U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [574]
His freckled face turned red to the roots of his red hair.
"Honest, Miss Mary, I don't git cold. To tel the truth the motor heats up so much in that old pile of junk it keeps me warm in the coldest weather. . . . After the next trip we got to put a new clutch in her and that'l take more jack than we kin spare from the milk. . . . I tel you things are bad up there in the coalfields this winter."
"But those miners have got such wonderful spirit," said Mary.
"The trouble is, Miss Mary, you kin only keep your spirit up a certain length of time on an empty stumick." That evening Don came by to the office to get Mary for supper. He was very cheerful and his gaunt bony face had more color in it than usual. "Wel , little girl, what would you think of moving up to Pittsburgh? After the plenum I may go out to do some organizing in western Pennsylvania and Ohio. Mestrovich says they need some-body to pep 'em up a little." Eddy Spel man looked up from the bale of clothes he was tying up.
"Take it from me, Comrade Stevens, they sure do."
Mary felt a chil go through her. Don must have no-ticed the pal or spreading over her face. "We won't take any risks," he added hurriedly. "Those miners take good care of a fel er, don't they, Eddy?""They sure do. . . . Wherever the locals is strong you'l be safer than you are right here in New York.""Anyway," said Mary, her throat tight and dry, "if you've got to go you've got to go."
"You two go out an' eat," said Eddy. "I'l finish up I'm bunkin' here anyway. Saves the price of a flop.
. . . You feed Miss Mary up good, Comrade Stevens. We don't want her gettin' sick. . . . If al the real partymem-bers worked like she does we'd have. . . hel , we'd have
-537-the finest kind of a revolution by the spring of the year." They went out laughing, and walked down to Bleecker Street and settled happily at a table in an Italian restau-rant and ordered up the seventyfivecent dinner and a bottle of wine. "You've got a great admirer in Eddy," Don said, smiling at her across the table.
A couple of weeks later Mary came home one icy winter evening to find Don busy packing his grip. She couldn't help letting out a cry, her nerves were getting harder and harder to control. "Oh, Don, it's not Pittsburgh yet?" Don shook his head and went on packing. When he had closed up his wicker suitcase he came over to her and put his arm round her shoulder. "I've got to go across to the other side with. . . you know who. . . essential party business."
"Oh, Don, I?d love to go too. I've never been to Russia or anywhere." "I'l only be gone a month. We're sailing at midnight. . . and Mary darling. . . if anybody asks after me I'm in Pittsburgh, see?" Mary started to cry. "I'l have to say I don't know where you are. . . I know I can't ever get away with a lie." "Mary dear, it'l just be a few days. . . don't be a little sil y." Mary smiled through her tears. "But I am. . . I'm an awful little sil y." He kissed her and patted her gently on the back. Then he picked up his suitcase and hurried out of the room with a big checked cap pul ed down over his eyes.
Mary walked up and down the narrow room with her
lips twitching, fighting to keep down the hysterical sobs. To give herself something to do she began to plan how she could fix up the apartment so that it wouldn't look so dreary when Don came back. She pul ed out the couch and pushed it across the window like a windowseat. Then she pul ed the table out in front of it and grouped the chairs round the table. She made up her mind she'd paint the woodwork white and get turkeyred for the curtains.
Next morning she was in the middle of drinking her
coffee out of a cracked cup without a saucer, feeling bit--538-terly lonely in the empty apartment when the telephone rang. At first she didn't recognize whose voice it was. She was confused and kept stammering, "Who is it, please?" into the receiver. "But, Mary," the voice was saying in an exasperated tone, "you must know who I am. It's Ben Compton. . . bee ee enn. . . Ben. I've got to see you about something.