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Chapter 7


Chapter VII

An orchestra of yellow silk women and bald-headed men on an
elevated stage near the centre of a great green-hued hall, played
a popular waltz.  The place was crowded with people grouped
about little tables.  A battalion of waiters slid among the throng,
carrying trays of beer glasses and making change from the
inexhaustible vaults of their trousers pockets.  Little boys, in
the costumes of French chefs, paraded up and down the irregular
aisles vending fancy cakes.  There was a low rumble of conversation
and a subdued clinking of glasses.  Clouds of tobacco smoke rolled
and wavered high in air about the dull gilt of the chandeliers.

The vast crowd had an air throughout of having just quitted
labor.  Men with calloused hands and attired in garments that
showed the wear of an endless trudge for a living, smoked their
pipes contentedly and spent five, ten, or perhaps fifteen cents for
beer.  There was a mere sprinkling of kid-gloved men who smoked
cigars purchased elsewhere.  The great body of the crowd was
composed of people who showed that all day they strove with their
hands.  Quiet Germans, with maybe their wives and two or three
children, sat listening to the music, with the expressions of happy
cows.  An occasional party of sailors from a war-ship, their faces
pictures of sturdy health, spent the earlier hours of the evening
at the small round tables.  Very infrequent tipsy men, swollen with
the value of their opinions, engaged their companions in earnest
and confidential conversation.  In the balcony, and here and there
below, shone the impassive faces of women.  The nationalities of
the Bowery beamed upon the stage from all directions.

Pete aggressively walked up a side aisle and took seats with
Maggie at a table beneath the balcony.

"Two beehs!"

Leaning back he regarded with eyes of superiority the scene
before them.  This attitude affected Maggie strongly.  A man who
could regard such a sight with indifference must be accustomed to
very great things.

It was obvious that Pete had been to this place many times
before, and was very familiar with it.  A knowledge of this fact
made Maggie feel little and new.

He was extremely gracious and attentive.  He displayed the
consideration of a cultured gentleman who knew what was due.

"Say, what deh hell?  Bring deh lady a big glass!  What deh
hell use is dat pony?"

"Don't be fresh, now," said the waiter, with some warmth, as
he departed.

"Ah, git off deh eart'," said Pete, after the other's
retreating form.

Maggie perceived that Pete brought forth all his elegance and
all his knowledge of high-class customs for her benefit.  Her heart
warmed as she reflected upon his condescension.

The orchestra of yellow silk women and bald-headed men gave
vent to a few bars of anticipatory music and a girl, in a pink
dress with short skirts, galloped upon the stage.  She smiled upon
the throng as if in acknowledgment of a warm welcome, and began to
walk to and fro, making profuse gesticulations and singing, in
brazen soprano tones, a song, the words of which were inaudible.
When she broke into the swift rattling measures of a chorus some
half-tipsy men near the stage joined in the rollicking refrain and
glasses were pounded rhythmically upon the tables.  People leaned
forward to watch her and to try to catch the words of the song.
When she vanished there were long rollings of applause.

Obedient to more anticipatory bars, she reappeared amidst the
half-suppressed cheering of the tipsy men.  The orchestra plunged
into dance music and the laces of the dancer fluttered and flew in
the glare of gas jets.  She divulged the fact that she was attired
in some half dozen skirts.  It was patent that any one of them
would have proved adequate for the purpose for which skirts are
intended.  An occasional man bent forward, intent upon the pink
stockings.  Maggie wondered at the splendor of the costume and lost
herself in calculations of the cost of the silks and laces.

The dancer's smile of stereotyped enthusiasm was turned for
ten minutes upon the faces of her audience.  In the finale she fell
into some of those grotesque attitudes which were at the time
popular among the dancers in the theatres up-town, giving to the
Bowery public the phantasies of the aristocratic theatre-going
public, at reduced rates.

"Say, Pete," said Maggie, leaning forward, "dis is great."

"Sure," said Pete, with proper complacence.

A ventriloquist followed the dancer.  He held two fantastic
dolls on his knees.  He made them sing mournful ditties and say
funny things about geography and Ireland.

"Do dose little men talk?" asked Maggie.

"Naw," said Pete, "it's some damn fake.  See?"

Two girls, on the bills as sisters, came forth and sang a duet
that is heard occasionally at concerts given under church auspices.
They supplemented it with a dance which of course can never
be seen at concerts given under church auspices.

After the duettists had retired, a woman of debatable age sang
a negro melody.  The chorus necessitated some grotesque waddlings
supposed to be an imitation of a plantation darkey, under the
influence, probably, of music and the moon.  The audience was just
enthusiastic enough over it to have her return and sing a sorrowful
lay, whose lines told of a mother's love and a sweetheart who
waited and a young man who was lost at sea under the most harrowing
circumstances.  From the faces of a score or so in the crowd, the
self-contained look faded.  Many heads were bent forward with
eagerness and sympathy.  As the last distressing sentiment of the
piece was brought forth, it was greeted by that kind of applause
which rings as sincere.

As a final effort, the singer rendered some verses which
described a vision of Britain being annihilated by America, and
Ireland bursting her bonds.  A carefully prepared crisis was
reached in the last line of the last verse, where the singer threw
out her arms and cried, "The star-spangled banner."  Instantly a
great cheer swelled from the throats of the assemblage of the
masses.  There was a heavy rumble of booted feet thumping the
floor.  Eyes gleamed with sudden fire, and calloused hands waved
frantically in the air.

After a few moments' rest, the orchestra played crashingly,
and a small fat man burst out upon the stage.  He began to roar a
song and stamp back and forth before the foot-lights, wildly waving
a glossy silk hat and throwing leers, or smiles, broadcast.  He
made his face into fantastic grimaces until he looked like a
pictured devil on a Japanese kite.  The crowd laughed gleefully.
His short, fat legs were never still a moment.  He shouted and
roared and bobbed his shock of red wig until the audience broke out
in excited applause.

Pete did not pay much attention to the progress of events upon
the stage.  He was drinking beer and watching Maggie.

Her cheeks were blushing with excitement and her eyes were
glistening.  She drew deep breaths of pleasure.  No thoughts of the
atmosphere of the collar and cuff factory came to her.

When the orchestra crashed finally, they jostled their way to
the sidewalk with the crowd.  Pete took Maggie's arm and pushed a
way for her, offering to fight with a man or two.

They reached Maggie's home at a late hour and stood for a
moment in front of the gruesome doorway.

"Say, Mag," said Pete, "give us a kiss for takin' yeh teh deh
show, will yer?"

Maggie laughed, as if startled, and drew away from him.

"Naw, Pete," she said, "dat wasn't in it."

"Ah, what deh hell?" urged Pete.

The girl retreated nervously.

"Ah, what deh hell?" repeated he.

Maggie darted into the hall, and up the stairs.  She turned
and smiled at him, then disappeared.

Pete walked slowly down the street.  He had something of an
astonished expression upon his features.  He paused under a lamp-
post and breathed a low breath of surprise.

"Gawd," he said, "I wonner if I've been played fer a duffer."

Stephen Crane

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