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Old Rogaum and His Theresa
by
His sharp eyes were gleaming as he looked around into her own. Already he had made up his mind that she should not go back if he could help it. He knew a better place than home for this night, anyhow — the club room of the Roosters, if nowhere else. They could stay there for a time, anyhow.
By now old Rogaum, who had seen her walking up the street alone, was marveling at her audacity, but. thought she would soon come back. It was amazing that she should exhibit such temerity, but he would teach her! Such a whipping! At half-past ten, however, he stuck his head out of the open window and saw nothing of her. At eleven, the same. Then he walked the floor.
At first wrathful, then nervous, then nervous and wrathful, he finally ended all nervous, without a scintilla of wrath. His stout wife sat up in bed and began to wring her hands.
“Lie down!” he commanded.”You make me sick. I know vot I am doing!”
“Is she still at der door?” pleaded the mother.
“No,” he said.”I don’t tink so. She should come yen I call.”
His nerves were weakening, however, and now they finally collapsed.
“She vent de stread up.” he said anxiously after a time.”I vill go after.”
Slipping on his coat, he went down the stairs and out into the night. It was growing late, and the stillness and gloom of midnight were nearing. Nowhere in sight was his Theresa. First one way and then another he went, looking here, there, everywhere, finally groaning.
“Ach, Gott!” he said, the sweat bursting out on his brow, “vot in Teufel’s name iss dis?”
He thought he would seek a policeman, but there was none. Officer Maguire had long since gone for a quiet game in one of the neighboring saloons. His partner had temporarily returned to his own beat. Still old Rogaum hunted on, worrying more and more.
Finally he bethought him to hasten home again, for she must have got back. Mrs. Rogaum, too, would be frantic if she had not. If she were not there lie must go to the police. Such a night! And his Theresa –This thing could not go on. As he turned into his own corner he almost ran, coming up to the little portico wet and panting. At a puffing step he turned, and almost fell over a white body at his feet, a prone and writhing woman.
“Ach, Gott!” he cried aloud, almost shouting in his distress and excitement.”Theresa, vot iss dis? Wilhelmina, a light now. Bring a light now, I say, for himmel’s sake! Theresa hat sich umgebracht . Help!”
He had fallen to his knees and was turning over the writhing, groaning figure. By the pale light of the street, however, he could make out that it was not his Theresa, fortunately, as he had at first feared, but another and yet there was something very like her in the figure.
“Um!” said the stranger weakly.”Ah!”
The dress was gray, not white as was his Theresa’s, but the body was round and plump. It cut the fiercest cords of his intensity, this thought of death to a young woman, but there was something else about the situation which made him forget his own troubles.
Mrs. Rogaum, loudly admonished, almost tumbled down the stairs. At the foot she held the light she had brought — a small glass oil-lamp — and then nearly-dropped it. A fairly attractive figure, more girl than woman, rich in all the physical charms that characterize a certain type, lay near to dying. Her soft hair had fallen back over a good forehead, now quite white. Her pretty hands, well decked with rings, were clutched tightly in an agonized grip. At her neck a blue silk shirtwaist and light lace collar were torn away where she had clutched herself, and on the white flesh was a yellow stain as of one who had been burned. A strange odor reeked in the area, and in one corner was a spilled bottle.