"Does Mr. Jarvis Jocelyn live here?"
"Three flights up-back," and the window slammed.
"Wait for me, driver," she called. She began to climb the dirty stairs, tears in her eyes.
"Oh, my dear, my dear!" she said, over and over again.
She knocked at the third-floor back, with no response; so she opened the door and entered. One dark area window, a bed, a chair, a dresser, an improvised table with piles of manuscript. It was cleaner than the awful entrance suggested. But, oh, it was pitiful! Such a place for a dreamer! Bambi leaned her head on the dresser and sobbed. That he had been reduced to this, that he had never told them, that he had refused the Professor's money and chosen poverty! It nearly killed her, while it thrilled her with a pride unspeakable. If he had the strength for such a fight, nothing could conquer him. She started at a step outside, thinking that it might be he.
Suddenly she realized that he might not want even her to see this; that he might not want her to know of this drab tent where he crawled for sleep off the field of battle. She went to the narrow bed and laid her hand gently where his cheek would rest.
"Jarvis, my dear!" she whispered.
Then she went down the rickety stairs, out to the waiting cab. She was sick, heart and body, at the revelation of what his struggle meant. All the mother in her cried out at the physical distress of such surroundings to a nature sensitive to environment.
He could have come back to the sunny, airy rooms he had made his, at home; but he had chosen to stay and win. So many things she had not understood about him were made clear now, and she wondered if Richard Strong had found him there. No wonder Jarvis had repulsed him, taken unawares, and at such a disadvantage!
"Oh, why didn't you let me know and help?" she repeated. She had the man take her round and round the Park, where it was quiet. She must get herself in hand. She felt that at the slightest excuse she would burst into hysterics! More than ever, now, must she be mistress of herself for the coming interview. She must fight to catch the big manager's attention, and win her way with him. She drew her furs about her, closed her eyes, and tried to shut out the sight of that sordid, wretched room, where handsome big Jarvis was paying the toll to success—toll of blood and brain and nerves, paid by every man or woman who mounts to the top! She saw him climbing wearily those dirty stairs, coming into the cell. Over and over she saw it, like a moving-picture film repeated indefinitely.