Every Soul Hath Its Song Part 69

He pushed back from his half-completed meal, rising, but stooping to rap his fist sharply against the table.

"Now, lemme tell you this much right now, Mae, either you got to cut this sob stuff and get down to bra.s.s tacks and tell me what you want, or, by gad! I'll get out of here so quick it'll make your head swim. I ain't going to be let in for no tragedy-queen stuff, and the sooner you know it the better. Business! I'm a business man."

She swallowed her tears, even smiling, and with her hand pat against her bosom as if to suppress its heaving.

"I'm all right now, Max. I'm so full up with worry it--it just slipped out. I'm all right now, Max. Sit down. Sit down and finish, dearie."

But he fell to pacing the red carpet in angry staccato strides. His napkin dropped from his waistcoat to the floor and he kicked it out of his path.

"By gad! I didn't want to come, anyhow. I knew the sniveling I'd be let in for. Gimme a healthy woman with some outdoors in her. Gimme--"

"I ain't going to let out any more, Max; I swear to G.o.d I ain't. Sit down, dear, and finish your supper. Looka, your coffee's all cold. Lemme go out and heat it up for you. I--"

"I'm done. I'm done before I begin. Now, Mae, if you can behave yourself and hold in long enough, just say what you got me up here for, and for G.o.d's sake let's have it over!"

He planted himself before her, feet well apart, and she rose, pus.h.i.+ng back her chair, paling.

"I--I 'ain't got much of anything to say, Max, except I--I thought maybe you'd tell me what's eating you, dearie."

"I--"

"After all these years we been together, Max, so--so happy, all of a sudden, dear, these last two months dropping off from every other night to--to twice a week and then to--to once, and this last week--not at all. I--I--heavens above, Max, I 'ain't got nothing to say except what's got you. Tell me, dearie, is it anything I've done? Is it--"

"You talk like a loon, Mae, honest you do. You 'ain't done nothing.

It's just that the--the time's come, that's all. You know it had to. It always has to. If you don't know it, a woman like--like you ought to.

Gad! I used to think you was the kind would break as clean as a whistle when the time came to break."

"Break, Max?"

"Yes, break. And don't gimme the baby-stare like that, neither. You know what I mean alrighty. You wasn't born yesterday, old girl!"

The blood ran from her face, blanching it. "You mean, Max--"

"Aw, you know what I mean alrighty, Mae, only you ain't sport enough to take things as they come. You knew all these years it had to come sooner or later. I 'ain't never quizzed into your old life, but if you didn't learn that, you--well you ought to. There never was a New Year came in, Mae, that I didn't tell you that, if you got the chance, for you to go out after better business. I never stood in your light or made no bones about nothing!"

"My G.o.d! Max, you--you're kidding!"

"All these years I been preaching to you, even before I joined Forest Park Club out there. 'Don't get soft, Mae. Keep down. Use the dumb-bells. Hustle around and do a little housework even if I do give you a servant. Walk in the park. Keep your looks, girl; you may need 'em,' I used to tell you."

"Oh you--You!--"

She clapped her hands over her mouth as if to stanch hysteria.

"Another let-out like that, Mae, and, by gad! I'll take my hat and--"

"No, no, Max, I--I didn't mean it. I'm all right. I--Only after all these years you wouldn't do it, Max. You wouldn't. You wouldn't throw me over and leave me cold, Max. What can I do after all these years? I--I 'ain't got a show in a chorus no more. You're kidding, Max. You're a white man, Max, and--you--you wouldn't do it, Max. You wouldn't. You--"

"Now, now, you can't say I 'ain't been as white as silk, girl, and I'm going to be just as white as I've been, too. Don't worry, girl. For six years there 'ain't been a better-stocked flat than this in town, has there?"

"No, Max."

"The best none too good, eh?"

"No, Max."

"Just the same stuff comes here that I send up to my mother's flat, eh?

All the drinks and all the clothes you want and a servant in the house as good as my mother's own, eh? No kick coming, eh, girl?"

"You--you wouldn't, Max--you wouldn't ditch me. What could I do?

Nothing--nothing. I--I can't hire out as a scrubwoman, I--"

"Come, come now, girl, you're pretty slick, but you--you don't quite slide. What about that thirty-five hundred you got down in your jeans--eh? Them thirty-five hundred in the Farmers' Savings Bank--eh?

Eh?"

"Max!"

"Hah! Knocked you off your pins that time, didn't I? I found your bank-book one morning, kiddo--found it on the floor right next to the dresser--"

"Max, I--Out of my checks I--I saved--I--"

"Sure! Gad! I ain't kicking about it, girl. Glad for you! Glad you got it, girl, only don't try to tell me you can't take care of yourself in this world alrighty, girl. Any old time you can't! Gad! thirty-five hundred she snitches out of her allowance in six years, lives on the fat of the land, too, and then tries to bamboozle me that she's flat.

Thirty-five hundred in six years. Gad! I got to hand it to you there, kiddo; I got to hand it to you!"

"You can have it back, Max. I--I was going to surprise you when I had five thousand. I--"

"Gad! I don't want your money, girl. It's yours. You're fixed for life on it. I'm even going to hand you over a couple of thou extra to show you that I'm no cheap sport. I won't have a woman breathing can say I ain't white as silk with her."

"Max, you--you're killing me! Killing me! Killing me!"

"Now, now, Mae, if I was you I wouldn't show my hand so. I don't want to hurt you, girl. It ain't like I got any but the finest feelings for you.

You're all right, you are. You are."

"Then, Max, for G.o.d's sake--"

"But what are you going to do about it? What the h.e.l.l is anybody going to do about it? You ain't no baby. You know what life is. And you know that the seams has got to show on one of the two sides and it ain't your fault you got turned on the under side. But you should worry, girl!

You're fixed. And I'm here to tell you I'm going to hand you on top of the two thou this here little flat just as it stands, Mae. Just as it stands, piano and all. I just guess you got a kick coming!"

Her hands flew to her bosom as if the steel of his words had slipped deep into the flesh. "You don't mean what you're saying, Max."

"Sure, I do! Piano and all, girl."

"No, no, you don't. You're just kidding me, Max, like you used to when you wanted to tease me and throw a scare in me that your mother was wise about the flat. Quit your kidding, Max, and take me in your arms and sing me 'Maizie you're a Daisie' like you used to after--after we had a little row. Lemme hear you call me 'Maizie,' dear, so I'll know you're only kidding. I'm a b.u.m sport, dearie. I--I never could stand for guying. Cut the comedy, dear."

She leaned to him with her lips twisted and dried in their frenzy to belie his words, but with little else to indicate that her heart lay ticking against her breast like a clock that makes its hour in half-time.

"Quit guying, Max, for G.o.d's sake! You--you got me feeling sick clear down inside of me. Cut it, dear. Too much is enough."

Her dress rustled with the faint swish of scything as she moved toward him, and he withdrew, taking hold of the back of his chair.