A Treasury of Stories (Collection of novelettes and short stories)

“Just a minute,” she answered indifferently. “I want to see whose picture this is they have up here.” And she raised her finger to her lips as though she were studying the picture critically — but it might have meant simply: “Keep still; don’t speak to me — now.” And did Russell imagine it, or had a whisper floated toward his ear? “Meet me here between the acts.” Suddenly she was gone, had gone in with the paunchy gentleman. Had he really seen her, he wondered, or was it just a ghost — a ghost from out of the past?

Stella brought him to. “Well, come on!” she remarked sulkily. “What are we standing here for?”

As they climbed the two long flights of stairs to the second balcony, she had further fault to find. “I’d like to go to a show just once in my life with you,” she said, “and not have to sit way up on the roof!”

Russell didn’t answer.

Just before the first act was over, Stella prodded him with her elbow and pointed. “There’s that ermine down there, in a box. It’s the best-looking thing I’ve ever seen.”

But he had seen it long ago, from the moment he first sat down. The curtain came down for the end of the act. The girl in the box stood up and went outside; the ermine wrap remained behind upon the chair. Stella kept eyeing it hungrily. “That man with her,” she commented, “has fallen asleep.” Then she added: “I bet he bought it for her. Some women have all the luck!”

“I’m going downstairs and smoke a cigarette,” Russell said, standing up. “Wait here, will you?”

He came out into the lobby a minute later, and they stood face to face, the two of them, the girl who had worn the ermine wrap and he.

“Well, Russell,” she said, “let’s shake hands anyway. It’s been a long time now—”

Their hands met. “Over two years, Louise,” he nodded, and asked: “Who’s that with you?”

“Oh, someone,” she sighed, and explained. “He wants me to marry him — when I get my final decree.” Then she smiled and asked, “And who’s that with you, Russell?”

“Oh, another someone,” he said. “I’ve thought at times I’d ask her to marry me — when you do get your decree.” Abruptly he said: “He’s too old for you, Louise.”

“She’ll nag you to death, Russell,” she answered. “I could tell that by one look at her face.”

They seemed to find it difficult to continue the conversation for a moment. “You came out without your wrap,” Russell observed lamely.

“I hate the thing,” she said, and added in a low voice: “Like everything else I once thought I wanted so badly!”

Inside, the overture for the beginning of the second act started up with a crash. They grew strangely silent while the lobby around them slowly emptied of people.

“It’s funny,” Russell mused. “I can remember every little thing we ever said or did — except what caused the final break. What was it? Can you tell me, Louise?”

They both laughed a little and then grew sober. They kept staring into one another’s faces as though longing to say something and yet afraid to.

“You used to make such vile coffee—” Russell blurted out longingly.

“You were always such a poor wage-earner—” she sighed wistfully.

“How happy we were!” they both said together.

He felt for her hand and gripped it convulsively without saying anything. She seemed to understand what it meant. “Oh, Russell!” she sobbed all at once, raising her head and looking at him pitifully.

“Louise!” he cried.

All through the second act a chair in the lower right-hand box where a gentleman dozed and a seat in the second balcony beside which a cross-looking young woman sat frowning remained unoccupied. And when the stage had finally darkened and the house emptied, these two still lingered on in the lobby, he with an ermine wrap slung uselessly over his arm and she with a man’s fedora held uselessly in her hand. “And are you positive,” said the paunchy gentleman, peering into the box-office for the ninth or tenth time, “that no message was left here for me? Goyter is my name.”

“Or for me?” asked the young woman. “Haggerty is mine.”

For answer the shutter was slammed down in their faces.

They turned and looked at each other. She glanced thoughtfully from the ermine wrap to the limousine standing waiting outside the door.

“Pardon me — er — may I drop you anywhere?” the paunchy gentleman volunteered.

“That’s very sweet of you,” she smiled.

“It’s a pleasure,” he replied, holding the wrap open and folding it gallantly, consolingly about her shoulders.

Death Sits in the Dentist’s Chair

I

There was another patient ahead of me in the waiting room. He was sitting there quietly, humbly, with all the terrible resignation of the very poor. He wasn’t all jittery and alert like I was, but just sat there ready to take anything that came, head bowed a little as though he had found life just a succession of hard knocks. His gaze met mine and I suppose he could tell how uncomfortable I was by the look on my face, but instead of grinning about it or cracking wise he put himself out to encourage me, cheer me up. When I thought of this afterward it did something to me.