“At the end of the summer of 1918, I broke into pieces for a fact, and the Y put me out for a rest. I think they breathed easier when I was out, anyway. Before I was in trim again, the armistice was signed. I was some relieved. As I saw it, the decks were cleared for me. I’d done more work up to twenty than some people do in a lifetime; for a year I’d worked for my country; and now I was going to have an everlasting good time while my pep held out.
“What was the use of any other sure intent? I knew I could never care again for anybody. I hadn’t seen him or heard of him. So what was the use of anything—except having a good time? Sometimes I’ve wondered if he could see me—now—would he like me any better—even if I am polished off some from the cabaret singer he knew. But what was the use of taking the ‘Idylls of the King’ to heart, when he wasn’t there to see me? If he’d left me any other way——Men are like that; they break away clean; girls make a jagged break, or leak away. He’d gone; and when you stop to think of it, he was about the only nail I had to hold me down. So what was the use? And away I popped.
“When the colleges started their parties again, I made my début into society. I stood it all right, too. The way girls who had been brought up in front families acted, made it possible for me to get away with my varnished-over East-Side-plus Charlette style. I was only a little more so than they were, and that little more so made me a little more popular than they were.
“I decided to slip my things over to Boston and settle there. You can’t blaze around at all hours the way you can in New York, but I can always think of things to do no matter what the material is, and I was sick of New York. It had got me once and I was afraid it would again. And every time I went by Charlette’s I felt a pull—but I swore I wouldn’t go back there. Boston was the nearest all colleges except Yale and Princeton, and the numbers of little comrades I had in the other colleges, and Harvard and Tech being right there, cinched the matter. I get to Yale and Princeton when I want to just the same, and go over to New York when I feel like it, which isn’t often.
“I met Sal at a Cornell house party, and afterwards ran into her around a good deal. When I moved to Boston we agreed to hit it off in this apartment. She comes from a little New Hampshire town, was the village belle, wore spit curls, rhinestone combs and all that sort of thing till some underdone Dartmouth freshman took her to Winter Carnival and she saw she’d found her lifework. She contributed the black walnut pieces that stick out in this room in spite of my black-and-white efforts. I wanted to start right, so I got everything we needed. Some of the things were donated, but even so, what we bought took all my capital except my stocks, besides whatever few little onions she slipped into count. Perhaps you’ve gathered there’s not too much love oozing between me and Sal. I wanted someone to live with; you can see most girls wouldn’t do; Sal’s the answer. As for the rest about Sal—she can tell you if she wants to; I’ve told you just as much as touches me and makes it my business.”
Jerry stopped and drew a long breath, much as she had earlier in the story. “And so you’ve got my life history salted down, Joy. It’s not as black as the ebonies nor as white as the ivories; I should say the composite picture would be a nice medium grey, like the sweater I used to sport.”
Joy had scarcely seemed to be listening for some time now. “But, Jerry—you don’t still care for that man?”
Jerry’s mouth grew pale. “I do. I could never care for anyone else.”
“But how can you, when he has gone off and left you?”
“Grant has gone off and left you. Do you still care for him?”