The next letter contained a great surprise: a couple of signed contracts and a pleasant request for me too to sign both and return one immediately. Then the writer quite gently regretted my inability to grant his request, but closed by expressing his respect for my firmness in demanding my rights; and straightway I signed my first contract; went out and mailed one copy, and when I returned I had made up my mind to take the great risk—I had decided that my mother should never again receive commands from anyone. That my shoulders were strong enough to bear the welcome burden, and so we would face the new life and its possible sufferings together—together, that was the main thing.
As I stood before the glass, smoothing my hair, I gravely bowed to my reflection, and said: "Accept my congratulations and best wishes, 'Wood's leading lady,'" and then fell upon the bed and sobbed, as foolish nerve-strained women will; because, you see, the way had been so long and sometimes so hard, dear Lord! so hard, but by His mercy I had won one goal—I was a leading woman!
And then began my good-by to the city that I loved. I had lived in so many of its streets; I had attended so many of its schools, and still more of its churches. There was the great lake, too. I had sailed on it, had been wrecked on it, but against that I set the memory of those days when, in night-gown bath-dress, I reveled in its blue waters on Fourth of July family picnics.
One church—old Bethel on Water Street—I hated, because the Sunday-school superintendent had been a hypocrite, and we knew it, and because in every one of its library books the good child died at the end, which was very discouraging to youthful minds.
Another church, on Prospect Street, I loved, because that Sunday-school teacher had been so gentle and smiling and had worn such pretty pink flowers in her bonnet.
Then there was the fountain in the square. I laughed as I said good-by to that, recalling the morning when, because of a bad throat, I had unobservedly, as I supposed, swallowed a powder (hom[oe]opathic), and next moment heard hurrying footsteps behind me and felt a heavy hand on my shoulder, while a rough voice cried: "Where's the paper? what did you do it for? what's your name? say, answer up, now, before it gets hold of you—what's your name?"
Frightened and bewildered, 'twas with difficulty I convinced the suspicious policeman that I was not attempting suicide by poison, but was trying to cure a sore throat. A theatre bill-board was in fair view, and my part in the play, which I luckily held rolled in my hand, induced him to let me go to rehearsal instead of the station-house; and while the policeman dispersed the crowd his own error had gathered, I resolved, as I flew toward the theatre, to take no more powders in public parks—no matter how empty they might seem to be.
And then there was the jail, and as I nodded a good-by at its blackened walls I saw again that sunny morning when, in greatest haste, I passed that way and observed, coming toward me, three men walking very closely, who showed no intention of making way for me—which made me look at them surprisedly. And then the astonishing beauty of the tail, white-clothed central figure brought me to a halt. His ruddy features were as severely perfect as those stamped on an ancient coin. His glittering hair and mustache were of that pale and precious gold most often seen crowning a baby's head. His figure was tall, broad-shouldered, small-waisted, and his hands, good God! I whispered, and stopped there, for he wore the hand-cuffs, and on either side of him a strong and grimy hand gripped his arm. That was why they made no room for me; and as I swerved swiftly out into the middle of the street to pass them by, there came a glitter of bold blue eyes, a flash of white teeth, and a deep voice cried back to me: "I'm awfully sorry; I beg your pardon," and then they wheeled inside the iron gates, and five minutes later I knew the physically splendid creature I had seen was that Dr. Hughes who had just been taken for the murder of his victim (of a mock marriage), poor little sixteen-year-old Tamsie Parsons—she of the curly head, but steel-firm mouth, who loved passionately this God-like devil, yet had the moral courage to resist him to the death.
And then the post-office was quite full of memories. One made my brow grow moist, even after years had passed since the damp autumn day when, as a child, I had let fall upon the stone floor a good large bottle of benzine. The crushed thing, wrapped nicely in blue paper, lay there, innocent to behold, while its escaping volatile contents got in some really fine work. First, two ladies held their noses, then a fierce old be-whiskered man looked about suspiciously, working his offended member just as a dog would. Then two men hurrying in opposite directions, but with their eyes turned up inquiringly toward the gas-fixture overhead, collided violently, and instead of apologizing, each abused the other as a blundering idiot, and wrinkling up their noses disgustedly, unlocked their boxes, and still grumbling went their ways, one declaring that the gas being wasted there was sufficient to illuminate the whole building. Then doors began to open violently, and pale men in office coats of alpaca darted out and ran about, frantically trying to turn off gas that was not turned on; and there I stood, shivering over the innocent blue package, very wet by that time, with my fear of a whipping for breaking the bottle losing itself in the greater terror of some swift public expiation of my fault. The unknown is always terrifying, and I strove in vain to imagine what the punishment would be for creating evil odors in a public building that brought postal clerks from their work in pursuit of them. But the sight of a policeman advancing toward the delivery window suddenly set me in motion, and with a bound I was out of the door and running like mad for a (then) Kinsman Street car. I wonder yet if that gas leak was ever properly located.
Another day I had been sent for an advertised letter, and as several grown-ups were ahead of me at the little window, I withdrew to lean against the wall and rest a bit while waiting, for I had walked far and was very tired. And then a very white-haired, white-whiskered, white-tied old gentleman entered one of the many doors and looked nervously about him; when, seeing me, he brightened up, and at once began to beckon me toward him. Always respectfully obedient to the old, I at once approached the pink and white chipper old man, who nodded, smiled, and patting my head, asked, eagerly: "Er—er, do you—can you get letters from the office-window yonder?"