Susan Lenox: Her Fall and Rise, by David Graham Phillips

pleasing if scandalous suggestions and even possibilities in themind of every man with a carnal eye. And not unnaturally. To thinkof her was to think of the circumstances surrounding her cominginto the world; and to think of those circumstances was to think ofimmorality.Susan, all unconscious of that polluted and impudent gaze, wassoon standing before the narrow door numbered 34, as she barelymade out, for the lamps in the saloon chandeliers were turned low.She unlocked it, entered the small clean stateroom and depositedher bundle on the floor. With just a glance at her quarters shehurried to the opposite door–the one giving upon the promenade.She opened it, stepped out, crossed the deserted deck and stoodat the rail.The »General Lytle« was drawing slowly away from the wharfboat.As that part of the promenade happened to be sheltered fromthe steamer's lights, she was seeing the panorama of Sutherland–its long stretch of shaded waterfront, its cupolas and steeples, thewide leafy streets leading straight from the river by a gentle slopeto the base of the dark towering bluffs behind the town–all sleepingin peace and beauty in the soft light of the moon. That farthestcupola to the left–it was the Number Two engine house, and thethird place from it was her uncle's house. Slowly the steamer, nowin mid-stream, drew away from the town. One by one the familiarlandmarks–the packing house, the soap factory, the Geissbrewery, the tall chimney of the pumping station, the shorn top ofReservoir Hill–slipped ghostlily away to the southwest. The sobschoked up into her throat and the tears rained from her eyes. Theyall pitied and looked down on her there; still, it had been home theonly home she ever had known or ever would know. And untilthese last few frightful days, how happy she had been there! Forthe first time she felt desolate, weak, afraid. But not daunted. It isstrange to see in strong human character the strength and theweakness, two flat contradictions, existing side by side and makingweak what seems so strong and making strong what seems soweak. However, human character is a tangle of inconsistencies, asdisorderly and inchoate as the tangible and visible parts of nature.Susan felt weak, but not the kind of weakness that skulks. Andthere lay the difference, the abysmal difference, between courageand cowardice. Courage has full as much fear as cowardice, oftenmore; but it has a something else that cowardice has not. Ittrembles and shivers but goes forward.Wiping her eyes she went back to her own cabin. She hadneglected closing its other door, the one from the saloon. The clerkwas standing smirking in the doorway."You must be going away for quite some time," said he. And hefixed upon her as greedy and impudent eyes as ever looked from acommon face. It was his battle glance. Guileful women, bent ontrimming him for anything from a piece of plated jewelry to a saucerof ice cream, had led him to believe that before it walls of virtuetottered and fell like Jericho's before the trumpets of Joshua."It makes me a little homesick to see the old town disappear,"hastily explained Susan, recovering herself. The instant anyonewas watching, her emotions always hid."Wouldn't you like to sit out on deck a while?" pursued the clerk,bringing up a winning smile to reinforce the fetching stare.The idea was attractive, for she did not feel like sleep. It wouldbe fine to sit out in the open, watch the moon and the stars, themysterious banks gliding swiftly by, and new vistas alwayswidening out ahead. But not with this puny, sandy little "rivercharacter," not with anybody that night. "No," replied she. "I think I'llgo to bed."She had hesitated–and that was enough to give himencouragement. "Now, do come," he urged. "You don't know hownice it is. And they say I'm mighty good company.""No, thanks." Susan nodded a pleasant dismissal.The clerk lingered. "Can't I help you in some way? Wouldn't youlike me to get you something?""No–nothing.""Going to visit in Cincinnati? I know the town from A to Izzard.It's a lot of fun over the Rhine. I've had mighty good times there–the kind a pretty, lively girl like you would take to.""When do we get to Cincinnati?"