The Fortune Hunter [28]
did not trust his daughter and had followed her when he thought she was staying too long. At sight of him she began to weep again. ``She won't believe me, pa,'' she said. ``Look at her standing there hugging his picture.''
Ganser scowled at his daughter and addressed himself to Hilda, ``It's true, Miss,'' he said. ``The man is a scoundrel. I sent my daughter to warn you.''
Hilda looked at him haughtily. ``I don't know you,'' she said, ``and I do know him. I don't know why you've come here to slander him. But I do know that I'd trust him against the whole world.'' She glanced from father to daughter. ``You haven't done him any harm and you might as well go.''
Peter eyed her in disgust. ``You're as big a fool as my Lena,'' he said. ``Come on, Lena.''
As Lena was leaving the room, she gave Hilda a malignant glance. ``He's MY husband,'' she said spitefully, ``and you're-- well, I wouldn't want to say what you are.''
``Move!'' shouted Ganser, pushing her out of the room. His parting shot at Hilda was: ``Ask him.''
Hilda, still holding the photograph, stared at the doorway through which they had disappeared. ``You lie!'' she repeated, as if they were still there. Then again, a little catch in her voice: ``You lie!'' And after a longer interval, a third time, with a sob in her throat: ``You lie! I know you lie!'' She sat at the table and held the photograph before her. She kissed it passionately, gazed long at it, seeing in those bold handsome features all that her heart's love believed of him.
Suddenly she started up, went rapidly down the side hall and out into the street. Battling with her doubts, denouncing herself as disloyal to him, she hurried up the Avenue and across the Square and on until she came to his lodgings. When she asked for him the maid opened the parlor door and called through the crack: ``Mr. Feuerstein, a lady wants to see you.''
As the maid disappeared down the basement stairs, Mr. Feuerstein appeared. At sight of her he started back. ``Hilda!'' he exclaimed theatrically, and frowned.
``Don't be angry with me,'' she said humbly. ``I wouldn't have come, only--''
``You must go at once!'' His tone was abrupt, irritated.
``Yes--I will. I just wanted to warn you--'' She raised her eyes appealingly toward his face. ``Two people came to see me to-night--Mr. Ganser and his daughter--''
Feuerstein fell back a step and she saw that he was shaking and that his face had become greenish white. ``It's false!'' he blustered. ``False as hell!--''
And she knew that it was true.
She continued to look at him and he did not try to meet her eyes. ``What did they tell you?'' he said, after a long pause, remembering that he had denied before a charge had been made.
She was looking away from him now. She seemed not to have heard him. ``I must go,'' she murmured, and began slowly to descend the stoop.
He followed her, laid his hand upon her arm. ``Hilda!'' he pleaded. ``Let me explain!''
``Don't touch me!'' She snatched her arm away from him. She ran down the rest of the steps and fled along the street. She kept close to the shadow of the houses. She went through Avenue A with hanging head, feeling that the eyes of all were upon her, condemning, scorning. She hid herself in her little room, locking the door. Down beside the bed she sank and buried her face in the covers. And there she lay, racked with the pain of her gaping wounds--wounds to love, to trust, to pride, to self-respect. ``Oh, God, let me die,'' she moaned. ``I can't ever look anybody in the face again.''
VIII
A SHEEP WIELDS THE SHEARS
A few days later Peter Ganser appeared before Beck, triumph flaunting from his stupid features. Beck instantly scented bad news.
``Stop the case,'' said Peter with a vulgar insolence that grated upon the lawyer. ``It's no good.''
``I beg your pardon, Mr. Ganser. I don't follow you.''
``But I follow myself. Stop the case. I pay you off now.''
``You can't deal with courts as you can with your employees, Mr.
Ganser scowled at his daughter and addressed himself to Hilda, ``It's true, Miss,'' he said. ``The man is a scoundrel. I sent my daughter to warn you.''
Hilda looked at him haughtily. ``I don't know you,'' she said, ``and I do know him. I don't know why you've come here to slander him. But I do know that I'd trust him against the whole world.'' She glanced from father to daughter. ``You haven't done him any harm and you might as well go.''
Peter eyed her in disgust. ``You're as big a fool as my Lena,'' he said. ``Come on, Lena.''
As Lena was leaving the room, she gave Hilda a malignant glance. ``He's MY husband,'' she said spitefully, ``and you're-- well, I wouldn't want to say what you are.''
``Move!'' shouted Ganser, pushing her out of the room. His parting shot at Hilda was: ``Ask him.''
Hilda, still holding the photograph, stared at the doorway through which they had disappeared. ``You lie!'' she repeated, as if they were still there. Then again, a little catch in her voice: ``You lie!'' And after a longer interval, a third time, with a sob in her throat: ``You lie! I know you lie!'' She sat at the table and held the photograph before her. She kissed it passionately, gazed long at it, seeing in those bold handsome features all that her heart's love believed of him.
Suddenly she started up, went rapidly down the side hall and out into the street. Battling with her doubts, denouncing herself as disloyal to him, she hurried up the Avenue and across the Square and on until she came to his lodgings. When she asked for him the maid opened the parlor door and called through the crack: ``Mr. Feuerstein, a lady wants to see you.''
As the maid disappeared down the basement stairs, Mr. Feuerstein appeared. At sight of her he started back. ``Hilda!'' he exclaimed theatrically, and frowned.
``Don't be angry with me,'' she said humbly. ``I wouldn't have come, only--''
``You must go at once!'' His tone was abrupt, irritated.
``Yes--I will. I just wanted to warn you--'' She raised her eyes appealingly toward his face. ``Two people came to see me to-night--Mr. Ganser and his daughter--''
Feuerstein fell back a step and she saw that he was shaking and that his face had become greenish white. ``It's false!'' he blustered. ``False as hell!--''
And she knew that it was true.
She continued to look at him and he did not try to meet her eyes. ``What did they tell you?'' he said, after a long pause, remembering that he had denied before a charge had been made.
She was looking away from him now. She seemed not to have heard him. ``I must go,'' she murmured, and began slowly to descend the stoop.
He followed her, laid his hand upon her arm. ``Hilda!'' he pleaded. ``Let me explain!''
``Don't touch me!'' She snatched her arm away from him. She ran down the rest of the steps and fled along the street. She kept close to the shadow of the houses. She went through Avenue A with hanging head, feeling that the eyes of all were upon her, condemning, scorning. She hid herself in her little room, locking the door. Down beside the bed she sank and buried her face in the covers. And there she lay, racked with the pain of her gaping wounds--wounds to love, to trust, to pride, to self-respect. ``Oh, God, let me die,'' she moaned. ``I can't ever look anybody in the face again.''
VIII
A SHEEP WIELDS THE SHEARS
A few days later Peter Ganser appeared before Beck, triumph flaunting from his stupid features. Beck instantly scented bad news.
``Stop the case,'' said Peter with a vulgar insolence that grated upon the lawyer. ``It's no good.''
``I beg your pardon, Mr. Ganser. I don't follow you.''
``But I follow myself. Stop the case. I pay you off now.''
``You can't deal with courts as you can with your employees, Mr.