SHE CROUCHED DOWN MOTIONLESS ON THE TRUNK.
SHE CROUCHED DOWN MOTIONLESS ON THE TRUNK.Page344.
"Annie! Annie!"
The negress put her head through theportières, her eyes as big as saucers. She had heard the loud talking, but had been afraid to come near the room. Looking at her mistress with blank astonishment, she exclaimed:
"Ain't yuh goin' away, Miss Laura?"
By a supreme effort, Laura pulled herself together. She was a fool to show such weakness. Why should she allow these men to interfere with her and dictate to her? Defiantly she cried:
"No, I'm not! I'm going to stay right here. Open these trunks. Take out those clothes. Get me my prettiest dress. Hurry up!" Going to the mirror, while Annie obeyed her orders, she added: "Get my new hat! Dress up my body and paint up my face—it's all they've left of me." In a lower, agonized tone, to herself, she added bitterly: "They've taken my soul away with them!"
"Yes'm, yes'm," cried Annie, happy at anything which promised a change.
Opening the big trunk, the negress took out the handsome dresses which had been so carefully packed only a few moments before. Then unfastening a box, she lifted out the large picture hat with plumes which her mistress took from her. As Laura stood in front of the mirror, putting her hat on and touching up her complexion to hide the traces of recent tears, she forced herself to hum.
"Doll me up, Annie!" she cried lightly, as if by sheer force of will power compelling herself to be light hearted and gay.
"Yuh goin' out, Miss Laura?"
"Yes, I'm going to Broadway to make a hit, and to h—ll with the rest!"
As she spoke, a hurdy-gurdy in the street under her window began to play the tune of "Bon-bon Buddy, My Chocolate Drop." Laura stopped her humming and listened. There was something in this rag-time melody which at that moment particularly appealed to her. It was peculiarly suggestive of the low life, the criminality and prostitution that constitute the night excitement of that section of New York City known as "The Tenderloin." The common tune and its vulgar associations was like the spreading before her eyes of a vivid panorama showing with terrific realism the inevitable depravity that awaited her. Rudely torn from every ideal which she had so weakly endeavored to grasp, she had been, thrown back into the mire and slime at the very moment when her emancipation seemed to be assured. Standing before the tall mirror, with her flashy dress on one arm and her equally exaggerated type of picture hat in the other, she recognized in herself the type of woman depicted by the vulgar street melody, and the full realization of her ignominy came to her now, perhaps for the first time.
The negress, in the happiness of continuing to serve her mistress in her questionable career, picked up the tune as she started to unpack the finery which only a short time before had been so carefully and lovingly laid away in the trunk. Shaken by convulsive sobs, resigned to what she was powerless to prevent, Laura turned and tottered towards the bedroom. Then, as the true significance of her pitiful position dawned upon her, she sank, limp and helpless, on the sofa, gasping pathetically:
"Oh, God! Oh, my God!"
In the street below the hurdy-gurdy continued grinding out "Bon-bon Buddy, My Chocolate Drop," with the negress idly accompanying it.