§ 78
Peter had now been working faithfully for six or eight months, and
all that time he religiously carried out his promise to Guffey and did
not wink at a woman. But that is an unnatural life for a man, and Peter
was lonely, his dreams were haunted by the faces of Nell Doolin and
Rosie Stern, and even of little Jennie Todd. One day another face came
back to him, the face of Miss Frisbie, the little manicurist who had
spurned him because he was a Red. Now suddenly Peter realized that he
was no longer a Red! On the contrary, he was a hero, his picture had
been published in the American City "Times," and no doubt Miss Frisbie
had seen it. Miss Frisbie was a good girl, a straight girl, and surely
all right for him to know!
So Peter went to the manicure parlor, and sure enough, there was
the little golden-haired lady; and sure enough, she had read all about
him, she had been dreaming that some day she might meet him again — and
so Peter invited her to go to a picture show. On the way home they
became very chummy, and before a week went by it was as if they had been
friends for life. When Peter asked Miss Frisbie if he might kiss her,
she answered coyly that he might, but after he had kissed her a few
times she explained to him that she was a self-supporting woman, alone
and defenseless in the world, and she had nobody to speak for her but
herself; she must tell him that she had always been a respectable woman,
and that she wanted him to know that before he kissed her any more. And
Peter thought it over and decided that he had sowed his full share of
wild oats in this life; he was ready to settle down, and the next time
he saw Miss Frisbie he told her so, and before the evening was by they
were engaged.
Then Peter went to see Guffey, and seated himself on the edge of
the chair alongside Guffey's desk, and twisted his hat in his hands, and
flushed very red, and began to stammer out his confession. He expected
to be received with a gale of ridicule; he was immensely relieved when
Guffey said that if Peter had really found a good girl and wanted to
marry her, he, Guffey, was for it. There was nothing like the influence
of a good woman, and Guffey much preferred his operatives should be
married men, living a settled and respectable life. They could be
trusted then, and sometimes when a woman operative was needed, they had
a partner ready to hand. If Peter had got married long ago, he might
have had a good sum of money in the bank by now.
Peter ventured to point out that twenty dollars a week was not
exactly a marrying salary, in the face of the present high cost of
living. Guffey answered that that was true, and he would raise Peter to
thirty dollars right away — only first he demanded the right to talk to
Peter's fiancée, and judge for himself whether she was worthy.
Peter was delighted, and Miss Frisbie had a private and confidential
interview with Peter's boss. But afterwards Peter wasn't quite so
delighted, for he realized what Guffey had done. Peter's future wife
had been told all about Peter's weakness, and how Peter's boss looked to
her to take care of her husband and make him walk the chalkline. So a
week after Peter had entered the holy bonds of matrimony, when he and
Mrs. Gudge had their first little family tiff, Peter suddenly discovered
who was going to be top dog in that family. He was shown his place once
for all, and he took it, — alongside that husband who described his
domestic
arrangements by saying that he and his wife got along
beautifully together, they had come to an arrangement by
which he was to have his way on all major issues, and
she was to have her way on all minor issues, and so far no
major issues had arisen.
But really it was a very good thing; for Gladys Frisbie Gudge was
an excellent manager, and set to work making herself a nest as busily as
any female beaver. She still hung on to her manicurist job, for she had
figured it out that the Red movement must be just about destroyed by
now, and pretty soon Peter might find himself without work. In the
evenings she took to house-hunting, and during her noon hour, without
consulting Peter she selected the furniture and the wall-paper, and
pretty nearly bought out the stock of a five-and-ten-cent store to equip
the beaver's nest.
Gladys Frisbie Gudge was a diligent reader of the fashion
magazines, and kept herself right up to the minute with the styles; also
she had got herself a book on etiquette, and learned it by heart from
cover to cover, and now she took Peter in hand and taught it to him. Why
must he always be a "Jimmie Higgins" of the "Whites?" Why should he not
acquire the vocabulary of an educated man, the arts and graces of the
well-to-do? Gladys knew that it is these subtleties which determine your
salary in the long run; so every Sunday morning she would dress him up
with a new brown derby and a new pair of brown kid gloves, and take him
to the Church of the Divine Compassion, and they would listen to the
patriotic sermon of the Rev. de Willoughby Stotterbridge, and Gladys
would bow her head in prayer, and out of the corner of her eye
would get points on costumes from the lady in the next pew. And
afterwards they would join the Sunday parade, and Gladys would point out
to Peter the marks of what she called "gentility." In the evenings they
would go walking, and she would stop in front of the big shop-windows,
or take him into the hotel lobbies where the rich could be seen free of
charge. Peter would be hungry, and would want to go to a cheap
restaurant and fill himself up with honest grub; but Gladys, who had the
appetite of a bird, would insist on marching him into the dining-room of
the Hotel de Soto and making a meal upon a cup of broth and some bread
and butter — just in order that they might gaze upon a scene of elegance
and see bow "genteel" people ate their food.
