VII
Quin might be a Squaw-Man (as indeed he was in his irregular way) but he lived in comfort, and Sam, his "boy," aged twenty-five, was a wonder, worth more dollars by far than the days of the longest months and all he could steal as well. Sam was good-looking and as clean as a fresh-run quinnat, and he had the most heavenly and ingratiating smile, and the neatest ways, and a heaven-sent gift of cooking. He was pleasant to the world and to himself, and he sang little Chinese songs as he worked and made Quin's house as clean as heaven after rain. He didn't "hit the pipe," which Wong did, of course, and he only smoked cigars. They were Quin's and good ones. Not that opium is so bad as liquor, by the way, though the missionaries say it is. It is better to "hit the pipe" than to "dlinkee for dlunk," and that's an all-solid fact.
Sam was discreet, and he let no one rob Quin but himself. Indeed, he almost loved Quin, for Quin had good qualities. For example, he rarely swore in his own house, and he had a way of making little presents to Sam which were very encouraging.
"Boss he makee allo tim' litty cumshaw my," said Sam. "He givee my cigar: he givee my dolla. He givee my close: makee stlong cutsom givee me all ting he no wantshee. My catchee allo tim' good close, boot, tlouser, and he speakee my velly good: neber makee bobbely. Massa Quin velly good Boss, no can catchee better. Supposee klootchman no good, makee bobbely, he say 'hyack klatawa:' supposee klootchman good klootchman allo same wifo dat velly good: Massa Quin velly good and makee mo' cumshaw my."
And now there was a new klootchman.
"Ho," said Sam Lung, "ho, he bling 'nodder klootchman. My tinkee 'bout time he catchee new klootchman. He velly lestless, like he got water topside, clazy. What she like this new klootchman?"
He put his eye to the key-hole, and then drew up in disgust.
"Fo, velly dirty, cly allo tim'. She velly litty young gal. After las' wun he likee catchee young gal. Ha, my tinkee bymby she catchee wash and look velly pletty. She whitee gal my tinkee when she catchee washee."
But poor Jenny was on the floor, still crying as if her little heart would break. She was not yet able to look up and see the wonder of a nice clean house, such as she had never been in, in all her life.
"You're all right, Jenny, my dear," said Quin, "don't you cry. No one shall hurt you, my girl. I'll give you a good time, my dear. Now get up, Jenny, and look at your home, and then I'll take you into another room and find you a new dress. Come, tenas Jenny."
He spoke quite tenderly and touched Jenny's heart.
"Oh, but I have shem," she said.
"You come and mamook wash," said Quin, "and by-by we'll have muckamuck and then you'll be all right. Come now."
He lifted her to her feet, and when she felt his strong hands on her she felt a little better. It was like fate, though she knew not what fate was. He was strong and kind, and he said he loved her. She caught his hand.
"You no beat me?" she cried in a sudden passion of fear and helplessness. "You no beat me, Mr. Quin?"
"No, Jenny, no," he said. He turned her tearful dirty face round and kissed her.
"Oh, I too much dirty," she exclaimed in great distress. "No bebee me till I mamook wash."
She caught sight of herself in a big glass over the mantelpiece.
"Oh, Mr. Quin, I have shem: I so dirty. You forgive me, Mr. Quin?"
And Quin laughed a little uneasily.
"Of course, my dear, now I make a lady of you; you are so pretty, Jenny."
He went out of the room and told Sam to make a "plenty hot" bath in the bedroom. And he put out some clean clothes for her, which he took from a locked cupboard. Some were new. Most of them had been got for a Haida girl who had died of consumption two years before. But Quin had forgotten her. He spoke to Sam when the "boy" brought in the bath and water.
"Sam, you no fool, I think," he began.
"That same my tinkee, Sir," said Sam.
"I bring another klootchman here, Sam."
"Where you catchee?" asked Sam with great interest.
"You mind your own pidgin," said Quin. "Now look, Sam, I no wantshee anyone know who she is. When they ask you, you say she white woman, allo same wife, from San Francisco. If you tinkee that not true, that all right, but if you say so I fire you and give you no dolla. While she stay here and no one know who she is I give you five more dolla, moon-pidgin, every month. Now you savvy?"
Sam stood with his head on one side all the time his master spoke. He looked as intelligent as a sharp Chinaman can look, and he answered with decision and a perfect gravity.
"My savvy that plenty! You catchee one litty gal and no wantshee man savvy. Dat light, I plenty savvy. My say she numpa one pletty litty gal from San Flancisco. I savvy plenty and if litty gal stay you givee my mo' five dolla moon-pidgin. My savvy plenty. Now you washee her?"
"Fill the bath, you damn fool," said Quin.
"All li', savvy plenty," said Sam. "My cookee good dinner for Missus. Five dolla mo' velly good. My cookee velly good: makee litty gal stop allo same wifo."
And he went back to the kitchen, solemn and satisfied, but very curious to see the litty piecee gal when she was washed.
It was all an amazing dream for poor Jenny. If it had not been for the black bruise on her knee she would have thought herself in some new world. For the house was beautifully built and lined inside with red cedar. The furniture was as good as any in the City, for the tragedy of Quin's life was, that he had met a white woman, and had fallen in love with her three years ago. They were to have been married, but the woman found out about his past history, his character as a squaw-man, and threw him over. He had prepared the house for her. The dead Haida girl Lily had come instead. Jenny dreamed and wondered and half forgot that she was not good to be there. Quin was very strong, "hyu skookum," and his house was to be hers, and he would prevent Pete killing her. As she got into the hot water the tears ran down her face. But the bath was pleasant, and she was not too degraded to enjoy the cleanliness of things; and the hot water eased the tension of her mind, and it seemed suddenly as if her life with Pete was something very far off, hardly to be remembered.
And then she handled the clothes she was to wear, and the mere woman woke in her heart. Here was linen far better than that she had helped to wash for Mrs. Alexander before Pete had come and taken her from Kamloops! It was beautiful linen to her eye, and in spite of everything the pleasure she found in it was wonderful, for though she did not know it, her skin was tender and delicate and had always suffered from the stuff she had worn.
There were silk stockings!
"Mista Quin he very gleat man," said Jenny, awestruck. "Much better than any I ever see, never nanitsh any like 'em."
When she got them on she took up the dress. It was also silk, but not like the monstrous tartan the cause of all her woe. It was a dark red and fine and supple, for Lily had seen it in her last days at Victoria and Quin had bought it for her, knowing that she would never wear it. She died with it on her bed: her dead hand touched it. It made another klootchman nearly happy.
"I aflaid to wear it," said Jenny as she held it up, "it too beautiful for poor me. I don't know where I am: I feel silly, all like a dleam."
She looked at the big glass and saw herself white clad, and with the red silk in her hands. Her shoulders were white: her sun-tanned neck showed how white they were. And the red was lovely.
She put it on and she almost screamed with pleasure.
"I 'most like a lady, like Missis Alexander," she cried. And indeed there was no prettier lady within a hundred miles.
She stood and looked at herself and trembled.
"Oh, oh," said Jenny.
And then she found that the dress fastened up the back.
"I no savvy how can do it," said Jenny in great trouble. "If I do um up firs' I no get in and if I no do um up it fall off. How can white lady do, when she have no one help her?"
It was an awful puzzle which she could not solve. A worse trouble was at hand, however, for when she tried to put on the shoes meant for her they were too small.
"What I do?" asked Jenny of herself in the glass. "My ole shoes no good and my foot too big for this little shoe. I have shem go without shoe and with dless undone. I wis' I had someone help me. But alla same I very pretty I tink, but I have shame of everything. I no more good, no more virtuous—"
Her lip hung down preparatory to her bursting into tears. But Quin knocked at the door.
"Muckamuck ready, tenas Jenny," he said. And Jenny murmured that she would come directly.
"He very kind man I tink," said Jenny, "I ask him through the door if he mind I no have shoe."
The door led straight through into the sitting-room. In her turn she knocked on it timidly and opened it an inch.
"Mista Quin, I have shem—"
"Why, tenas Jenny?" asked Quin.
"I no can put on shoe," she said. Quin laughed and she shrank back.
"Come in, never mind," he said as he came to the door and pushed it open. She bent her head.
"And please, Mista Quin, I no can do dless up at back. I much aflaid it fall off."
Quin came into the room as Sam brought in the dinner. He shut the door and caught her in his arms.
"I have shem," she murmured, but he kissed her neck and mouth. "I have shem."
He did the dress up at the back and held her away from him at arm's length.
"By the Holy Mackinaw, you are a pretty girl, Jenny," he said thickly. "You bebee me now?"
The slow tears rolled down her face as she lifted it to him.
"Yes, Mista Quin, but I have shem," she said simply.
Sam banged on the door.
"Chow-chow, Sir and Missus," said Sam, who was much interested in the "love pidgin;" "Chow-chow all leady, Sir and Missus."
It was an amazing dinner for Jenny. She had never seen the like save in the kitchen of Mrs. Alexander's hotel, and if she had eaten anything half as good, it was when she was a tenas klootchman and sat outside on the wood-pile with a plate of food given her by the hotel cook.
But that Chinese cook wasn't a patch on Sam, who had been nerved to unwonted efforts by the new situation and by the extra five dollars while the new "Missus" stayed. He put out Quin's best cutlery and polished the electro-plate till it shone indeed. The glasses were like crystal and there was a bottle of champagne, made in San Francisco (and perhaps very little the worse for that, seeing the quality of western imported wines), on the full table.
Jenny gasped and sat down very humbly. But if she looked up she could see herself in a mirror opposite. It was a very strange and pretty and abashed creature that she saw, a creature who "had shame" but was too dazed to feel it greatly. For everything was so fine, and Quin was a big strong man and white-clad Sam was so polite. "You hab dis, Missus," or "my tinkee, Sir, Missus hab mo' wine." And the floor had a carpet, and there were red curtains at the window, through which she could see the shining mighty river and the far faint hills of Sumass, lighted by the sinking splendid sun.
"Oh, my dear, you are very pretty," said Quin when Sam was out of the room.
"I tink so too, Mista Quin," she said; "but I have shem to be here. I know not'ing. I velly foolish klootchman, cultus and halo good; I tink I very wicked to be here, but I like it allo same, Mista Quin."
He gave her more wine and her eyes began to sparkle. The world of yesterday, nay, even of to-day, was far off, further off than the pure faint hills.
"You be good to me, Mista Quin?"
His hard heart was touched.
"You bet, Jenny, I'll give you all you'll want."
"Ah, you very big boss," said Jenny. If he could give any human creature all she wanted he was a very big boss indeed.
"Yes, my kiddy, you forget all about everyone but me, and I'll act square to you, on my oath I will," said Big Quin. He pulled her towards him and kissed her mouth. She flamed scarlet.
"I lik' heem better'n Pete," she said. "Pete cluel to me; tear my dless. Now I have better, ah!"
The dinner came to an end and Sam brought in a lamp as the evening light faded.
"That will do, Sam. I don't want you any more," said Quin.
And when Sam had washed up he went down to a compatriot's in the City.
"My tinkee he makee love-pidgin now," said Sam, as he went. "Litty piecee gal velly pletty alla same lady, maskee she no savvy what for do with knife and fork. Dat not plopa: my tinkee her savvy velly littee. Bymby my talkee how can do with Missus. My tinkee she no flom San Flancisco. She makee hair not plopa, allo same lope. My tinkee my talkee her how can do, my savvy plenty."
But he told his gossips down below that Mista Quin had got a white woman up from San Francisco. Indeed he did not know that Jenny was no more than a quarter-breed Siwash, though he wondered at her knowing so much Chinook, of which Sam himself was very ignorant, though he savvied even how to do hair.
The world of the little Shack-Town by the Mill believed that Jenny had really fled with Shipman Jack and Pete got very drunk again that night.