“I asked her if I might call on her, yes, sir.”
“Uh-uh! When was this?”
“Just two days ago. In the evening here.”
“Uh-uh!”
At the same time a certain nervous, critical attitude toward everything, which had produced many fine lines about the eyes and above the nose of Mr. Zobel, again taking hold of him: “Well, well—this is something I will have to talk over with my daughter. I must see about this. I am very careful of my daughter and who she goes with, you know.” Nevertheless, he was thinking of the many coal trucks delivering coal in the neighborhood, the German name of this youth and his probable German and hence conservative upbringing. “I will let you know about it later. You come in some other time.”
And so later a conference with his daughter, resulting finally in the conclusion that it might be advisable for her to have at least one male contact. For she was sixteen years old and up to the present time he had been pretty strict with her. Perhaps she was over the worst period. At any rate, most other girls of her age were permitted to go out some. At least one beau of the right kind might be essential, and somehow he liked this youth who had approached him in this frank, fearless manner.
And so, for the time being, a call permitted once or twice a week, with Hauptwanger from the first dreaming most daring and aggressive dreams. And after a time, having conducted himself most circumspectly, it followed that an evening at one of the neighborhood picture houses was suggested and achieved. And once this was accomplished it became a regularity for him to spend either Wednesday or Friday evening with Ida, it depending on her work in the store. Later, his courage and skill never deserting him, a suggestion to Mr. Zobel that he permit Ida to go out with him on a Saturday afternoon to visit Peck’s Beach nine miles below the city, on the Little Shark. It was very nice there, and a popular Saturday and Sunday resort for most of the residents of this area. After a time, having by degrees gained the complete confidence of Zobel, he was granted permission to take Ida to one or another of the theatres downtown, or to a restaurant, or to the house of a boy friend who had a sister and who lived in the next block.
Despite his stern, infiltrating supervision, Zobel could not prevent the progressive familiarities based on youth, desire, romance. For with Edward Hauptwanger, to contact was to intrigue and eventually demand and compel. And so by degrees hand pressures, stolen or enforced kisses. Yet, none the less, Ida, still fully dominated by the mood and conviction of her father, persisting in a nervous evasiveness which was all too trying to her lover.
“Ah, you don’t know my father. No, I couldn’t do that. No, I can’t stay out so late. Oh, no—I wouldn’t dare go there—I wouldn’t dare to. I don’t know what he would do to me.”
This, or such as this, to all of his overtures which hinted at later hours, a trip to that mysterious and fascinating boat club on the Little Shark twenty-five miles out, where, as he so glibly explained, were to be enjoyed dancing, swimming, boating, music, feasting. But as Ida who had never done any of these things soon discovered for herself, this would require an unheard-of period of time—from noon until midnight—or later Saturday, whereas her father had fixed the hour of eleven-thirty for her return to the parental roof.