V
It came to be known in the restaurant that the stranger's name was Barstow, and very soon he had ceased to be a stranger. His business in that quarter of the city, whatever it may have been, was at first intermittent; he would take, perhaps, three meals in a week at Linnevitch's; latterly he often came twice in one day. Always orderly and quiet, Barstow gradually, however, established pleasant and even joking terms with the waitresses. But with Daisy he never joked. He called the other girls by their first names, as became a social superior, but Daisy was always Miss Obloski to him. With Linnevitch alone he made no headway. Linnevitch maintained a pointedly surly and repellent attitude, as if he really wished to turn away a profitable patronage. And Barstow learned to leave the proprietor severely alone.
One night, after Barstow had received his change, he remained for a few minutes talking with Daisy. "What do you find to do with yourself evenings, Miss Obloski?" he asked.
"I generally sit with Mr. and Mrs. Linnevitch and sew," she answered.
"That's not a very exciting life for a young lady. Don't you ever take in a show, or go to a dance?"
She shook her head.
"Don't you like to dance?"
"I know I'd like it," she said with enthusiasm; "but I never had a chance to try."
"You haven't!" exclaimed Barstow. "What a shame! Some night, if you like, I'll take you to an academy—a nice quiet one, mostly for beginners—where they give lessons. If you'd like, I'll teach you myself."
Delight showed in Daisy's face.
"Good!" said Barstow. "It's a go. How about to-n—" He broke off short. Linnevitch, very surly and very big, was within hearing, although his attention appeared elsewhere.
"Some time soon, then," said Barstow in a lower voice, and aloud, "Well, good-night, Miss Obloski."
Her eyes were upon the glass door and the darkness beyond into which Barstow had disappeared. She was returned to earth by Linnevitch's voice close to her ear. It was gentle and understanding.
"You like dot feller—eh?"
Daisy blushed very crimson, but her great eyes were steadfast and without guile. "I like him very much, Mr. Linnevitch."
"Not too much—eh?"
Daisy did not answer. She did not know the answer.
"Liddle girl," said Linnevitch kindly, "you don't know noddings. What was he saying to you, just now?"
"He said some evening he'd take me to an academy and learn me dancing," said Daisy.
"He said dot, did he?" said Linnevitch. "I say don't have nodding to do with them academies. You ask Mrs. Linnevitch to tell you some stories—eh?"
"But he didn't mean a regular dance-hall," said Daisy. "He said a place for beginners."
"For beginners!" said Linnevitch with infinite sarcasm. And then with a really tender paternalism, "If I am your father, I beat you sometimes for a liddle fool—eh?"
Mrs. Linnevitch was more explicit. "I've knowed hundreds of girls that was taught to dance," she said. "First they go to the hall, and then they go to hell."
Daisy defended her favorite character. "Any man," she said, "that carries a lock of his mother's white hair with him to help keep him straight is good enough for me, I guess."
"How do you know it is not hair of some old man's beard to fool you? Or some goat—eh? How do you know it make him keep straight—eh?"
Linnevitch began to mimic the quiet voice and elegant manner of Barstow: "Good-morning, Miss Obloski, I have just given one dollar to a poor cribble.... Oh, how do you do to-day, Miss Obloski? My mouth is full of butter, but it don't seem to melt.... Oh, Miss Obloski, I am ready to faint with disgust. I have just seen a man drink one stein of beer. I am a temptation this evening—let me just look in dot locket and save myself."
Daisy was not amused. She was even angry with Linnevitch, but too gentle to show it. Presently she said good-night and went to bed.
"Now," said Mrs. Linnevitch, "she'll go with that young feller sure. The way you mocked him made her mad. I've got eyes in my head. Whatever she used to think, now she thinks he's a live saint."
"I wonder, now?" said Linnevitch. A few minutes' wondering must have brought him into agreement with his wife, for presently he toiled up three flights of stairs and knocked at Daisy's door.
"Daisy," he said.
"What is it, Mr. Linnevitch?" If her voice had not been tearful it would have been cold.
The man winced. "Mebbe that young feller is O. K.," he said. "I have come just to say that. Mebbe he is. But you just let me look him up a liddle bit—eh?"
He did not catch her answer.
"You promise me that—eh? Mrs. Linnevitch and me, we want to do what is right and best. We don't want our liddle Daisy to make no mistakes."
He had no answer but the sounds that go with tears. He knew by this that his mockings and insinuations had been forgiven.
"Good-night, liddle girl," he said. "Sleep tight." His own voice broke. "I be your popper—eh?" he said.
To Barstow's surprise and disappointment, when he named a time for her first lesson in dancing Daisy refused to go.
"Mrs. Linnevitch thinks I better not be going out nights, Mr. Barstow," she said. "But thank you ever so much, all the same."
"Well," said Barstow, "I'm disappointed. But that's nothing, if you're not."
Daisy blushed. "But I am," she said.
"Then," said he, "never mind what they say. Come on!"
Daisy shook her head. "I promised."
"Look here, Miss Obloski, what's wrong? Let's be honest, whatever else we are. Is it because they know something against me, because they think they do, or because they know that they don't?"
"It's that," said Daisy. "Mr. Linnevitch don't want me to be going out with any one he don't know about."
Barstow was obviously relieved. "Thank you," he said. "That's all square now. It isn't Mrs. Linnevitch; it's the boss. It isn't going out in general; it's going out with me!"
Then he surprised her. "The boss is absolutely right," he said. "I'm for him, and, Miss Obloski, I won't ask you to trust me until I've proved to Linnevitch that I'm a proper guardian——"
"It's only Mr. Linnevitch," said Daisy, smiling very sweetly. "It's not me. I trust you." Her eyes were like two serene stars.
Barstow leaned closer and spoke lower. "Miss Obloski," he said, "Daisy"—and he lingered on the name—"there's only one thing you could say that I'd rather hear."
Daisy wanted to ask what that was. But there was no natural coquetry in the girl. She did not dare.
She did not see him again for three whole days; but she fed upon his last words to her until she was ready, and even eager, to say that other thing which alone he would rather hear than that she trusted him.
Between breakfast and dinner on the fourth day a tremendous great man, thick in the chest and stomach, wearing a frock coat and a glossy silk hat, entered the restaurant. The man's face, a miracle of close shaving, had the same descending look of heaviness as his body. But it was a strong, commanding face in spite of the pouched eyes and the drooping flesh about the jaws and chin. Daisy, busy with her book-keeping, looked up and smiled, with her strong instinct for friendliness.
The gentleman removed his hat. Most of his head was bald. "You'll be Miss Obloski," he said. "The top o' the mornin' to you, miss. My boy has often spoken of you. I call him my boy bekase he's been like a son to me—like a son. Is Linnevitch in? Never mind, I know the way."
He opened, without knocking upon it, the door which led from the restaurant into the Linnevitches' parlor. Evidently a great man. And how beautifully and touchingly he had spoken of Barstow! Daisy returned to her addition. Two and three are six and seven are twelve and four are nineteen. Then she frowned and tried again.
The great man was a long time closeted with Linnevitch. She could hear their voices, now loud and angry, now subdued. But she could not gather what they were talking about.
At length the two emerged from the parlor—Linnevitch flushed, red, sullen, and browbeaten; the stranger grandly at ease, an unlighted cigar in his mouth. He took off his hat to Daisy, bent his brows upon her with an admiring glance, and passed out into the sunlight.
"Who was it?" said Daisy.
"That," said Linnevitch, "is Cullinan, the boss—Bull Cullinan. Once he was a policeman, and now he is a millionaire."
There was a curious mixture of contempt, of fear, and of adulation in Linnevitch's voice.
"He is come here," he said, "to tell me about that young feller."
"Oh!" exclaimed Daisy. "Mr. Barstow?"
Linnevitch did not meet her eye. "I am wrong," he said, "and that young feller is O. K."
When Daisy came back from her first dancing lesson, Mr. and Mrs. Linnevitch were sitting up for her. Her gayety and high spirits seemed to move the couple, especially Linnevitch, deeply. He insisted that she eat some crackers and drink a glass of milk. He was wonderfully gentle, almost tender, in his manner; but whenever she looked at him he looked away.