The Heart Line 2

The Heart Line 2

"What do you learn, now?" said the woman insinuatingly. "Do you learn

how to tell fortunes? Can you tell mine, now? I’ll give you a nickel

if you will!"

 

"I don’t want a nickel. I’ve got all the money I want!"

 

"Oh, you have, have you? How much have you got? Say, I hear the

Madam’s pretty well fixed. How much do you s’pose she’s worth, now?"

 

"You can’t work me that way."

 

She put forth a shaky hand to stroke his dark hair, and he warded her

off. "Nor that way either!" he said, beginning to grow angry.

 

"Say, sonny, do you ever see the spirits here?" she began again.

 

"No, but I can smell ’em now," he replied.

 

She burst out into a cackle of laughter. "Say, that’s pretty good!

You’re a likely little feller, you be. I didn’t mean no harm, noways."

 

"You mean that you didn’t mean any harm, don’t you?" he asked soberly.

 

"No, I don’t mean no harm, sure I don’t! What d’you mean?"

 

"She says one shouldn’t use double negatives."

 

"What’s them, then?"

 

"I mean you don’t use good English," said the boy.

 

"I don’t talk English? What do I talk then—Dutch? What’s the matter

with you?"

 

"Oh, I’m just studying grammar, that’s all. Now you see I don’t need to

go to school, the way you said. Mamsy teaches me every night."

 

"Oh, she does, does she? Well, well! I hear she has a fine education;

some say she’s went to college, even."

 

"Yes, she has. She went to a woman’s college in the East, once."

 

"Then what’s she living in this pigsty for, I’d like to know! It beats

all, this room does. Let me come in for a moment and just look round a

bit, will you? I won’t touch nothing at all, sure."

 

The boy protested, and it might have come to a physical struggle had not

footsteps been heard coming up the narrow stairway. The visitor peered

over the railing of the balusters.

 

"That’s her!" she whispered hoarsely.

 

A head, rising, looked between the balusters, like a wild animal gazing

through the bars of its cage. It was the head of a woman of twenty-seven

or eight, and though her face had a strange, wild __EXPRESSION__, with

staring eyes, she was, or had undoubtedly been, a lady. Her hair,

prematurely gray, was parted in the center and brought down in waves

over her ears. Her eyebrows, in vivid contrast, were black; and between

them a single vertical line cleft her forehead. What might have been a

rare beauty was now distorted into something fantastic and mysterious,

though when at rare intervals she smiled, a veil seemed to be drawn

aside and she became an engaging, familiar, warm-hearted woman. She was

dressed in a brilliant red gown and dolman of mosaic cloth with a

Tyrolean hat of the period. Such striking color was, thirty years ago,

uncommon upon the streets, but, even had it been more usual, the

severity of her costume with neither a bustle nor the elaborate ruffles

and trimmings then in vogue, would have made her conspicuous.

 

She came up, with a white face, gasping for breath after her climb, one

hand to her heart. For a moment she seemed unable to speak. Then

suddenly and sharply she said:

 

"Francis, shut the door!"

 

The boy obeyed, coming out into the hall, with a hand still holding the

knob.

 

"The lady wanted me to let her in, but I wouldn’t do it, Mamsy," he

said.

 

Madam Grant turned her eyes upon the apologetic, cringing figure, whose

thin, skinny fingers plucked at her shawl.

 

"I just called neighborly like, thinkin’ maybe you’d give me a settin’,

Madam Grant," she said.

 

Madam Grant had come nearer, now, and stood gazing at her visitor. The

__EXPRESSION__ of scorn had faded from her face, her eyes glazed. She spoke

slowly in a deliberate monotone.

 

"Your name is Margaret Riley."

 

The woman nodded. Her lips had fallen open, and her eyes were fixed in

awe.

 

"Who are the three men I see beside you?" demanded Madam Grant.

 

"They was only two! I swear to God they was only two!"

 

"There is a little child, too."

 

"For the love of Heaven!" Mrs. Riley moaned. "Send ’em away, send ’em

away, tell ’em to leave me be!"

 

Madam Grant’s eyes brightened a little, and her color returned.

 

"Come in the room and I will see what I can do for you."

 

The three entered, Mrs. Riley, half terrified but curious, darting her

eyes about the apartment, sniffing at the foul odor, her furtive glances

returning ever to the mad woman. Francis went to the bookcase and

resumed his reading without manifesting further interest in the visitor.

Madam Grant seated herself upon a wooden box covered with sacking and

untied the strings of her hat.

 

"What do you want to know?" she asked sharply.

 

"I got three tickets in the lottery, and I want to know which one to

keep," Mrs. Riley ventured, somewhat shamefaced.

 

Madam Grant gave a fierce gesture, and the line between her brows grew

deeper. "I’ll answer such questions for nobody! That’s the devil’s

work, not mine. How did your three husbands die, Margaret Riley?"

 

The woman held up her hands in protest. "Two, only two!" she cried;

"and they died in their beds regular enough. God knows I wore my

fingers out for ’em, too!"

 

"They died suddenly," Madam Grant replied impassively. "Who’s the other

one with the smooth face—the one who limps?"

 

Mrs. Riley coughed into her hands nervously. "It might be my brother."

 

"It is not your brother. You know who it is, Mrs. Riley; and he tells

me that you must give back the papers."

 

"Oh, I’ll give ’em back; I was always meanin’ to give ’em back, God

knows I was! I’ll do it this week."

 

"In a week it will be too late."

 

"I’ll do it to-morrow."

 

"You’ll do it to-day, Mrs. Riley."

 

"I will, oh, I will!"

 

"Now, if you want a sitting, I’ll give you one," Madam Grant continued.

"That is, if I can get Weenie. I can’t promise anything. She comes and

she goes like the sun in spring."

 

"Never mind," said Mrs. Riley, rising abruptly. "I think I’ll be going,

after all." She started toward the door.

 

The clairvoyant’s face had set again in a vacant, far-away __EXPRESSION__

and her voice fell to the same dead tone she had used before. She

clutched her throat suddenly.

 

"He’s in the water—he’s drowning—he’s passing out now—he’s gone! You

are responsible, you! you! You drove him to it with your false tongue

and your crafty hands. But you’ll regret it. You’ll pay for it in

misery and pain, Margaret Riley. Your old age will be miserable.

You’ll escape shame to suffer torment!"

 

Mrs. Riley’s face, haggard and terrified, was working convulsively.

Without taking her eyes from the medium, she ran into the front room and

shook the boy’s shoulder.

 

"Wake her up, Frankie, I don’t want no more of this! Wake her up, dear,

and let me go!"

 

Francis arose lazily and walked over to Madam Grant. He put his arm

tenderly about her and whispered in her ear.

 

"Come back, Mamsy dear! Come back, Mamsy, I want you!" He began

stroking her hands firmly.

 

Mrs. Riley, still gazing, fascinated, at the group, backed out of the

room and closed the door. Her steps were heard stumbling down the

stairs. Madam Grant’s eyes quivered and opened slowly. She shuddered,

then shook the blood back into her thin, white hands. Finally she

looked up at Francis and smiled. "All right, dear!"

 

Her smile, however, lasted but for the few moments during which he

caressed her; then the veil fell upon her countenance, and her eyes grew

strange and hard. She gazed wildly here and there about the room.

 

"What’s that in Boston?" she asked suddenly, the pitch of her voice

sharply raised, as she pointed to the shells upon the rubbish of the floor.