 io6 KALEEMA 
 
 " Nice family ? " inquired Gertrude. 
 
 " No," answered Harold shortly. " None at all." 
 
 " Who introduced you to her? " asked his mother. 
 
 " Nobody," replied Harold. He did not look up. 
 He could imagine the expression of their faces. 
 Then he went on. " I saw her in a boarding-house 
 in West Thirty-eighth Street. I went there with 
 a chap I know to see another fellow. Awful 
 neighborhood, but the house is all right. She was 
 sitting on the stairs throwing pennies to a hand-organ 
 kid that had come into the lower hall, and then the 
 monkey ran in and she was afraid of it, and it 
 chased her, and we all got to laughing and talking." 
 
 Silence followed his explanation. He knew with- 
 out glancing up that they were staring blankly at 
 him and at one another. Such proceedings were not 
 within the range of their comprehension. Perhaps 
 Lloyd and Haydn had heard of such things. In his 
 mind's eye he saw again very vividly that hot Satur- 
 day afternoon himself off on a half-holiday - 
 the loud music booming in at the open windows as 
 Kaleema ran screaming up the stairs, the monkey 
 at her heels; and he saw her tripping on her dress 
 and falling in a heap right in front of him. He 
 had never thought about introductions until now. 
 
 " And you have lied half the time about going 
 away on business?" asked Gertrude finally. 
 " Yes," replied Harold. 
 " Is she . . . respectable ? " asked his mother.
 
 KALEEMA 107 
 
 "Just as respectable as Gertrude and Edna," he 
 replied. 
 
 " That helps some," observed Edna, and he knew 
 perfectly well she was grinning-. 
 
 " Well," said Gertrude very quizzically, " if you 
 were going to marry an actress, why did n't you 
 marry one a little bit well known ? " 
 
 " Oh, lord ! " groaned Lloyd, and he and Haydn 
 began laughing uproariously. 
 
 "Are you going to let us look at her?" asked 
 Lloyd presently. 
 
 "If you will condescend to do so," answered 
 Harold. Then, to his mother, " May I bring her 
 to see you? She 's a little queer." 
 
 Haydn and Lloyd thought he would do better 
 to let them find out a few things for themselves. 
 
 " Certainly," his mother replied quietly. She 
 was prepared for anything. 
 
 Again there was silence. 
 
 " We always thought," observed Gertrude after 
 a while, " that you would marry Anne Thomas." 
 
 Harold glared at her. 
 
 " And go round with her handing out the money 
 for me to tip waiters? Giving me an allowance, 
 perhaps. No, thank you." 
 
 He jumped up and swung out of the room. 
 
 He went into his own room and closed the door. 
 It looked very very restful and clean. After what 
 he had lately seen, it was heaven.
 
 io8 KALEEMA 
 
 For a moment he stood still, his gaze consciously 
 avoiding his own eyes reflected in the mirror op- 
 posite. Then he deliberately turned and looked at 
 the door, to be sure that it was closed and none of 
 the mild disgust and ridicule he had left outside 
 could pry after him. 
 
 The interview just ended was much briefer than 
 he had expected and very different from what he 
 had planned. It had passed in about ten minutes. 
 He had thought that it would last a day. But it had 
 dulled the newness and the strangeness of his mar- 
 riage. The impulses and arguments that he had 
 been storing up for the past six months would now 
 never be spoken. Even Kaleema seemed five years 
 away. He felt as if he were standing with his 
 hands full of ashes. 
 
 He got his bag and repacked it with fresh things ; 
 then he went back down town.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 ON the way down the memories of the past 
 forty-eight hours stung him with rebellion 
 against what he had met at home. 
 
 With it came the consciousness that he was going 
 back to Kaleema. And that he wanted blindly, pas- 
 sionately to go. 
 
 The family's ridicule and remoteness had viciously 
 torn him out of his wilful dream. It was just what 
 he had expected. Ridicule and remoteness were the 
 intimate enemies of his life. 
 
 He put the blame on the bondage of his marriage. 
 Without that he could have loved the girl with his 
 whole soul. It was the owning her and the paying 
 for her out of pride and tradition that dulled the 
 beauty and the strangeness of her and the joy of 
 possession. Without that his world could have 
 moved along unknowing, and he could have lived 
 in full. 
 
 When he reached the hotel and went up to the 
 room he found her in her kimono, sitting by the 
 window in the rays of the winter sun, combing her 
 drying hair. 
 
 There was no smile on his lips as he went in. 
 109
 
 no KALEEMA 
 
 He took off his hat and overcoat and threw them 
 down. She looked at him inquiringly, but he did 
 not return her gaze. Then the next instant he 
 threw off his coat and went to her and pulled her 
 to her feet. She smiled; that was answer enough. 
 This was the longest that they had been separated 
 since that wonderful Friday morning. He thrust 
 his fingers into the cool dampness of her dark, 
 fluffy hair, and she lowered her lashes and ran her 
 hand over the monogram on his shirt sleeve. Then 
 he kissed her, and took the comb away from her 
 and threw it across the room. Then he pulled down 
 the curtain.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 TO his surprise, Kaleema refused to go to his 
 mother the next day. She said she was tired 
 and fidgety, and would not Tuesday do ? Evidently 
 it would have to; so it was settled that they were 
 to meet at the Knickerbocker as near five as Harold 
 could make it from the office, go to his mother's, 
 and stay just half an hour. Kaleema made him be 
 very definite about that half-hour. She knew that 
 she could not last through a minute more. 
 
 " And I hope to goodness she talks all that time 
 about the weather," she said, nervously biting her 
 nails. 
 
 " So do I," said Harold, just as fervently. Ka- 
 leema gave him a quick little look. 
 
 When the time carrte she kept him waiting. Five, 
 ten, fifteen minutes passed, and he was getting angry 
 when he heard her voice at his elbow. He turned, 
 and then uttered an exclamation of surprise. 
 
 She looked lovely, from the toes of her new shoes 
 to the top of her smart little hat new suit, new 
 furs and all. 
 
 " Lord, you 're beautiful! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " My Gawd, I ought to be," she answered. " I 
 in
 
 112 KALEEMA 
 
 blew most of the three hundred. No wonder it took 
 two days to do it." 
 
 A fat, sporty-looking man who was passing heard 
 what she said and stood still to look at her. A flush 
 of annoyance covered Harold's face. She did not 
 see it. She was too much interested. 
 
 " And clean hands," she said, " and a manicuring 
 that makes the search-light up at Highlands look like 
 a dirty deuce in a yellow mud puddle." 
 
 The fat man laughed, and Harold, red to his ears, 
 took her arm and hurried her out of the hotel. 
 
 Kaleema was smiling in her perfect satisfaction, 
 and she was so beautiful that everybody stared at 
 her. Harold was biting his lips to keep back his 
 disgust and anger. The general effect of her to 
 passing pedestrians was that she must be starring on 
 Broadway, she looked so very happy and just suffi- 
 ciently independent and haughty. Most of them 
 looked with morbid curiosity at Harold. They won- 
 dered where he got all his money. It infuriated 
 him. He wished he had a placard stating that he 
 was her husband. It was the first time he had ever 
 noticed how overly-wise Broadway is; and how it 
 can stare. 
 
 " Lots of expensive actors in town," observed 
 Kaleema. " Gee ! look at their bored expressions ! 
 Ain't it awful to be alive ! And d' you get the wrist- 
 watches and the handkerchiefs up their sleeves? I 
 don't know any of them. All my friends are on
 
 KALEEMA 113 
 
 the road; comin' away from Skamon or goin' to 
 him. . . . With these clothes on, I wonder if I could 
 ever land a silk-stocking job ? " 
 
 ' You have on a great deal too much paint," said 
 Harold. 
 
 " I have not," she answered. " You let my paint 
 alone, little one. Say, would n't it be funny if I got 
 an interview with a ve-ry important stage director 
 and he asked me what I was with last and I raised my 
 eyebrows haughtily and said, ' Dillon and Ska- 
 mon'?" 
 
 She laughed loudly enough to be heard half-way 
 across the street. 
 
 Harold's reply was cut short by her turning sud- 
 denly and waving a little white-gloved hand at a 
 shabby, dissipated-looking man. It was one of her 
 old managers, and he came hurrying back to them. 
 Evidently he did not owe her anything. Harold was 
 forced to pause. 
 
 " I say, kiddo, but you 're lookin' fine ! " the man 
 exclaimed, wringing her hand extravagantly. 
 " Workin' ? " he asked, glancing at Harold. 
 
 " Just left one of Dillon and Skamon's bum 
 shows," she answered. " Out in Dakota. Some 
 jump, believe me. Say, but it's nice to see you! 
 Married last week, too. This is Mr. Barton," she 
 announced, with beaming pride. 
 
 " Married ! " he exclaimed, shaking Harold's hand, 
 oblivious of the fact that she had neglected to men-
 
 ii 4 KALEEMA 
 
 tion his own name. " Say, that 's fine ! And 
 you're lookin' great. Show business, Mr. Barton? 
 No? Lucky man. Come in and see me, both of 
 you, soon. Talk over old times. I '11 bet you 're 
 crazy already to get back to it." 
 
 " Not when I 'm sober," said Kaleema. 
 
 He laughed. " Well, good-by, good-by. See 
 you soon. Be sure to run in, 'Leema." 
 
 Even after they parted, both he and Kaleema 
 turned their heads and waved their hands. She 
 seemed to be extraordinarily enthusiastic about thai 
 shabby, dissipated-looking man! And the creature 
 fairly devoured her with his big black eyes. 
 " Kiddo " and was she " workin' " ! Harold was 
 knocking into people in his haste and rage. He felt 
 that they were labeled. " Show people, show peo- 
 ple " was what their appearance evidently said. He 
 was finished with that neighborhood when he had 
 Kaleema with him. 
 
 Gaining control of his voice, he spoke. 
 
 " To say the least, you might take off the ear- 
 rings." 
 
 For a moment she hesitated, and then she meekly 
 pulled them off and dropped them down the neck of 
 her dress. 
 
 How he dreaded parading in at home! Thank 
 Heaven, he had told his mother over the telephone 
 that he wanted Hadyn kept out of the way. He
 
 KALEEMA 115 
 
 was not in. the family yet not by a long shot 
 and he and 'Leema were n't going up there for his 
 analytical amusement. He hoped that Edna 
 would n't be there. But he knew she would be. 
 
 Kaleema had not the faintest idea where they were 
 going. For all that Harold had ever told her to 
 the contrary his mother might reside in Hester 
 Street. But she went unconcernedly wherever he 
 took her. She had done it often enough before with 
 others, so why be inquisitive now? She had even 
 frequently gone alone into cheap hotels to strange 
 men's rooms and answered their questions about 
 salary and experience and weight and height and 
 wardrobe, and let them measure her to see if she 
 could wear the last woman's tights and boots. 
 
 She was seeing things, too, as they walked along. 
 She saw how people looked at her, and knew just 
 what they thought. That was the reason she cared 
 so much for the greeting of the shabby, dissipated- 
 looking man. They had been together for months 
 and months, working and playing together, and he 
 did not think suspiciously about her. He could 
 really respect a person when he had to. She was 
 seeing the lazy, contemptuous, sophisticated faces 
 that judged some things correctly and misinterpreted 
 a great deal more. That seemed to be one of the 
 chief occupations of the taxi-drivers lining the curbs 
 and of those who drifted along the sidewalks: won-
 
 ii6 KALEEMA 
 
 dering cynically what each woman was hunting for 
 a snub from an office boy, or some fool to pay for 
 being amused by her. 
 
 It was evident that they were going uptown. 
 They were in a very good neighborhood and turned 
 into a well-appointed building. The attendants, 
 knowing Harold, respectfully let them go on. Both 
 were thinking so busily about other things that it 
 took them rather by surprise to discover that they 
 had arrived. The quiet maid and the handsome 
 apartment did not fall in very readily with her re- 
 flections. 
 
 Mrs. Barton met them and held out her hand to 
 Kaleema. Kaleema smiled nervously as she said, 
 " How do you do, Mrs. Barton ? " and allowed her- 
 self to be led to a sofa. As soon as Harold decently 
 could he fled to his own room and closed the door. 
 Kaleema was thankful to have him go, if he intended 
 to keep up his fidgeting. Only she hoped he would 
 not forget about that half-hour business. 
 
 Once closeted in his own room, he recalled that 
 Kaleema had been frankly and sweetly meeting his 
 mother's eyes and answering her questions as they 
 sat there together. And, after all, her paint was all 
 right, and she had n't on any obvious powder. He 
 hoped Gertrude would go in. He wanted her 
 opinion. 
 
 If only Edna and Haydn and Lloyd would keep 
 out of the way. . . .
 
 KALEEMA 117 
 
 He thrust his hands into his pockets and paced 
 back and forth for ten minutes. Then he opened 
 the door and listened. He heard laughter and many 
 voices. Of course! Edna and Lloyd were there 
 the whole bunch of them. They seemed to be hav- 
 ing a good time with her. . . . Good lord! they 
 were asking her about the shows. 
 
 He closed the door and strode back to the window. 
 He began opening drawers and boxes and putting 
 things in order. Then he tacked up a picture that 
 had fallen down. He had not the faintest idea of 
 removing his possessions. A minute later he opened 
 the door and listened again. 
 
 " Are the stages ever small ? " he heard her ex- 
 claim. " Why, some of 'em are so awful that you 
 break the footlights or knock over the scenery every 
 time you faint or get murdered." 
 
 It was time to go, regardless of the half -hour. 
 He hurried across the hall and into the living-room. 
 There they all were, even Haydn, smiling at her in 
 undisguised admiration. She was laughing quite 
 naturally, and her teeth were very white and pretty 
 against her dark skin. She did look lovely. And 
 there was n't a thing the matter with her clothes. 
 
 When he appeared she rose. Mrs. Barton ex- 
 claimed that of course they must stay for dinner. 
 By that time Harold wanted to stay. After all, 
 perhaps he had got himself worked up over nothing. 
 He glanced at Kaleema, but she was very charmingly
 
 ii8 KALEEMA 
 
 telling a lie about their having an engagement. 
 Edna came and pulled him aside while the others 
 were talking at the door. 
 
 " You know, Harold/' she began, " I always was 
 your friend." 
 
 Harold jerked away. He did not feel like any of 
 her teasing. 
 
 " Harold," she pleaded, " do me one last favor. 
 Her color is beautiful. What kind does she use? " 
 
 " I only know," snapped Harold, " that it 's fifty 
 cents for a great big can."
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 WHEN they left the elevator Harold looped 
 his arm through hers and hurried her out 
 into the crisp evening air. 
 
 "Where shall we go for dinner to-night?" he 
 said. 
 
 " What do you say to one of the little French res- 
 taurants downtown?" she answered. 
 
 " Very well," he replied ; and he ran her along 
 and they slid a few paces on the thin coating of ice 
 that covered the sidewalk. 
 
 Harold was whistling. 
 
 That was the only sign he ever gave her that she 
 had not disgraced him on that much-dreaded day. 
 
 He did not speak once all the way downtown. 
 Neither did Kaleema. She was persistently blinking 
 her eyes to keep back tears. His silence was almost 
 too much for endurance this time. 
 
 When they got off the car he took her into a drug 
 store, because, he said, he had forgotten something 
 and must call up a man. Once inside the booth he 
 called up home. He asked the maid for his mother, 
 and she came to the telephone. He cleared his 
 throat twice while he was waiting. 
 
 " What do you think of her, Mother? " he said. 
 119
 
 120 KALEEMA 
 
 " She is very nice, dear," she answered. 
 
 " What do you really think ? " he said. Her mild- 
 ness did not deceive him. 
 
 " Why, that she is very nice," she repeated with 
 emphasis. 
 
 Yes, she was very nice. He understood. She 
 was not Anne Thomas, that was all. 
 
 " Please let me speak to Gertrude," he said ; and 
 he heard his mother put down the receiver and call 
 to her. 
 
 " Hello. Yes ? " said Gertrude over the tele- 
 phone. 
 
 " What do you think of her? " asked Harold. 
 
 " That she is perfectly lovely, you idiot," she 
 replied. 
 
 " Very common ? " 
 
 " Just a little. Most people are." 
 
 "What did Lloyd say?" 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 "What did Edna say?" 
 
 " Just grinned." 
 
 "What did that fool Haydn say?" 
 
 " That she is some live wire. Also very natural. 
 He 's crazy about her. Says he did n't know you 
 had so much sense." 
 
 " Good-by. ... I say, what do you really 
 think?" 
 
 " That she is lovely, and that you need n't worry 
 about what anybody thinks about her."
 
 KALEEMA 121 
 
 " Good-by." 
 
 " Good-by." 
 
 He always knew that he would get the truth from 
 Gertrude. 
 
 The little restaurant was crowded, but at last they 
 found a table for four with two places left. Two 
 very young men were there already. Kaleema 
 smiled at them as she sat down. She began smok- 
 ing and tried very hard to talk to Harold. He was 
 unresponsive and sat gazing around at the uninter- 
 esting crowd. Evidently the two boys were rather 
 shy; and besides, she was afraid Harold would not 
 like it if she talked to them. Two or three times she 
 rubbed her handkerchief over her eyes and said that 
 the smoke kept getting into them. 
 
 She kept Harold there as long as she could; then 
 she suggested a picture-show. After that she 
 wanted a nice long walk, so they walked until Harold 
 was tired. They were hungry again, so they went 
 and ate something. It was very late when they got 
 back to the hotel. 
 
 Up in their room she was a long time getting her 
 outdoor things off, her waist and skirt removed and 
 her kimono on. The things did not seem new any 
 more. She carelessly hung up the suit and hat and 
 threw the furs into their box, forgetting to put on 
 the cover. The earrings had worked down inside 
 her corset and were pressing into her skin, but she 
 did not feel them. By that time Harold was
 
 122 KALEEMA 
 
 ready to open the windows and put out the light. 
 
 " Go ahead," she said. " My head aches, and 
 for a little while I am going to curl up in this big 
 chair." 
 
 Harold looked at her stupidly. 
 
 "Sit up?" he said. 
 
 " For just a little while." She turned away from 
 him. She had fought to her limit against the tears 
 that filled her heart and were flooding to her eyes. 
 She was struggling to love him just the same; but 
 there alone with him the hurt was so keen. She 
 clenched her hands, then opened them and pushed 
 back her loosened hair. It seemed to her he would 
 never put out the light. 
 
 He came over and kissed her. Her teeth were 
 closed very tight for the long breath that his lips 
 were pressed to hers. She kept her eyes closed, but 
 her pride made her smile when he raised his head 
 and looked at her. He should never, never know. 
 
 He was dreadfully tired. He hated to walk, any- 
 way ; and he was soon asleep. 
 
 When morning came she was still curled up in the 
 chair, and she had been awake all night. It was the 
 longest night that she had ever lived through. At 
 the end of it some of her joy was gone and some of 
 her pride was broken. She understood even better 
 what it means to forgive. 
 
 And, with the tears on her cheeks, she had decided 
 that she would not have another headache.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 HAROLD had decided that what they wanted 
 was a cheap furnished apartment, with a room 
 outside for a maid; and after two days of diligent 
 searching Kaleema found on in West iO4th Street. 
 
 The first day that she was hunting she found the 
 rents preposterously high. 
 
 " And for nothing but a hole in the wall," she 
 explained to Harold at night when she met him for 
 dinner. 
 
 " I believe," said Harold, keeping his gaze on his 
 plate, " that you might have better luck if you did n't 
 wear the earrings." 
 
 Kaleema stared at him ; then a comical expression 
 crossed her pretty lips and she burst out laughing. 
 
 " My conscience," she exclaimed, " you 're a won- 
 der ! The earrings don't go with a marriage license, 
 you mean ? " She propped her elbows on the table 
 and tilted her chin on her hands. " Say, Harold, 
 you don't know it, but you 're a genius. You 
 have n't any sense about stage-stuff, but uncon- 
 sciously you 've stumbled on the psychology of make- 
 up. It 's a big wedding ring and a sad expression 
 that the janitors treat kindly. Not too sad, because 
 
 123
 
 124 KALEEMA 
 
 they '11 think that every morning you come home 
 with a skinful and scratch up the door trying to find 
 the key-hole. Wait till I get made up for to- 
 morrow ! " She leaned back and put her hands on 
 her hips. " I '11 leave off the paint and the earrings 
 and carry me left glove in me hand and wave the 
 ring at the janitor's nose, and perhaps I '11 go to 
 an old ladies' home and rent a mother-in-law to 
 take around with me. They ought not to charge 
 more than fifty cents a day for the use of her, if 
 she 's returned in good condition. Awful, though, 
 if she tripped on a pin and broke one of her brittle 
 old legs!" 
 
 She was waving her left hand in the air to illus- 
 trate her intention, and three waiters were apprecia- 
 tively listening to her. Harold could not help laugh- 
 ing, though he hated to do it ; then he glowered at the 
 waiters, who promptly turned their backs but re- 
 mained where they could hear everything. 
 
 " You '11 see us all settled by to-morrow night, 
 Harold Barton, everything peaceful and in order as 
 if we 'd lived there ten years, and with me two old 
 trunks out of storage and the contents scattered all 
 over the floor. Gee ! it '11 be fun to get into those 
 trunks. I 've got some fine cowboy stuff pistols 
 and all that that real cowboys gave me and I 've 
 used in melodrama, and it '11 be great nailed up on 
 the wall in the kitchen. We '11 keep the rest of the 
 place sort of decent and refined. I 'm goin' to quit
 
 KALEEMA 125 
 
 readin' the 'Clipper' all about joinin' on wire, 
 and tellin' all in first letter, and how much do you 
 weigh, and how many teeth of his own did your 
 great grandfather have when he was buried; and 
 I 'm goin' to begin readin' these pretty magazines 
 all about houses, with pictures how they should look 
 and how they should n't. We '11 fix it up the way 
 I always thought Camille and Lady Windermere 
 would have theirs not the way those rummy stage 
 managers are satisfied to have it, with red plush 
 furniture with the stuffin's fallin' out of the chairs 
 and sofas and hangin' down for the audience to look 
 at. It 's no use to bother with whiting on your 
 neck and arms and good clothes, when half the time 
 there are n't any sides to the scenery and the com- 
 pany is standin' there makin' faces at you, and the 
 furniture '.s enough to make Othello die laughin'. 
 Imagine sinkin' languidly on a chair and not knowin' 
 whether it 's goin' to hold you or whether you 're 
 goin' through to China. I 've worked in the ' Mer- 
 chant of Venice ' when there was a Navajo blanket 
 under the jewel-case and a colonial rag-rug on the 
 floor. And then they expect the company to get 
 atmosphere ! We get it from the stage hands 
 after the show ! And the * Clipper ' says, ' Played 
 to good audience.' Gawd, how that thing can rave 
 if you advertise." 
 
 To the regret of the waiters, business called them 
 away.
 
 126 KALEEMA 
 
 The next morning, before Harold was dressed, 
 she was in a Childs restaurant hastily swallowing 
 some breakfast. She met an office-boy from 
 a theatrical agency whom she recognized, and she 
 recounted to him her recent history. He was quite 
 civil to her when he found out that she was no longer 
 at his mercy. He even wanted to know if her hus- 
 band could give him a better job more money. 
 " Perhaps," she said. " Anyway, I won't forget 
 you," and then to herself, " No, I won't, you little 
 beast." 
 
 She ran down the subway stairs and made straight 
 for " the Hundreds." She looked all right to-day, 
 she was sure, but something was wrong. The first 
 building she went to had an elevator, and, aside from 
 being too expensive, the elevator boy was surrepti- 
 tiously finishing his breakfast and was haughty. 
 She decided that, in her haste, she was too early; 
 so she retreated to a drug store and waited half an 
 hour. After that she met with more respectful re- 
 ceptions. Before noon she had found the place she 
 wanted. She unfortunately called it a flat, and the 
 janitor's wife, who was showing her around, cor- 
 rected her. Otherwise the janitor's wife was very 
 friendly, for evidently this lady had no airs and 
 would not presume on a person if she came into the 
 building. It was n't generally known, but the build- 
 ing belonged to a rich man who had a furniture store 
 over in Third Avenue, who when he wanted to get
 
 KALEEMA 127 
 
 rid of some of the stuff he was tired of looking at 
 furnished some of the apartments. In that way 
 he disposed of the furniture and got more rent. 
 And furthermore, the janitor's wife hinted, it was 
 not generally known, but just the same, if she 
 liked a tenant she let her go through any apartment 
 that might be vacant and help herself to whatever 
 small pieces she wanted. 
 
 Kaleema's eyes glistened. That would be as 
 much fun as buying things, she reflected. She as- 
 sured the janitor's wife that she and her husband 
 were perfectly honest and that they would like 
 to move in before night. The janitor's wife was 
 not accustomed to quite that degree of haste, and she 
 intimated something about references. Kaleema 
 gave Harold's business address, as he had told her 
 to do, and explained their hurry by the fact that 
 they were at an uncomfortable hotel. 
 
 " Bride, are n't you ? " suddenly asked the janitor's 
 wife. 
 
 Kaleema was surprised ; then she laughed. 
 
 " Well, I suppose so," she said. " I was mar- 
 ried last week. I had n't thought of calling myself 
 that." 
 
 The janitor's wife gave her a curious look. She 
 did not doubt her, but she saw that she was unlike 
 most other brides. The struggles with life and with 
 Harold had robbed her of that. 
 
 Finally it was agreed that Kaleema should go
 
 128 KALEEMA 
 
 directly to the agent and beg him to do his best. 
 She went, and to such good purpose that the lease 
 was signed shortly before six o'clock. She had 
 already got the two trunks out of storage and had 
 left them with the expressman. After the agent's 
 interview with Kaleema he was inclined to have his 
 suspicions, founded chiefly on her haste; he sent 
 a man to investigate Harold, and the office was so 
 respectable and Harold so disagreeable that all 
 doubts as to his being responsible were quickly re- 
 moved. 
 
 At half -past six Harold and Kaleema met in the 
 flat. Harold would not take the time to go and look 
 at it before signing the lease, so of course he was 
 disappointed and heartsick when he saw it. It was 
 so different from the Eighties, East. He forgot all 
 about the difference in the rent. The outside and 
 the entrance were bad enough, with the imitation 
 marble, but once inside his own door he stood rooted 
 in the tiny hall. Kaleema was watching him closely, 
 and she saw his disappointment. 
 
 " Must be an awful respectable place," she ob- 
 served, " the fuss they made about lettin' us in. 
 Good thing they looked you up instead of me." 
 
 " That would sound fine to a stranger," exclaimed 
 Harold. 
 
 " Well, I 'm not talkin' to a stranger, am I ? " 
 she answered. " What do you suppose they would 
 think of some of the joints I 've lived in ? " Harold
 
 KALEEMA 129 
 
 frowned. ' The furniture here now is a fright, but 
 the janitor's wife likes me already, and you won't 
 know the place in a week. And I 'm goin' over to 
 the store itself and tell the man how homely the 
 furniture is for his swell building." 
 
 " No, you don't," snapped Harold, but when he 
 looked at her he saw that she was laughing and just 
 talking to tease him. She was trying to make him 
 forget for a moment to compare things. 
 
 " Oh, you silly ! " she exclaimed, seizing his hand 
 and kissing it and pulling him on into the apartment. 
 " I know, dear," she added, " that it is not like your 
 old home ; but there may be some things in the world 
 nearly as good as money." 
 
 There was a living-room, with ugly lace curtains 
 at the windows, and in the middle of the floor a 
 mission table; there were a cheap leather-covered 
 couch, a cigar stand, some nameless chairs, a desk 
 and a hideous brass lamp, a dull green rug and three 
 dreadful pictures. Next to it was the bedroom. 
 This was almost pretty. It had white paint and pale 
 blue striped paper with a rose border, a brass bed 
 (it had been in the store eleven years) and white 
 bureau, chiffonier and chairs. Back of the living- 
 room was the dining-room. It had an oak set with 
 many bumps and claws. 
 
 " This furniture looks as if it had muscular 
 rheumatism," said Kaleema as they stood in the 
 door. "If those claws ever start to walk away with
 
 130 KALEEMA 
 
 it, I '11 open the front door and the back door and let 
 it go." 
 
 Then she pushed Harold along to see the bath- 
 room and on into the kitchen. 
 
 " Could n't swing a cat by the tail in here, but 
 the last woman left a prompt-book." She held out 
 a greasy cook-book for his inspection. " I spent 
 two dollars in carfares and telephones getting this 
 place, but this book must have cost that, and now 
 we '11 not have to buy one. Really, all that is 
 needed to complete the whole flat is a piano and a 
 corkscrew. But there 's no place to stand the piano, 
 so we'll just get the corkscrew." 
 
 Harold stood looking around, his hands in his 
 overcoat pockets. Then he walked back into the 
 living-room. He looked at the squatty brass lamp 
 and curiously felt the leather cover, with its painted 
 Indian, that was spread on the mission table. Still 
 he could not believe that this was his home. 
 
 As they expected the trunks and suitcases any 
 moment, they could not leave the apartment, so 
 Harold went out and got some sandwiches and 
 cookies, and they ate those for dinner. Then it was 
 ten o'clock before the expressman came. Harold 
 was tired out with waiting, and Kaleema seemed to 
 be until the door-bell rang. Then it was as if she 
 had heard the whistle of the approaching train after 
 a long night wait at a junction. She jumped up 
 and opened the door, turned on the lights, and the
 
 KALEEMA 131 
 
 next minute she and the expressman were laughing 
 over the problem of what to do with the furniture 
 so that the three trunks could be got inside the door. 
 Harold was so horrified that he went into the bed- 
 room and stayed until the expressman was gone. 
 When quiet was restored and he issued forth, he 
 beheld a trunk in each of the other rooms. The suit- 
 cases were on the dining-room table. 
 
 " Don't worry to-night, dear," said Kaleema. 
 " This seemed to be the only thing to do, and I 
 promise you that one trunkful of rubbish is to be 
 thrown away." 
 
 Harold let it go at that, and soon he was in bed. 
 He heard her pottering around and knew that she 
 had already unlocked the trunks. 
 
 " Coming, 'Leema ? " he called, 
 
 " After a while," she answered. But it was four 
 o'clock the next morning before she was through. 
 
 While they were waiting for the expressman she 
 had planned exactly what she was going to do; 
 namely, that before Harold ever entered the apart- 
 ment again some of its ugliness should be gone. 
 That night, while he was sleeping, she emptied the 
 three trunks and refilled to overflowing the oldest 
 one with the stuff that was to be thrown away. It 
 took her a long time to do it. Nearly everything 
 that she picked up, smelling of grease paint and 
 smeared with it, too, was a sort of treasure, but 
 finally the trunk was full and locked. The rest of
 
 132 KALEEMA 
 
 the stuff costumes, wigs, fans, shoes, poison bot- 
 tles, masques, crowns and ropes of jewels, old parts, 
 tights, boots, pistols, powder, rabbits' feet, boys' 
 knickerbockers and artificial flowers, and more be- 
 sides the whole lot, she threw on the kitchen floor 
 and closed the door on it. She meant to sort that 
 out some other time. Then she went to bed. 
 
 As soon as Harold left the next morning she had 
 the old trunk taken away. Then she went down 
 town, drew a part of her money, and did some shop- 
 ping. 
 
 When Harold came home that night he again stood 
 in the tiny hall and stared. 
 
 Not a trunk or suitcase was in sight; and the 
 living-room was transformed. 
 
 The ugly lace curtains were down, and some plain, 
 sheer ones were in their place ; the pictures were not 
 on the wall, and the brass lamp was gone. The ugly 
 desk was disguised by being left open and having a 
 dull green blotter, that matched the rug, put on its 
 lid, with ink, paper, and pens. The mission table 
 had been pushed over so that it hid the worst of 
 the fireplace; the leather cover with its painted In- 
 dian was gone and in its place was a strip of beauti- 
 ful dull silk that the; Gipsy had once worn for a sash. 
 On one side of the table were three new magazines, 
 and on the other a little black lacquer ash tray and 
 some cigarettes. Over the cheap-looking near-
 
 KALEEMA 133 
 
 leather couch was thrown a huge velvet mantle that 
 Kaleema had worn when she was playing the queen 
 oi something, and it luckily had faded so beautifully 
 that it harmonized perfectly with everything in the 
 room. It was tucked neatly in at the back so that 
 it would not slip, and at one end was a big velvet 
 cushion that the same queen had kneeled on when 
 she was arguing with the king about not having her 
 head cut off. The worst of the cigar-stand was hid- 
 den by a large fern. Three splendid white chrysan- 
 themums were in a dull green glass vase on the 
 window sill, and above them hung a picturesque wil- 
 low cage with a cheerful canary hopping about in- 
 side. The chairs had been changed and were quite 
 plain. 
 
 When he had seen this, he went into the bedroom. 
 It looked very pretty. White covers were on the 
 bureau and chiffonier, and his and Kaleema's toilet 
 things had been cleaned and put in place. The pretti- 
 est of her pictures and keepsakes were put around, 
 and here and there was a touch of bright color. 
 
 Kaleema was not in sight, and he turned and went 
 back toward the dining-room, where the same sheer 
 curtains were at the windows and a concoction of 
 lace and linen and a fern in a low dish moderated the 
 hideousness of the rheumatic table. 
 
 When Kaleema heard him coming she opened the 
 kitchen-door and came out, closing the door after
 
 134 KALEEMA 
 
 her. She was smiling happily, but she had already 
 learned better than to expect anything encouraging 
 from him. 
 
 He caught her in his arms and hugged and kissed 
 her very enthusiastically. 
 
 " It looks fine," he said. " You must have 
 worked like everything." 
 
 " But the kitchen is a fright still," she said, laugh- 
 ing happily. " We '11 simply have to go out for 
 dinner." 
 
 Kaleema put her hand on Harold's shoulder, 
 leaned her cheek against his arm, and surveyed with 
 love and pride the result of her day's labors. 
 
 " There 's a woman upstairs," she said, " who has 
 always wanted that lamp and the Indian, and the 
 janitor's wife traded with her for those decent-look- 
 ing chairs. It is n't exactly the boudoir that Ca- 
 mille would fix up to ' boude ' in, but it 's home." 
 
 Home ! The word jarred through his brain. He 
 pulled himself together enough to bend down and 
 kiss her hair where it lay against her forehead, then 
 he turned into the little hall to take off his overcoat. 
 A ghastly smile was on his lips. It was home, and 
 it was all in order now except the kitchen. The 
 mediocrity and definiteness and eternity of it nearly 
 suffocated him. He arranged his hat and gloves 
 and shook out his handkerchief to make time to get 
 control of himself. He had made up his mind that 
 no word of regret or complaint should ever pass his
 
 KALEEMA 135 
 
 lips, and he set his teeth hard upon the resolution. 
 
 " Put on your things and we will hunt up a res- 
 taurant," he said kindly. He saw how bright her 
 eyes were and that her cheeks were flushed with hap- 
 piness and excitement. 
 
 It did not seem to enter his head to wonder where 
 she got the money to pay for the cage and the 
 canary and the curtains and flowers and other things. 
 Perhaps he thought he had given it to her.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 IN the Barton family it never rained but it poured. 
 Mr. Barton was usually responsible for the pour- 
 ing. In this instance he certainly was. 
 
 He insisted that the rest of them had known all 
 about Harold's marriage long before it occurred, and 
 he took it upon himself to be very much hurt over 
 it, while at the same time he developed an insane 
 jealousy of his wife and a college friend of Lloyd's, 
 from Boston, who was in town just then and at the 
 apartment a great deal. He wanted to talk and 
 complain about his grievances, and it hindered and 
 annoyed him to have a stranger around. At the 
 bottom of it all he was intensely curious about 
 Harold's beautiful wife, and he thought the others 
 were purposely not telling him all they knew. When- 
 ever he caught the family alone, he took advantage 
 of it. On these occasions Edna and Lloyd would 
 sit in contemptuous silence while their mother did 
 her best to explain things and pacify him. Gertrude, 
 being still dependent on him and helpless, would 
 leave the room in a vain hope that she might escape 
 his resentment. 
 
 He went back to his old threat of leaving Mrs. 
 Barton and giving her a thousand dollars a year to 
 
 136
 
 KALEEMA 137 
 
 live or die on. He did not say much about Gertrude, 
 but he hinted ominously that many modern girls were 
 earning their own living and relieving their fathers 
 of care and anxiety. Mrs. Barton was very much 
 worried, though she tried to remind herself that this 
 had often happened before and had blown over. 
 
 During that first wee.k after Harold was in his 
 own apartment, he spent every possible moment of 
 his time at his home in the Eighties, East. He 
 would get up there about half -past five o'clock and 
 sit in his mother's room, to get away from the 
 others, until dinner was announced, and then he 
 would straggle up to io4th Street. He did not talk 
 very much, but would make an attempt at reading 
 or would listen to his mother's anxieties anything, 
 it seemed, just to be near her. 
 
 When he did not go there in the afternoon 
 he usually went in the evening. The first day he 
 appeared there he wrote his apartment address on a 
 slip of paper and pinned it to the pad on his mother's 
 desk, and he put his telephone number on the tele- 
 phone card. But he evinced no intention whatso- 
 ever of transferring his things. On the contrary. 
 He had always been orderly about his room, and 
 after he had fussed around in there for a few 
 minutes he would make it neat before he took his 
 departure. He had taken away only a couple of 
 suits of business clothes and other necessities, but not 
 one of his treasured possessions.
 
 138 KALEEMA 
 
 Gertrude went into her mother's room and dis- 
 covered him on his first appearance there since he had 
 brought Kaleema. She was surprised. She stared 
 at him, trying to read his composure. 
 
 "Are you looking for an apartment?" she in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Not now," he replied. " We 're in one." 
 
 " In one ! " she repeated in amazement. " Fur- 
 nished?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Servant?" 
 
 " Hardly in one day." 
 
 " That 's so. I don't see how you even found 
 the apartment so soon. Can she cook ? " 
 
 " Not yet." 
 
 "Decent apartment?" 
 
 " Oh, it 's all right." 
 
 "Where is it?" 
 
 " One-hundred-and-fourth Street." 
 
 " D'oes your wife like it? " 
 
 " She seems to." 
 
 " Well, for heaven's sake, why don't you talk and 
 tell me something?" 
 
 "Well, what shall I say?" 
 
 " I should think there would be a lot of things to 
 say." 
 
 Harold opened the magazine he held and began 
 reading, and Mrs. Barton shook her head at Ger-
 
 KALEEMA 139 
 
 trude. Mrs. Barton herself had never asked him a 
 single question. Gertrude shrugged her shoulders 
 and went out of the room. 
 
 On his third visit the family looked inquiringly 
 at one another as the door closed behind him five 
 minutes before dinner was served. 
 
 Edna was the first to speak. She put her chin 
 in the air and looked very wise. 
 
 " I don't believe he is married to her," she said. 
 
 " Yes, he is," said Lloyd, putting down the stub 
 of his cigarette and walking across the room. 
 " That 's what ails him." He went over and 
 squared himself before his mother. " What does 
 he say to you, mum?" he asked, as if defying her 
 to keep anything from them. 
 
 " Nothing," replied Mrs. Barton. 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 " Really." 
 
 " What do you think about it ? " asked Edna. 
 
 " That he is like a poor, foolish fish out of water," 
 answered Mrs. Barton. 
 
 " Don't you ever ask him any questions ? " said 
 Gertrude. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Don't you think you ought to ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Don't you think some of us should ? " 
 
 "No."
 
 i 4 o KALEEMA 
 
 " I think it would be easier for him if we did." 
 
 " He got into it without our assistance, did n't 
 he?" 
 
 "Yes," admitted Gertrude. 
 
 " Then let him get out of it the same way." 
 
 It was easy to see what stand she had taken. For 
 a moment there was silence. 
 
 "Are you ever going to see her?" asked Ger- 
 trude. 
 
 " Yes, very soon," replied her mother. 
 
 " Hoping that she will not be at home ? " said 
 Edna. 
 
 " Not at all," replied Mrs. Barton. " I shall tele- 
 phone first. Harold shall never be able to complain 
 of the way his mother has treated his wife." 
 
 " That 's sensible," said Lloyd. 
 
 " So you have made up your mind? " said Edna. 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs. Barton. 
 
 Gertrude had made up her mind, too. Only she 
 was n't talking about it. 
 
 " He will stay with her just about six' months," 
 said Lloyd. 
 
 The maid announced dinner, and that Mr. Barton 
 had just rung and said he wished to be excused. 
 
 Without a word Mrs. Barton rose, went to his 
 door, tapped and went in. A look of unspeakable 
 boredom was on the faces of those she left behind. 
 
 "Aren't you feeling well, Joe?" she asked, as 
 she went to him.
 
 KALEEMA 141 
 
 He did not answer. He sat with his hands 
 clasped in his lap, his loose lips moving. In his 
 button-hole was the red carnation. 
 
 She put one hand on his shoulder, the other on the 
 arm of his chair and bent over him. That was 
 what made the children shudder. It would not have 
 been so hard if she were not so young-looking and 
 pretty. He began twisting his waxed mustache. 
 
 " Aren't you feeling well, Joe? " she repeated. 
 
 " Yes, I feel well." 
 
 "Then what is it? Has something gone 
 wrong? " 
 
 Again he did not answer. 
 
 She pulled up the little rocking chair and sat down. 
 
 For perhaps a minute she did not speak. 
 
 " Why don't you tell me what has happened ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " You must think, Nellie, that it is very pleasant 
 for me having that Boston man around," he said. 
 
 She had known all the time that that was his 
 grievance. Now that he had condescended to men- 
 tion it, the atmosphere could be cleared. 
 
 " That boy ! " she exclaimed. " I, a woman fifty- 
 six years old and he the age of my son? Dear, that 
 is n't sensible ! Now is it, my dear boy ? " At this 
 point her hand began patting his sharp knee, " Just 
 because he treats me politely as if I were his 
 mother. It 's ridiculous, perfectly ridiculous ! 
 How do you ever get such things in your mind ? "
 
 142 KALEEMA 
 
 " You need n't talk to him," he interrupted. 
 
 " Certainly I must be nice to him. Have n't I 
 always been nice to the children's friends? My dear 
 boy, you never acted like this before!" (But he 
 had, often.) " Come, now, to dinner, and forget it. 
 This is so ridiculous when I have never thought 
 of anybody but you in all these thirty-two years." 
 
 " You must realize that it is very humiliating to 
 me, Nellie," he harped. 
 
 " Fifty-six years old, and he the age of my own 
 son ! " she reiterated. " Come, now ; the dinner is 
 getting cold. Nobody here but the children." 
 
 She patted his knee and rose. Still he sat there 
 sulking, and still she coaxed and argued and con- 
 soled, until finally he got up and followed her.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 AS Mrs. Barton had admitted, she had made up 
 her mind about her attitude toward Harold's 
 wife. In pursuance of her determination, she tele- 
 phoned about noon on the last day of that week to 
 tell Kaleema that she was coming to see her if she 
 would be at home in the afternoon. 
 
 Kaleema spent the intervening time in a state of 
 smothered agitation. A servant had been obtained, 
 but had left on the second day after her arrival. A 
 trunk for her to stumble over in the small kitchen 
 and Harold's coming home for an eight o'clock din- 
 ner got on her nerves. So Kaleema had got out 
 the abandoned cook-book and gone to work. The 
 dinners she cooked were very good, for she followed 
 the directions accurately and intelligently, as she 
 went about stage business. 
 
 She had already packed one trunk with treasures 
 and sent it down to the store-room, and the one left 
 in the kitchen was full of things to be cleaned or 
 made over and used. After the cook left, she had 
 bought eight magazines about housekeeping and 
 dressmaking, and during the day the kitchen was a 
 sight to behold as a result of her activities. After 
 Harold left in the morning she got to work, and she
 
 144 KALEEMA 
 
 did not put things in order again until it was nearly 
 time for him to come home. Then, of course, one 
 day he came home right from the office and found 
 the trunk open and things in a mess and her battered 
 old make-up box standing on the kitchen table. 
 
 " I wish you would throw that junk away," he 
 said. " I don't want to see any show stuff again 
 as long as I live." 
 
 He took off his overcoat and walked away. Ka- 
 leema suppressed a smile, threw things back into the 
 trunk and went about the dinner. 
 
 That day, half an hour after Mrs. Barton tele- 
 phoned, everything was where it belonged. She 
 threw away the old chrysanthemums and hurried 
 out and bought fresh ones; then she dressed with 
 great care and when that was safely done, put on 
 a great all-over apron and dusted the whole flat. 
 
 She hoped and prayed that Mrs. Barton would 
 come alone. After that first meeting she had a dis- 
 tinct impression of each member of the family, just 
 as she always had of a new company after a first 
 rehearsal, and she knew that criticism was uppermost 
 in their minds. She fervently hoped that she need 
 never set eyes on any of them again, all the time 
 knowing that she must see Mrs. Barton, at least. 
 Probably the others would remain in the mist which 
 had heretofore shrouded them. 
 
 At 4:15 Mrs. Barton arrived alone, and remained 
 half an hour. She was very kind, admiring the little
 
 KALEEMA 145 
 
 details of pleasant coziness in the apartment, talking 
 about housekeeping, and advising her hostess of the 
 best ways to get a maid. She did not once mention 
 Harold. Indeed, all personalities were quite omitted 
 from the conversation. Kaleema spoke once of 
 Harold, but immediately felt that Mrs. Barton pre- 
 ferred not to include him in their conversation. 
 
 When she left, Kaleema was puzzled. The first 
 thing she did was to take a look in a mirror; then 
 she surveyed the apartment; then she stood in the 
 middle of the living-room trying to convince herself 
 that Mrs. Barton had been very agreeable. 
 
 Harold came home early that night, and she told 
 him about his mother's call and how nice she was 
 and all the pleasant things she had said. He made 
 no comment, but she did not expect he would. She 
 had given up talking to him and simply talked at 
 him, laughing and rambling on as she had used to 
 with people who were more responsive. After din- 
 ner he said he must go out for a little while to " at- 
 tend to something." When he reached the apartment 
 in the Eighties his mother at once told him that she 
 had been to see his wife and thought her a very nice, 
 likable girl, and that his home was very pretty. 
 Harold said nothing, but he went home earlier than 
 usual. 
 
 When he arrived he found Kaleema cutting out 
 something from a pattern. He laughed at her dress- 
 making, and then he took the scissors away from
 
 146 KALEEMA 
 
 her and pulled her down on the couch beside him. 
 He kissed her lips and eyes and pretended to bite 
 her ears; he took the hairpins out of her hair and 
 shook it down over her shoulders, rumpled it up and 
 buried his face in it. Kaleema was biting her lips, 
 trying to get them steady enough to say something. 
 She took his beloved head in her hands and held it 
 in her neck so that he could not look at her. 
 
 " Some way," she said, " since your mother came 
 here I feel more as if we were married." 
 
 The tears came into her eyes in spite of her. 
 That was such an exasperating habit of hers. She 
 held his head close so that he should not discover 
 them. Her heart was aching to have him say just 
 the right thing. 
 
 " Nonsense," came in his muffled voice. 
 
 " I mean it," she said. " It seems sort of queer. 
 You never scold about anything, and you don't talk 
 and you never clutter up the flat." 
 She did not sound quite through, but she ceased 
 speaking. That was all that she could bring herself 
 to say. The little close, common, everyday things 
 that were lacking she could not name. She tried to 
 blame herself, too, for being strange, but she could 
 not conquer her feeling. 
 
 " Then I '11 rave and tear around," he said. 
 
 Her answer was a little laugh. Then he went on. 
 
 " And you never seem to quite forget 
 everything, either," he said.
 
 KALEEMA 147 
 
 " I want to, though," she whispered. " I want 
 to." She let him put her head back and look at her. 
 After all, she was not just his mistress.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 DURING the next week two unexpected things 
 happened. A maid came and remained, in 
 spite of the trunk, and on Friday afternoon Ger- 
 trude Barton appeared. 
 
 Moreover, Harold stayed at home more. He did 
 not bring any of his things from his old home, but 
 he behaved a little less like a transient in iO4th Street. 
 Not one act or word of it was lost on Kaleema. 
 It made her intensely happy, but she said nothing 
 because she knew too well his boyish contrariness. 
 For a day or two they had a little fun together, 
 reminiscent of the times of the hurdy-gurdy and 
 the escaped monkey the short time before he 
 began to want her and to make her miserable. She 
 suddenly grew more beautiful than ever before, and 
 Harold saw it. He acknowledged to himself that 
 the flat was pretty, too, and that she was a good 
 housekeeper. Kaleema hurried downtown to the 
 bank and drew out more of her money, and took 
 some old things to the clever but obscure little dress- 
 maker who formerly had made the best of her stage 
 clothes. The nervous clutch had left her heart and 
 brain. If there was any of the undercurrent now, 
 she was too happy to know it. 
 
 148
 
 KALEEMA 149 
 
 She was boundlessly happy with the happiness 
 that her whole nature had dreamed of and cried for. 
 She no longer felt strange and guilty when she made 
 herself look her prettiest and waited to hear his key 
 in the door. Now he was happy, she believed, and 
 their life could be lived without fear. Often when 
 she was alone she would put her hands over her eyes 
 and remember that the time had come when she could 
 forget. And Harold could forget, too, thank God : 
 that was the best. 
 
 But the undercurrent was there. Two or three 
 times he caught sight of some of the old things which 
 had surrounded her before they were married and 
 which he had so often seen in her room in the cheap 
 boarding-house or in her dressing-room when he 
 went to her on the road. He came across a rabbit's 
 foot, her make-up lights and some photographs of her 
 friends. He hated the sight of them. There was 
 the shabby, dissipated-looking man, Sarah and 
 Godiva others that he had only seen and a lot 
 whom he did not know at all. 
 
 One night as he came in he Heard her singing 
 in the bedroom, and when he went to the door he 
 found her before the mirror, grease paint in each 
 hand, making up her eyes. When she saw him she 
 dodged into the closet, laughing, but he pulled her 
 out and looked at her. It was very manifest that he 
 was angry. 
 
 " I was doin' it just for fun, Harold," she ex-
 
 150 KALEEMA 
 
 plained, " to see if I had forgotten how to do both 
 eyes at the same time." 
 
 He walked out of the room and she smothered 
 her laughter in a towel and began rubbing the make- 
 up off. But his annoyance had the best of him, and 
 in a moment he was back and stood in the doorway, 
 his hands in his pockets. 
 
 " I wish, Kaleema," he said, " that you would 
 throw away that trunk." 
 
 She stopped rubbing and stared at him, the towel 
 in mid-air and her eyes smeared with black paint. 
 
 "Which trunk?" 
 
 " That one in the kitchen." 
 
 " My Gawd," she said slowly. " A perfectly good 
 guaranteed fiber trunk. Say, Harold, are you 
 crazy? Just between ourselves, are you crazy? " 
 
 He turned on his heel and walked away, and she 
 turned back to the mirror, and between the look of 
 disgust on his face and the smear of black paint 
 on her own, it was too much for her and she burst 
 out laughing. 
 
 Then the next instant she was seized by a sicken- 
 ing regret. It seemed to her that she was always 
 doing the wrong thing. She was always laughing 
 when she should not. And life had been different 
 lately, and she so much happier. 
 
 She quickly cleaned her face and went into the 
 living-room where he was reading a newspaper, 
 leaned over the back of his chair and kissed him.
 
 KALEEMA 151 
 
 He continued reading, and she put her hand over 
 his eyes and kissed him again and held his head 
 close to her. He did not speak or move. The 
 kisses meant nothing to him. Not even the 
 warmth of her neck against his face brought any 
 memories. 
 
 " Is it very cold out, and are you tired to-night? " 
 she said. 
 
 " Certainly not," he replied. 
 
 She turned to the pretty willow cage and began 
 playing with the canary. She should have been 
 more careful. But why must all the happiness be 
 forgotten ? 
 
 That evening he went out alone after dinner. 
 
 The next night he left for Pittsburgh to see 
 Norman Thomas on business. Several of the 
 Thomas investments had come into the office 
 through him and the firm trusted him very largely 
 to look after them. It meant a great deal to him, 
 both in the office and with Mr. Thomas. 
 
 Norman Thomas was a powerful and wealthy 
 man; the families had always been friends, and he 
 had liked Harold from the time when he was a young 
 boy, and Harold and Anne had played together. 
 Now he liked him even better, for he had turned out 
 to be a clear-cut sort of fellow who knew his busi- 
 ness and attended to it. Harold realized this, and 
 was doing his best to keep the respect and confidence 
 of this important man.
 
 152 KALEEMA 
 
 Friday afternoon the bell rang, and when the maid 
 opened the door Gertrude Barton walked in. 
 
 Kaleema was sewing, struggling with a dress that 
 had just come home from the dressmaker and was 
 all wrong. The flat was in disorder, and her heart 
 skipped three beats when Gertrude appeared. 
 
 " I am so glad you are at home," said Gertrude. 
 " I did not telephone because it might have put you 
 to some bother if you intended going out. What a 
 sweet little place! Oh, the bird cage and the 
 canary! Where did you get it?" 
 
 " Just bought it at Macy's." 
 
 " Is n't it sweet ! Do you care if I get one just 
 like it ? " She stood gazing in rapture at the bird. 
 
 " Certainly not," laughed Kaleema. " I 'm so 
 glad you like it." She stood staring at Gertrude's 
 back. 
 
 " Don't let me hinder you. What are you do- 
 ing?" 
 
 Kaleema explained. Gertrude wheeled around 
 and investigated the difficulty. 
 
 " And it 's a perfectly beautiful dress," she ex- 
 claimed, holding it up for inspection. 
 
 " Two old ones put together," said Kaleema, very 
 meekly. 
 
 " No ! " ejaculated Gertrude, sinking on a chair 
 and staring round-eyed at Kaleema. " Well, you 're 
 not fixing it right. Give me a needle." She took 
 off her hat and threaded the needle. Here was some-
 
 KALEEMA 153 
 
 thing quite different from what Kaleema expected. 
 ''Your dressmaker must be perfectly wonderful!" 
 Gertrude said. Her surprise was very flattering. 
 
 " She is just a cheap one," said Kaleema. 
 
 " Would it be awful if I asked you for her ad- 
 dress ? " inquired Gertrude. 
 
 Kaleema laughed outright. " Of course not," she 
 said. This was the first intimation she had had that 
 the Bartons could be what she called human. She 
 wrote down the address, and the next moment she 
 herself was talking at random. " I went over all 
 my old stuff and what was n't worth fixing over into 
 something decent, I 've thrown away. Here 's the 
 address, but I 'm afraid you '11 be shocked at her 
 place." 
 
 " Never mind, if she 's only cheap," said Gertrude. 
 " Yes, it 's an awful neighborhood, but she 's a won- 
 der. You are awfully nice. Some people won't tell 
 a thing about their dressmakers. I can't understand 
 it. I think it's mean and cranky." Kaleema 
 agreed with her; and Gertrude put the slip of paper 
 in her purse and went on sewing. Kaleema stood 
 watching her, not knowing what to do. "If you 
 will rip this, the whole thing will be finished and 
 hung up before I go home," Gertrude suggested. 
 
 Kaleema pulled up a chair and began to rip. 
 
 " Other things nearly finished ? " asked Gertrude. 
 
 "All but one waist, and I shall finish that to- 
 morrow," she replied.
 
 154 KALEEMA 
 
 " May I see them before I go? " 
 
 " Of course. They 're all thrown into my trunk. 
 Everything in it is in order, though. ... I don't 
 know why, but Harold hates that trunk." 
 
 " Oh, I suppose so," commented Gertrude. 
 " Those two boys are awfully spoiled. I pity their 
 wives. And Arthur Haydn has found out already 
 that he is going to have his hands full." 
 
 Kaleema looked at her from the corner of her 
 eye, but said nothing. She was just beginning to 
 get her wits together. She had not supposed that 
 Gertrude was so different from the rest of the 
 family. But Gertrude did not leave much time for 
 reflection. She talked almost incessantly; person- 
 alities, too. For the first time there seemed to be 
 something real about the Bartons. Soon she 
 branched off to social service. 
 
 " Do you know anything about settlement work? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " You mean slums ? " said Kaleema. 
 
 " Yes. That is, trying to make them less 
 slummy." 
 
 " I Ve read about them in magazines," said 
 Kaleema. 
 
 " Come over and help us at the settlement where 
 I go. The neighborhood is horribly overcrowded 
 and the people are so discouraging. Some of them 
 are dope-fiends and most of them drink and they
 
 KALEEMA 155 
 
 are all desperately poor and usually tell lies. Don't 
 you want to come and help ? " 
 
 " Have you ever noticed that you improved any 
 of them ? " asked Kaleema. 
 
 " No, I can't say that I have," admitted Gertrude. 
 " But if they do improve they move into a better 
 neighborhood and some more messy ones take their 
 place." 
 
 " Then why do you bother with them ? " 
 
 " Perhaps it 's just to patch up my own con- 
 science," said Gertrude. " I have often wondered 
 about that myself." 
 
 " And after you have been seeing that terrible 
 misery all day," said Kaleema, " you go home hating 
 yourself because you have enough to eat and steam 
 heat and a clean bed to sleep in. Don't you ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Gertrude, " that is just exactly what 
 I do." 
 
 " Certainly," said Kaleema. " That 's what you 
 pay for being foolish enough to get born with a heart 
 in you." 
 
 " But how do you know ? " asked Gertrude. 
 
 " Oh, don't ask me the how or the why or the 
 because of anything," answered Kaleema. " All I 
 know is that I never yet felt hopeless or rebellious 
 myself that I did n't see right on the street 
 something so terrible that I was sickened by my 
 ingratitude."
 
 156 KALEEMA 
 
 "What what kind of a something?" ventured 
 Gertrude curiously. 
 
 Kaleema glanced at her, then back at her work. 
 " Oh, sometimes just a face, with the punishment of 
 living in its eyes." She was careful of what she 
 said. Gertrude's clothes were so smart and her gaze 
 was so wide. 
 
 Gertrude felt her caution. " Don't you want to 
 come and help ? " she persisted. 
 
 For a moment Kaleema was silent. " But what 
 could I do? I 've seen so much misery all my life, 
 I 'm afraid of more," she said finally. 
 
 " Perhaps you could do a great deal just because 
 you could understand." 
 
 Kaleema bit her lips. " Nobody can help them," 
 she said, " when they are once down." She did 
 not want to refuse and she did not want to go. The 
 little apartment was her heaven, and she was so 
 ravenous for its happiness that she wanted not to 
 let a thought or memory of misery come in. 
 
 " Yes, we can help them," insisted Gertrude. 
 " Anyway we should do the best we can." 
 
 " And that 's not much, I 'm afraid," said Ka- 
 leema. " We can't create work for them, and some 
 of them would not get out of their condition if they 
 could." 
 
 " That 's because they 're so much like children." 
 
 " You don't know," said Kaleema. 
 
 " Perhaps not," said Gertrude, " but if they were
 
 KALEEMA 157 
 
 as wise as we are they would n't be where they are. 
 And then there are the children." 
 
 " Yes," said Kaleema, harshly and bitterly, " the 
 children the devil's revenge." 
 
 Gertrude stared at her. " You don't like 
 them?" 
 
 Kaleema was breathing quicker. " They make 
 me shudder," she said. In her ears was ringing the 
 memory of the whippings of the Giniven child. 
 
 " Oh," said Gertrude slowly, " you don't want 
 any of your own?" 
 
 Kaleema's lips were white. " More than any- 
 thing else in the world," she answered. 
 
 "Then why ?" Gertrude stared, puzzled, but 
 Kaleema hurried on. 
 
 " Because I have nothing to give them, and be- 
 cause, when I have suffered failure, misery, and 
 . . . and all I have blamed my mother so bitterly 
 for getting me here. She should not have forced 
 life on me. It is wrong wrong. Earth can be 
 such hell. And she knew it. I could n't bear to 
 look at a child of mine. God only knows how they 
 suffer and yet are afraid to die! " 
 
 Gertrude was silent. There was something in 
 Kaleema's face that kept her so. The next instant 
 Kaleema was ashamed of having spoken. 
 
 " I should n't say such things to you," she said. 
 
 " Perhaps I understand more than you think," 
 answered Gertrude. She was remembering her
 
 158 KALEEMA 
 
 father's threats and the nights that she had lain 
 awake wondering when the crash would come and 
 how much money she could earn and what work 
 she could do. " How about blaming your father, 
 too ? " she suggested. 
 
 " Would if I ever thought of him," Kaleema an- 
 swered. " Trust me for blaming the whole bunch 
 of them even God." 
 
 For a few moments they were silent. Finally 
 Kaleema spoke. 
 
 " I should be satisfied," said Kaleema, " if I could 
 help just one just one." 
 
 In her voice there was an intense longing. Ger- 
 trude wanted to look at her but did not dare. 
 
 " You will, sometime," she answered. 
 
 Kaleema did not reply. Presently she went on : 
 
 " It must be horrible to see some of those peo- 
 ple in their ignorance and helplessness suffering for 
 the cruelty and stupidity and vileness of the others. 
 There 's no power that gives the grown ones justice 
 and they take their spite out on the children, and 
 often the children get frightfully burned and maimed 
 and ill-treated, and their fathers and mothers beat 
 and torture them God ! why does n't somebody 
 kill them?" 
 
 She gave a short, hard laugh and shut her eyes 
 as if to keep out the horror. Gertrude shuddered. 
 She looked at her and saw that her lips were white- 
 Kaleema continued:
 
 KALEEMA 159 
 
 " You can go just so far to help them and then 
 the law stops you, does n't it? " 
 
 " Not always," protested Gertrude. 
 
 Kaleema closed her lips tight, Gertrude thought 
 to keep them from twisting in the agony of mem- 
 ories. What else was in her mind Gertrude never 
 knew, for she put down tfye scissors and shook out 
 the dress, perhaps to keep her nervous hands from 
 clasping. 
 
 " Well I '11 go with you, and do my best. 
 There, is n't this done ? I can never thank you 
 enough for the way you have helped me to-day." 
 
 " Just let me help you again," Gertrude answered. 
 " I love to sew." 
 
 " I don't," said Kaleema, going to hang up the 
 dress. 
 
 Then she took Gertrude to the trunk and began 
 pulling out the things. Gertrude admired every- 
 thing, and it was after five o'clock when she went 
 home. Just as she was leaving she hesitated a mo- 
 ment at the door. Kaleema felt that there was some- 
 thing that she was trying to get up the courage to 
 say. Finally she said it. 
 
 " Would you just as soon," she began, " tell me 
 what your name was before you married Harold ? " 
 
 " It was West Kaleema West," said Kaleema. 
 
 " And you always will be Kaleema West, just 
 yourself, won't you? No marriage can change 
 you."
 
 160 KALEEMA 
 
 Kaleema stared at her, wondering how she knew. 
 Then Gertrude went out and closed the door. 
 
 It was agreed between them that some day the 
 next week she should come again. 
 
 Harold got back to town Saturday morning. He 
 went directly to the office, and from there, early in 
 the afternoon, he went to the Eighties, East. 
 
 He was thankful to find his mother alone. Leav- 
 ing his suitcase in the hall, he went into her room. 
 He had not been there five minutes when she knew 
 that there was a strain. Not one look or action 
 of his in her presence ever escaped her. She had 
 always cherished such high hopes for him that she 
 considered his hopeless marriage had nearly broken 
 her heart. But she never said so. She was just 
 waiting. 
 
 "Did you have a successful trip?" she asked, 
 when he came in. 
 
 " Yes, very," he replied. " Business could n't 
 have turned out better. Mr. Thomas was perfectly 
 satisfied." 
 
 He had sat down, but he got up again and, his 
 hands in his pockets, began alternately looking out 
 the windows and walking about the room. Though 
 he tried to make his words calm, she saw the ten- 
 sion in his face. 
 
 " Did you go up to the house? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes," he answered. 
 
 " Did you see Mrs. Thomas and Anne ? "
 
 KALEEMA 161 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Anne as pretty as ever? " 
 
 " I suppose so/' 
 
 His mother smiled indulgently. She did love her 
 tall boy. 
 
 " Is she still in love with you?" 
 
 " I don't know that she ever was." 
 
 Mrs. Barton laughed. " She ought to have been, 
 anyway." 
 
 Harold did not even smile. 
 
 " Where are they going this summer? " 
 
 " To California." 
 
 For a moment there was silence. 
 
 " Did they ask any embarrassing questions ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " No, for I told them to start with that I had 
 married out of the circus." 
 
 "Harold!" 
 
 His breath came heavily and he walked over to 
 a window and stood with his back to her. She 
 looked at him wonderingly, but did not speak. Then 
 the strain broke. He could endure it no longer. 
 
 " And they had sense enough not to ask any ques- 
 tions. I am not the only man who has married out- 
 side of his caste." 
 
 That was his first utterance of self-justification. 
 His mother's hand tightened on the book she held. 
 
 " Will the Thomases be in town -this spring? " 
 
 " Next week. Mrs. Thomas and Anne."
 
 162 KALEEMA 
 
 " What are you going to do by way of returning 
 your social indebtedness to them? " 
 "I?" 
 
 
 
 He turned and looked at her. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 His lips tightened and he turned back to the win- 
 dow. In his pockets his hands were twitching. 
 
 " Perhaps," he said presently, " when I have a 
 few millions " 
 
 " Courtesy does n't wait for millions," she in- 
 terrupted. " Simplicity is the best kind. And a 
 discourtesy is never overlooked by a man like Mr. 
 Thomas." 
 
 His hands were still twitching. 
 
 " You are going to ask them for dinner, or some- 
 thing, are n't you? " he asked presently. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " but that does n't excuse 
 you. You are indebted to them over and over again 
 socially and in business." 
 
 " That does n't matter now. I am down and 
 out." He crossed the room and went to another 
 window. 
 
 " Oh, Harold, don't say that ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 Then he came and stood before her, his 
 face drawn, looking like a helpless, hopeless child 
 again. 
 
 " Mother, why did I do it? " his dry lips said. 
 
 " Harold ! " she exclaimed softly. 
 
 This was the first time in all her motherhood that
 
 KALEEMA 163 
 
 she had been unable to give one of her children com- 
 fort. 
 
 He looked at her beseechingly. He wanted to fall 
 down on his knees and bury his head in her lap and 
 implore her to help him, just as he used to do, with 
 blind confidence. Up to this time she had always 
 saved him ; she had never failed. 
 
 She wanted to take him in her arms, and her heart 
 ached to be able to tell him that it was nothing but a 
 bad dream. She never forgot those helpless words 
 " Mother, why did I do it? " and that she could 
 give him no answer. 
 
 He turned away, for there was a choking in his 
 throat. 
 
 " My poor boy," she said, " why did you? " 
 
 " Oh, I know why," he said bitterly. " I know 
 why." 
 
 He set his teeth and paced the floor. 
 
 " It 's because without money life 's so rotten, 
 and girls like her don't care. It 's not the money 
 they care for. It 's something else. She can work 
 herself like a slave and be happy and ask for 
 more. And it 's worse than you know," he said. 
 " I think " and he knew he was a cad to say it 
 " I think Mr. Thomas did have plans. He looked 
 all upset when I told him, and he stopped talking 
 about something big that he was going to put into 
 my hands. I suppose they know a dozen fellows 
 just like me, only not fools like me. He '11 give it
 
 164 KALEEMA 
 
 to one of them. Perhaps perhaps I might have 
 had enough money so that I could have stood it to 
 marry Anne." 
 
 "Stood it?" repeated his mother. "I thought 
 you cared for her." 
 
 " I did in a way." 
 
 He came back and stood before her, hopelessness, 
 regret and uncertainty stamped on his young face. 
 
 "Well," he said slowly, "it's all over now." 
 But his imploring eyes still looked to her for help. 
 
 " You know best, Harold," she said. She did 
 not meet his eyes. 
 
 He flung himself down on a chair and buried his 
 head in his hands. She was so thankful that at last 
 he had spoken. 
 
 " Gertrude went to your apartment yesterday," 
 she said. 
 
 Harold looked up. " Well, I want Gertrude to 
 stay away from there," he said. " And please tell 
 her so." 
 
 He got up and went back to the window. 
 
 Presently he put on his hat and overcoat, took 
 his suitcase and went out.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 HE hurried down the street and struck into the 
 park. It glistened, for it was covered with 
 a thin coating of snow. He could not endure the 
 thought of a street car. It was already dusk, and 
 a car would be filled with its glare of light and with 
 people. 
 
 For some time his mother remained sitting jusi 
 where he had left her, a bright spot of excitement 
 burning in her cheeks. 
 
 Her first impulse was to find Lloyd or Gertrude, 
 but it vanished as suddenly as it came. Her de- 
 veloped sense of caution returned to her, and she 
 remained quiet, but for the nervous motion of her 
 slippered foot on the rug. She could scarcely be- 
 lieve her own hearing that he had said so much, and 
 beyond even that she knew there was more. Every 
 day after he left she had gone into his room and 
 looked around to satisfy herself that he had taken 
 nothing away. She had begun herself attending to 
 his mending, and he brought it home and tumbled it 
 into her lap as if he were a child with big holes in 
 the knees of his stockings. She was very glad that 
 he had spoken. Ever since he had come back mar- 
 
 165
 
 i66 KALEEMA 
 
 ried she had been watching the hidden worry in his 
 face and feeling the eloquence of his silence. Every 
 minute that he had sat in her room, listlessly talking 
 or reading or half-asleep, she knew that he was long- 
 ing for her to touch on that one thing; but with a 
 stubborn cruelty she had been silent. She loved 
 him too selfishly to help him. 
 
 It was with selfishness now that her eyes glistened. 
 He had shown her his misery. That was the first 
 step on the road back home. 
 
 Harold had not walked five minutes before he 
 was cursing himself and his face was burning. Out 
 in the fresh air and the park's cold quiet he had met 
 his broken resolution. 
 
 He was breathing hard and blaming Pittsburgh 
 and Mr. Thomas and the luxury of Anne and her 
 home and its appointments and trappings. He was 
 calling himself a dog and a fool and a traitor. He 
 knew, now that it was too late, that he should have' 
 stayed away from his old home. After cutting 
 himself off, he had no business to be hanging around 
 there. He had made his bed and it was for him to 
 lie in it. 
 
 He wanted to get to a telephone. He shifted the 
 heavy suitcase to the hand that was not so cold and 
 walked faster. Through the trees in the distance 
 he saw a light that he surmised might be some build- 
 ing and he made for it. It proved to be a little 
 restaurant, and he went in roughly, put down his
 
 KALEEMA 167 
 
 suitcase, and without asking permission picked up 
 the receiver. The woman in the place started to 
 remonstrate, but something in his voice stopped her. 
 
 When the bell rang Mrs. Barton sprang to her 
 feet. She knew instinctively who was there. She 
 answered without waiting for the maid. 
 
 " That you, Mother? " His voice was hoarse 
 and trembling. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Say, Mother, for God's sake forget what I 
 said." 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 " Don't say ' very well ' ! Say you '11 try." 
 
 " I will try," she repeated dutifully. 
 
 " I 'm not a cad," he said. 
 
 " I have already forgotten it, my child." 
 
 " No, you have n't ! Have you already repeated 
 it to somebody else ? " 
 
 " I have not, Harold." 
 
 " Well, don't. Not as long as you live. Not to 
 a human soul. I don't know what ailed me. I 
 did n't mean a word I said. That 's the truth. You 
 believe it, don't you ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 He hung up the receiver. His mother paused a 
 moment before she turned away. It was natural 
 that he should be sorry. But it was said. 
 
 He gave the woman a quarter, took the suitcase, 
 and was gone.
 
 168 KALEEMA 
 
 Kaleema was there almost the instant his key 
 touched the door. She took the suitcase from him 
 and dropped it on the floor, and he held her very close 
 while he kissed her. 
 
 She leaned back and looked at him. " You have 
 been away forty-seven hours," she said, " and it 
 has seemed like forty-seven years ! " She put her 
 warm hands over his cold ears and leaned her head 
 on his shoulder and closed her eyes. 
 
 " Want to go to a show to-night? " he said. He 
 was striving heroically to retrieve what he had 
 done. 
 
 " Do I want to go to a show? Do I want to go 
 to a show? " she repeated, and then she dashed into 
 the bedroom and clapped on a hat. 
 
 He followed. " Are n't we going to have any 
 dinner first ? " he said. He was hungry. 
 
 " Certainly we are," she answered. Then she 
 seized him by his coat and whispered impressively 
 in his ear. " The maid is still here." 
 
 " Well ? " he said stupidly. He was accustomed 
 to having maids remain. 
 
 " Well ! " she repeated mockingly. " Why, she 
 must be half-witted, of course. It 's to be hoped 
 she does n't go perfectly crazy and put poison in 
 the food." 
 
 " Don't you get any references from these peo- 
 ple?" 
 
 " I do not. Because their references would prob-
 
 KALEEMA 169 
 
 ably be worse than their faces. Take an eyeful of 
 this one and you '11 understand." 
 
 By this time he was in his shirt sleeves, and when 
 he went to the washbowl she stood so close to his 
 elbow that he could scarcely wash his face and hands. 
 She began poking her ringer into his ribs. That al- 
 ways made him splash his shirt. 
 
 " Say," she shouted above the running water, 
 " what do you suppose happened yesterday ? Your 
 sister was here." 
 
 He buried his face in the towel. 
 
 "Did you hear? Yesterday your sister was 
 here." 
 
 " Gert ? " he asked. Then he regretted the un- 
 necessary implication of a lie. But he did not want 
 her to know that he had already been home. She 
 would be happier to think that he came straight to 
 her. 
 
 "Of course," she said. " She 's perfectly won- 
 derful, Harold Barton. She 's the most wonderful 
 person I ever knew." 
 
 She was very impatient as she stood waiting for 
 him to emerge from the towel. Ever since the 
 door closed behind Gertrude she had been longing 
 for him to get home so that they could talk about 
 that wonderful visit. He prolonged the rubbing. 
 
 " Do you really appreciate how pretty and per- 
 fectly splendid she is ? " she inquired. 
 
 " Gertrude is all right," he answered.
 
 170 KALEEMA 
 
 " And was n't it lovely of her to come and be so 
 nice?" 
 
 ' You have made me wet my shirt, Kaleema/' he 
 said peevishly. 
 
 " Well, put some alcohol on it and shut up, cry- 
 baby," she advised, and turned on her heel and 
 went into the dining-room. 
 
 When he followed her he noticed for the first time 
 that she had on a new hat. It was of an exquisite 
 shade of green velvet, and it was tremendously be- 
 coming. In it she was very striking. He waited 
 until she left the table, and then he called after 
 her: 
 
 " Put on the other hat, kid; it 's more becoming." 
 
 She turned and gazed at him, her hands on her 
 hips. 
 
 "For th' love of Mike!" she ejaculated. 
 " Would n't that trip a snake! " 
 
 He lighted a cigarette. 
 
 " Don't flatter yourself that you 're foolin' any- 
 body. What 's the matter with th' lid? " 
 
 " Nothing at all," he answered calmly. 
 
 " Only with me and the earrings in it, it is enough 
 to stop the cars." 
 
 She took it off and went into the bedroom. From 
 there she called back to him: 
 
 " You must have been goin' with a queer lot of 
 people this winter and you 're afraid somebody will 
 take me for one of 'em."
 
 KALEEMA 171 
 
 " I have been thinking of nobody but you this 
 winter," he answered. 
 
 There was silence for a moment while she put 
 on the other hat. 
 
 " It gives me a pain," she said, " to think of the 
 innocent things I 've sacrificed to keep you in a de- 
 cent disposition. If you had married somebody 
 who wanted to fight, she would n't have had long to 
 wait. Funny, ain't it, that what gets by in a man's 
 sweetheart strikes right to his nervous system when 
 she 's his wife." 
 
 She consoled herself with a little more paint, and 
 then Harold went in and told her how pretty she 
 would look if she would rub a little of it off. 
 
 For an instant she stood between laughing and 
 crying, and then she burst out laughing. She 
 rubbed her hands hard over her cheeks, and then 
 she turned to him. 
 
 " All right now ? " she said. 
 
 He looked at her closely. 
 
 " Yes, dear," he answered. 
 
 "Vaudeville to-night, Harold?" 
 
 " Anything you like," he said. 
 
 He loved her much more in the smart little black 
 hat. He slipped on his overcoat and went into the 
 dining-room to wait while she put on her things. 
 
 The memory of the afternoon had almost ceased 
 to trouble him. The regret and guilt had nearly 
 evaporated in his heroic attempt at atonement. It
 
 172 KALEEMA 
 
 was a cold night and he was tired. Besides, he 
 hated vaudeville. 
 
 He was already storing up new resolutions. He 
 would stop going home. As he resolved it, a ter- 
 rible homesickness clutched him. He would not 
 even telephone. He would learn to get along with- 
 out the conveniences and keepsakes in his old room. 
 He would live like a man who had been shipwrecked. 
 He would deal with Mr. Thomas in a strictly busi- 
 ness way. If Mr. Thomas did n't like it he could 
 go to somebody else. He would never go near his 
 house again. He would never see Anne or Mrs. 
 Thomas again. He would drop all of his college 
 friends. He would forget everybody he had ever 
 known. He would n't even think east of the park 
 again. When he had got thus far he raised his 
 head and looked around the dining-room and the 
 living-room. He detested the color of the walls. 
 But it was not worth while spending the money to 
 change it. No telling how long he would be there. 
 Then suddenly he bit his lips. He remembered that 
 he had just resolved to spend the rest of his life 
 there. The apartment was cheap and hideous. It 
 was useless to spend money trying to fix it. It was 
 cheap and hideous from the first foundation stone. 
 Kaleema was slow, but he was n't cross about it.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 AT the theater they ran into a big surprise. 
 While he was standing in line at the box- 
 office window she dashed away from him, and when 
 he caught sight of her she was on the other side of 
 the vestibule talking to George Carney. 
 
 She was very gleeful, and Carney's kind eyes 
 were smiling down on her as he answered her 
 vehement questions. 
 
 A look of extreme annoyance came into Harold's 
 face. He did n't like Carney. Carney did n't like 
 him any better. 
 
 Kaleema was gasping in regret and amazement at 
 the news that the combination of her departure and 
 de Bassonville's presence had really closed the show. 
 
 " Where are all the folks? " she demanded. 
 
 " The Skamons went to Kansas City," he an- 
 swered. 
 
 "And Godiva?" 
 
 " I left her sitting by the stove reading Christian 
 Science." 
 
 " I hope it worked. And the bum legit. ? " 
 
 " He got a job out there to cut ice." 
 
 " W T hile he 's dickerin' with Frohman and Brady,
 
 174 KALEEMA 
 
 and waitin' for 'em to send a orchestra to escort him 
 to Broadway, like a Italian politician. And the 
 Ginivens ? " 
 
 " They struck another show." 
 
 " Through that damn ' Clipper,' of course." 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " And dear old John, and Charley, and Sam ? " 
 
 " Dear old John got very drunk and sprained his 
 ankle, and Charley and Sam came back with me. 
 Sam opens here to-night." 
 
 "What!" she gasped. 
 
 Carney laughed and nodded. He was thinking 
 how pretty she had grown since she was married. 
 
 "Here? In this theater?" She leaned back 
 and gazed at the garish architecture of the vestibule. 
 "My Gawd! It 's Broadway." 
 
 Carney laughed outright. 
 
 "What luck!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I'm so 
 glad. Come on. The show 's begun. Come and 
 see Harold just a minute." 
 
 Harold, on the other side of the vestibule, had 
 been watching them, and when Carney raised his 
 head their eyes met. It was too late for either of 
 them to draw back now. Kaleema was already 
 making for the other side, and Carney set his jaw 
 and followed her. 
 
 He had always admitted that Harold was hand- 
 some, but he had never missed a mite of the weak-
 
 KALEEMA 175 
 
 ness that was in his face. As he went toward him 
 all he could think of was the way Harold had looked, 
 back there in Dakota, as he sat on the edge of the 
 table, his face livid, while Adam James staggered to 
 his feet. 
 
 When he reached him and they shook hands, he 
 tried to remember that, after all, the boy had mar- 
 ried Kaleema. Carney set his jaw harder, and he 
 wondered if she were happy. The thought came 
 into his mind that if she were not he could walk up 
 to Harold and strangle him with one hand. 
 
 " Are you doing anything yet ? " asked Kaleema, 
 to break the awkward silence. 
 
 " Just boxing a little for two or three weeks," he 
 answered. 
 
 " Not fighting ! " said Kaleema. Some way she 
 hated to think of him as doing that. " Or train- 
 ing some lanky white hope ? " she added. 
 
 Carney smiled. " That 's it ; training some lanky 
 white hope," he answered. " One of the clubs thinks 
 that it has a pretty good man, and they have turned 
 him over to me for a while. It 's better to do that 
 than be in town with nothing to do." 
 
 Kaleema remembered that he seldom used slang. 
 She was suddenly glad of it. She observed from the 
 corner of her eye how very good-looking and well- 
 groomed he was and how fine his teeth were. She 
 was glad of that, too. Not that she liked him any
 
 176 KALEEMA 
 
 better than when he was road-worn, along with the 
 rest of them, but she knew that none of those details 
 would escape Harold. 
 
 " May I come to the gymnasium some day ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 Carney went red to his ears. 
 
 "If your husband is willing," he replied. 
 
 " Neat way of getting rid of me," she observed. 
 
 She opened her little bag and took out one of her 
 cards to give to him, and she flushed prettily as he 
 held it in his large hand and looked at it. She was 
 very proud of those little engraved cards, and this 
 was the first one she had used. 
 
 " Our address is there," she explained, with an 
 elaborate little flourish of her hand. " You will 
 come to see us, won't you ? " 
 
 " Thank you," he answered. 
 
 " Come soon. I want to talk over old times 
 just this winter, but they seem so far away." 
 
 She saw the muscles harden in his cheeks. 
 
 " Thank you," he repeated. He was very con- 
 scious that the invitation was not echoed by the glum 
 boy at her side. " I 'm afraid I am keeping you 
 from the performance," he added. " Sam's act is 
 down about the middle of the program." 
 
 He took a program out of his pocket, opened it, 
 and handed it to her; then she and Harold went in- 
 side. 
 
 When he was alone he looked again at the little
 
 KALEEMA 177 
 
 card. He started to put it in his pocket, then he 
 tore it into tiny bits and dropped them on the floor. 
 
 He did not want a vestige of memory of her that 
 he could force from him. 
 
 Kaleema could not focus much of her attention 
 on the show. She was thinking about Carney. It 
 was just like him to be working instead of hanging 
 around Broadway waiting indefinitely for another 
 show. He was a thousand times too good for the 
 show business. Even if he stayed in it, he would 
 never succeed. That she was sure of. She won- 
 dered if he ever would come up to the apartment. 
 She was very sure that he would not. The cer- 
 tainty of it made her long to see him. Somehow, 
 she felt as if she had known and loved and trusted 
 him all her life. She fell to thinking about that last 
 night in her dressing-room, when he had started to 
 kiss her. She remembered that she had wanted him 
 to do it, too. That was the worst of it. She re- 
 membered how she had hurried out of the empty 
 theater, not because she was afraid of him but of 
 the something indefinable. She realized now that 
 she had been more afraid of herself than of him. 
 And all the time he was looking upon her as little 
 more than a child. It was strange. She began 
 wondering over it. 
 
 Somebody on the stage missed a cue. She nudged 
 Harold. He was half -asleep. 
 
 " What 's the matter ? " he said.
 
 178 KALEEMA 
 
 " The prima donna missed a cue and the act hit 
 the ceiling. That 's all. Go to sleep again if you 
 want to." 
 
 When Sam's act came she sat up nervously 
 straight. The man he was working with was re- 
 markably like him. They were both tall, slim 
 young fellows, with a good manner, and in faultless 
 evening dress. They had some good songs and a 
 refreshing lot of jokes. Kaleema had not known 
 Sam could sing at all, and her heart jumped into 
 her throat as she wondered what sort of mess he 
 was going to make of it. She soon knew. They 
 went about their work with a finish and ease and 
 spontaneity that held from the beginning. The act 
 was amusing; it was charming. They got call after 
 call. Kaleema suddenly found that her hands were 
 desperately clutching the arms of the seat, and she 
 felt as if for fifteen minutes her heart had ceased 
 beating. Then she broke into wild clapping. Then 
 she took out one of the cards from her little bag, 
 scribbled on it, addressed it to Sam Taney, and 
 called an usher. 
 
 Harold had been curiously watching her, and he 
 took the card and read it : 
 
 " Sammy, you 're simply great ! Who 's the man 
 you 're working with? You 're both of you simply 
 great ! Come up and see us. I 'm dying to see you ! 
 Kaleema." 
 
 Harold straightened up.
 
 KALEEMA 179 
 
 " What rot to send to that fellow," he exclaimed 
 in a whisper. He started to tear the card. 
 
 She snatched it and handed it back of him to the 
 usher. 
 
 " Beat it, kid," she commanded, and the sedate 
 usher hurried up the aisle. 
 
 Harold's face went white. His first impulse was 
 to leave the theater, but his self-consciousness never 
 let him make a spectacle of himself. He sat still. 
 
 In a few minutes he pulled himself together and 
 tried to remember his resolution. 
 
 Regret for what she had done began to steal over 
 Kaleema. She had done it because she had 
 been so happy to see an old professional friend 
 successful on his first appearance on Broadway; 
 she could realize what it must mean to good 
 old Sam Taney. But ten minutes later the whole 
 thing fell cold. She was afraid to look at Harold. 
 They were strangely quiet all the way home. 
 
 When they stepped into their own tiny, dark hall 
 she nervously put her hand on his as he closed the 
 door. It was easier there in the darkness. 
 
 " I am so sorry that I did that, dear. I hope that 
 Sam won't come." 
 
 He drew his hand away from her and turned on 
 the light. 
 
 It was always so.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 GERTRUDE, as was her habit, paid no atten- 
 tion whatever to the message left for her by 
 Harold and transmitted through her mother. On 
 Tuesday morning she went again to see Kaleema. 
 She liked her. Seldom had she liked any one so 
 well. 
 
 She was on her way to the settlement, and she 
 stopped to take Kaleema with her. Kaleema hur- 
 ried into her street clothes and went. 
 
 First Gertrude showed her all over the settlement 
 house, Kaleema following her in wonder and ad- 
 miration. She had never dreamed that such a 
 place would be so practical and plain and wholesome 
 in its simple refinement. In the nursery there were 
 nurses boasting over twenty-five gurgling babies, 
 and in the kindergarten there were two teachers try- 
 ing their best to make fifty chubby children sing 
 simple songs, play games, or sit and play at little 
 tables. When Gertrude and Kaleema came in here 
 fifty pairs of bashful eyes were turned on them. 
 Gertrude led the way to a window-seat, and from 
 there they watched the proceedings for half an hour. 
 Kaleema was fascinated. 
 
 Presently the visitors moved on, and Gertrude 
 180
 
 KALEEMA 181 
 
 explained that after the public schools were out in 
 the afternoon the older children would come, for 
 the gymnasium, cooking and sewing, and other 
 things. In the evening the grown people had club 
 meetings and classes. The Dramatic Club, made 
 up mostly of intense young Jews and Poles, had a 
 very uncertain director in the person of a college 
 girl who could read Shakespeare beautifully but 
 did n't know enough to come in out of the rain, and 
 did n't Kaleema want to take it ? Kaleema's eyes 
 sparkled. Yes, she did. 
 
 " Then I '11 do my best to get her out," said Ger- 
 trude. " It 's not being at all unfair to her. She 
 never comes in bad weather and she 's always late, 
 anyway. Half the club goes home in disgust and 
 the other half sits and talks anarchy." 
 
 "Oh, I should love that," gasped Kaleema, " but 
 I 'm afraid Harold will be wild." 
 
 " Never mind," said Gertrude. " It won't hurt 
 him. And can you play the piano ? " 
 
 " Some." 
 
 " That 's fine. It 's perfect slavery, and we al- 
 ways need somebody to do it for the kindergarten 
 and gymnasium and all sorts of things. We '11 count 
 on you for two half -days every week, and when you 
 get that Dramatic Club you may have them as often 
 as you please and can get the use of a room. They 
 are crazy about it, and would come seven nights a 
 week for you."
 
 182 KALEEMA 
 
 The implication made Kaleema smile; and when 
 she went home her head was full of exciting new 
 plans. That afternoon she was too stirred up to 
 stay at home, so, looking extremely pretty and well- 
 dressed, she went downtown and meandered along 
 Broadway. She met three people she knew, one of 
 them being the shabby, dissipated-looking man, and 
 she had a perfectly glorious time standing on the 
 curbstone and talking. It was after six o'clock 
 when she got home, and from the moment that 
 Harold came until she was nearly asleep her tongue 
 ran on like a windmill in a hurricane. There was 
 not a detail that she missed, and some of them she 
 mentioned two or three times. Harold was pro- 
 voked at Gertrude; but, nevertheless, he wanted to 
 hear the whole thing. 
 
 A few days later he was called to the telephone out 
 of the midst of his morning's work. 
 
 " Good morning, dear," said his mother. 
 
 " Hello, Mother," he answered. He expected 
 that she was going to ask why he had not been home 
 lately. But she was not. He did not know her 
 yet. 
 
 " Mrs. Thomas just called me up. She and Anne 
 got in this morning. They are dining with us to- 
 night, and I want you and your wife to come." 
 
 There was a moment's intense silence. 
 
 " I can't," he answered. 
 
 "You must, Harold," she replied very firmly.
 
 KALEEMA 183 
 
 " It would be inexcusable rudeness to them. Mrs. 
 Thomas asked about you the first thing. I told her 
 that I would telephone to you right away. Lloyd 
 and Edna have engagements elsewhere, so I will 
 call up Tommy and we will have a nice little family 
 party." 
 
 Tommy was a cousin of Anne's and an old chum 
 of Gertrude's. Mrs. Barton spoke slowly, to give 
 Harold time. Just as she knew intuitively, he stood 
 there with his lips twitching, grasping blindly for a 
 decision. He cleared the nervous hoarseness from 
 his throat before he could speak. 
 
 " I 'm awfully sorry, Mother, but Kaleema is sick 
 with a bad cold." 
 
 " Oh, I am so sorry, but I am sure she will be 
 better by night," she answered. 
 
 " No, she won't be," he said. 
 
 Mrs. Barton bit her lips to hide a little smile. 
 Gertrude was there. She had been helping 
 her mother with the household orders for the 
 day. 
 
 " Telephone to her to take good care of herself 
 until night," Mrs. Barton said, " but you must come 
 anyway, Harold. Your wife will understand." 
 
 She hung up the receiver before he had a chance 
 to reply. 
 
 " Kaleema is ill with a cold," she explained to 
 Gertrude. 
 
 Gertrude stood looking straight at her.
 
 184 KALEEMA 
 
 " He 's getting to be a very agile liar," she ob- 
 served. 
 
 " Gertrude ! " exclaimed her mother. 
 
 Gertrude answered with an avenging lift of her 
 brows. 
 
 " You are a very, very unwise girl," said Mrs. 
 Barton, and left the room. 
 
 That afternoon, having arranged his excuse for 
 going at all, Harold left the office as early as possible 
 and hurried to the Eighties, East. He had tele- 
 phoned to Kaleema that he had something to attend 
 to and would not be home until late. 
 
 He found his mother in her room, as usual. He 
 was sure that neither his absence nor what had oc- 
 curred at his last visit would be commented upon. 
 He was quite right. It was not. His clothes were 
 there, and it all seemed perfectly natural to him when 
 he went into his own room to dress. 
 
 When the Thomases arrived he excused his wife 
 by saying she was ill with a dreadful cold. The 
 same cold lasted over to the next night, to his great 
 regret, when he had asked them to dine downtown 
 and go to the theater. Mrs. Thomas and Anne both 
 sent his wife very kind messages. Shortly after, 
 they left for California. 
 
 One day soon after, Gertrude telephoned to Ka- 
 leema that the college girl of the Dramatic Club had 
 been got rid of. One of the resident directors had
 
 KALEEMA 185 
 
 asked her to take something else which would give 
 her a wider scope for her ability ; she had consented 
 reluctantly, and they were going to side-track her 
 to the Woman's Club, because that prospered in spite 
 of anything. 
 
 " So you go to-night at eight o'clock," concluded 
 Gertrude. 
 
 " I '11 be there, and on time," said Kaleema. And 
 she was. 
 
 There were fifteen in the club. They were very 
 polite to the new director, mostly because they were 
 not yet very Americanized, and partly because they 
 were so glad to be rid of the unreliable last director. 
 When Kaleema looked at them she comprehended 
 that, like herself, they understood work. And she 
 knew from their intense, eager faces, that, like her- 
 self, they loved the right kind of work. And in this 
 place alone, out of the whole strange, grasping, rasp- 
 ing country of their adoption, they were able to give 
 the best that was in them. 
 
 After the first ten minutes' courtesies had been 
 exchanged they had her sized up. A young Jew, a 
 printer in this country and a university graduate in 
 Russia, helped her to read over and pronounce the 
 list of names, and explained who each one was. 
 She herself started the laughter at the way she got 
 her tongue twisted over the Polish and Jewish words. 
 
 " And they 're all Americanized, at that," airily
 
 i86 KALEEMA 
 
 said Miss Rebecca Sorkai, a pretty, fat little school 
 teacher. " They 're nothing compared to what we 
 brought over." 
 
 She tried to be nice, but she was the only one in 
 the crowd of whom Kaleema was afraid. She had 
 grown up in the New York streets and public schools, 
 and graduated from a New York college, and she 
 was excruciatingly keen, critical and self-possessed. 
 Somehow, she made Kaleema feel very humble. 
 After all, the college girl did have advantages. 
 They stuck out all over this pretty little Jewess. 
 Kaleema was afraid of her life that all of a sudden 
 Miss Sorkai was going to ask her to do some arith- 
 metic, or how to spell something of ten syllables. 
 
 The others seemed less analytical. They were 
 more absorbed in their own intense personalities. 
 They themselves were so frankly living with one 
 foot in the finite and the other in the infinite, and 
 suffering so profoundly while torn between the two 
 worlds. Because Kaleema was physically cleaner 
 than themselves, they did not immediately grasp that 
 she was much like them; that her own nature was 
 in the making, in the struggle universal and in- 
 escapable. Between them and her there was, at 
 the beginning, just a tacit comprehension that each 
 was striving to do his best and to see the best in a 
 God-made and man-distorted world. Here, where 
 there was no superintendent's watchful eye or work- 
 shop clock to grind them through the hours or ruth-
 
 KALEEMA 187 
 
 lessly fine them, they could indulge in the luxury of 
 courtesy and toleration. Here they could bring 
 their idealism with them. Here was a place in 
 which to create, and here was the preeminent place 
 to appreciate other men's creations. 
 
 " We have been reading Ibsen," explained the 
 young printer, " and we decided to produce ' Pillars 
 of Society,' but we don't seem to make it work out 
 very human." 
 
 " It was the last director's fault," dramatically 
 exclaimed a young Pole. " She is a very nice lady, 
 but she pestered us too much about our pronuncia- 
 tion. What if we can't talk English like Sir Henry 
 Irving ! Most of us have been talking only Polish or 
 Jewish until two or three years ago. That does n't 
 matter! A great dramatist creates fundamentally 
 human beings. It does n't matter whether they are 
 talking Greek or Yiddish. The essential thing is 
 that they are living, suffering human things. That 
 lady was very nice, but she did not know her busi- 
 ness." 
 
 At this declaration Kaleema's heart-beats quick- 
 ened. Here at last was the unnamed something that 
 her soul and brain had been striving for. Here was 
 the explanation of her revolt against the absurd old 
 melodrama and the ranting that had usually earned 
 her living. That was why she had often loved a 
 part when she was studying it and hated it for the 
 way some manager made her play it.' Here was a
 
 i88 KALEEMA 
 
 chance to work out psychology, to get light and 
 shade, and respect values. 
 
 " Of course," politely suggested a young woman 
 with a tired, intellectual face, " we shall be glad to 
 do what you like, but that last lady was crazy about 
 Shakespeare " 
 
 " She drowned us in Shakespeare," interrupted 
 the printer, clapping his hands over his eyes. 
 
 " For myself," said Kaleema, her voice quite in- 
 nocent of any tone of apology, " I hate Shakespeare. 
 He 's too long-drawn-out and flowery." 
 
 Miss Rebecca Sorkai sniffed the air. To her this 
 was blasphemy. 
 
 " He 's all right to read, I suppose," continued 
 Kaleema, " but when you 're trying to work some 
 intense interest and life into a thing, you don't stand 
 for half an hour talking to the moon or describin' 
 a fairy's wings. That may do for a stingy, half- 
 dead old bachelor who imagines he has brains and 
 who pays two dollars for a seat because he is too 
 afraid of fire to climb to a fifty-cent one, but it never 
 gets a thrill out of me." 
 
 Miss Rebecca Sorkai's blood all but froze in her 
 veins. She resolved then and there to resign. This 
 was exactly what they might have expected of a 
 show-girl. This was typically America. Oh, for 
 art! for freedom and justice in .Russia! 
 
 " Then we '11 go on with the * Pillars of Soci- 
 ety ' ? " inquired the young Pole.
 
 KALEEMA 189 
 
 " And can't we," suggested Kaleema, a little tim- 
 idly, " once in a while have a night to read some- 
 thing, something that will help us to imagine things 
 into our other work and into the world ? It will 
 make such a difference, as we go along." 
 
 The printer's eyes brightened. " Why not ? " he 
 said. " What shall we read first ? " 
 
 Kaleema, seeing the eagerness in their faces, for- 
 got her shyness. Her own eyes deepened in re- 
 sponse to theirs. 
 
 " I have just finished something that I should like 
 to read again with you, ' The Sunken Bell.' ' 
 
 Miss Rebecca Sorkai gave her a quick look. 
 After all, perhaps she wouldn't resign. The new 
 director was somewhat baffling.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE following weeks slipped by like hours. 
 Kaleema grew to love the settlement, and the 
 people there loved her. They feasted their eyes on 
 her because she was pretty, and they opened their 
 hearts to her because she, understanding, could be 
 one of them. She seemed to hold them by some 
 mysterious power, and their suffering wrung her 
 heart. The struggling young actors met four times 
 a week. Under her inspiration everything else in 
 their lives had given way to their passion for this 
 work. Those in charge of the house smiled their 
 indulgence and let the enthusiasm run its course. 
 
 One day she met Carney downtown. He was 
 standing on a corner waiting for a car. When he 
 saw her coming he neither ran away from her nor 
 went to meet her, but stood like a husky pillar of 
 indecision. 
 
 She went straight to him and held out her hand. 
 
 " I suppose you realize that I have n't seen you 
 through any fault of your own," she remarked. 
 
 She had on the earrings and the green hat. Her 
 brows looked very straight and fine. He had never 
 seen her when she seemed so lovely. 
 
 190
 
 KALEEMA 191 
 
 For answer he smiled down into her eyes. 
 
 " And I hope," she went on, shrugging her shoul- 
 ders, " you have n't been spendin' any money on a 
 big policeman stationed at the gymnasium door to 
 keep me out." 
 
 He laughed. But when he spoke his face had 
 hardened into seriousness. 
 
 ' Your husband would not like to have you do 
 such things as that." 
 
 " How do you know he would n't? " 
 
 " I should n't like it if you were mine." 
 
 She looked at him for a moment, puzzled. 
 
 " Are n't you queer? " she said. 
 
 " Perhaps I am particular about some things," 
 he replied. 
 
 " I believe you are pretty respectable," she said. 
 
 " I want a woman to be," he answered. 
 
 For a moment she stood looking at the sidewalk. 
 
 " You know you have married out of the show 
 business," he said, " and it is best for you to forget 
 a good many of your old associations which your 
 husband might not understand." 
 
 " That lets out all my friends," she said wist- 
 fully. 
 
 " Make new ones," he answered. " Don't be in- 
 terested in anything but your husband's friends and 
 life. It 's the best way to do. Here 's my car. 
 I 'm glad I met you. Good-by good-by ! " 
 
 He shook hands with her and hurried to the car.
 
 192 KALEEMA 
 
 She walked on slowly, a little stunned. Her 
 cheeks were burning and she was on the verge of 
 tears. Her feelings were hurt. George Carney 
 preaching! A lot he knew about it! 
 
 She turned into a cross-street to get away from 
 the noise of the cars. They made her nervous 
 enough to scream. 
 
 She knew now, after the trouble about Sam, 
 though he had come to see her only once, that Har- 
 old would be angry if she went to the gymnasium, 
 but she wondered how Carney knew. Anyway, he 
 need not have been so mean about it. Sometimes 
 when she was lonesome and starving for a little 
 gossip, she went into the office of the shabby, dis- 
 sipated-looking man. He always cheered her up 
 and begged her to come again. He was married 
 to a shrew of a wife who wandered off over the 
 earth but viciously refused him his freedom. 
 
 That was the explanation. It dawned on her 
 after she had walked two blocks. A lonely married 
 man, no matter how straight he means to be, is al- 
 ways deadened more or less to another woman's 
 reputation. 
 
 She gave a little understanding nod of her head. 
 
 That George Carney was splendid.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 MISS REBECCA SORKAI did not resign. 
 Instead, she worked like a slave to learn her 
 part and not to get on Kaleema's nerves at the re- 
 hearsals. She even forgot to criticize her when she 
 used bad English, left off her g's, or tipped back in 
 her chair and sat leaning against the wall, chewing 
 a pencil. 
 
 Kaleema discovered that, though most of them 
 went seldom to the theater, it was always to see th6 
 best work and the best plays. Her work with them 
 was, to Kaleema herself, the first glimpse of what 
 the stage might mean; in her reading and research 
 for them she found the first definite answer to the 
 vague dissatisfactions and longings which had be- 
 set her in the " career " into which she had been so 
 haphazardly tumbled. 
 
 Thus the late winter and early spring passed, 
 Kaleema often going to the settlement in company 
 with Gertrude, who continued her stanch friend; 
 and also having the time of her life dressing up and 
 going downtown to sail proudly along the once- 
 hated Broadway, chin in air. She often met old 
 friends, for many of the road shows were already 
 closing and the people coming into town. 
 
 193
 
 194 KALEEMA 
 
 She frequently coaxed Harold to go to the little 
 restaurants downtown where she could chatter 
 through the evening. That was what she liked. 
 When he talked it was usually to criticize; at other 
 times he was silent and depressed. She never could 
 get hardened to this mood. It always brought the 
 clutch back to her heart. She tried to change her- 
 self, did everything that she could think of to please 
 him, but always she failed. Pretty soon her old 
 naturalness began to fade. She never laughed, only 
 smiled, looking for his approval, and she guarded 
 nearly every word. It was seldom that any slang 
 escaped her, and she had almost forgotten how to 
 swear. 
 
 One night downtown they encountered Edna and 
 Haydn. Both out of curiosity and to torment Har- 
 old, Edna went over and sat down at their table. 
 Harold did not even pretend to be glad to see them, 
 and Kaleema felt it with the keen sense for reading 
 him that she had developed. Two or three times she 
 caught Haydn's eye and longed to get some fun 
 out of the party, but Harold's sulky face and his 
 manifest boredom were very effective. Arthur 
 Haydn watched her curiously. He wished that, 
 without Harold's overpowering depression, he might 
 have a chance to talk to her. He felt instinctively 
 that she knew her world. 
 
 The next day the weather was beautiful, and she 
 could not resist going down Broadway. But that
 
 KALEEMA 195 
 
 day, with the clutch at her heart, she saw so many of 
 the old, dreaded things. It was so different over in 
 the avenue and the other places where she and Ger- 
 trude often went together, picking up bargains, look- 
 ing at the lovely things, and having tea at the pretty 
 little shops. In those places it seemed so clean and 
 bright and free and beautiful. But on that day, after 
 the evening when Edna and Haydn had talked 
 to her for a while, the old loneliness seized her, and 
 she straggled back to the old haunt, for old friends. 
 Once there, she saw two of the slowly-walking old 
 women with the bedraggled hats and dresses, the 
 soiled, ragged handkerchiefs squeezed up in their 
 hardened hands, the bloated faces, bedizened by the 
 once-bright ribbons around their necks. And the 
 handsome young women were mostly so bold, and 
 even those who were not bold were questionable, any- 
 way, just because they were there. 
 Sick with loathing, she went home.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 ONE Thursday late in May, Kaleema's maid 
 (she happened to have one just then) was put- 
 ting the last touches to her toilet preparatory to the 
 weekly sally into realms unknown, when the door- 
 bell rang. 
 
 Kaleema had only a few minutes before returned 
 from market, and she was in the bedroom, putting 
 on a house-dress. She heard voices, and then the 
 maid came to her door, her hat on and her bag in 
 her hand. 
 
 " Some one to see you, Mrs. Barton," she said. 
 " And I 'm going now." 
 
 With which announcement she closed the bedroom 
 door to keep her mistress's half -undressed condition 
 from the visitor, and was gone. 
 
 Kaleema could not open the door to speak to her 
 without being seen. For a moment she stood 
 puzzled. It could not be Gertrude, because the maid 
 knew her and would probably have given her name. 
 Kaleema was annoyed. She could not imagine who 
 it might be. Harold's mother had never been there 
 since that first time, yet, some way, she was the 
 first one who came into her mind. Kaleema dressed 
 
 196
 
 KALEEMA 197 
 
 carefully but as hurriedly as she could. She did not 
 like the idea of being closed in there, with the un- 
 known visitor alone outside. 
 
 Finally she opened the bedroom door. She could 
 see the whole living-room from the threshold where 
 she stood, but no one was there. 
 
 For no reason that she could explain, her heart 
 gave a quick throb and she stepped into the room. 
 Still no one was to be seen. She nervously pushed 
 the bedroom door wide open, as if to clear things 
 and gain what space she could. To break the silence, 
 she called the maid's name, but there was no reply. 
 She scarcely expected any, for she was sure the girl 
 had gone. Then she took a few steps and gained 
 the dining-room door. 
 
 There stood a figure, its back turned toward her, 
 one hand leaning on the table. 
 
 It was a woman of middle height and with a shape 
 as if her corset were soft and old. Her black, gray- 
 streaked hair was short. She had on a small black 
 hat, crooked on her head, a shabby black skirt, and 
 a soiled tan jacket, the sleeves much too long. What 
 could be seen of her fingers showed that the hand 
 on the table was bare. The other hand was held 
 before her. She must have heard the door open 
 and Kaleema's voice, then the approaching steps, 
 but she did not move. 
 
 For an instant Kaleema stood still, looking at her. 
 It seemed to her that her heart was choking her.
 
 198 KALEEMA 
 
 An unnamed terror seized and held her; then she 
 spoke in desperation. 
 
 "Yes? "she said. 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " Did you want to see me ? " 
 
 Still no reply. 
 
 With a step forward she seized the woman's arm. 
 In her fear her hand closed on it like a vise. She 
 had not expected to find it flesh and blood within 
 her grasp. By that time her fear was named. 
 Then she stood staring into the dark, furtive eyes. 
 They were at the same time sluggish and inquiring. 
 The courage of desperation came to Kaleema. 
 
 " Can you speak? " she whispered. 
 
 The woman smiled. "Of course," she answered. 
 
 " God ! Mother ! " she cried, and sank on her 
 knees. "Mother! Mother!" she screamed. She 
 covered her eyes to keep out the vision. 
 
 " Hush, Kaleema, don't scream," the woman said, 
 stooping down and shaking her. 
 
 " My God, my God ! " Kaleema groaned, trem- 
 bling in every inch of her. 
 
 " Hush, Kaleema," the woman repeated. 
 " Did n't you know me? I thought you would know 
 my back frighten you less than if I faced you. 
 Don't take on so ! " 
 
 Kaleema looked up and stared at her, then she 
 seized her hands and covered them with kisses. She 
 stared at her again, as if she could not believe her
 
 KALEEMA 199 
 
 eyes, and then she began to cry, violently, uncon- 
 trollably, burying her head in her arms on the table. 
 The woman coaxed, scolded and shook her, but she 
 kept on crying so hysterically that at last the woman 
 went into the other room to leave her alone. 
 
 In a few minutes Kaleema got control of herself 
 and stopped sobbing and trembling. She followed 
 her mother, put her hands on her shoulders and 
 looked at her. The Gipsy returned the look as best 
 she could, with her furtive, stupor-laden eyes, but 
 she soon glanced away. Not a vestige of the fire 
 was still there. 
 
 " Mother, look at me ! Speak to me ! Did you 
 mean to let me think you dead? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Don't cry, now, again! . . . You know why." 
 
 The nervous sobbing was choking Kaleema, and 
 her cold hands were trembling; then she controlled 
 herself and stood looking at her mother old and 
 haggard in her middle-age, worn and very pallid, 
 dull and heavy, not even the remainder of what she 
 had been in her daughter's eyes. It had all dis- 
 appeared in the last two years. To Kaleema that 
 meant that hope for her was gone. She saw that 
 the crooked hat was held by an elastic under her 
 short hair, and she saw that she held a soiled hand- 
 kerchief balled up in her hands. Her face was the 
 same, yet changed. To the girl's pitiful, merciless
 
 200 KALEEMA 
 
 scrutiny it revealed that the woman had still gone 
 down. 
 
 "Talk to me talk to me, Mother! " she cried. 
 She buried her face on her shoulder, and the Gipsy 
 awkwardly patted her head. She had never known 
 how to pet her, even when she was a child. In 
 many ways she was not quite like a woman. 
 " Hush, Kaleema," she said, " don't cry." 
 "Why did you? why did you?" Kaleema whis- 
 pered. 
 
 She raised her head, and saw that her mother was 
 looking curiously about the room. 
 
 " I wanted to give you a chance alone," the 
 Gipsy said. 
 
 " Where have you been? " said Kaleema. 
 Her mother pushed her hat over on her head (it 
 only fell into another horrible angle) and walked 
 away. Kaleema looked after her, the old anxiety 
 in her eyes. Then she took her by the hand and 
 made her sit down. 
 
 " Where have you been, Mother? " she repeated. 
 " How could you live without me ? What have 
 you done? Why don't you tell me? " 
 
 " There 's not much to tell," she answered. " The 
 day after the wreck they got names mixed up, and I 
 lay there and heard them give mine to a woman who 
 was killed. I let it go at that." 
 
 " And when I went to find you or to talk to people
 
 KALEEMA 201 
 
 who had helped you or seen you where were 
 you?" 
 
 " I had gone. Only my head was hurt, and they 
 cut off my hair. It 's a shame, too. I feel so 
 queer." When she looked up there was more con- 
 centration in her eyes. " You are married ? " 
 
 The realization of the truth, and the change, was 
 silently passing between them. In the girl's mind 
 were her infinite pity and compassion and her fear 
 of what was to come. 
 
 " Yes," she whispered. 
 
 " I heard it," said her mother. She pushed her 
 hat over the other way. " And that 's the reason 
 I came. I 'm very glad. That 's the best thing to 
 do, Kaleema 'stead of changing your mind and 
 taking fancies." 
 
 Kaleema's thoughts were scattering, as if caught 
 by a whirlwind. The uppermost thought in her 
 mind was of Harold, but also she had remembered 
 that her money was nearly gone. Along with her 
 fright and compassion and anxiety, the memory of 
 some of the trifling things that she had bought was 
 going through her brain. There was little reason 
 left in her. She kept repeating to herself the price 
 of the furs and of the bird-cage. It seemed appal- 
 ling, for such foolishness. She had only thirty 
 dollars left in the savings bank. A feeling of guilt 
 and selfishness tore at her and made her hate every-
 
 202 KALEEMA 
 
 thing she had bought. She forgot that it was part 
 of the price she had paid for Harold. 
 
 " Just lately I heard about you," her mother was 
 saying ; " that you jumped a show and were mar- 
 ried." 
 
 Kaleema knew by her face that she was lying. 
 She saw her, too, slowly put a hand into one of the 
 jacket pockets. 
 
 "Who told you?" asked Kaleema. 
 
 " I hunted up the manager, Dillon and what 's 
 his name? Skamon. Had a time finding him, 
 believe me." 
 
 " How did you know that I was with them? " 
 
 " Read it." 
 
 "What paper?" 
 
 " I don't remember. ... Oh, the ' Billboard,' I 
 suppose, or ' Clipper ' ' 
 
 " Mother ! " She began walking the floor. Still 
 the Gipsy was lying. 
 
 " And I 've had heart trouble again. Doctor says 
 it 's marvelous how it keeps going." 
 
 " You had no money what have you been do- 
 ing?" 
 
 " Sewing, dear," she said impressively. " And 
 singing a little." 
 
 " Look at me, Mother," Kaleema demanded, stop- 
 ping before her. " That is n't true." 
 
 " In Missouri, dear, in a factory," she insisted 
 with increasing animation. " And I 'm going back
 
 KALEEMA 203 
 
 soon, darling. I came to find Skamon. He has a 
 new play, and he wished he had you. He '11 forgive 
 you everything." 
 
 Kaleema looked at her. " You 're not going 
 back," she said. " You can't go away from me." 
 
 " I must, dear," very wisely. 
 
 " What 's in your pocket ? " said Kaleema, reach- 
 ing toward it. 
 
 " Don't, I say! " cried her mother, clutching it in 
 terror. 
 
 " I '11 give it back to you," said Kaleema, taking 
 hold of her wrist. She drew out a box and saw that 
 it was half-full of white powder. 
 
 " Medicine for my heart," said her mother, 
 snatching it from her. 
 
 " Medicine ! " repeated Kaleema. She turned 
 away and walked across the room, half-dazed in her 
 anxiety. Then suddenly a thought held her. " It 's 
 so hard to get now. Did you get that here? " 
 
 " No. In North Dakota." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " Two weeks ago." 
 
 The old woman put the box back in her pocket, 
 and when she looked up she found Kaleema's gaze 
 fastened on her. She knew what she had done. 
 
 "Dakota?" the girl repeated under her breath. 
 She came back slowly and stood before the Gipsy. 
 " So that is where you have been. That is where 
 you heard about me." Suddenly she dropped on
 
 204 KALEEMA 
 
 her knees and fiercely seized her mother's hands 
 and looked at her. " What have you been doing 
 there? Answer me! " Her voice rang out beyond 
 her control. 
 
 " It 's not for you to question me," exclaimed the 
 Gipsy. 
 
 " Who told you about me ? " cried Kaleema, trem- 
 bling. " I know. It was Adam James. Answer 
 me ! answer me ! You were with him, and he gave 
 you the money to come to tell me." 
 
 The Gipsy laughed. She did not even feel how 
 the girl's desperate hands hurt her. 
 
 " God ! how he hates me, Kaleema ! " Her eyes 
 were gloating. 
 
 Kaleema fell back, shuddering, choked by her 
 repulsion. She got to her feet blindly. She 
 crossed the room and sat down, and covered her 
 eyes. For all the years that she had been old enough 
 to work and to understand she had kept the Gipsy 
 with her, and had kept her out of the old life. When 
 she was a child it had gone on, yes ; but the moment 
 that she could, she had worked and fought and 
 struggled for them both. She had led her mother 
 as if she were a child. She had scolded her and 
 petted her. She had taken her on the road, and 
 she had settled her safely and left her behind and 
 sent her money, and hurried back when the season's 
 work was done. And then when the Gipsy scented 
 the chance for freedom she broke away. Back she
 
 KALEEMA 205 
 
 had gone. Two years she had reveled in the old 
 roving. Two years she had thrown the struggle to 
 the wind. Two years she had lived again as it 
 seemed her Creator meant that she should live. She 
 went back to the ways of her youth, when she drifted 
 freely through the camps and over the plains. 
 Sometimes she vaguely thought of Kaleema. She 
 wondered why it was that her daughter did not 
 want to drift, too. The free way was so much 
 better. So down and down she had gone ; and never 
 knew that she was going. 
 
 Kaleema opened her eyes and looked at her. The 
 girl dared not speak, for fear of what she might say. 
 Suddenly it dawned on her, for the first time in 
 her life, how essentially childish her mother was. 
 She thought for the first time what a free, unguided 
 thing her childhood must have been, and of the way 
 she had come so far, alone, with that wandering 
 father. Worst of all, she had given her own child 
 so much of that dangerous gipsy wildness! Ka- 
 leema's voice was hoarse when she tried to speak. 
 
 " But you are not going back to him." 
 
 " I am," said her mother, defiantly. 
 
 " No," cried Kaleema. " Not while the breath of 
 life is in me. You shall never go. I shouldn't 
 have supposed . . . you could." 
 
 " That does n't come very well from you," her 
 mother said angrily. " Now I can't dance and sing, 
 and I 'm not pretty any more, it 's not for you to
 
 206 KALEEMA 
 
 preach at me because you 've got a weddin' ring 
 on your finger, and tell me you 're better than I am. 
 I 'm just as good as the day you were born." 
 
 Kaleema went to her and took her hands firmly. 
 " You don't understand me, dear," she said. " I 'm 
 just what you made me. All the good you knew 
 you put in me, and we will still live up to the best 
 there is in us. I 'm trying to hold on to all the 
 goodness that God put in you not to let it get 
 so far away that it will just torment you after you 
 have done the wrong. Your life has been hard, and 
 perhaps God had enough mercy on you to help you 
 to create a kind of goodness that you can hear and 
 feel and see a kind that will hold you always, 
 always, while you live." 
 
 The Gipsy opened the old, soiled handkerchief 
 and began to cry. Kaleema went on. 
 
 " Adam James did n't tell you what had happened 
 when I was out there. Before he knew who I was 
 he began talking about you before a lot of people, 
 boasting about you and how he hated you, and I 
 walked over and struck his beastly face so hard that 
 he fell over, and then I boasted how you hated him 
 and had never had a penny from him, and he took 
 you to get even with me. But you 're going to stay 
 with me now." 
 
 " I don't know what to do," whimpered the Gipsy. 
 " I come to see you, and you treat me like a child. 
 Perhaps I should n t have come."
 
 KALEEMA 207 
 
 Kaleema stood by her a moment and patted her 
 shoulder encouragingly, then she walked across the 
 room, her hands over her eyes, trying to think. She 
 came back and took the old rag of a handkerchief 
 from her mother, threw it into the scrapbasket and 
 gave her her own; then she went into the bedroom 
 and partly closed the door. She had to be alone. 
 She stood there motionless in the quiet, pretty room. 
 She was staring at the pale blue wall, but what she 
 saw was Harold's livid face as she had seen it that 
 night in Dakota, when he followed her from the 
 office of the hotel and came into her room. Then 
 she pulled open a dresser drawer and found her bank- 
 book, just to be sure. She threw it back and closed 
 the drawer. When she went to the door to speak 
 to her mother again, her voice was strained and her 
 lips were dry. 
 
 "Mother, where is Skamon?" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because I 'm interested in that new play." 
 
 " Dillon 's only a desk in an office in the Knicker- 
 bocker Building, but his name is in little letters on 
 the door. When Skamon feels like it he turns up 
 there. . . . Why?" 
 
 Kaleema did not reply. She went back into the 
 bedroom. She was planning what she would do 
 if the worst came when she talked to Harold that 
 night, and at the same time her eyes were devouring 
 the little room where for nearly five months she and
 
 208 KALEEMA 
 
 happiness had lived strained and anxious happi- 
 ness but still the nearest approximation to great and 
 complete happiness that she had ever known. She 
 still heard her mother's voice drawling on. 
 
 " Good play," she was saying. " Skamon says 
 things have changed another man has the money 
 in with Dillon. I thought Dillon would be Irish, but 
 he 's a Jew. Suppose he had another name when he 
 was born. Other man 's Irish name, too. Perhaps 
 he 's French. Ever hear of him ? Make 'em pay 
 don't let 'em think you want to go. Make 'em " 
 
 Another sound suddenly caught Kaleema's ear. 
 It was a key at the outside door. She went out and 
 seized her mother's arm and closed her into the 
 bedroom just as Harold came in. 
 
 " Anything the matter ? " she said, as she faced 
 him. 
 
 "Matter?" repeated Harold. "No. I 'm go- 
 ing over to Pittsburgh to-night and came home to 
 get my things. I '11 have dinner downtown." 
 
 He started for the bedroom. Kaleema was stand- 
 ing between him and the door. 
 
 " Wait a minute, Harold," she said. He stopped 
 and looked at her. " I want to talk to you about 
 something. Come in here." 
 
 She put her hand on his arm and turned him 
 away, and he followed her into the dining-room. 
 He saw that her face was white. 
 
 " There 's something that I want to talk to you
 
 KALEEMA 209 
 
 about, but I 'd rather wait until you get home. Will 
 you let me get your things " 
 
 " Cut out this haggling, Kaleema, and tell me what 
 it is," he demanded. " What 's the matter ?" He 
 looked frightened. 
 
 " Why, nothing, Harold." 
 
 "Of course there is ! " He turned to go back. 
 
 She caught his arm. " Wait a minute. Some- 
 body is in there." 
 
 He opened his white lips, but did not speak. 
 
 " Wait a minute and let me explain." 
 
 "Well? Goon!" 
 
 " Hush ! Not so loud. Something has hap- 
 pened " 
 
 " And somebody is there " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 He bent over her, the pallor of anger in his eyes. 
 
 "It's ... my mother." 
 
 His hand dropped, and he recoiled from her. 
 
 " She nearly frightened me to death " 
 
 " So you lied about her? " 
 
 " I did n't mean to I thought so " 
 
 " You did n't. You lied." 
 
 " I 'm telling you the truth, Harold. Until she 
 spoke to me I thought that she was dead." 
 
 He gave a short laugh and turned his back on her. 
 
 "What shall I do?" she said. 
 
 " Do ? " he repeated. He sat on the edge of the
 
 210 KALEEMA 
 
 table. She could not see his face. " Perhaps she 
 has come for you. If so, you 'd better go with her." 
 
 " I may have to. ... My money is nearly gone." 
 She paused. 
 
 "Yes? "he said. 
 
 " I '11 soon save enough to last her for a little 
 while, and then I can come home." 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " She requires so little," Kaleema said pleadingly. 
 
 "If you go, you will stay," he said. " Remember 
 that." ' 
 
 " Do you mean ... I can't come home? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 She faced him, horror in her unbelieving eyes. 
 
 " I can't . . . come back to you? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Harold!" 
 
 It broke from her in a cry. She stood there, 
 her hands out, not daring to touch him. " What 
 shall I do with her?" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 "Harold!" 
 
 Silence. 
 
 "Harold!" 
 
 Silence still ; horribly cruel, caddish silence. 
 
 " Don't say that to me," she cried. " You can't. 
 You can't. You must n't. Does n't the happiness 
 of this beginning count at all? I am just the same 
 I will be just the same when I come home. By
 
 KALEEMA 211 
 
 that time you will forgive me, for you will want me 
 back ... as I shall want to come. Without you 
 life would be torture now. If you kiss me now, 
 you will forgive me before I go. Because I love 
 you ! And when I come back I will beg of you and 
 beg of you and beg of you, and you can't send me 
 away. And these five months will beg for me, all 
 the time that I am gone, and when I come back you 
 will forgive me, for you can't send me away ! Har- 
 old, won't you speak to me? Won't you even look 
 at me?" 
 
 He slowly rose from the table, his back to her. 
 
 " Speak to me. For God's sake, talk to me. Tell 
 me why. I don't want to go. I must go. I 
 could ti't live, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see, if 
 I let her go alone. Can't you understand? There 
 are things bigger than we are in this world. Can't 
 you understand ? " 
 
 He went to the outside door. She held out her 
 hands to him in silent, speechless appeal. 
 
 " I '11 not be back until the day after to-morrow," 
 he said. 
 
 He closed the door and dashed downstairs. Once 
 on the sidewalk, he started for his mother's home 
 almost on a run. 
 
 He knew that he was free. 
 
 And he was hoping that Kaleema would not make 
 any trouble at the office.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 KALEEMA stood staring at the door that had 
 closed behind him. Then she covered her 
 face, pressing her hands until the flesh was white. 
 Then suddenly she tore her hands from her face 
 and bared it to the glare of light from the window. 
 This was what she should have expected from the 
 beginning. . . . She knew it now. She walked 
 around the table, her hands clasped over her heart; 
 and then she went into the deserted kitchen where 
 she could close the door. She stood there motion- 
 less for some time. She felt as if she were looking 
 into the eyes of God; and that she was trying to 
 read there why she had been made the keeper of a 
 thing called her soul. When she raised her head her 
 lips twisted in a smile. 
 
 The next morning Gertrude Barton received this 
 note: 
 
 Dear Gertrude : Please come and get the cage and the 
 little bird. It is yours. 
 
 I shall never see you or Harold again. From the bot- 
 tom of my heart I thank you for your friendship, and for 
 helping me to hope to help just one. 
 
 KALEEMA. 
 
 212
 
 PART III
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE first streak of the next dawn returned con- 
 sciousness to Kaleema's brain. Before she 
 was aware of it, some uncontrolled instinct had made 
 her put out her hand. The realization came with a 
 shock that was stupefying. For a moment she lay 
 there unable to open her eyes, struggling to remem- 
 ber the reason for a terrible anxiety which oppressed 
 her. 
 
 Suddenly her eyes opened and she sprang up on 
 the bed and looked across the strange, grayish room. 
 Then a stifled exclamation of relief just escaped her 
 lips, and she pressed her trembling hands to her head 
 to quiet the unnecessary fright. 
 
 Her mother was safely there, fast asleep, at full 
 length on a cot. Her face still had its pallor, but it 
 was full and shiny from the warmth of the night 
 and her heavy slumber. Her short black-and-gray 
 hair was matted against her cheek where it had 
 pressed the pillow. The covers were dragging on 
 the floor and her feet were bare. 
 
 Kaleema looked wearily around the strange room. 
 She remembered everything by that time, with the 
 dull, sickening memory that intrudes and convinces 
 
 215
 
 216 KALEEMA 
 
 that it is no dream. Her two trunks were there, and 
 her suitcase and umbrella; and her mother's clothes 
 and her own were lying scattered on the chairs. 
 
 After all, the room was not wholly strange. She 
 was back in West Thirty-eighth Street, in the very 
 house where she first met Harold where the hand- 
 organ monkey ran after her and made her scream. 
 She had come back here because it was cheap and 
 clean and respectable, and she knew the nice little 
 woman who kept the house. She had seen this room 
 often enough, and been in it ; but she had never taken 
 it before because it was larger and more expensive 
 than she could afford. She had had to take it last 
 night because there were two of them ; and, anyway, 
 it was cheaper now. The whole house was cheap- 
 ened by a big office and loft building that was in 
 course of erection next door, which filled the place 
 with dust and dirt and the shriek and groan of ma- 
 chinery. 
 
 She fell back on the bed and buried her face in 
 her arms. Yesterday seemed old, old and far away. 
 Last night she had been half -dead with exhaustion 
 when she tumbled her mother and the suitcases and 
 the umbrella and herself into the room about nine 
 o'clock, and then had to wait for the trunks an hour 
 and a half. This morning her brain felt stunned 
 and bruised and bleeding with all the deluge of 
 thinking and planning; and, hardest of all, with 
 struggling to keep some things out of it.
 
 KALEEMA 217 
 
 She looked at her watch and allowed for the ten 
 minutes fast that she still kept it, as she used to for 
 reaching trains; it would be hours before she could 
 get into offices or find anybody. Harold was on 
 the train, perhaps not asleep. If not, he must be 
 thinking . . . thinking. . . . She closed her eyes 
 and covered her lips tight with her hands to keep 
 back the reproach and the twitch of pain. Sihe had 
 promised herself that yesterday, while she was hurry- 
 ing to get things packed and to leave. There should 
 be no blame, even if the haunting ache should never 
 go. She had been a fool and a child ever to create 
 an idol. She told herself that over and over again. 
 Her world did not admit of any illusions; it was 
 merciless reality. If only she had acknowledged 
 that. But she had dreamed; and it had left her 
 with her lips set and her eyes closed in the cruel 
 struggle to keep out the regret and the ache and the 
 memory. . . . This thinking was what she must 
 not do. She looked at her watch again. Five 
 minutes had gone by. She rose and quietly emptied 
 the suitcase and put the things on the dresser in some 
 kind of order. That took her to the mirror, and 
 when she saw herself she started back. A fine-look- 
 ing object she was to go out on Broadway hunting 
 for work! She got a towel and rubbed her face 
 to put some color into it. 
 
 It seemed hours before there was any sound in 
 the huge skeleton that oppressed the windows, but
 
 218 KALEEMA 
 
 finally she heard the shoveling of coal and the bang 
 of iron, and men's voices, and she knew that the 
 first workmen had come to start the machinery. 
 After a while the near and the distant whistles blew, 
 and the piercing scream of the one next door roused 
 her mother. 
 
 " You up and dressed already ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear, but it 's early. Plenty of time for a 
 nap." 
 
 Her mother turned over and went to sleep again. 
 
 At ten o'clock Kaleema was sitting in the waiting- 
 room of the office of the shabby, dissipated-looking 
 man. She had been there nearly half an hour, and 
 he had not come. That was the worst of these 
 offices waiting interminably for some man that 
 seemed likely never to come. Probably he was in a 
 barroom, talking about nothing important under the 
 sun. Her mother was with her, sitting in a corner, 
 because Kaleema was afraid she would disappear if 
 she lost sight of her. The sleepy-eyed office boy was 
 sharpening pencils and putting them in a fantastic 
 row. A man wearing a wig and devoid of eyebrows 
 had come in after she had and sat limply fanning 
 himself with his hat and looking at the floor. Ka- 
 leema was very pretty, but she had on too much 
 rouge. That was partly because she was going back 
 into the fight where the way she could stand out 
 against the scenery and the strength of her voice 
 were among the first considerations ; and also because
 
 KALEEMA 219 
 
 the rouge had a tremendous psychological influence 
 upon her. She rubbed it on for the same reason 
 that a man swallows a drink of whisky. Instantly 
 she was ready to meet the world with new courage. 
 
 After a while the door opened bruskly and the 
 shabby, dissipated-looking man came in. 
 
 " Hul-lo! " he said in surprise, when he saw Ka- 
 leema. He glanced at the Gipsy and nodded at the 
 man, then Kaleema followed him into his private 
 room. 
 
 She was n't going to let the man with the wig 
 get ahead of her. She had been there first. The 
 old, loathsome fight had begun. She hated herself, 
 the office, the boy, the little telephone switch-board, 
 the man with the wig almost the shabby, dis- 
 pated-looking man. This one turned, and his big 
 black eyes stared at her. 
 
 " I 'm going back to work, Billy," she said quite 
 calmly. 
 
 He swallowed his surprise, unlocked his roll-top 
 desk and sat down. She was trying to smile, but 
 that could not deceive him. He turned in his chair 
 and looked at her. 
 
 " Sit down," he said. 
 
 She had forgotten to. She hooked up a chair 
 with her foot and sat down, leaned her elbow on a 
 ledge of the desk and began biting her nails. She 
 knew that she was not deceiving those big black 
 eyes, and it made her nervous.
 
 220 KALEEMA 
 
 " Not trouble, girl? " he said. 
 
 She gave a short, dry laugh. "Of course," she 
 answered. She changed the subject quickly. " I 
 thought possibly you might be in on a summer stock, 
 or know about one, so I have come right to you. I 
 need something right away. That 's my mother 
 out there." 
 
 " Good God! your mother? " 
 
 " She was in that wreck, but she was n't killed. 
 They got names mixed, and she deceived me pur- 
 posely. She came to me yesterday. Do you know 
 of anything, Billy?" 
 
 He started to close the door. 
 
 " Don't close the door ; I want to keep my eye on 
 her." 
 
 " I want to talk to you." 
 
 " But I don't want to talk to you. I 'd be crying 
 in half a minute." She pulled off the other glove 
 and fussed at her hair. He sat down again and 
 stared at the carpet. 
 
 " I have closed everything until August," he said. 
 " And then it 's musical, you know." 
 
 " Yes, I know it," she said. She was still smiling. 
 
 " I have n't heard of anything 
 
 "Of course it 's only one chance in a thousand 
 that you would " 
 
 " But I may. . . . What 's the matter? " 
 
 She got up nervously and pushed the chair out of 
 the way.
 
 KALEEMA 221 
 
 " Ended, Billy, that 's all. Better, anyway, than 
 hanging fire." 
 
 " Don't go. Sit down." 
 
 " I 'm going over to Dillon now. Gee ! but I hate 
 to do that." She laughed. " Seems to me that I 
 never yet swore not to do anything that God 
 Almighty did n't make me do it." 
 
 " I know," he said. That was the best of him. 
 Back of those bold eyes was a comprehension of 
 many things. " But Carney is the best of that 
 crowd/* 
 
 " Sure, but I don't want to bother him." 
 
 " That 's his business." 
 
 " I know." 
 
 That was ended. 
 
 " How long were you married ? " 
 
 " Nearly five months. Long time ! " 
 
 " Deucedly long, sometimes." He ought to know. 
 Somewhere in the world he had a wife who would 
 not give him back his freedom. But even she had 
 not taken out of his soul the longing for a reason- 
 able woman. " Were you ever happy? " he said. 
 
 She turned away and started for the door. 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Is it too late to try again? " 
 
 She looked back at him. She was not smiling 
 now. Instead, the old cynicism, intensified, was 
 there. 
 
 " Billy, it was too late for that two days after I
 
 222 KALEEMA 
 
 was married. Only I was a fool and did n't know it 
 then." She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " The pity is we can't stay fools," he said. 
 ' The pity is," she answered, " that women are n't 
 born knowing that decency is the world's best joke." 
 
 " Don't," he said. " Don't talk to-day." 
 
 " You 're right," she admitted. 
 
 " I '11 look around this morning, and if you don't 
 hear of anything will you come back? " 
 
 " Yes," she lied. She knew she would not. 
 
 "Will you, really?" He was thinking that she 
 had been in the business all her life, and his own 
 broken-down self was the only one she could turn 
 to when she was in trouble. 
 
 " Yes. Good-by." 
 
 When she got over to Dillon's office it was 10 :3O, 
 and he was there. 
 
 " Hello, Mr. Dillon. Sit down, Mother." 
 "Why, hello, Miss West!" he exclaimed. He 
 had just finished his mail, and he picked up a big 
 black cigar. " This is an unexpected pleasure. 
 Seems to me you 're out pretty early for a loidy." 
 He had already heard from Skamon about her 
 mother. 
 
 Kaleema laughed. "Yes, a heap of a loidy!" 
 She sat down by his desk. " Say, Mr. Dillon, I 'm 
 goin' back to work." 
 
 He raised his sleek eyebrows, but he did not even 
 flutter the sleek expression of his brown eyes.
 
 KALEEMA 223 
 
 Henry Dillon, with the silky black hair and the 
 murky complexion, had acquired perfect self-pos- 
 session. 
 
 Kaleema continued. " Are you sending out any- 
 thing now? " 
 
 " Company opens to-night," he answered. 
 
 It seemed to Kaleema that, with a sickening thud, 
 her heart fell and stopped beating. Her lips went 
 dry. 
 
 " What woman 's playing the lead? " 
 
 " Miss Miss Miss ' he muttered, al- 
 though he knew perfectly well, and fumbled in his 
 desk and pulled out a program, " Rawlins." 
 
 He handed the program to Kaleema. She 
 glanced over it. Never before had she heard of 
 Eva Rawlins. 
 
 She looked sharply at Dillon. " Paiticular friend 
 of anybody's ? " she asked. 
 
 Dillon calmly returned her gaze. " No." 
 
 "George Carney's?" she probed. (Such things 
 are always possible.) 
 
 " Not that I am aware of." 
 
 " Are you perfectly satisfied with her? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "May I have it?" 
 
 That was what he was waiting for. 
 
 " You jumped one of our shows, Miss West," 
 observed Mr. Dillon. 
 
 That was what she was waiting for.
 
 224 KALEEMA 
 
 " And how much did you owe me when I did it ? " 
 she inquired. " And did you have a leadin' man 
 so that if I had stayed, the company 'd have been 
 workin'?" 
 
 To her surprise, he did not remind her of the 
 money that Carney had taken to her at the station. 
 
 As a reason for moving her eyes from his sleek 
 face she looked back at the program. 
 
 " Gee ! " she said, smiling, " Charley and dear old 
 John Crichton! Sarah, of course, and Skamon. 
 'Camille' is it?" 
 
 " No, stock," he answered pompously. 
 
 That sounded well, better than rep, anyway. She 
 let it go, but she wanted to ask if it were three-night 
 stands and if they were traveling on railroads. 
 While she was looking at the program he was look- 
 ing at her. He made it part of his pompous pose 
 to hate all actors, and he had always especially hated 
 Kaleema's intelligence. Now he hated her new 
 beauty and her good clothes and a certain new and 
 baffling quality of personality. He did n't hate 
 actors half so much when they were shabby; then 
 he felt them more or less in his power. 
 
 " This program is ' Camille,' " Kaleema continued. 
 "What else?" 
 
 He was ready enough to boast about that. 
 
 " We are using that now because we had the old 
 stuff together and some of the people are up in the 
 parts. The next town is booked for a week, and
 
 KALEEMA 225 
 
 the three last plays are in rehearsal. And we are 
 experimenting with ' The Waiting ' " 
 
 Her eyes flew wide open. "'The Waiting?"' 
 she repeated. 
 
 He nodded calmly, heroically repressing his grati- 
 fication. 
 
 " Good Lord, that was on Broadway ! " she ex- 
 claimed. He calmly nodded again. Certainly it 
 was on Broadway. What so surprising about his 
 having something that was on Broadway? She 
 wanted to ask him if he had stolen it; then she sud- 
 denly remembered something her mother's saying 
 that an Irishman now had the money in the company. 
 " Yours or Carney's ? " she blurted. 
 
 This made him angry. More exhibition of her 
 smartness. 
 
 " Carney has a part interest in it," he replied. 
 He lied. Carney owned the entire show. " A good 
 many ex-pugilists are getting into the show business 
 these days," he observed. 
 
 " Yes, and gettin' out of it, too," she said. He 
 smiled. " With their pockets lined," she added. 
 His smile disappeared. She did n't care ; she could 
 stand anything but to hear him slur George Carney. 
 " ' The Waiting ' was a failure, the papers said," 
 she continued. 
 
 " It won't be on the road," he answered. 
 
 " And I suppose they were so mad they were givin' 
 it away scenery, paper, advertising damn- fool
 
 226 KALEEMA 
 
 author, and the whole thing," she continued, guess- 
 ing. He calmly nodded again. " An' you have the 
 New York run back of you, an' well, say, what 
 do you know about that ! " She was lost in admira- 
 tion. 
 
 This use of her intelligence pleased him in spite 
 of himself. Then he suddenly remembered how 
 Carney had walked the floor when he had first got 
 possession of the play, wildly rumpling his hair and 
 wishing to all that was good on earth or in heaven 
 that Kaleema West was working. A slow light 
 came into Dillon's sleek brown eyes. Yes, he must 
 admit, she did have some imagination. He began 
 fingering papers on his desk, chiefly for an excuse 
 to keep his eyes on them. 
 
 " We hurried the show out," he continued, " to 
 get it working. We have our eye on a summer 
 park- 
 
 " With a traction company back of ii?" she in- 
 terrupted. 
 
 Lord! she was provoking. Was there any one 
 thing about the business that she did not know or 
 imagine ? 
 
 " Yes," he assented gravely. " It 's too early to 
 put in stock, but it 's a good thing to have the com- 
 pany together. And we 're experimenting with the 
 new play, of course under another name for the try- 
 out, and " magnanimously " it keeps the people 
 working."
 
 KALEEMA 227 
 
 This brought them back to the beginning. He 
 meant that it should. She faced the crisis. She 
 knew that he hated her and that he realized that, 
 from her independence, she had been brought back 
 to his mercy. She gave a nervous twist to her 
 gloves and looked at him. 
 
 " Mr. Dillon, will you give me that work? " 
 
 The new play was to go on to-morrow night. He 
 had already decided that Kaleema West was going 
 to be in it. Besides, if he refused her, she would 
 probably go to Carney and get it anyway. 
 
 " The other woman is already working," he said 
 pompously. 
 
 Kaleema moistened her lips and put her hand 
 on the desk. " She can't need the work as I do," 
 she said. " It 's the first time I ever took work from 
 another woman, but I need it desperately now." 
 
 From the beginning of rehearsals he had wanted 
 to get rid of Eva Rawlins. Her work was bad and 
 worse than that. 
 
 " She 's working very cheap," he announced, de- 
 fiantly looking at her. " Twenty dollars." Another 
 lie. They were paying her thirty. 
 
 " My God ! " gasped Kaleema. 
 
 Dillon shrugged his shoulders and pushed back 
 the papers. 
 
 " Better than nothing," he went on ; " and this has 
 been a very bad season, and they can live cheap in 
 these little towns."
 
 228 KALEEMA 
 
 Kaleema got up, she was so tortured with inde- 
 cision. This was the worst that had ever been of- 
 fered her. 
 
 " Oh, that bad season stuff is part of the busi- 
 ness," she exclaimed, " only it 's too much when 
 managers start tellin' us how little it takes to live 
 and buy wardrobe." 
 
 He thought she was refusing. " We '11 make it 
 twenty-two-fifty, Miss West, because we know you, 
 but that 's the best we can do." He got up, as if to 
 bow her out. 
 
 Her voice was hard and dry. " Very well, I '11 
 take it," she said. 
 
 " You '11 have to work to-night, in ' Camille,' " he 
 said ; " and the new play goes on to-morrow, and 
 * Oliver Twist ' the third night." 
 
 " ' Camille ' has gone completely out of my head. 
 I 've had so much confusion " 
 
 " Actors have to expect emergencies," he said 
 pompously. He fished in the desk until he found 
 a copy of the part in the new play. He handed it 
 to her. 
 
 She turned it over. Her hands were trembling. 
 In the flood of her trouble everything of a half-year 
 ago had left her mind. " Seventy-five sides here," 
 she said. He nodded. " And ' Camille ' is so 
 long-" 
 
 " Skamon will give you ' Oliver' " he interrupted. 
 
 " And this is the only way ? "
 
 KALEEMA 229 
 
 " The only way." 
 
 He would get rid of that rag-bag of a Rawlins 
 at any risk. Besides, he knew Kaleema. Once her 
 head against the wind, she always won. 
 
 For a moment she stood biting her white lips ; then 
 she folded the part and cleared her throat. " Have 
 you a copy of ' Camille '? " 
 
 He found one and gave it to her. 
 
 She was thinking that the trunks were packed. 
 " When does the train leave ? And how long is the 
 run?" 
 
 " Three hours. They 're up-state. Can you get 
 off by one o'clock? It's eleven now." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Will you sign the contract now ? " 
 
 " Yes." Her lips were set. She was signing her- 
 self into at least two weeks of torture, until she 
 should know her parts. 
 
 She read and signed both copies, and he signed 
 one and gave it to her. He advanced the money 
 for her railroad ticket and gave her a slip of paper 
 with the railroad and name of the town. She took 
 it from him and picked up the parts. Then she 
 went over and roused her mother from a stupor, 
 led her out into the hall and closed the door. Out 
 there she put her hand over her eyes. She was 
 dizzy. The hall and the elevators and the whole 
 world were black and swimming. When she and 
 her mother got into the elevator she leaned heavily
 
 230 KALEEMA 
 
 against the side. She looked so ghastly under the 
 rouge that a man stared at her. When she got out 
 of the elevator she did not even see the starter, who 
 smiled because he had been there a long time and 
 recognized her. 
 
 When the door closed Dillon called a messenger, 
 and while he was waiting for him wrote this tele- 
 gram to Skamon : " Fire Rawlins. West back for 
 twenty-two-fifty. Works to-night." 
 
 When presently the door opened and the messenger 
 bobbed in, a man immediately followed him. It was 
 Carney. 
 
 Dillon bounded out of his chair. " Some luck ! 
 You get your wish," he said, and he handed Carney 
 the telegram. 
 
 Carney read it, then he raised his head and stared 
 at Dillon, his face drawn with surprise. 
 
 "She's been here?" 
 
 "Yes," smiled Dillon. "I told her Rawlins is 
 working for twenty." 
 
 Carney reread the telegram. It had n't all got 
 through his head the first time. Then when he 
 looked at Dillon his eyes were pale with anger. 
 He tore up the telegram before he trusted himself 
 to speak. He meant never to have a quarrel with 
 Dillon for fear that he should kill him. 
 
 " That was a rotten trick," he said, with an oath. 
 
 Dillon's tight lips parted for a retort and accusa-
 
 KALEEMA 231 
 
 tion, but for once Carney's wits saved his big fist a 
 blow. 
 
 " How long do you suppose she would stay for 
 that when she got a chance to go? And if any- 
 body can pull us through, she can." 
 
 Dillon shut his mouth and turned away. Then 
 he slammed out of the office and banged the door. 
 Carney sat down at the desk to write Skamon an- 
 other telegram. His glance fell on the contract with 
 her name, and he tore it up and threw it away. Then 
 he wrote two messages. The one to Skamon read : 
 " Kaleema West back. Works to-night. Thirty 
 dollars. Do your best about Miss Rawlins. George 
 Carney." 
 
 The second one, to Kaleema West in care of 
 Skamon, read : " This engagement pays you thirty 
 dollars a week. George Carney." 
 
 Could he have seen her in the elevator she would 
 not have worked that night. 
 
 When the messenger had gone Carney stood in 
 the middle of the floor and stared at the wall. Ka- 
 leema back. Something must have happened. 
 
 He had intended, as a matter of course, to go 
 up to-morrow for the first performance of " The 
 Waiting." Now he would not go.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 ABOUT 2:30 o'clock that afternoon (it was 
 Thursday) Charley Forbes, his hat on the back 
 of his head and his feet on the verandah railing, the 
 pink ring still adorning his saffron finger, was the 
 sole human decoration of the front of a certain hotel, 
 when a boy rode up on a bicycle and pulled two 
 telegrams out of his pocket. He guessed that the 
 stranger on the porch belonged to the show. At any 
 rate, he looked it. 
 
 " Harry Skamon here? " inquired the boy. 
 
 " I '11 take them," said Charley, letting his chair 
 down on its front legs and closing the part he was 
 studying, fhe poor fellow's thick head was nearly 
 bursting with study. He had done nothing for days 
 and nights but exist, with his fagged brain going 
 over and over those infernal lines. 
 
 He took the telegrams, signed for them, and the 
 boy rode off. 
 
 " Harry ! " he called at the office door. He 
 thought Skamon was nearby. " Telegrams." 
 
 " I '11 take them to him," said Sarah. " Don't 
 shout so ! This is a decent hotel. Where are they 
 
 from?" 
 
 232
 
 KALEEMA 233 
 
 " How do I know? " snapped Charley. " You '11 
 have to ask the sportin' editor of the * War Cry/ as 
 Kaleema used to say." 
 
 Kaleema! Scarcely a day went by that some of 
 them did not affectionately speak her name. 
 
 Sarah looked at the telegrams; and then she 
 uttered an exclamation. Charley stared. " Look at 
 this ! " she commanded, and showed him the one 
 addressed to Kaleema West, care of Skamon. 
 Charley's jaw dropped. Then Sarah lost all profes- 
 sional decency and tore open the manager's tele- 
 gram. 
 
 What she discovered she was too professional to 
 disclose to Charley, but cruelly left him standing 
 with his mouth and the office door wide open, while 
 she turned, stepped on Trilby, slapped her for yelping 
 in that decent hotel, and then rushed to find Harry. 
 Fifteen minutes later Harry was interviewing 
 Miss Eva Rawlins. He told her that he was worried 
 about her in those parts and how rotten she had 
 been that morning at the rehearsal. 
 
 The train was only ten minutes late. Sarah and 
 Charley were down at the station. There would be 
 no rehearsal that afternoon unless Kaleema 
 wanted it, on account of the new people. 
 
 When Kaleema stepped off the train she threw 
 her arms around Sarah, and for a moment she could 
 not speak; then she shook hands with Charley and 
 introduced her mother. Sarah and Charley were
 
 234 KALEEMA 
 
 surprised, but both of them exhibited most praise- 
 worthy manners, and Charley took the suitcase, quite 
 in defiance of all strictly professional proceedings, 
 and a box that Kaleema was carrying. The box 
 contained knickerbockers for Oliver and a marked- 
 down evening dress that she was forced to buy at a 
 cheap store on their way to the train, because she 
 had so little wardrobe left. She had just sixty-five 
 cents in the whole world when she stepped off that 
 train and met Sarah Skamon. 
 
 Charley walked ahead with Mrs. West and tried to 
 talk to her. Sarah walked along with Kaleema, but 
 she did not speak. There was too much of under- 
 standing between them. Besides, a strange look 
 in the girl's eyes had warned her. Never before had 
 Sarah Skamon seen such an expression. It was not 
 only trouble. It was a sort of still, half-unbelieving 
 horror. 
 
 Suddenly she remembered the telegram. " I 
 almost forgot this, Kaleema," she said, and handed 
 it to her. 
 
 Kaleema took it before she realized what it was ; 
 then it nearly fell from her nerveless fingers. 
 
 "Harold! Harold! Harold!" throbbed through 
 her mind and seemed to keep her heart from beat- 
 ing. She walked along, holding it as if it were burn- 
 ing her hands. After they had gone half a block 
 she folded it and put it in her purse. She had de- 
 cided not to open it.
 
 KALEEMA 235 
 
 But it had driven the last three terrible hours' 
 hard work out of her brain. There on the train 
 she had been struggling with Camille's long speeches. 
 She could concentrate on nothing. It was not only 
 the thought of that outrageous twenty-two dollars, 
 and of Harold, and the whole thing, but something 
 else was gripping her heart something new and 
 poignant and terrifying. The lines and the cues 
 stared at her from the paper like perfect strangers. 
 In desperation she put it away and read over the part 
 of " The Waiting." It was splendid. Carney 
 would succeed. Then came the telegram to drive 
 out all memory. 
 
 After she had registered at the hotel, Sarah spoke 
 to her. 
 
 "Want a rehearsal, Kaleema? " 
 
 " No," she answered. 
 
 She beckoned to her mother, and they followed 
 the bell-boy upstairs. The Gipsy lagged behind in 
 the hall and took some of the white powder. In a 
 few minutes, after she had seen Skamon, Kaleema 
 hunted up the leading man and went over their 
 scenes with him. He was rather nervous. He 
 did n't know the lines very well and he had never 
 before played the part. He was a serious-minded, 
 good-looking fellow. He and Kaleema had some- 
 times seen each other in the offices. He had had to 
 take whatever came first this summer because his 
 wife was not well and was not working.
 
 236 KALEEMA 
 
 The Gipsy slept all the rest of the afternoon, and 
 Kaleema tried to study, always with that telegram 
 burning into her brain, driving out the words that 
 her lips were unmeaningly repeating. She kept 
 tracing out how Harold had found her. Probably 
 he had telephoned from Pittsburgh to somebody 
 perhaps to Gertrude after that night on the train, 
 when he had had time to see that he had lost her. 
 He knew where to find Billy (the shabby, dissipated- 
 looking man), and probably he had sent somebody 
 maybe Gertrude to him, and he had said to go to 
 Dillon. That was easy enough. That was the way 
 the telegram had reached her. But he did n't know 
 that everything was ended. 
 
 Somewhere a clock in the town struck six. She 
 covered her eyes and tried to study. It was impos- 
 sible. Neither she nor her mother wanted anything 
 to eat, so she took the Gipsy and went over to the 
 theater early. Sitting there in the hotel looking at a 
 page was useless. There was almost no place to 
 put her mother in the dressing-room; nevertheless 
 she took her. She could not endure the added 
 anxiety of leaving her at the hotel, perhaps to run 
 away. 
 
 Kaleema never beheld Eva Rawlins. But all that 
 afternoon and evening she was haunted by the 
 thought of what she had done to her. It followed 
 her for years after. She never knew when Skamon 
 fixed it up with Eva, when their trunks changed
 
 KALEEMA 237 
 
 places in the dressing-room, or when she took her 
 departure. But she knew that for a week Eva Raw- 
 lins had been slaving over study and at rehearsing. 
 That was bad enough, but later on a woman in the 
 company told her that she had bought a dress on the 
 strength of Dillon's promises, and that Skamon had 
 given her nothing but a ticket back to New York. 
 It made Kaleema feel faint to think of it. She 
 herself had been through the same thing. That 
 made it worse. 
 
 Kaleema had to wear her own new dress that night, 
 so the first thing she did at the theater was to try it 
 on. Then she got out her make-up and the lights 
 and her other clothes ; the book was spread open on 
 the shelf and her lips moved ceaselessly over the long 
 speeches. She kept reminding herself that she was 
 working with new people and must not throw them 
 out. It was" Carney's show; and if to-night took 
 the very life out of her, she would not kill it. That 
 was easy enough to say, but when she kept think- 
 ing thinking. . . . 
 
 " Half-hour! " called John Crichton. 
 
 A breath of exclamation escaped her. She had 
 just started making up. She knew that Carney 
 was n't worried because he trusted her. Why 
 should n't he? She had played this part half a sea- 
 son. She ought to know it backwards. Her brain 
 felt numb except for thinking, thinking of " The 
 Waiting " and the telegram and Eva Rawlins.
 
 238 KALEEMA 
 
 "Fifteen minutes!" 
 
 It was very still in the dressing-rooms. All the 
 new people were nervous, and the old ones were 
 nervous on account of them. But Kaleema would 
 be all right, anyway ; she was always all right. And 
 she was of the most importance. 
 
 " Overture and first act ! " 
 
 She had to hold to a chair to keep herself from 
 going to Skamon and telling him that she could n't 
 work. She began thinking of excuses to give him. 
 Then she picked up the book, and before she knew 
 it she was pacing the back of the stage, holding her 
 skirts out of the dust, shivering and her teeth chat- 
 tering. She was still staring at the words without 
 seeing. The night was chilly, but all the doors and 
 windows back there were open, and the damp air 
 was blowing on her. It seemed to strike to her very 
 heart. Several of the company were there, glancing 
 at her, but she did not see them. She was so dis- 
 tracted that even the stage men were looking at her. 
 Suddenly she threw the book down on the floor in 
 a corner. The leaves fell together. It was the last 
 of the overture, and it found her in terror. Her lips 
 were uncontrollable and her mind felt empty. Her 
 knees were shaking under her. Something must 
 happen something must break. The next instant, 
 not seeing, thinking or hearing, she ran back to her 
 dressing-room. She searched for the purse, throw- 
 ing things everywhere. Nothing could be worse
 
 KALEEMA 239 
 
 than this. Her shaking hands tore the telegram 
 open. 
 
 ' This engagement pays you thirty dollars a week. 
 George Carney." 
 
 " H'm," she breathed. She was leaning heavily 
 against the shelf. " Oh ! " 
 
 She heard voices on the stage. The curtain was 
 up. The dusting had commenced and Nanine and 
 Varville were talking. 
 
 " Oh ! " she said again, and then she laughed so 
 that it roused the Gipsy. She flung her hands into 
 the air and closed her eyes. Then she rushed out 
 and closed the door. 
 
 That night there was a good house, the stage was 
 well set, and the part of Camille was beautifully, 
 splendidly, passionately played.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 AFTER the show it was very quiet among the 
 dressing-rooms. Eleven o'clock had come. 
 
 Kaleema and her mother were the last to leave 
 the theater, because Kaleema waited to take out her 
 clothes for to-morrow night. Her brain was re- 
 lieved and she felt rested. But still the strange, 
 twisted, burning look was in her face. 
 
 She and her mother went to a restaurant and got 
 something to eat before they walked back to the hotel. 
 Once in their room, the Gipsy pulled off her clothes 
 and tumbled into bed. Kaleema got out the new 
 part and studied until three o'clock. She was awake 
 again at six, and she lay there for an hour trying 
 to be quiet, but her hands were clenched and her eyes 
 were open. She did not want to look at the part 
 again before the rehearsal. At seven she dressed, 
 and then she roused her mother. As she went to 
 her she thought that she looked very ghastly. She 
 wondered what would become of her when the pres- 
 ent supply of powder was gone. How she pitied 
 her! 
 
 At ten they were at the theater for rehearsal. 
 
 Kaleema knew without being told how hard they 
 240
 
 KALEEMA 241 
 
 had worked over the new play. It was George Car- 
 ney's first venture, and here she was being thrown 
 into it in one day. It was n't fair to him. She 
 ought to have gone to him about it. Eva Rawlins 
 should have been kept for this night at least. This 
 town did not much matter, but if it failed here it 
 might disgust and discourage him. Of course it 
 was not going on now under its rightful name. 
 Neither was the New York run to be mentioned. 
 Carney certainly was experimenting. He had 
 doubled on some of the parts to cut down expense, 
 and he had cut out one scene that he concluded had 
 dragged the whole thing on Broadway. 
 
 The play had managed to hang on for two months 
 in New York, but it had nearly brought the author 
 and the star, a woman, to financial ruin. The man- 
 ager got out at the end of the first week, but they 
 stuck. They had faith in it, for the thing had a big 
 theme. The work in it had given the actress keen 
 satisfaction and had made the reputation of more 
 than one man and woman. After the two months 
 had gone by and the box-office receipts suddenly 
 showed a renewed ability for dwindling, the star and 
 the author cursed all human intelligence and were 
 ready to set fire to the scenery. In that state of 
 mind the author went into a cafe one night to drown 
 his troubles ; but when he had reached only the stage 
 that made him ready to weep on almost anybody's 
 shoulder, he found himself talking to a man 'whose
 
 242 KALEEMA 
 
 name turned out to be Carney. By closing time they 
 had come to some sort of agreement. When Carney 
 left him he did not know whether or not the dis- 
 traught dramatist was sober enough to remember it 
 the next morning, but he did know that he himself 
 had pledged a good part of his whole life's savings. 
 That, however, was not a great deal, money having 
 a way of slipping from George Carney's ringers. He 
 had saved it only when it came in bunches, so that 
 it seemed worth saving; and he smiled, on his way 
 home, as he recalled some of the times. He was 
 also negotiating just then about the summer stock 
 company. That would take more of the money. 
 If he won out, all right; if he lost the whole thing, 
 he would get out of the business. It was nothing 
 but gambling, anyway. He had determined never 
 again to have any connection with Dillon or Skamon. 
 Then, as he walked home that night, he had realized 
 that if he were going into this road company, Dillon 
 was the only available man he knew who could be 
 worth something to him. Skamon should be kept 
 out of the business end. 
 
 The next morning the dramatist did remember. 
 He was not likely to forget anything so materially 
 to his advantage. What any sane man wanted of 
 " The Waiting " was more than he could imagine, 
 but he had a very special and urgent need for Car- 
 ney's money. Carney, however, knew what he 
 wanted of the play. It was a good, strong type
 
 KALEEMA 243 
 
 of high-class melodrama, and, intelligently acted, 
 could be made a splendid sporting chance as a play. 
 Besides, it had Broadway back of it and it was 
 cheap. And, more than all, it was thrown at his 
 head by fate at a moment when he was drifting. 
 Inside of two weeks the deal was made. The price 
 of the play included all the paper on hand and the 
 scenery. They almost gave it to him for carting it 
 out of their sight. Next came the contract with 
 Dillon, who admitted that Carney had had a streak 
 of good luck and had shown good judgment, and 
 that he was not averse to taking a small chance on 
 the outcome. 
 
 The Broadway company had had four weeks of 
 rehearsals on " The Waiting." In one week 
 Skamon whipped into some sort of shape " The 
 Waiting," " Oliver Twist," and " Camille." Years 
 ago, when Fourteenth Street was the center of things 
 theatrical, that same Harry Skamon, so shabby now, 
 was of importance. If his common-sense had been 
 equal to his ability. . . . Anyway, his present-day 
 speed was no more ridiculous than George Carney's 
 tampering with the manuscript. But the noted 
 dramatist and the noted actress had made a mess of 
 it, had n't they ? 
 
 Skamon hurried the rehearsal, and by twelve 
 o'clock they left the theater.- 
 
 Kaleema settled her mother in the hotel parlor for 
 a while, and then she went to her room and closed
 
 244 KALEEMA 
 
 the door to be alone. She looked at the part, and 
 then she held her head tight with her hands. She 
 had studied like this before, she kept reminding her- 
 self. Why not now? She opened the part and 
 began to study. Last night's work did n't seem to 
 have done much good. She felt dull, as if her whole 
 body were going to sleep and her eyes were closing. 
 It came into her mind that she would gladly give half 
 her life if they could get Eva Rawlins back. She 
 could save her this torture. She sprang to her feet 
 and started for the door, scarcely knowing what 
 crazy notion was in her mind. Then she laughed 
 noiselessly and sat down again, and again began to 
 study. It had to be done. Presently she forgot 
 Harold and other things, and Eva Rawlins. . . . 
 The door slowly opened. 
 
 " It 's two o'clock," said her mother. 
 
 " Mercy ! dear, it seems only a minute, and we 're 
 both of us hungry." 
 
 She threw the part on the bed, and they went 
 downstairs. They met Sarah, who told them that 
 Harry had had a telegram from Carney that he was 
 detained and was not coming. 
 
 In half an hour Kaleema was studying again. 
 Pound, pound, pound. Two or three times she got 
 up and walked over to the window. Out there was 
 the same old story. The actors were on the hotel 
 veranda, and girls of all conditions and classes were 
 parading around to look at them. Up at the corner
 
 KALEEMA 245 
 
 she saw Charley Forbes walking off with a girl in a 
 pretty dress, with her hair in a braid hanging down 
 her back. Probably she had a " strict " father and 
 mother somewhere, with their heads stuck in the sand 
 like wise old ostriches. But this was not study. 
 She went at it again. Pound, pound, pound. Was 
 it never coming ! 
 
 At five o'clock she hunted up Charley. She had 
 an important scene with him and she dreaded it. 
 That rich man's son was nearer anything on earth 
 than an actor. He was always going up in the air 
 and standing stock-still and staring, like a wooden 
 image. When she found him he started in to give 
 her some advice, but she promptly told him very 
 nearly what she thought of him. 
 
 When 7 :3<D stared her in the face it seemed much 
 too soon, but she pulled herself together, took her 
 mother, and again went over to the theater. She 
 made up and dressed hurriedly. 
 
 " Half-hour! " called old John Crichton. 
 
 She sat down to study. Charley came in for soap. 
 She told him he could n't have it ; then she told him 
 to take it and keep away from her for the rest of the 
 evening. Then the " heavy woman " in the next 
 dressing-room began talking. The rest of them 
 knew their lines, or were supposed to. Charley had 
 gone in there in his quest for conversation, and she 
 was telling him that she never, never studied after 
 she got to the theater. Kaleema knew she lied
 
 246 KALEEMA 
 
 last night she had caught her doing it. Charley 
 agreed with her; he himself could fake out of any- 
 thing. 
 
 That was too much for Kaleema. She jumped 
 up in desperation. 
 
 "Fifteen minutes!" called old John Crichton. 
 
 Kaleema suddenly discovered that the Gipsy was 
 standing beside her. 
 
 " My heart feels so bad to-night," she said. 
 
 " See here, Mother," cautioned the girl, " don't 
 you touch another bit of that powder." 
 
 Then she stood at the shelf and her dry lips kept 
 repeating the words mechanically. From the first 
 act her nervous fingers kept turning over to the 
 climax in the third act. Then back to the first act 
 again. If she lived through the first act it was time 
 enough then to worry about the third. She lost 
 all patience with herself. She had never felt like 
 this before. She had worked as hard as this for a 
 week at a time, but never had had hysterics until 
 Saturday night after the show, when there was 
 plenty of time for them. 
 
 " Overture and first act ! " called old John Crich- 
 ton. 
 
 " There ! " exclaimed her mother. She was be- 
 ginning to get very much excited. 
 
 " You stay right in here, Mother," said Kaleema. 
 " Don't once come near the wings. To-night 
 there 's too much confusion."
 
 KALEEMA 247 
 
 Her voice was steady, but nervousness had set her 
 teeth to chattering. She picked up the part and 
 deliberately walked to her first entrance. Two of 
 the stage men were standing there. 
 
 " Whenever you see this part lying around to- 
 night please be very careful not to disturb it," she 
 said. 
 
 They nodded. 
 
 " Places. Foots up ! House out ! " said old 
 John Crichton. 
 
 The curtain went up. Still she was studying. 
 Her first entrance had three scenes, and she went 
 off on the other side. That meant that she had to 
 run around here to get the part again, and go back. 
 . . . She put the part down in a corner. It was 
 open at the next entrance ... if nobody kicked it 
 and lost the place. . . . That was her cue ! 
 
 The first scene did not go badly as to lines. So 
 far as she was concerned there was little life in it. 
 The next scene was the important one with Charley. 
 How she dreaded it! She could see him standing 
 in the entrance. He was frightened so nearly to 
 death that he missed his cue. Luckily Sarah was 
 standing there, and she pushed him. Finally he 
 was out on the stage, his eyes glassy. He skipped 
 three important speeches and jumped into the scene. 
 Sarah, there in the wings, stifled a groan. Skamon, 
 listening over on the other side, cursed him under 
 his breath. Kaleema moistened her dry lips and
 
 248 KALEEMA 
 
 caught up with him. She had a long speech and 
 she did not miss a word of it. She did more. She 
 put in something important that should have come 
 in one of the speeches that he left out. 
 
 " God ! she 's a brick ! " Sarah whispered to one 
 of the stage hands. He shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 The scene went miserably. Everything had gone 
 out of Charley's head. Kaleema struggled to save 
 him. She could n't. The next minute she was up 
 in the air herself. All she wanted was to get rid of 
 him. Over in the wings Skamon was ordering him 
 off. He did not hear it; he was deaf and blind. 
 The next instant old John Crichton it was useless 
 to wait for any cue walked on the stage and 
 began his scene with Kaleema, and as soon as 
 he could he took Charley by the arm and put him 
 off. 
 
 In the wings Charley began raging. " She did n't 
 give me any cue for my exit ! " he exclaimed. He 
 rushed to Kaleema's dressing-room. " She 's ruin- 
 ing this act ! " he bawled to the Gipsy. " She 's 
 crazy ! Fine house we '11 have to-morrow night ! 
 When she comes in, tell her to look at her lines and 
 her cues ! " 
 
 The Gipsy was frightened. That sounded dread- 
 ful. She was longing to go out and listen. She 
 began pottering around childishly and disturbing 
 things. Suddenly she stopped and took more of 
 the powder. " Because my heart 's so bad," she
 
 KALEEMA 249 
 
 whispered, to excuse herself, commiseratingly. Her 
 lips were blue. 
 
 The scene with John Crichton went pretty well. 
 So did the rest of the act. The men (even Charley, 
 now) all had their parts in their pockets, and Sarah 
 had hers stuck in the back of the scenery. Kaleema 
 was on the stage most of the time, but when she came 
 off for a minute not a soul spoke to her. Once 
 Sarah ran and got the part for her, and when the 
 curtain came down, as she was groping her way 
 back to the dressing-room, somebody patted her 
 shoulder and said, " It 's going fine, Kaleema." It 
 was old John Crichton. That was just like him. 
 
 Her mother, very excited, met her with the news 
 from Charley. 
 
 " That big man says you 're workin' awful." 
 
 " Well, the next time he comes near this room 
 slam the door in his face," said Kaleema. Then she 
 swore terribly. 
 
 She began tearing off her dress and hunting madly 
 for the next things. " What have you done here, 
 Mother ? Don't touch anything ! " 
 
 The Gipsy retired to her corner. When Kaleema 
 was dressed she went on studying. Outside some- 
 body else was asking for soap. The " heavy 
 woman " was not on in the second act, so she was 
 not dressing. Charley was back talking to her. 
 " I never, never study at the theater," she was say- 
 ing.
 
 250 KALEEMA 
 
 The second act was called. Kaleema went out, 
 the open part before her eyes. She was n't sure of 
 a word of it. She had worked so hard on the first 
 act and the third act. Pretty time to begin thinking 
 of that now. Thank heaven, George Carney 
 could n't come ! 
 
 " Come on, Miss West, we 're on." 
 
 It was the leading man. Lucky thing he re- 
 minded her. She had forgotten. Yes, they were 
 holding the curtain for her. She threw the part into 
 a corner and scurried on. 
 
 That act was such confusion. Cues came from 
 everywhere, slammed at her mercilessly; and she 
 had long speeches, and the exits were only for in- 
 stants she just got the part in her hands when 
 she heard her cue or somebody gently pushed her. 
 If this night were ever ended! Such torture was 
 never meant for the living 
 
 She was dizzy and trembling when she got back 
 to the dressing-room. She was bumping into peo- 
 ple, and she was already tearing off her clothes. 
 She knew it had gone horribly. Everybody was 
 nervous by this time. 
 
 " I don't know what ails me to-night," she said 
 to her mother. " I feel like death." She was 
 throwing some things out of the way and seizing 
 others. Even her make-up and her hair had to be 
 changed this time. " To-night won't put George
 
 KALEEMA 251 
 
 Carney on the map. Good house out there, too. 
 It '11 be empty to-morrow. . . . What ails me ? 
 I 'm not working I can't do it. Everything is 
 whirling." 
 
 " An' my heart 's so bad," said the Gipsy. Her 
 face was ghastly. 
 
 " Mother, sit down/ said Kaleema. " And re- 
 member not to touch that powder." Then she be- 
 gan studying. 
 
 Before the third act was called she was at the 
 entrance, studying. Perhaps she was n't sure of 
 the lines, but she knew the climax and where the 
 whole act was trying to get to. That was some- 
 thing. After that terrible second act perhaps 
 everybody would be steadied. If only she did n't 
 forget the business. The act hung on it. Only one 
 quick rehearsal, and there was such a lot of business. 
 
 It went through fairly well. The boys, all of 
 them, worked splendidly. Scarcely a line was 
 missed or a bit of business. Anyway, they got a 
 curtain call. That made Kaleema angry. She 
 wanted to go out and say, " See it again next week. 
 You know the story now, so come back and see these 
 people really play it." 
 
 One more act was to come. The night was not 
 over. Sarah was not on in that act. Just before 
 it was called, she went to Kaleema's door. " Do 
 you want me to hold the part for you, 'Leema ? "
 
 252 KALEEMA 
 
 " No thank you, Sarah." 
 
 " You 're all right so far," said Sarah, " so don't 
 worry." 
 
 Then Sarah retreated to her own dressing-room 
 and went about taking off her make-up and putting 
 on her street clothes. She was too nervous to listen. 
 Soon after the act opened she heard something fall. 
 She opened her door ; the only sound was voices on 
 the stage. That did not satisfy her. Something 
 made her investigate. 
 
 In about fifteen minutes the play was over. 
 Sarah was listening for the end the sound of the 
 curtain and the dulled and distant sound of applause, 
 if there should be any, and for the scuffling of feet. 
 
 When Kaleema reached her dressing-room door, 
 her eyes wide and the big part rolled up in her shak- 
 ing hands, the passage was uncommonly deserted 
 and quiet, but Sarah Skamon was standing there 
 waiting for her. The door was closed. 
 
 " Kaleema, dear," she said gently, " I 've sent for 
 a doctor." 
 
 Before she spoke the girl's eyes almost fright- 
 ened her ; then suddenly Kaleema seemed to pull her- 
 self together. She stared at Sarah; then she put 
 out her hand for the door knob. Sarah stopped 
 her. 
 
 " Wait a minute, dear," she said. 
 
 Kaleema looked straight at her; then she put her 
 aside and went in. The Gipsy was lying on the
 
 KALEEMA 253 
 
 floor. Her face was turned the other way. The 
 girl caught Sarah's hand and stood still. 
 
 "Sarah, is she ... dead?" 
 
 " I have sent for a doctor. . . . I 'm afraid so." 
 
 The part slipped out of Kaleema's hand and fell 
 on the floor. For a moment she stood there. Then 
 she turned and caught Sarah's arm, but her eyes 
 were still on her mother. She wanted to go to her, 
 but she could not then. It came to her how peace- 
 fully she lay there. 
 
 " She is out of her misery. It is life and more 
 life and more life that is terrible." 
 
 Sarah suddenly caught her breath. 
 
 The girl turned away and sank on her knees be- 
 fore a chair and buried her face in her hands. 
 
 " God forgive me for ever blaming my poor 
 mother. God forgive me for ever blaming my poor 
 mother. God forgive me for ever blaming my poor 
 mother." 
 
 Sarah went over and took her head in her hands 
 and kissed her.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 IT was past one o'clock when Sarah and Skamon 
 returned to the hotel. After the doctor reached 
 the theater one of the first things that Sarah did 
 was to tell Harry to send a telegram to Dillon that 
 they must advance some money to Kaleema. 
 
 At nine o'clock the next morning Kaleema came 
 back to the hotel and tapped at their door. Sarah 
 opened it. Kaleema had been up all night, but the 
 hurried walk to the hotel had roused her. 
 
 " I came to get Oliver. I 'm going to work to- 
 night." 
 
 Sarah started to say something. 
 
 " I can't lose that five dollars," Kaleema inter- 
 rupted. " And I 'd better work than be thinking. 
 Nobody will recognize me in the wig and the knick- 
 erbockers." She held out her hand impatiently, 
 and Sarah found the part and gave it to her. 
 
 " Rehearsal at ten," said Sarah. 
 
 Kaleema took the part it was not long and 
 she had played it before and went to her own 
 room. At the threshold she stood and looked 
 around. When she had left it, only a few hours 
 before, her arm was around her mother. She threw 
 herself down on the bed and wept convulsively. 
 
 254
 
 KALEEMA 255 
 
 A few minutes before ten she was at the theater. 
 She went straight to her dressing-room. Some- 
 body had already put it in order, so she went out 
 on the stage and studied until the others came. 
 
 In the evening the house was rilled with the usual 
 Saturday night crowd. What had happened the 
 night before had aroused the curiosity of the whole 
 town, so before the performance Skamon an- 
 nounced that Miss Doro had come from New 
 York especially to play Oliver. It had already 
 been advertised what a " wonderful revival " 
 the play was going to be. The heavy woman had 
 played Nancy some hundreds of times, so she said, 
 and the leading man had played Bill Sikes. 
 Skamon had saved this for Saturday because the 
 grewsome story of blood and murder and prisons 
 never failed to fill the house. 
 
 When Kaleema, alias Miss Doro who came 
 especially from New York, in her boy's wig of soft 
 dark curls and her knickerbockers and a torn 
 shirt open at the throat, was seen lying in the prison- 
 like place on a heap of straw, nobody did recognize 
 her. The performance went well, everything con- 
 sidered. The stage-hands and the company worked 
 hard, the scenes changed quickly, and the cruel story 
 moved on to its terrible murder and the end. Chains 
 clapked, Pagan leered and counted his treasure, 
 ragged little Oliver was knocked and cuffed around, 
 and the dying Nancy dragged herself across the floor
 
 256 KALEEMA 
 
 while the blood flowed so that out in the audience 
 a woman screamed. Then Pagan died in his prison 
 and the last curtain fell. 
 
 The next day was Sunday. Early in the morning 
 the company went on, but Kaleema and Sarah stayed. 
 That day they laid the Gipsy to rest. 
 
 At night Kaleema and Sarah took a train, and 
 by midnight they were with the company again. 
 
 At ten o'clock the next morning " Down East 
 Folks " went into rehearsal.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 THAT Sunday night on the train Kaleema told 
 Sarah that she would never see Harold again. 
 She told her briefly, and tried to keep the bitterness 
 out of it. Her voice was hard. 
 
 It was perhaps ten minutes after the train started 
 before she spoke. Poor Sarah had made some com- 
 monplace remarks and then sat quiet, not knowing 
 what to say, her heart aching for the quiet figure at 
 her side. 
 
 " I '11 forget some day, I hope," the girl con- 
 cluded. 
 
 Something was choking Sarah so that she could n't 
 speak, and for answer she put her hand on Ka- 
 leema's. The tears she was fighting forced them- 
 selves into her eyes. 
 
 " I have wanted you so terribly sometimes, 
 Sarah," she said, as if the words were wrung from 
 her. 
 
 The two had never seen each other until late in 
 the last summer when fate had tumbled them both 
 into that ill-starred " Camille " company, and yet 
 the show had not been out ten days when Kaleema 
 felt she had known and loved Sarah Skamon all 
 
 257
 
 258 KALEEMA 
 
 her life. But that was the way her life was made. 
 With such as she there is no haggling over loves 
 and friendships. 
 
 "Why didn't you write to me, child?'' sobbed 
 Sarah. 
 
 The girl shook her head. Then in a moment she 
 went on. 
 
 " I '11 remember nothing but his sister. She is 
 wonderful, Sarah. It was worth some misery just 
 to know her. And perhaps some day I shall under- 
 stand why I dreamed a perfect dream and tried to 
 live it. ... Anyway, it is useless to think against 
 God . . . useless." 
 
 Sarah was watching her. She saw her bite her 
 lips, and knew it was to keep from uttering other 
 words. They were the words Sarah wanted her to 
 utter the words that would finish what in her un- 
 guarded fright and misery she had hinted that 
 dreadful night. It was the unspoken strain that 
 was the most terrible. Sarah did not speak. The 
 horror was still in the girl's eyes, and Sarah knew 
 it was best to wait, that she would talk more in 
 time. 
 
 " I was always happy if I just thought that he 
 was," Kaleema went on presently. " But for days 
 together a sort of nervousness seemed to keep me 
 from really breathing. I blamed myself, always. 
 It was the first I ever knew what it is to live with- 
 out the freedom of truth. We cheap show people
 
 KALEEMA 259 
 
 are savages, Sarah. When we 're wretched, the 
 whole world may know we 're wretched ; when we 're 
 painted, the whole world may know we 're painted ; 
 when we quarrel, the whole world may know we 're 
 quarreling ; and when we love, the whole world may 
 know we 're loving. . . . And the little place was 
 lovely. ... I got happiness out of every cent I 
 ever saved that I spent there." Sarah glanced at 
 her curiously; she did not know how the hard- 
 earned money had gone in the bird and its cage, the 
 flowers and the curtains, the green velvet hat and 
 the dresses, and the many other little things of hum- 
 ble beauty that were joyfully laid at the boy 's feet 
 to buy his contentment. ..." And I wished every 
 day, Sarah, that you could see it it was so pretty ! 
 . . . God! I was fairly blinded by my respecta- 
 bility ! " She laughed harshly. 
 
 Sarah shuddered. The girl quickly picked up a 
 part and began to study, then in a minute she went 
 on talking, as if she had not left off. 
 
 " Remember that day in Dakota, after we knew 
 that he was in the hotel, when you were begging me 
 to marry him? And me begging God to let me! 
 . . . I got what I wanted! didn't I!" she 
 sneered. " I '11 never pray for anything again. 
 I '11 take what comes " Suddenly she caught her 
 breath. She remembered what was coming. She 
 went dizzy. 
 
 Sarah knew it, and her hand tightened. She was
 
 260 KALEEMA 
 
 longing to speak, but she dared not venture. She 
 was nearly beside herself with anxiety. 
 
 " There," said Kaleema, " I shall not speak of him 
 again, I promise you. Anything but show people 
 with their troubles ! " 
 
 " Talk all you want to, dear," said Sarah. 
 " Often things that we speak of lose half their ter- 
 ror." 
 
 "But I don't want to," said Kaleema. "All 
 that I can think of is that I am so thankful that 
 mother's powder lasted to spare her misery at the 
 end." 
 
 Then she fell to studying on " The Waiting." 
 Tuesday night it would go on again. And the slow 
 train, loaded with its unclean, weary crowd, jerked 
 and rushed and dragged along. 
 
 Tuesday morning Carney came. 
 
 He had secured the permanent theater for the 
 summer, and his brain was teeming with plans. He 
 himself seemed like a different man. Even his voice 
 had a different ring. He was more like his old self. 
 The physical work of the past weeks had done him 
 untold good, and he had lost the nervous strain of 
 the exhausting uncertainty of the old show. He 
 breathed more freely the instant he was out from 
 under the slow, corroding dishonesty of Skamon. 
 Now he had something of his own which even Dillon 
 could not rule, and George Carney once more faced
 
 KALEEMA 261 
 
 the world aggressively, admitting cheerfully that he 
 was out to lose or win. 
 
 The company would open June 20. On the train 
 he was thinking about the last time that he had 
 seen Kaleema before she was married that cold 
 night in Dakota, at the station, when he left her be- 
 fore the train came and went tramping off, blindly, 
 over the fields of snow. Now when he first saw 
 her it was at the rehearsal. He got in at a quarter 
 of ten, and went right to the theater, where they were 
 beginning work on " The Waiting." 
 
 When there was an opportunity he went to 
 Kaleema and held out his hand, muttering something 
 about her mother. She felt how awkward it was 
 for him to find words, and tried to help him. It 
 seemed to him that she had changed, that there was 
 a new sensitiveness in her lips and a helplessness in 
 her eyes, and where her hair was carelessly pushed 
 back he could see the soft lines of her cheeks and 
 temples, and he thought they had grown a little 
 rounder. To him, it made her look like a child. 
 
 "Isn't there anything that I can do for you?" 
 he said. In his awkward way he was always try- 
 ing to help her. But she did n't see it now. 
 
 She bit her lips and shook her head as she turned 
 away from him. He understood. 
 
 The rehearsal was going on, and presently every- 
 thing else was forgotten. Carney was standing at 
 one side out of the way, one foot up on a chair,
 
 262 KALEEMA 
 
 listening and watching intently. He was like a big 
 edition of a small boy desperately serious over a new 
 toy would it work? Whenever he was much in- 
 terested in a thing his hat was either pushed back 
 on his head or pulled a little over his eyes. To-day 
 it was a little over his eyes. Occasionally, when 
 Sarah was not busy she would go over and talk to 
 him in an undertone she had all the traditional 
 tricks of the manager's wife and he bent down, 
 his kind eyes attentive to her at the same time that 
 his ears kept sharp account of what Skamon was 
 doing with the rehearsal. Once or twice he scrib- 
 bled down a note for some change, while he smiled 
 at the absurdity of his tampering with that Broad- 
 way show. No matter. He was ready to gamble 
 on his own convictions. He was also admitting that 
 Skamon was far from a fool. 
 
 After the rehearsal was over he found himself 
 talking with Kaleema. So much that was imper- 
 sonal had intervened that it was easier this time. 
 Presently the others left the theater, and they were 
 alone. She was sitting on a narrow flight of dusty 
 stairs that led up to some of the dressing rooms, 
 and Carney was standing by the railing. He was 
 explaining to her all about the summer stock. He 
 had already engaged a fairly well-known actor for 
 leading man. It was easy enough to get almost 
 anybody, with a traction company back of the en- 
 terprise.
 
 KALEEMA 263 
 
 " I like this chap, Gresley, though," he added, 
 " and I want to keep him for other parts if he will 
 stay. What do you think of him? " 
 
 " He 's all right," answered Kaleema emphat- 
 ically. " Good actor and minds his own business. 
 Has a sick wife, too," she added, " so he really needs 
 the engagement, and he won't be eternally hopping 
 around with a chip on his shoulder." 
 
 " We '11 try one bill a week," said Carney, " and 
 see how it goes." 
 
 " Most of the summer stocks have to put on two," 
 she reminded. 
 
 " I know it," he admitted, " but we '11 see what 
 this place is good for." His eyes narrowed 
 shrewdly and he gave a decided nod of his head. 
 He thrust his hands into his pockets and began walk- 
 ing up and down before her. " We '11 do it, too, 
 rather than fail," he added. " We '11 start with two 
 good royalty bills," he went on, " then use ' Oliver 
 Twist ' or ' East Lynne,' and follow that with ' The 
 Waiting,' worked up big and the New York run ad- 
 vertised for all it is worth." 
 
 He stopped and brought his fist down on the rail- 
 ing. He looked at her to see what she thought of 
 it. 
 
 " That 's splendid," she said intently. 
 
 " Sarah Skamon is a treasure," he said, his mind 
 rapidly going from one thing to another. 
 
 "But that awful Harry!" interrupted Kaleema.
 
 264 KALEEMA 
 
 " Don't worry about him," Carney said quickly, 
 his eyes narrowing again. " If he does n't straighten 
 out some of his meanness and cheap-skate notions, 
 he '11 suddenly find himself missing. And I 'm ready 
 to bet anything that Sarah will stick by the show." 
 
 " You 're right there," Kaleema exclaimed eagerly. 
 She had forgotten herself in listening to him. To 
 both of them the company and the shows were in- 
 tensely alive. It was a life compelling and engross- 
 ing. She did n't know it then, but it was good to 
 be back with her own kind! 
 
 " I 'm tired to death, anyway," began Carney, 
 walking again, " of these wise old-timers who 
 have n't kept anything with them but their ratty old 
 wigs and their played-out methods and close-lipped 
 faces and dishonesty." 
 
 " You 're perfectly right," she said. " Of course 
 they '11 jump all over you, but don't let them scare 
 you." 
 
 His mind had already gone to something else. 
 He stood still before her. 
 
 " Of course," he said, " anything can be trusted 
 to John Crichton, whether he 's lit up like a church 
 or sober, but what in the Lord's world to do with 
 Charley! He is certainly the rottenest actor the 
 cowboys ever missed killing." 
 
 " He 's so sharp and so pompous," said Kaleema, 
 " why don't you put him in the business end? " 
 
 Carney snapped his fingers. " Gee whiz, kid,
 
 KALEEMA 265 
 
 you 've hit it ! I 've lain awake nights trying to 
 think of a man I could trust." So much for one of 
 his perplexities. He pushed his hat to the back of 
 his head and walked a few paces, his hands in his 
 pockets. Then he turned. " He 's all right, is n't 
 he?" 
 
 " Sure." 
 
 "Will he take it?" 
 
 " He will if I tell him to," announced Kaleema. 
 " And I can promise him one thing for certain, and 
 that is that he '11 burst every blood-vessel in his 
 wooden head before he has even commenced with 
 the two-a-week study. Leave it to me to scare him 
 to death." 
 
 Carney laughed. It was such a relief to have that 
 question settled. Kaleema leaned forward eagerly, 
 her elbows on her knees. It was so enthralling to 
 put life into the show. 
 
 Carney went on about the rest of the company. 
 
 " We '11 keep this heavy woman for second busi- 
 ness," he said. " She 's young enough and her 
 work 's fairly fit to be seen, and she seems to be a 
 nice, peaceable woman." 
 
 " And never, never studies at the theater," sub- 
 consciously thought Kaleema. " And you must 
 hunt up some blonde young person," she said. 
 
 " Oh, I hate blondes," muttered Carney. 
 
 A wan little smile came to Kaleema's lips, like a 
 stranger.
 
 266 KALEEMA 
 
 " Is it a show or a harem you 're collectin' ? " she 
 said drolly. 
 
 Carney threw back his head and laughed out- 
 right. 
 
 " All right, a blonde," he said submissively. 
 
 " With an English accent," she cautioned him. 
 " Try your best to get one with an English accent. 
 Get all the English accent you possibly can with all 
 the new people. Audiences don't understand any- 
 thing else now. Lots of it comes from Indiana, 
 but that does n't matter ? " 
 
 " All right," he repeated, and he made a note of 
 it. " And perhaps we can get by for a while with 
 doubling and cutting down things to the four women ; 
 we can so easily get more when they are needed." 
 
 He did not look at Kaleema as he said it. Now 
 that her mother was gone, he did not know that she 
 would stay. Sarah had not had time to tell him any- 
 thing. Probably she would be going back to Har- 
 old. 
 
 He turned away, his hands thrust deeper into his 
 pockets, and walked across the stage. The smiled-in 
 dents were not under his eyes. But she did not say 
 anything. He went to the baggage door and peered 
 into the alley, to give her time. Still she did not 
 speak. 
 
 He came back toward her slowly. 
 
 " The men we have are not much good," he said 
 quietly, " and I shall make jome changes. I can
 
 KALEEMA 267 
 
 give the new men the parts in town, and the rest of 
 you can start rehearsals while you are working. 
 There need not be more than three or four days lost 
 before the opening." 
 
 Kaleema got to her feet and shook the dust from 
 her skirt. 
 
 " It seems a splendid way to fix things. It 's 
 got to succeed, anyway." There was a ring in her 
 voice as she said it. She walked slowly toward the 
 outside door. " I 'm going back to the hotel now," 
 she said, " to sleep and do a little studying." 
 
 When she was gone, it dawned on Carney that 
 she was not wearing a wedding ring. He walked 
 down to the foot-lights and stood for a few moments 
 looking into the shadowy back of the house, not 
 even seeing the galleries or the rows and rows of 
 empty seats or the gorgeous gold boxes with their 
 red plush curtains. Then suddenly he remembered 
 that it was high time he hunted up the big fat 
 Skamon.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 THE stock company opened on June 20. It 
 was housed in an attractive new theater lo- 
 cated only three hours from New York; and it was 
 half-way between two fair-sized towns, within a 
 thirty-minute street-car ride from either of them. 
 The park was not new, but the traction company 
 had given it a sudden and decided turn for the better. 
 Things started out well; the weather was good, the 
 newspapers of both towns were hard up for news, 
 and Carney seemed likely to more than double his 
 money. Kaleema and the leading man were both 
 getting fifty dollars a week, and Kaleema was 
 gradually paying back her debt to the company. 
 Charley was handling the money now, and he seemed 
 to like the new dignity his stupid round eyes still 
 staring, his hat on the back of his head, and the pink 
 ring on his saffron finger; his little mustache not 
 growing. Kaleema kept her accounts with him 
 checked up on her dressing-room wall. Every time 
 she put up a figure she would say, " What a pity, 
 on this nice, new, white-washed wall ! " and she and 
 Charley would ruefully gaze at it for a moment. 
 She was living very cheaply, but it was the wardrobe 
 that kept her back. She had so little to do with, 
 
 268
 
 KALEEMA 269 
 
 ^id they were putting on good bills and had critical 
 audiences, and she had to keep up with the pace. 
 Even Sarah did not know what a burden it was. 
 Nobody knew but Charley, and he became so ex- 
 cited over it that, just to show her what she was 
 spending, he started a wardrobe account on a space 
 of the wall back of the door. They used to stand 
 and look at it and groan. 
 
 Kaleema was working very hard. Outside of 
 work, she had no time to think. She wanted no 
 time to think. Often, after matinees, she and Sarah 
 would leave the theater together and wander for a 
 few minutes around the park; but whenever she 
 caught Sarah looking anxiously at her she would 
 smile and begin to talk. Sometimes when she was 
 studying she would find her mind going to other 
 things and though she did not know it, the strange 
 look of horror and defiance was back in her eyes. 
 Then she would stop short and get back to the never- 
 ending lines again. 
 
 The new actors were of the expensive variety in 
 the winter time, and they seemed to be rather nice 
 fellows, but they never knew their lines even on 
 Saturday night and Skamon dared not say a word 
 for fear they would pack up their nice wardrobes 
 and their nice English accents and leave. That was 
 one penalty he paid for being so close to town. 
 Three of them were really English, and at first none 
 of them had a bit of respect for the barnstormers in
 
 270 KALEEMA 
 
 the company, with the exception of fine old John 
 Crichton ; but he, of course, had come from far bet- 
 ter things. Charley was absurd enough with his 
 talk about his rich father ; but as he sent home to his 
 tailor and ordered clothes that everybody could see 
 his own salary never paid for, they were constrained 
 to believe him. After a while they did admit that 
 the barnstormers worked well and they evidently 
 stood in with the management, such as it was ! 
 
 The barnstormers liked them pretty well, in spite 
 of their condescension. " They 're the nearest we '11 
 ever get to Broadway, Sarah," Kaleema used to 
 whisper in the wings. The blonde young person 
 with the English accent, however, turned out to be 
 very disagreeable she was used to so much better 
 companies, poor thing. 
 
 By the end of the second week the fastidious light 
 comedian thought that he was in love with Kaleema. 
 He became very serious about it, and was miserably 
 jealous of poor Charley. He lived at the same place 
 that she did, and he took to standing outside her 
 closed door and reading the " Rubaiyat " to her. 
 She used to tell him that he would be " doin' better to 
 study a little instead of standin' there throwin' temp- 
 tation over the transom," but he did not see it that 
 way. He had worked in New York, and it seemed 
 such a waste of brain to study for " these peasants." 
 
 The third week somebody among the barnstormers 
 discovered that Sam Taney, by another wild flight
 
 KALEEMA 271 
 
 of fortune, had got back into vaudeville and was 
 making rather a hit on Broadway, and that sent 
 them into a state of excitement. Charley was or- 
 dered to telegraph to him their combined and un- 
 bounded joy; and, to their surprise, Sam dashed 
 out to see them one morning, had a good old gossip, 
 told lies big enough to knock the breath out of the 
 expensive (in the winter time) actors, and imme- 
 diately dashed back again. He explained that the 
 job had its drawbacks (the man he was working 
 with was crazy) but still he was rather happy. 
 
 Then the week came which was to see Carney's 
 try-out for " The Waiting." If it had not been a 
 big success in town, at least everybody had not seen 
 it. That was one thing. The New York run was 
 played up for all there was in it, fairly good time 
 was given for rehearsals, and Kaleema and Carney 
 and Skamon worked like slaves. Carney had some 
 new photographs made of Kaleema, which the news- 
 papers took eagerly. He had a lot of them framed 
 and put around the two towns, and when he had 
 time he liked to stand and watch people stop to look 
 at them. He sent a two-column cut to the " Clip- 
 per " and paid ten dollars to have it put in. 
 Skamon let Kaleema take a day off when there was 
 no matinee and go in to New York, and she bought 
 a beautiful dress, left over from the winter and 
 marked down. While there, she came face to face 
 with Miss Rebecca Sorkai. It was impossible to
 
 272 KALEEMA 
 
 escape, for the pretty little school teacher threw her 
 arms around her; and they both had tears in their 
 eyes when Kaleema went on, stubbornly refusing 
 to tell where she was going or could be found. 
 
 The week of " The Waiting " closed splendidly. 
 The expensive actors put their wise heads together 
 and announced that it was a better play than it had 
 been on Broadway; that Miss West was perhaps 
 worth a little training, and that they had worked 
 for greater but also meaner men than Carney. The 
 light comedian was so wrought up over the way 
 Kaleema had looked in the new dress that he spent 
 nearly the whole of Saturday night in a saloon. 
 They were also interested in rumors that " The Wait- 
 ing " was going on the road, and they woke up per- 
 ceptibly when Carney was around. 
 
 As for Carney himself, his mind was always weeks 
 ahead of current events, so by the time the success- 
 ful run of " The Waiting " came, he was mentally 
 already grappling with the road show. After the 
 Saturday night performance, however, he went and 
 knocked at Kaleema's door. 
 
 "Yes?" she called. She thought that it was 
 Charley. 
 
 " Are you decent? " he inquired. 
 
 For a moment her heart stood still. This was 
 his first coming since that dreary night in Dakota. 
 The very words, and they brought back a flood of 
 memories.
 
 KALEEMA 273 
 
 " Wait a minute," she answered. Her own 
 words of that same night. She couldn't repress 
 them, though she tried. Then she opened the 
 door. 
 
 He came in and closed the door after him. She 
 sat on the edge of the make-up table and put her 
 foot on the chair, waiting for him to speak. She 
 had slipped on a kimono, and her hair was down 
 and caught back. Across her brows and eyes there 
 was the look of a child. 
 
 " You have done splendid work this week," he 
 said. 
 
 " Splendid part," she said tersely. " Could n't 
 kill it with an ax." 
 
 He stood looking at her, at the soft lines of her 
 cheeks and temples. Suddenly he remembered what 
 he came for. He unrolled a paper. It was the 
 " Clipper." He held it out and showed her a pic- 
 ture. 
 
 "Me!" she cried. "Me?" Her eyes were 
 sparkling. " ME in that damn ' Clipper ' ! " She 
 seized it from him and hugged it close to her and 
 kissed it, rocking back and forth and laughing glee- 
 fully. 
 
 Carney laughed in his quiet way. He had had no 
 idea it would make her so happy. 
 
 "My Gawd!" she said slowly, "you blew ten 
 dollars ! " She rolled it up. " I '11 keep this one," 
 she said. " You can buy another." She threw it
 
 274 KALEEMA 
 
 into her trunk. " And I '11 buy ten more," she 
 added. 
 
 " I brought this to show you, too," he said. He 
 held out to her a little slip of paper with Charley's 
 weekly counting-up of the box office receipts. 
 
 She gave a gasp of surprise and delight, then she 
 seized his hand to bring the figures nearer. While 
 she was studying over them he was looking down at 
 her, wishing that he could take the old make-up rag 
 out of her hands and wipe the streaks of paint from 
 her soft skin. 
 
 Suddenly she glanced up. She was thinking 
 deeply for her. 
 
 " That night we met you in the theater I thought 
 about you all the evening that you are a thousand 
 times too good for the show business and that, any- 
 way, you would n't succeed." She shrugged her 
 shoulders and gave a little laugh at her mistake. 
 
 Carney smiled. " I have n't yet, so keep right 
 on prognosticating that same way." He glanced 
 around at the confusion of the little dressing-room. 
 He did n't quite know how to get away. " You 
 don't wear your earrings any more," he said, almost 
 without thinking. 
 
 Her lips went dry and she caught her breath. 
 She had nearly said that it was because Harold 
 did n't like them. The tears started in her eyes. 
 
 " They 're in my trunk. Do you like them ? " she 
 said instead.
 
 KALEEMA 275 
 
 A tinge of red covered Carney's neck and face. 
 He was downright shy about saying that he did. 
 
 " They seem to belong with you," he answered. 
 
 She slid down from the table and went to the 
 trunk, found the earrings and began to put them on. 
 
 " And I like them," she said. Then she added, 
 " I '11 bet you like the green velvet hat, too." 
 
 " I do," admitted Carney. 
 
 He did n't know what else to say ; so he just went 
 out.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 THAT week settled Carney's plans for the start 
 of the next season. " The Waiting " was 
 going on the road, and he was going ahead of the 
 show. He believed a good deal in luck, but he also 
 wanted a hard-working advance man. And he also 
 believed that if he wanted a thing well done he had 
 to do it himself. 
 
 Before the end of August Kaleema's debt to the 
 company was paid, and at the same time a new 
 woman came to take her place in the stock company. 
 She went back to New York for rehearsals of " The 
 Waiting." John Crichton was to be in the cast, 
 and so was Sarah. Carney had offered an engage- 
 ment to Sarah but not to Skamon (he had more than 
 one reason), and she very readily turned her fat back 
 on Harry. Skamon was dumbfounded. For the 
 thirty years of their married life they had never been 
 separated. The poor, dishonest, old-fashioned, un- 
 successful man was most unhappy. His plans were 
 to take out a repertoire company another season 
 of " Dillon and Skamon." Only there would be no 
 Sarah. Not even Trilby. 
 
 Charley Forbes was to be the business manager 
 276
 
 KALEEMA 277 
 
 of "The Waiting." So he had all his clothes 
 pressed, and bought a lot of new collars, and packed 
 his trunk so full that it weighed more than the 
 scenery. At that, Kaleema had to make room in 
 her trunk to carry a hat for him. He started in to 
 apologize and explain, but she impatiently inter- 
 rupted by seizing the hat. It was a scorching hot 
 day and she was tired. 
 
 " Never mind explaining," she said shortly. 
 " It 's always the case that the worst actor swears 
 the most and carries the heaviest trunk." 
 
 He went off, much offended; but he left the hat 
 with her. She packed it with a seven-pound electric 
 flat-iron inside it. 
 
 Carney was sorry that the leading man of the 
 summer stock would not go, but he wanted a great 
 deal too much money. So he found another man. 
 He had Kaleema and Sarah and Crichton to start 
 with, and the rest of the cast of eight was made up 
 of pretty good people. Kaleema listened eagerly 
 when he came back to the hotel from the agencies 
 and told her about the people he had talked with and 
 what he thought of their possibilities. All those 
 he wanted were too expensive, and all those within 
 his reach he did n't want. All the time he was talk- 
 ing Kaleema was thinking of the hundreds of times 
 she had talked to managers while she was secretly 
 trying to decide in an instant whether she should 
 stick on or knock off ten dollars. She had tried
 
 278 KALEEMA 
 
 both ways, and she had lost a lot of things she 
 wanted because she was ten dollars too expensive, 
 and a lot more because she was ten dollars too cheap. 
 
 Finally she asked Carney to let her go to one of 
 the agencies with him, and he did. He saw what 
 a mess he was making of it. She made up her mind 
 what people she wanted, then she told Carney to 
 break it to them gently what the parts were paying, 
 and that if they did n't faint they would probably 
 go. To his surprise some quite civilized-looking 
 people accepted, and the whole thing was settled that 
 morning. 
 
 When he got out on the street again his pulse was 
 beating hard. He realized for the first time what 
 a gamble the whole thing was. Here were these 
 people ready to go to the ends of the earth trusting 
 to nothing but his luck and honesty. He remem- 
 bered how much it had cost him last winter to get 
 back from the snow-fields of Dakota, and that they 
 left the Ginivens hanging by a thread, John Crich- 
 ton stranded, and Godiva with nothing but " Science 
 and Health " and the deceitful stove. He did not 
 know that it was something in himself that made 
 them trust him. 
 
 He glanced down at Kaleema. 
 
 " You do know this business, kid ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 She looked up at him and smiled. He was warm 
 and tired, and his hat was on the back of his head. 
 " You got a pretty keen lot of people," she said.
 
 KALEEMA 279 
 
 " They would n't have gone for Dillon or Skamon." 
 
 His color deepened; there was no mistaking her 
 meaning. 
 
 ' You picked them out," he insisted. 
 
 " But nobody but you could have coaxed 'em as 
 far as Hoboken." 
 
 Carney left a week ahead, and on the twenty- 
 seventh of August, another scorching day, the show 
 opened. 
 
 One night stands again ! but better towns than 
 they had played before. They were going west, 
 too; Kaleema hoped and prayed not to Dakota. 
 And there would be plenty of time to think. Oh, 
 God, yes ! plenty of time to think. Tired as she was, 
 she shuddered as she sat down in the first train. 
 It seemed beyond all that she could endure.. Sleep- 
 less nights and interminable waits at junctions and 
 slow jumps on the trains no study, no rehearsals, 
 no dressmakers, no mad hurry of the summer 
 nothing to do but to see the world and work and life 
 as it is and what one pays for living, and to think, 
 think, think.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 SARAH SKAMON suddenly developed an exas- 
 perating habit of writing letters. After the 
 show had been out a week, it seemed to Kaleema 
 that she never wanted her that she did n't find her 
 in the hotel office humped up over a desk, writing. 
 On such occasions Sarah always tried to look inno- 
 cent, feeling all the time as if she had been caught 
 setting fire to a church or robbing a blind beggar; 
 when it came to the real thing, Sarah Skamon was 
 a poor actor. However, Kaleema made no com- 
 ments. Even with Sarah, she was quite profes- 
 sional in the matter of minding her own business. 
 So she would wander off, desperate and lonely. 
 
 They were working in the worst of the summer 
 heat, and it lasted all through September. They 
 were too worn-out to care. At night they strained 
 themselves to the effort of the play, and because 
 those who came to see it were thrilled they were 
 satisfied. Kaleema was existing on the hope and 
 the determination that it should succeed. All her 
 life her work had been miserably changeable and un- 
 even, one night rising to her best and the next night 
 falling far below; but now when she struggled 
 
 280
 
 KALEEMA 281 
 
 through a poor performance she rushed back to her 
 dressing-room with tears of anger in her eyes. She 
 blamed it to the heat, her exhaustion, her almost 
 sleepless nights, and the tormenting flies and mos- 
 quitoes in the hotel rooms. 
 
 After a month of that discomfort the weather 
 began to cool a little. Then other things tormented 
 her thoughts; and Sarah saw the fright and the 
 hardness coming back into her eyes. Sarah dreaded 
 the afternoons and their beautiful autumn sunsets. 
 She often wondered if Kaleema did n't miss the last 
 year's walks with Carney, but she dared not men- 
 tion it because it would bring back Harold's letters 
 and visits and their consequences. 
 
 It developed that Sarah was pestering Charley 
 about how to spell some word that stumped her. 
 She had confidence in him because he had been to 
 college. She did not bother about the fact that he 
 was there just long enough to get put out and sent 
 in disgrace back to his father. 
 
 Kaleema looked at her in amazement when she 
 heard it. Her professional attitude broke down. 
 
 " What are you doing, Sarah Skamon ! " she ex- 
 claimed. " Are you falling in love again with that 
 cross old Harry ? " 
 
 " Possibly," answered Sarah very mildly. She 
 began fumbling with the written pages, so that Ka- 
 leema could n't read anything. " I don't write so 
 many," she went on defensively, " but I like to have
 
 282 KALEEMA 
 
 them look nice, so I have to copy and copy and copy." 
 
 "Hum!" saidKaleema. 
 
 As the autumn dragged on to early winter Sarah 
 took to more anxious worrying. She would watch 
 Kaleema for a while, and then dash off for a walk in 
 the wind, trying to decide what to do. Suddenly 
 she took to sewing, trying to assume an attitude that 
 would encourage curiosity and conversation. She 
 sewed persistently, right before Kaleema's eyes, but 
 the girl would sit there as if she were blind. Ka- 
 leema worked hard at night, but outside of that she 
 scarcely spoke to a soul, and often there was so much 
 of the horror in her eyes that it frightened Sarah. 
 
 Finally Sarah made up her mind. 
 
 One day in the train (it was very cold outside and 
 there was snow on the ground) Sarah left her seat 
 and hurried toward Kaleema, who was sitting all 
 alone. Sarah was carrying something white in her 
 shaking hands. When she reached the girl she 
 stopped and leaned toward her. 
 
 " Here, 'Leema, hem this," she commanded, and 
 she handed the something white to her. 
 
 It fell over the girl's gloveless hands as they lay 
 in her lap. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked. With that she held 
 it up soft white cloth with a little neck-hole and 
 two tiny sleeves. Her hands fell with it, almost 
 without sensation, and her lips went pallid. 
 
 " A dress," snapped Sarah Skamon, " to cover
 
 KALEEMA 283 
 
 the nakedness of your child. You could sew by the 
 year for that horrid little Giniven thing, but you 
 leave all this for me." 
 
 Sarah could trust herself to say no more, and 
 she ran back to her own seat, trembling and half- 
 sobbing. 
 
 Half an hour later she went just far enough down 
 the aisle to see that Kaleema was sewing. 
 
 That night after the show Sarah wrote a some- 
 what incoherent letter. This much was clear, how- 
 ever : " To-day I made her hem three dresses 
 one on the train and two at the junction. I trembled 
 for an hour after I told her to do it. I suppose the 
 lord knew what he was about when he made 
 women." 
 
 She spelled " Lord " without a capital letter. 
 Perhaps she did it intentionally. 
 
 The letter she addressed to " George Carney, 
 Theater, care of * The Waiting.' '
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 ONE day in the winter, in a hospital ward, a 
 certain baby was having its first good cry. 
 The nurses called it the " show " baby. 
 
 They did not know much about it, but they knew 
 positively that its mother was very strange. 
 
 They knew she had played there one night some- 
 time ago, in " The Waiting " ; then she stayed and 
 the show went on. When she first came to the 
 hospital she said that she was Miss West, and a 
 moment later she was answering questions by an- 
 nouncing angrily that she had a marriage certificate 
 in a storeroom at the hotel, in her trunk. Then, 
 before the doctor or the nurse or anybody could 
 stop her, she hurried out of the hospital, and it was 
 more than an hour before she came back; but then, 
 her defiant eyes filled with tears and her hands 
 trembling, she had the marriage license with her and 
 she spread it out on the table, with the money that 
 she was to pay. The nurse who was registering 
 her looked at it, and put her down as Mrs. Kaleema 
 West Barton, although the name of Barton had not 
 once passed her lips, and then Mrs. Barton seized 
 it and started to tear it up. But the nurse quickly
 
 KALEEMA 285 
 
 took it from her, and she never saw it again until 
 the day she left the hospital. At first the doctors 
 and nurses called her Mrs. Barton, but she said very 
 quietly, though not looking at them, " Please use 
 my right name. I am Miss West." 
 
 At first she would sit for hours* by the bed that 
 had been allotted to her, with her arms on it and her 
 face buried in them, sobs convulsing her, though she 
 tried to be quiet and not disturb anybody. With 
 everything else that she was thinking, she was blam- 
 ing herself bitterly that she had not been much 
 kinder to the Giniven child. If anybody spoke to her 
 unnecessarily she would quietly get up and walk 
 away. Not one word that could be avoided passed 
 her lips ; but once, in the night, when a nurse came 
 near she said to her: 
 
 " Will you kindly give this message to the doctor 
 if he possibly can, for God's sake to let us both 
 die." 
 
 The nurse tried to say something, but Kaleema 
 buried her head in the covers. The rest of the night 
 she lay there wide-awake, her lips ceaselessly mov- 
 ing, burning tears drenching her soft dark hair and 
 the pillow. 
 
 Even when the baby was lustily crying, it seemed 
 to the doctors and nurses that her lips would never 
 cease moving (it must be that they were praying), 
 or the hot tears cease flowing that she would never 
 open her eyes and face the world. They gave her
 
 286 KALEEMA 
 
 what care they could, but she never complained. 
 She would scarcely look at the baby, but she caught 
 the nurse's hand frantically and whispered, " Is it 
 deformed or anything? " The nurse said no, 
 but she interrupted with, " For God's sake let it 
 die!" 
 
 After that all that she begged was to get away 
 from the hospital, and at last, one day, they let her 
 go. She left with her once- free, strong, brave little 
 hands full of the soft, breathing bundle. 
 
 The wife of the hotel proprietor had promised 
 to let her stay and do some sewing to pay for her 
 board. She needed money badly. While she was 
 with " The Waiting " she had saved all the money 
 she could ; but many of the jumps were awkward - 
 they had often stayed at three hotels in twenty-four 
 hours and the hospital took a good deal more. 
 
 The proprietor's wife was very good to her. She 
 tucked her away in a comfortable little room, and 
 when she went out and closed the door Kaleema took 
 her first long look at the baby. 
 
 It was the first time that the two had been alone. 
 Here no curious eyes were watching them. It was 
 asleep, and she had carefully put it down on the 
 bed. She stood and looked at it, pity and horror 
 and helplessness in her eyes. She seemed afraid 
 to touch it She had never kissed it. " God for- 
 give me," she said aloud. Then she dropped down 
 on her knees and covered her face. " Poor little
 
 KALEEMA 287 
 
 thing, forgive me, forgive me! O God, let it die, 
 let it die ! Forgive me for blaming my poor mother 
 for the life that was forced on me. Forgive me for 
 ever blaming my poor mother ! " 
 
 This was the hour that for so long she had been 
 foreseeing with terror. She was alive and the baby 
 was alive. The release of death had been denied 
 them, and they went out in the world, clinging now to 
 life madly and paying to the end for living. She 
 had done just what she had blamed her mother for 
 doing only it was worse in her, because she knew. 
 Again life's lessons would go for nothing. Each 
 one had to learn by living. She could only stand 
 by, helpless, while God put the baby back to the be- 
 ginning. ... At last she was thinking bitterly 
 against God. 
 
 By and by she went downstairs and came back 
 with a pile of work in her arms. 
 
 She sewed pretty steadily every day, for the little 
 bundle on the bed slept a great deal. Of course it 
 cried, too, but if it did n't stop when she fussed with 
 it the proprietor's wife would come in, and she 
 seemed to know just what to do. Then, when it 
 stopped crying, she would take it around the hotel 
 and show it to people. Its mother worried her a 
 great deal more than the baby did. She tried to talk 
 to her, but Kaleema would just put her hands over 
 her silent lips and hurry out of the room. 
 
 She had promised Sarah to write often, but she
 
 288 KALEEMA 
 
 wrote just once, a few lines. One morning when 
 she was up at five o'clock with the baby, she wrote 
 to Gertrude. All that she said was that she wanted 
 her freedom and knew that Harold wanted his, and 
 she begged of him to start immediately whatever 
 it was necessary to do. She gave no address but 
 the " Clipper," and then she hurried out and put the 
 letter in a street box. She had planned long ago 
 that this was what she would do just at this time, if 
 she lived. When it was really done a great weight 
 was lifted from her mind. At night, after the sew- 
 ing was put away and the bundle on the bed was 
 settled down for a few hours, she would shade the 
 light, and in a few minutes would find herself back 
 there kneeling by the bed, the burning tears on her 
 cheeks and her lips repeating the almost ceaseless 
 words, "O God, don't let it live for just misery! 
 Let it die, let it die. Poor little thing, forgive me ! " 
 
 One night while she was kneeling there she heard 
 a slight sound, and when she turned her head she 
 saw that the door was softly opening. Then a man 
 stepped into the room's dim light. 
 
 " George Carney ! " she whispered. 
 
 He gently closed the door, and she got to her 
 feet. 
 
 The next instant he was holding both her hands 
 and the old look of welcome was in her eyes. He 
 did not speak; he just smiled. 
 
 " George Carney ! " she said again. She had not
 
 KALEEMA 289 
 
 seen him since August. All at once she knew how 
 she had been missing him and longing for him. 
 
 " Sarah wrote me that you would n't write to her, 
 so I came in for two hours. Where's the star 
 juvenile? " It was so good to hear his voice again. 
 
 She turned and pointed to the bundle. 
 
 He went to the bed and leaned over it. She fol- 
 lowed and turned back the covers until the little face 
 could be seen. Then she looked at Carney. The 
 dents under his eyes were deepening and his fine 
 teeth were glistening in the dim light. 
 
 ' You are laughing at it ! " she exclaimed, her 
 voice low, not to waken the baby. 
 
 " It is certainly the homeliest thing I ever beheld," 
 he whispered. 
 
 " How horrid of you! Everybody says it 's per- 
 fectly splendid. When we were its age I suppose we 
 looked just as bad." 
 
 He shook his head. That was hard to believe. 
 
 She pulled up a chair for him and sat down on the 
 foot of the bed. She wanted to hear all about the 
 show. He told her all the news that had reached 
 him, but he did not tell her that for a long time he 
 had been getting letters from Sarah telling him about 
 her. And then he began chuckling over his good 
 luck. The show was doing well, and, if it kept up, 
 next season he would put out two or three companies. 
 Then he began turning his hat in his hands and 
 said, casually, that he had thought she might need
 
 290 KALEEMA 
 
 some money now, so he had written Charley to ad- 
 vance her some on next season. She tried to re- 
 monstrate, but he would not listen. 
 
 " But probably next season I can't leave the baby." 
 
 " Then I '11 send you out in ' East Lynne ' and it 
 can go along and play Little Willie." 
 
 She laughed for the first time in months. They 
 talked about the cold weather, about the jumps, and 
 about Sunday dates and what big towns were booked 
 for the rest of the month. Then, when he had 
 reached the end of his rope of conversation, he got 
 up apparently to go. As he did so an overwhelm- 
 ing something seized her. She wanted him to stay. 
 He went to the door and put his hand on the knob. 
 Then, rather suddenly, he put his hat on the dresser 
 and his two big hands on her two shoulders. He 
 looked straight at her. For the second time in their 
 lives she knew that something was coming. This 
 time she let it come, 
 
 " "Leema, are you entirely through with that 
 cad?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Then for the second time in their lives he took her 
 tight in his arms. And this time she stayed there. 
 
 "And when you can, you will marry me?" 
 
 "And the baby, too?" 
 
 It was ambiguous, but he seemed to understand. 
 
 " You don't suppose that we would feed it to the 
 lions?"
 
 KALEEMA 291 
 
 She pushed away and looked at him. Carney, 
 always Carney, when the world seemed darkest. 
 But even then she never thought of gratitude. She 
 was too utterly blinded by the conviction that she 
 had always loved him. 
 
 " Not unless you truly believe that it is not just 
 because you always help me when things seem the 
 hardest." 
 
 " I believe that you would have married me in 
 the beginning if " 
 
 " If it had not been for a dream," she said. " But 
 you are better than what dreams are made of." 
 
 He smiled. " I am very far from a dream," he 
 said. 
 
 " Can you ever forgive me ? " she whispered. 
 
 "For what?" he said. 
 
 For what! She understood. She could not 
 speak. She was silently thanking God for the law- 
 fulness that George Carney wanted in a woman and 
 to which she had clung. She forgot her bitter de- 
 rision. 
 
 Then she found her voice. " And if I get cross 
 and slap the baby, will you please slap me ? " He 
 laughed. "And don't ever, ever, ever let her be 
 like me," said Kaleema. 
 
 For answer he took her back in his arms. 
 "When will you be free?" 
 
 " I have already written to his sister." 
 
 Presently he looked at his watch. It was fifteen
 
 292 KALEEMA 
 
 minutes of train time. One last kiss and word and 
 he was gone. 
 
 She softly closed the door after him and turned 
 back into the room, and before she knew what she 
 had done she had fallen on her knees by the bed and 
 was kissing the baby.
 
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