Robert Chambers - In the Quarter

``Why should not Youth love?''

``Love! Bah!'' said Braith.

``Why Bah?'' he persisted, stimulated by the disgust of Braith. ``Now if a man – take Elliott, for example – ''

``Take yourself,'' cried the other.

``Well – myself, for example. Suppose when my hours of weary toil are over – returning to my lonely cell, I encounter the blue eyes of Ninette on the way, or the brown eyes of Cosette, or perhaps the black eyes of – ''

Braith stamped impatiently.

``Lisette,'' said Clifford, sweetly. ``Why should I not refresh my drooping spirits by adoring Lisette – Cos– ''

``Oh, come, you said that before,'' said Gethryn. ``You're getting to be a bore, Clifford.''

``You at least can no longer reproach me,'' said the other, with a quick look that increased Gethryn's embarrassment.

``Let him talk his talk of bewitching grisettes, and gay students,'' said Braith, more angry than Rex had ever seen him. ``He's never content except when he's dangling after some fool worse than himself. Damn this `Bohemian love' rot! I've been here longer than you have, Clifford,'' he said, suddenly softening and turning half apologetically to the latter, who nodded to intimate that he hadn't taken offense. ``I've seen all that shabby romance turn into such reality as you wouldn't like to face. I've seen promising lives go out in ruin and disgrace – here in this very street – in this very house – lives that started exactly on the lines that you are finding so mighty pleasant just now.''

Clifford was in danger of being silenced. That would never do.

``Papa Braith,'' he smiled, ``is it that you too have been through the mill? Shall I present your compliments to the miller? I'm going. Come, Elliott.''

Elliott took up his hat and followed.

``Braith,'' he said, ``we'll drink your health as we go through the mill.''

``Remember that the mill grinds slowly but surely,'' said Braith.

``He speaks in parables,'' laughed Clifford, halfway downstairs, and the two took up the catch they had improvised, singing, ``Lisette – Cosette – Ninette – '' in thirds more or less out of tune, until Gethryn shut the door on the last echoes that came up from the hall below.

Gethryn came back and sat down, and Braith took a seat beside him, but neither spoke. Braith had his pipe and Rex his cigarette.

When the former was ready, he began to speak. He could not conceal the effort it cost him, but that wore away after he had been talking a while.

``Rex,'' he began, ``when I say that we are friends, I mean, for my own part, that you are more to me than any man alive; and now I am going to tell you my story. Don't interrupt me. I have only just courage enough; if any of it oozes out, I may not be able to go on. Well, I have been through the mill. Clifford was right. They say it is a phase through which all men must pass. I say, must or not, if you pass through it you don't come out without a stain. You're never the same man after. Don't imagine I mean that I was brutally dissolute. I don't want you to think worse of me than I deserve. I kept a clean tongue in my head – always. So do you. I never got drunk – neither do you. I kept a distance between myself and the women whom those fellows were celebrating in song just now – so do you. How much is due in both of us to principle, and how much to fastidiousness, Rex? I found out for myself at last, and perhaps your turn will not be long in coming. After avoiding entanglements for just three years – '' He looked at Rex, who dropped his head – ``I gave in to a temptation as coarse, vulgar and silly as any I had ever despised. Why? Heaven knows. She was as vulgar a leech as ever fastened on a calf like myself. But I didn't think so then. I was wildly in love with her. She said she was madly in love with me.'' Braith made a grimace of such disgust that Rex would have laughed, only he saw in time that it was self-disgust which made Braith's mouth look so set and hard.

``I wanted to marry her. She wouldn't marry me. I was not rich, but what she said was: `One hates one's husband.' When I say vulgar, I don't mean she had vulgar manners. She was as pretty and trim and clever – as the rest of them. An artist, if he sees all that really exists, sometimes also sees things which have no existence at all. Of these were the qualities with which I invested her – the moral and mental correspondencies to her blonde skin and supple figure. She justified my perspicacity one day by leaving me for a loathsome little Jew. The last time I heard of her she had been turned out of a gambling hell in his company. His name is Emanuel Pick. Is not this a shabby romance? Is it not enough to make a self-respecting man hang his head – to know that he has once found pleasure in the society of the mistress of Mr Emanuel Pick?''

A long silence followed, during which the two men smoked, looking in opposite directions. At last Braith reached over and shook the ashes out of his pipe. Rex lighted a fresh cigarette at the same time, and their eyes met with a look of mutual confidence and goodwill. Braith spoke again, firmly this time.

``God keep you out of the mire, Rex; you're all right thus far. But it is my solemn belief that an affair of that kind would be your ruin as an artist; as a man.''

``The Quarter doesn't regard things in that light,'' said Gethryn, trying hard to laugh off the weight that oppressed him.

``The Quarter is a law unto itself. Be a law unto yourself, Rex – Good night, old chap.''

``Good night, Braith,'' said Gethryn slowly.

Thirion's at six pm. Madame Thirion, neat and demure, sat behind her desk; her husband, in white linen apron and cap, scuttled back and forth shouting, ``Bon! Bon!'' to the orders that came down the call trumpet. The waiters flew crazily about, and cries went up for ``Pierre'' and ``Jean'' and ``green peas and fillet.''

The noise, smoke, laughter, shouting, rattle of dishes, the penetrating odor of burnt paper and French tobacco, all proclaimed the place a Latin Quarter restaurant. The English and Americans ate like civilized beings and howled like barbarians. The Germans, when they had napkins, tucked them under their chins. The Frenchmen – well! they often agreed with the hated Teuton in at least one thing; that knives were made to eat with. But which of the four nationalities exceeded the others in turbulence and bad language would be hard to say.

Clifford was eating his chop and staring at the blonde adjunct of a dapper little Frenchman.

``Clifford,'' said Carleton, ``stop that.''

``I'm mesmerizing her,'' said Clifford. ``It's a case of hypnotism.''

The girl, who had been staring back at Clifford, suddenly shrugged her shoulders, and turning to her companion, said aloud:

``How like a monkey, that foreigner!''

Clifford withdrew his eyes in a hurry, amid a roar of laughter from the others. He was glad when Braith's entrance caused a diversion.

``Hullo, Don Juan! I see you, Lothario! Drinking again? ''

Braith took it all as a matter of course, but this time failed to return as good as they gave. He took a seat beside Gethryn and said in a low tone:

``I've just come from your house. There's a letter from the Salon in your box.''

Gethryn set down his wine untasted and reached for his hat.

``What's the matter, Reggy? Has Lisette gone back on you?'' asked Clifford, tenderly.

``It's the Salon,'' said Braith, as Gethryn went out with a hasty ``Good night.''

``Poor Reggy, how hard he takes it!'' sighed Clifford.

Gethryn hurried along the familiar streets with his heart in his boots sometimes, and sometimes in his mouth.

In his box was a letter and a note addressed in pencil. He snatched them both, and lighting a candle, mounted the stairs, unlocked his door and sank breathless upon the lounge. He tore open the first envelope. A bit of paper fell out. It was from Braith and said: