Under the Skylights | Page 7

a couple of
glasses. Lots of our girls didn't take but one."
"Lots of----?"
"Yes, the whole class went. We found the place most interesting--and
the audience. The men sit about with their hats on, you know, in a big
hall full of round tables, drinking and smoking----"
"And you mixed up in such a----?"
"Well, no; not exactly. We had a box--as I suppose you would call it;
three of them. Of course that did cost a little something. And then Mr.
Whyland bought a few cigars----"
"Mr. Whyland----?"
"Yes, he was with us; he thought there ought to be at least one
gentleman along. He couldn't smoke the cigars, but one of the girls
happened to have some cigarettes----"

"Cigarettes?"
"Yes, and we found their smoke much more endurable. That was the
worst about the place--the smoke; unless it was the performance----"
"Oh!" said Abner, with a groan of disgust.
"Well, it wasn't as bad as that!" returned Clytie. "It was only dull and
stale and stupid; the same old sort of knockabouts and serio-comics you
can see everywhere down town, only not a quarter so good--just cheap
imitations. And all those poor fellows sat moping over their beer-mugs
waiting, waiting, waiting for something new and entertaining to happen.
I never felt so sorry for anybody in my life. We girls about made up our
minds that we would get together a little fund and see if we couldn't do
some missionary work in that neighbourhood--hire some real good
artists"--Abner winced at this hideous perversion of the word--"hire
some real good artists to go over there and let those poor creatures see
what a first-class show was like; and Mr. Whyland promised to
contribute----"
"Stop!" said Abner.
Clytie paused abruptly, astonished by his tone and by the expression on
his face. The flush of innocent enthusiasm and high resolve left her
cheek, her pretty little lips parted in amaze, and her wide blue eyes
opened wider than ever. What a singular man! What a way of accepting
her expression of interest in her kind, of receiving her plan for helping
the other half to lead a happier life! Adrian Bond, a dozen, a hundred
other men would have known how to give her credit for her kindly
intentions toward the less fortunate, would have found a ready way to
praise her, to compliment her....
Abner Joyce had a great respect for woman in general, but he
entertained an utter detestation of anything like gallantry; in his chaste
anxiety he leaned the other way. He was brusque; he often rode
roughshod over feminine sensibilities. He was very slightly influenced
by considerations of sex. He viewed everybody asexually, as a
generalized human being. He dealt with women just as he dealt with

men, and he treated young women just as he treated older ones. He
treated Clytie just as he treated Eudoxia Pence, just as he would have
treated Whyland himself--but with a little added severity, called forth
by her peculiar presence and her specific offence. He brought her to
book just as she deserved to be brought to book--a girl who went to low
theatres and wore frizzled yellow hair and made eyes at strangers and
took her share in the heartless amusements of plutocrats.
"Why, what is it?" asked Clytie. "Don't you think we ought to try to
understand modern social conditions and do what we can to improve
them? If you would only go through some of those streets in the river
wards and into some of the houses--oh, dear me, dear me!"
But Abner would none of this. "Do you think your river wards, as you
call them, are any worse than our barn-yard in the early days of March?
Do you imagine your cheap vawdyville theatres are any more tiresome
than our Main Street through the winter months?"
No, Abner's thoughts had been focused too long on the wrongs of the
rural regions to be able to transfer themselves to the sufferings and
injustices of the town. He saw the city collectively as the oppressor of
the country, and Leverett Whyland, by reason of Clytie's innocent
prattle, became the city incarnate in a single figure.
"I know your Mr. Whyland," he said. "I've met him; I know all about
him. He lives on his rents. His property came to him by inheritance,
and half its value to-day is due to the general rise brought about by the
exertions of others. He is indebted for food, clothing and shelter to the
unearned increment."
"Lives on his rents? Is there anything wrong in that? So do I, too--when
they can be collected. And if you talk about the unearned increment, let
me tell you there is such a thing as the unearned decrement."
"Nonsense. That's merely a backward swirl