Bab Bab 10 · The world into which Jennie was thus unduly thrust forth was that

in which virtue has always vainly struggled since time immemorial; for

virtue is the wishing well and the doing well unto others. Virtue is

that quality of generosity which offers itself willingly for another's

service, and, being this, it is held by society to be nearly

worthless. Sell yourself cheaply and you shall be used lightly and

trampled under foot. Hold yourself dearly, however unworthily, and you

will be respected. Society, in the mass, lacks woefully in the matter

of discrimination. Its one criterion is the opinion of others. Its one

test that of self-preservation. Has he preserved his fortune? Has she

preserved her purity? Only in rare instances and with rare individuals

does there seem to be any guiding light from within.

Jennie had not sought to hold herself dear. Innate feeling in her

made for self-sacrifice. She could not be readily corrupted by the

world's selfish lessons on how to preserve oneself from the evil to

come.

It is in such supreme moments that growth is greatest. It comes as

with a vast surge, this feeling of strength and sufficiency. We may

still tremble, the fear of doing wretchedly may linger, but we grow.

Flashes of inspiration come to guide the soul. In nature there is no

outside. When we are cast from a group or a condition we have still

the companionship of all that is. Nature is not ungenerous. Its winds

and stars are fellows with you. Let the soul be but gentle and

receptive, and this vast truth will come home--not in set

phrases, perhaps, but as a feeling, a comfort, which, after all, is

the last essence of knowledge. In the universe peace is wisdom.

Jennie had hardly turned from the door when she was overtaken by

Bass. "Give me your grip," he said; and then seeing that she was dumb

with unutterable feeling, he added, "I think I know where I can get

you a room."

He led the way to the southern part of the city, where they were

not known, and up to the door of an old lady whose parlor clock had

been recently purchased from the instalment firm by whom he was now

employed. She was not well off, he knew, and had a room to rent.

"Is that room of yours still vacant?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, looking at Jennie.

"I wish you'd let my sister have it. We're moving away, and she

can't go yet."

The old lady expressed her willingness, and Jennie was soon

temporarily installed.

"Don't worry now," said Bass, who felt rather sorry for her.

"This'll blow over. Ma said I should tell you not to worry. Come up

to-morrow when he's gone."

Jennie said she would, and, after giving her further oral

encouragement, he arranged with the old lady about board, and took his

leave.

"It's all right now," he said encouragingly as he went out. "You'll

come out all right. Don't worry. I've got to go back, but I'll come

around in the morning."

He went away, and the bitter stress of it blew lightly over his

head, for he was thinking that Jennie had made a mistake. This was

shown by the manner in which he had asked her questions as they had

walked together, and that in the face of her sad and doubtful

mood.

"What'd you want to do that for?" and "Didn't you ever think what

you were doing?" he persisted.

"Please don't ask me to-night," Jennie had said, which put an end

to the sharpest form of his queries. She had no excuse to offer and no

complaint to make. If any blame attached, very likely it was hers. His

own misfortune and the family's and her sacrifice were alike

forgotten.

Left alone in her strange abode, Jennie gave way to her saddened

feelings. The shock and shame of being banished from her home overcame

her, and she wept. Although of a naturally long-suffering and

uncomplaining disposition, the catastrophic wind-up of all her hopes

was too much for her. What was this element in life that could seize

and overwhelm one as does a great wind? Why this sudden intrusion of

death to shatter all that had seemed most promising in life?

As she thought over the past, a very clear recollection of the

details of her long relationship with Brander came back to her, and

for all her suffering she could only feel a loving affection for him.

After all, he had not deliberately willed her any harm. His kindness,

his generosity--these things had been real. He had been

essentially a good man, and she was sorry--more for his sake than

for her own that his end had been so untimely.

These cogitations, while not at all reassuring, at least served to

pass the night away, and the next morning Bass stopped on his way to

work to say that Mrs. Gerhardt wished her to come home that same

evening. Gerhardt would not be present, and they could talk it over.

She spent the day lonesomely enough, but when night fell her spirits

brightened, and at a quarter of eight she set out.

There was not much of comforting news to tell her. Gerhardt was

still in a direfully angry and outraged mood. He had already decided

to throw up his place on the following Saturday and go to Youngstown.

Any place was better than Columbus after this; he could never expect

to hold up his head here again. Its memories were odious. He would go

away now, and if he succeeded in finding work the family should

follow, a decision which meant the abandoning of the little home. He

was not going to try to meet the mortgage on the house--he could

not hope to.

At the end of the week Gerhardt took his leave, Jennie returned

home, and for a time at least there was a restoration of the old

order, a condition which, of course, could not endure.

Bass saw it. Jennie's trouble and its possible consequences weighed

upon him disagreeably. Columbus was no place to stay. Youngstown was

no place to go. If they should all move away to some larger city it

would be much better.

He pondered over the situation, and hearing that a manufacturing

boom was on in Cleveland, he thought it might be wise to try his luck

there. If he succeeded, the others might follow. If Gerhardt still

worked on in Youngstown, as he was now doing, and the family came to

Cleveland, it would save Jennie from being turned out in the

streets.

Bass waited a little while before making up his mind, but finally

announced his purpose.

"I believe I'll go up to Cleveland," he said to his mother one

evening as she was getting supper.

"Why?" she asked, looking up uncertainly. She was rather afraid

that Bass would desert her.

"I think I can get work there," he returned. "We oughtn't to stay

in this darned old town."

"Don't swear," she returned reprovingly.

"Oh, I know," he said, "but it's enough to make any one swear.

We've never had anything but rotten luck here. I'm going to go, and

maybe if I get anything we can all move. We'd be better off if we'd

get some place where people don't know us. We can't be anything

here."

Mrs. Gerhardt listened with a strong hope for a betterment of their

miserable life creeping into her heart. If Bass would only do this. If

he would go and get work, and come to her rescue, as a strong bright

young son might, what a thing it would be! They were in the rapids of

a life which was moving toward a dreadful calamity. If only something

would happen.

"Do you think you could get something to do?" she asked

interestedly.

"I ought to," he said. "I've never looked for a place yet that I

didn't get it. Other fellows have gone up there and done all right.

Look at the Millers."

He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked out the window.

"Do you think you could get along until I try my hand up there?" he

asked.

"I guess we could," she replied. "Papa's at work now and we have

some money that, that--" she hesitated, to name the source, so

ashamed was she of their predicament.

"Yes, I know," said Bass, grimly.

"We won't have to pay any rent here before fall and then we'll have

to give it up anyhow," she added.

She was referring to the mortgage on the house, which fell due the

next September and which unquestionably could not be met. "If we could

move away from here before then, I guess we could get along."

"I'll do it," said Bass determinedly. "I'll go."

Accordingly, he threw up his place at the end of the month, and the

day after he left for Cleveland.