Stephen Crane - The Complete Works of Stephen Crane

Kelcey grasped the other’s hand with fervour. He felt now that there was some solacing friendship in space.

‘You bet I will, of man,’ he said huskily. ‘I’d like nothin’ better in th’ world!’

As he walked home he thought that he was a very grim figure. He was about to taste the delicious revenge of a partial self-destruction. The universe would regret its position when it saw him drunk. He was a little late in getting to Bleecker’s lodging. He was delayed while his mother read aloud a letter from an old uncle, who wrote in one place: ‘God bless th’ boy! Bring him up to be the man his father was.’

Bleecker lived in an old three-storied house on a side-street. A Jewish tailor lived and worked in the front parlour, and old Bleecker lived in the back parlour. A German, whose family took care of the house, occupied the basement. Another German, with a wife and eight children, rented the dining-room. The two upper floors were inhabited by tailors, dressmakers, a pedlar, and mysterious people who were seldom seen. The door of the little hall-bedroom, at the foot of the second flight, was always open, and in there could be seen two bended men who worked at mending opera-glasses.

The German woman in the dining-room was not friends with the little dressmaker in the rear room of the third floor, and frequently they yelled the vilest names up and down between the balusters. Each part of the woodwork was scratched and rubbed by the contact of innumerable persons. In one wall there was a long slit with chipped edges, celebrating the time when a man had thrown a hatchet at his wife. In the lower hall there was an eternal woman, with a rag and a pail of suds, who knelt over the worn oilcloth. Old Bleecker felt that he had quite respectable and high-class apartments. He was glad to invite his friends.

Bleecker met Kelcey in the hall. He wore a collar that was cleaner and higher than his usual one. It changed his appearance greatly. He was now formidably aristocratic.

‘How are yeh, of man?’ he shouted. He grasped Kelcey’s arm, and, babbling jovially, conducted him down the hall and into the ex-parlour.

A group of standing men made vast shadows in the yellow glare of the lamp. They turned their heads as the two entered.

‘Why, hello, Kelcey, of man!’ Jones exclaimed, coming rapidly forward. ‘Good fer you! Glad yeh come! Yeh know O’Connor, ‘a course! an’ Schmidt! an’ Woods! Then there’s Zeusentell! Mr. Zeusentell—my friend Mr. Kelcey! Shake hands—both good fellows, damnitall! Then here is—oh, gentlemen, my friend Mr. Kelcey! A good fellow he is, too. I’ve known ‘im since I was a kid. Come, have a drink!’

Everybody was excessively amiable. Kelcey felt that he had social standing. The strangers were cautious and respectful.

‘By all means,’ said old Bleecker. ‘Mr. Kelcey, have a drink! An’ by th’ way, gentlemen, while we’re about it, let’s all have a drink!’ There was much laughter. Bleecker was so droll at times.

With mild and polite gesturing they marched up to the table. There were upon it a keg of beer, a long row of whisky bottles, a little heap of corn-cob pipes, some bags of tobacco, a box of cigars, and a mighty collection of glasses, cups, and mugs. Old Bleecker had arranged them so deftly that they resembled a primitive bar. There was considerable scuffling for possession of the cracked cups.

Jones politely but vehemently insisted upon drinking from the worst of the assortment. He was quietly opposed by others. Everybody showed that they were awed by Bleecker’s lavish hospitality. Their demeanours expressed their admiration at the cast of this entertainment.

Kelcey took his second mug of beer away to a corner and sat down with it. He wished to socially reconnoitre. Over in a corner a man was telling a story, in which at intervals he grunted like a pig. A half-dozen men were listening. Two or three others sat alone in isolated places. They looked expectantly bright, ready to burst out cordially if anyone should address them.

The row of bottles made quaint shadows upon the table, and upon a side-wall the keg of beer created a portentous black figure that reared toward the ceiling, hovering over the room and its inmates with spectral stature. Tobacco-smoke lay in lazy cloud-banks overhead.

Jones and O’Connor stayed near the table, occasionally being affable in all directions. Kelcey saw old Bleecker go to them, and heard him whisper:

‘Come, we must git th’ thing started. Git th’ thing started.’

Kelcey saw that the host was fearing that all were not having a good time. Jones conferred with O’Connor, and then O’Connor went to the man named Zeusentell. O’Connor evidently proposed something. Zeusentell refused at once. O’Connor beseeched. Zeusentell remained implacable.

At last O’Connor broke off his argument, and going to the centre of the room, held up his hand.

‘Gentlemen!’ he shouted loudly, ‘we will now have a recitation by Mr. Zeusentell, entitled “Patrick Clancy’s Pig!” He then glanced triumphantly at Zeusentell and said: ‘Come on!’

Zeusentell had been twisting and making pantomimic appeals. He said in a reproachful whisper:

‘You son of a gun!’

The men turned their heads to glance at Zeusentell for a moment, and then burst into a sustained clamour.

‘Hurray! Let ‘er go! Come—give it t’ us! Spring it! Spring it! Let it come!’

As Zeusentell made no advances, they appealed personally.

‘Come, ol’ man, let ‘er go! Whatter yeh ‘fraid of? Let ‘er go! Go ahn! Hurry up!’

Zeusentell was protesting with almost frantic modesty. O’Connor took him by the lapel and tried to drag him; but he leaned back, pulling at his coat and shaking his head.

‘No, no! I don’t know it, I tell yeh! I can’t! I don’t know it! I tell yeh I don’t know it! I’ve forgotten it, I tell yeh! No—no—no—no! Ah, say, lookahere, le’ go me, can’t yeh? What’s th’ matter with yeh? I tell yeh I don’t know it!’

The men applauded violently. O’Connor did not relent. A little battle was waged until all of a sudden Zeusentell was seen to grow wondrously solemn. A hush fell upon the men. He was about to begin. He paused in the middle of the floor and nervously adjusted his collar and cravat. The audience became grave.

‘“Patrick Clancy’s Pig,”’ announced Zeusentell in a shrill, dry, unnatural tone. And then he began in a rapid sing-song:

‘“Patrick Clancy had a pig Th’ pride uv all th’ nation, The half uv him was half as big As half uv all creation—”’

When he concluded the others looked at each other to convey their appreciation. They then wildly clapped their hands or tinkled their glasses. As Zeusentell went toward his seat a man leaned over and asked:

‘Can yeh tell me where I kin git that?’

He had made a great success. After an enormous pressure he was induced to recite two more tales. Old Bleecker finally led him forward and pledged him in a large drink. He declared that they were the best things he had ever heard.

The efforts of Zeusentell imparted a gaiety to the company. The men having laughed together were better acquainted, and there was now a universal topic. Some of the party, too, began to be quite drunk.

The invaluable O’Connor brought forth a man who could play the mouth-organ. The latter, after wiping his instrument upon his coat-sleeve, played all the popular airs. The men’s heads swayed to and fro in the clouded smoke. They grinned and beat time with their feet. A valour, barbaric and wild, began to show in their poses and in their faces, red and glistening from perspiration.

The conversation resounded in a hoarse roar. The beer would not run rapidly enough for Jones; so he remained behind to tilt the keg. This caused the black shadow on the wall to retreat and advance, sinking mystically, to loom forward again with sudden menace—a huge dark figure, controlled as by some unknown emotion. The glasses, mugs, and cups travelled swift and regular, catching orange reflections from the lamp-light. Two or three men were grown so careless that they were continually spilling their drinks. Old Bleecker, cackling with pleasure, seized time to glance triumphantly at Jones. His party was going to be a success.