Every day I shall look at the place in my collection which it would have occupied,and I shall say to myself:`Maria Van Wagenen,take warning.See to what terrible straits a worldly passion may bring one;what unconscious greed may do!'I shall give the money to Mills for charity and I will never--never fill that place in my collection.""What good will that do?"I asked,puzzled,while I folded the collar up into a very small package.
"You mean that I ought to submit to the exposure--that I deserve the lesson and the punishment--not for stealing,but for being absorbed in worldly things.Perhaps you are right.It certainly shows that you have at some time been under Mills'spiritual care,my dear.I wonder if he would insist--whether I ought--yes,I suppose he would.Oh!"A saleswoman's head was thrust in the door."Excuse me,"she said,"I thought the room was empty.""We've just finished trying on,"I said sweetly.
"Don't go!"The Bishop's wife turned to her,her little fluttering hands held out appealingly."And do not misunderstand me.The thing may seem wrong in your eyes,as this young woman says,but if you will listen patiently to my explanations I am sure you will see that it was a mere eager over-sight--the fault of absent-mindedness,hardly the sin of covetousness,and surely not a crime.I am making this confession--"The tender conscience of the dear,blameless little soul!She was actually giving herself away.Worse--she was giving me away,too.
But I couldn't stand that.I saw the saleswoman's puzzled face--she was a tall woman with a big bust,big hips and the big head all right,and she wore her long-train black rig for all the world like a Cruelty girl who had stolen the matron's skirt to "play lady"in.I got behind little Mrs.Bishop,and looking out over her head,I tapped my forehead significantly.
The saleswoman tumbled.That was all right.But so did the Bishop's wife;for she turned and caught me at it.
"You shall not save me from myself and what I deserve,"she cried.
"I am perfectly sane and you know it,and you are doing me no favor in trying to create the contrary impression.I demand an--""An interview with the manager,"I interrupted."I'm sure Mrs.
Van Wagenen can see the manager.Just go with the lady,Mrs.Van Wagenen,and I'll follow with the goods."She did it meek as a lamb,talking all the time,but never beginning at the beginning--luckily for me.So that I had time to slip from one dressing-room to the next,with the lace up my sleeve,out to the elevator,and down into the street.
D'ye know what heaven must be,Mag?A place where you always get away with the swag,and where it's always just the minute after you've made a killing.
Cocky?Well,I should say I was.I was drunk enough with success to take big chances.And just while I was wishing for something really big to tackle,it came along in the shape of that big floor-walker!
He was without a hat,and his eyes looked fifty ways at once.
But you've got to look fifty-one if you want to catch Nance Olden.
I ran up the stairs of the first flat-house and rang the bell.
And as I sailed up in the elevator I saw the big floor-walker hurry past;he'd lost the scent.
The boy let me off at the top floor,and after the elevator had gone down I walked up to the roof.It was fine 'way up there,so still and high,with the lights coming out down in the town.And I took out my pretty lace collar and put it around my neck,wishing I could keep it and wishing that I had,at least,a glass to see myself in it just once,when my eye caught the window of the next house.
It would do for a mirror all right,for the dark green shade was down.But at sight of the shade blowing in the wind I forgot all about the collar.
It's this way,Mag,when they press you too far;and that little rat of a lawyer had got me most to the wall.I looked at the window,measuring the little climb it would be for me to get to it,--the house next door was just one story higher than the one where I was,so its top story was on a level with the roof nearly where I stood.And I made up my--mind to get what would let Tom off easy,or break into jail myself.
And so I didn't care much what I might fall into through that window.And perhaps because I didn't care,I slipped into a dark hall,and not a thing stirred;not a footstep creaked.I felt like the Princess--Princess Nancy Olden--come to wake the Sleeping Beauty;some dude it'd be that would have curly hair like Tom Dorgan's,and would wear clothes like my friend Latimer's,over in Brooklyn.
Can you see me there,standing on one leg like a stork,ready to lie or to fly at the first sound?
Well,the first sound didn't come.Neither did the second.In fact,none of 'em came unless I made 'em myself.
Softly as Molly goes when the baby's just dropped off to sleep,Iwalked toward an open door.It was a parlor,smelly with tobacco,and with lots of papers and books around.And nary a he-beauty--nor any other kind.
I tried the door of a room next to it.A bedroom.But no Beauty.
Silly!Don't you tumble yet?It was a bachelor's apartment,and the Bachelor Beauty was out,and Princess Nancy had the place all to herself.
I suppose I really ought to have left my card--or he wouldn't know who had waked him--but I hadn't intended to go calling when I left home.So I thought I'd look for one of his as a souvenir--and anything else of his I could make use of.
There were shirts I'd liked for Tom,dandy colored ones,and suits with checks in 'em and without.But I wanted something easy and small and flat,made of crackly printed yellow or green paper,with numbers on it.
How did I know he had anything like that?Why,Mag,Mag Monahan,one would think you belonged to the Bishop's set,you're so simple!
I had to turn on the electric light after a bit--it got so dark.
And I don't like light in other people's houses when they're not at home,and neither am I.But there was nothing in the bedroom except some pearl studs.I got those and then went back to the parlor.
