The Game | Page 5

of him. It was a rival she did not
understand. Nor could she understand its seductions. Had it been a
woman rival, another girl, knowledge and light and sight would have
been hers. As it was, she grappled in the dark with an intangible
adversary about which she knew nothing. What truth she felt in his
speech made the Game but the more formidable.
A sudden conception of her weakness came to her. She felt pity for
herself, and sorrow. She wanted him, all of him, her woman's need
would not be satisfied with less; and he eluded her, slipped away here
and there from the embrace with which she tried to clasp him. Tears
swam into her eyes, and her lips trembled, turning defeat into victory,
routing the all-potent Game with the strength of her weakness.
"Don't, Genevieve, don't," the boy pleaded, all contrition, though he
was confused and dazed. To his masculine mind there was nothing
relevant about her break-down; yet all else was forgotten at sight of her
tears.

She smiled forgiveness through her wet eyes, and though he knew of
nothing for which to be forgiven, he melted utterly. His hand went out
impulsively to hers, but she avoided the clasp by a sort of bodily
stiffening and chill, the while the eyes smiled still more gloriously.
"Here comes Mr. Clausen," she said, at the same time, by some
transforming alchemy of woman, presenting to the newcomer eyes that
showed no hint of moistness.
"Think I was never coming back, Joe?" queried the head of the
department, a pink-and-white-faced man, whose austere side-whiskers
were belied by genial little eyes.
"Now let me see--hum, yes, we was discussing ingrains," he continued
briskly. "That tasty little pattern there catches your eye, don't it now, eh?
Yes, yes, I know all about it. I set up housekeeping when I was getting
fourteen a week. But nothing's too good for the little nest, eh? Of
course I know, and it's only seven cents more, and the dearest is the
cheapest, I say. Tell you what I'll do, Joe,"--this with a burst of
philanthropic impulsiveness and a confidential lowering of
voice,--"seein's it's you, and I wouldn't do it for anybody else, I'll
reduce it to five cents. Only,"--here his voice became impressively
solemn,--"only you mustn't ever tell how much you really did pay."
"Sewed, lined, and laid--of course that's included," he said, after Joe
and Genevieve had conferred together and announced their decision.
"And the little nest, eh?" he queried. "When do you spread your wings
and fly away? To-morrow! So soon? Beautiful! Beautiful!"
He rolled his eyes ecstatically for a moment, then beamed upon them
with a fatherly air.
Joe had replied sturdily enough, and Genevieve had blushed prettily;
but both felt that it was not exactly proper. Not alone because of the
privacy and holiness of the subject, but because of what might have
been prudery in the middle class, but which in them was the modesty
and reticence found in individuals of the working class when they

strive after clean living and morality.
Mr. Clausen accompanied them to the elevator, all smiles, patronage,
and beneficence, while the clerks turned their heads to follow Joe's
retreating figure.
"And to-night, Joe?" Mr. Clausen asked anxiously, as they waited at the
shaft. "How do you feel? Think you'll do him?"
"Sure," Joe answered. "Never felt better in my life."
"You feel all right, eh? Good! Good! You see, I was just a-
wonderin'--you know, ha! ha!--goin' to get married and the rest--
thought you might be unstrung, eh, a trifle?--nerves just a bit off, you
know. Know how gettin' married is myself. But you're all right, eh? Of
course you are. No use asking YOU that. Ha! ha! Well, good luck, my
boy! I know you'll win. Never had the least doubt, of course, of
course."
"And good-by, Miss Pritchard," he said to Genevieve, gallantly
handing her into the elevator. "Hope you call often. Will be
charmed--charmed--I assure you."
"Everybody calls you 'Joe'," she said reproachfully, as the car dropped
downward. "Why don't they call you 'Mr. Fleming'? That's no more
than proper."
But he was staring moodily at the elevator boy and did not seem to
hear.
"What's the matter, Joe?" she asked, with a tenderness the power of
which to thrill him she knew full well.
"Oh, nothing," he said. "I was only thinking--and wishing."
"Wishing?--what?" Her voice was seduction itself, and her eyes would
have melted stronger than he, though they failed in calling his up to
them.

Then, deliberately, his eyes lifted to hers. "I was wishing you could see
me fight just once."
She made a gesture of disgust, and his face fell. It came to her sharply
that the rival had thrust between and was bearing him away.