TALE NINETEEN. A STORY OF THE LEVEE.

In spite of police rules and the fact that there is a city ordinance prohibiting the admission of women in saloons in Chicago, in spite of the reported raids on dens in what has been known as the levee district for years, the writer indulged in a little slumming last evening.

One engaged in Dr. Parkhurst’s favorite pastime need go but a few blocks from the Central Police Station to find sufficient fields of labor to keep one busy for days. South State street appeared to be more attractive to a man going out on such an expedition alone, for the section of the street chosen for the work was nearly as black as Hades while strictly speaking it was as light as day owing to the numerous arc lights which served to light the inexperienced to these shining dens of vice.

The thrum of the guitar and the twang of the banjo and pounding of the piano served to entice me to enter a resort that is well known as the rendezvous of as precious a lot of thieving “old Mols,” pickpockets and grafters of all sorts as any city should care to boast.

Upon my entrance my attention was attracted by the many signs of fresh paint which was smeared over the faces of the denizens of gaudy attire which in some cases could almost be described by saying they were attired in a pair of red hose and a short bodice. In many instances the flaring nostrils and flaming eyes were temporarily obscured by clouds of cigarette smoke, only to be assisted in their display of dissipation by a liberal supply of gold teeth, as the degraded creatures would eagerly open their carmined lips to receive again the agent of insanity.

I was greeted with all the endearing terms known to the human tongue, from “Hello, sweetheart,” to “Honey, buy your baby a drink.”

I saw everything from a friendly handshake to a hugging match behind an artificial palm. Every inducement to a man of virile, animal instincts was held out to the male visitors of this law abiding place, while the revolting scenes of depraved humanity were made more distasteful to the refined person on account of the pit of hellish wretchedness his fellow men had fallen into.

So much for a city which is regarded as being under the surveillance, of proper authorities at all times.

I sat down at a table alone. The three-man band struck up a waltz, the notes arose and mingled with smoke, curses and a discordant humming which came from the husky throats of a dozen or more wearers of bleached hair and otherwise falsified females.

As the music continued I glanced around the large room. The sight of drunken men lolling over women whose only claim to life and conviviality was supplied by the effect of the different intoxicants which these daughters of misfortune had freely indulged in, was sufficiently disgusting to cause me to desire to make my exit without further delay.

I arose to go; just as I did so, I caught the eye of a creature whose smile showed in itself just how much of an effort it cost for the woman to present it. I lingered by the chair, and she approached me timidly. Her action, combined with her appearance, served to mislead me. I mistook her for a novice; on account of her seemingly natural shyness I looked upon her as being wholly out of place. Her general appearance too was far above the ordinary “she frequenters” of this place.

She was young, well preserved, modestly dressed and talked with a degree of sense and moral refinement unknown to the patrons of the establishment. Notwithstanding the fact that circumstances were against her, I believed her when she told me that she was not an habitue of this particular resort.

“But why are you here tonight?” I asked.

“Oh, I have the blues, good and plenty,” she said, as she dropped into a chair.

“For why?” was my bantering query.

It was then that I was treated to a square look into her face. She was pretty to say the least. Her soft hazel eyes denoted everything but viciousness; her full, round face carried the freshness of youth and she made feeble attempts to smile pleasantly, at which time she showed a set of white, firm, but very short teeth. She gazed at me for a full moment, then with an air of wisdom she said: “I suppose you are fixing to make a raid on all the ‘joints’?”

“No, I am not,” was my honest reply, the meaning of which was so well taken that this girl admitted that I was surely “off my beat.”

“You do not look like a man who chose his society from the ranks of these people,” said she, with a look around the room.

“I should think you would know whether you had ever seen me around here before,” said I.

“Nothing strange in that, for this is the first time I was ever in this place in my life.”

By this time I had convinced her that I was not a “fly cop.” She had caused me to believe that she, too, was telling the truth. I finally invited her to have a drink.

“No. At least not here; this is too tough for me,” she said as she arose.

“But I want to talk to you.”

“I am willing to talk, but not here and if you will meet me at the next corner in the basement, I will talk as long as you like. It is better and cleaner there,” she added.

“Shall I go with you?”

“No, I will go alone. You follow.”

After she had gone out, I viewed myself in the dingy mirror. I wondered if I really looked easy to that sly lady. I was not inclined to follow her into any basement den and run the chance of her having told some of the gang that I had insulted her, so they might have an excuse to beat me into insensibility, rob me and throw me into the gutter, from whence I would be gathered up by the kind hearted policeman and carted away to the station more dead than alive and be called upon to answer to the charge of drunk and disorderly conduct, the next day, and pay tribute to the tune of a big fine, while my assailants were waiting for more “suckers.”

Curiosity and stubbornness led me to follow at a safe distance and try if possible to ascertain what sort of a place she entered.

It was on a corner; a view of the marble steps and shining brass rails denoted cleanliness. Bright lights diffused a warmth of welcome, while strains of music floated from the farther recesses of the basement. An expensive sign told me that the place was a “cafe.” “Ladies’ Entrance” was the inimitable farce that adorned the wall directly over one pair of steps leading downward, while numerous announcements over the other stairway announced all that was to be found by a respectable man of leisure. With a slight feeling of trepidation, I descended to the source of hilarity; as I drew nearer the music I became braver. I sought a table in a far off corner, and had not been there long when my new found acquaintance approached me.

“Now,” I said, “I want you to tell me all about yourself.”

“And if I do will you advise me as to what course to pursue to right a wrong?”

“I will try. But first have a drink. You are all upset; take a little liquor to steady your nerves.”

The drinks being disposed of, she began.

“Ah well, it is a short story. I came to Chicago during the World’s Fair. I was a pretty child of seventeen. My parents were very wealthy. My former home was Grand Rapids, Michigan, but I became so enamored with the exciting life of this great city that I prevailed upon my parents to allow me to remain here and enter a school of music. For four years I advanced rapidly. Society’s doors were wide open to me everywhere. I was in great demand at all social functions on account of my rich voice. I made many friends and was loved and petted by all. I met a man, one who also sang; our sympathetic natures readily embraced each other, our souls were in harmony, we saw with the same eyes, heard with the same ears, and lived by the agencies of the same heart beats.

“Time flew as it only can for lovers. We became engaged. All looked like one eternal, joyous day, but as time brings joy, so does it also bring pain. My fiance held a position of trust and responsibility. He came to me one day and said: ‘Jeanette, we must break our engagement,’ I thought he was joking, but no such good fortune. He meant he was thousands of dollars short in his accounts and wished to break off with me before it became public, so that the disgrace would not rest so heavily on me. He was noble for that, but I refused to release him, and wired my father, who came. I told him all, and my Dad was a good Dad; he anticipated my wish, and at once offered to make good all of Leslie’s shortage. It was decided that the matter should be settled in that way. Just then a new feature came to light. It developed that before I met Leslie he had been badly smitten on his employer’s daughter, Emily Sutton. I had never seen her; in fact, up to this time I did not know there was such a girl on earth. Miss Sutton was conscious of Leslie’s financial trouble, and as she had recently come into a large fortune in her own right, she, too, offered aid to the man we both loved. She had heard of me and demanded that I be jilted, and she become his wife. He refused, whereupon her influence was brought to bear upon her father and to spite me, Leslie was taken into custody. My father was true blue, and furnished the necessary bond which gave Leslie his liberty. He disappeared, and the affair caused an estrangement between my parents, which eventually drove my father to suicide. My mother and I quarreled; she said such bitter things about the loss my father had sustained by reason of his signing Leslie’s bond, that I refused to accept a dollar of the balance of the estate. She eventually married again and her second husband lost all my poor Dad had left.

“I applied for a position as soloist at a number of the different churches, and each time some promise was made, but in every instance I afterward received a brief note, saying the committee had decided not to employ me at present. I went so far as to offer my services gratis, but the offer was gracefully rejected. I had been so deeply worried that I had failed to notice the lack of attention and invitations from my old circle of friends, which had gradually narrowed down to a handful, compared to former days. Finally I thought as a last resort and an excuse for remaining on earth, I would apply for a position on the stage. I had no trouble in securing what I thought was a very good contract. I made my debut at the Masonic Temple and had the newspapers let me alone, all would have gone well, but it appeared to be their duty to take up my thread of existence from childhood and around me they wove a romantic story. They told how one man had so lost his head over me that he became an embezzler; how the publicity had caused my father to fill a suicide’s grave, and how I had been a social favorite until this trouble came, etc. I suppose they meant it kindly, for the article closed by assuring the public that my smiles were as winsome as ever and my voice as sweet, and no doubt but that the Temple Garden would have the honor of having more real society people in attendance during my engagement, than any other place of amusement in the city. And they were there like curiosity seekers at a funeral. When the hour came for my second appearance (the matinee), every seat was taken and the “Standing Room Only” card had been put up an hour before the curtain raised. My number came; I went onto the stage and proceeded to disappoint my former friends by being seized with stage fright, and instead of singing, I stood in dumb consternation. Again and again the orchestra repeated the introduction; again and again did the director give me my cue. I heard nothing. I could see in the distance fans and handkerchiefs waving in the air. I saw a hundred pair of hands extended, and brought quickly together, but heard no clapping sound. I saw the many gorgeous flowers that were tossed upon the stage in massive bouquets. I saw the footlights as they seemed to grow more dazzling and then recede to a glimmering yellow flame, then I saw⸺.

“When I revived the manager was furious. They said I had fainted. I guess I did. I know a very strange feeling came over me.

“Now I have recited my entire stage career to you. After this experience my nerves seemed to fail me and I was unfit for anything. I had the misfortune one day to meet one of my old friends, who happened to be in the audience when I broke down. We had a long talk over our lunch which lasted from two till five o’clock. He was so sorry for me, and said the thing I needed was travel. I felt myself as if something was needed. He proposed to assist me financially, and insisted on my going to Mt. Clemmens to take a course of sulphur baths. I really felt that it would benefit me, and hoped it would refit me for some sort of service by which I might earn a living. I accepted the proffered aid and left Chicago to seek health and strength. I spent seven weeks at the baths, and was so much improved that I felt that life was again worth living. At the end of that time my benefactor came to me. He told me two things and one was that he had seen Leslie in Chicago; that since the forfeiture of his bond he had decided to return here and had married his former employer’s daughter, Emily. The other thing he told me was that he was just starting for a year’s sojourn in Europe and wished me to join him. I did not know what it meant, but he plainly told me that I would be expected to travel as his wife. His request had a crushing effect on me. I could see why he had entertained so much sympathy for me in my days of trouble.

“I wanted to kill him. I asked him why he had not let me starve or die from the effects of the malady from which I was suffering. He listened quietly and then talked soothingly to me, until he convinced me that in reality he was my only friend. I then became suspicious. I did not believe he had seen Leslie, and I did not believe Leslie was married. I still loved him with the devotion that had eaten into my childish heart. I made my tormentor this proposition: That I would return to Chicago and see Leslie. If he really was married and could not marry me, I would return to him and accompany him to Europe. I had two reasons for making this request. First, I really wished to see Leslie, and second, I considered it a good plan to get away from the man who had befriended me, and to whom I found it quite a task to say no after all his kindness. He consented to the return to Chicago, and suggested that if I wished to go with him that I meet him in New York in two weeks. He filled my purse and I came here. I easily found Leslie. I told him I still loved him and begged him to marry me or kill me and end my suffering. He denounced me bitterly, accusing me of every sin a mortal can commit, and wound up by telling me he was married and showed me a picture of his wife. Here, this is the very picture,” said the girl as she drew a photograph from the envelope.

“And you, of course, snatched it out of his hand.”

“No, I will tell you how I got it when I get to that part.”

“I left him, my heart heavy within me. Again I sought employment in this city; for days I almost ran from one building to another in answer to some advertisement, only to find that I was too late, or in order to obtain this position I must submit to such proposals as I could not bear. Two weeks’ continuous trying and almost begging will tire the bravest. I found nothing that I could accept. My money was going fast; as I counted over my little store of currency my mind returned to him who gave it to me. Should I go and meet him? No! Die first, was my resolve. Then the thought came to me that possibly I could do better in New York, so after satisfying myself that he would have sailed before I could reach there, I left. I spent nearly all the money I had left for passage to New York. I felt that I never wanted to hear the name Chicago again, and as the train pulled out, I closed my eyes lest I should see something that would add more to my misery.

“I arrived at the Eastern metropolis without accident. I went straightway to a music hall and sought an engagement. I was accepted and was to appear in “The Spider and the Fly” Co. and told to report for rehearsal the next morning at ten. I went and lo! another calamity. The manager produced a picture of me, one which had been taken to decorate the billboards at the time of my debut here. He also informed me that I was on the black list for feigning illness at that time that I might be relieved from my contract.

“I needed a friend then to show that I was entitled to better treatment. The manager suggested that I change my name and get some one to vouch for me and then apply to some other manager.

“I thanked him for the advice and started out to find some one, but whom could I find? The only person I knew in New York had undoubtedly left there, and if he had not I would not dare go to him. But I did dare anyway. I knew not what else to do. I made inquiry at his hotel, and found to my half hearted delight that he had not yet sailed, but would leave that night. ‘Good!’ I thought, ‘I will detain him but a short time; he will help me to a position and it will not interfere with his trip.’

“I waited for his coming. He greeted me effusively, and told me he had waited and knew I would come.

“I explained all to him and asked him to help me that I might secure a position and be able to repay him all he had expended in my behalf. He laughed at me and said: ‘Yes, of course, but let’s talk it over.’

“It was dinner time and he suggested that as he had lunched early and I looked tired and hungry, that we go to dinner.

“We had dinner at Delmonico’s, and breakfast on board an ocean liner bound for Liverpool. People can say all they please about not knowing what they do while under the influence of intoxicants, but I know that as a rule they are conscious of every act, but simply do not care. At the dinner I have just told you of, we had wine. I rather enjoyed the sensation it produced, it made me forgetful of all my troubles, and appreciative of all my friend had done, so that when he proposed that we sail and not try for the stage again, I was a willing participant in the carriage ride that took us to the docks. How I got on board the ship I do not know. What happened during the night I cannot remember, for slumber relieved me of all the horror attending the desecration of my virginity. I simply know that during our trip I was Mrs. H. Bartel.

“We traveled for a year and then he brought me back to Chicago. He furnished a house, put $1,000 in the bank to my credit, and bade me good-by.

“He went out of my life as quickly as I seemed to have lost cast in his. I began by keeping roomers; that did not pay. Then some of the fashionable men whom I had known in my palmy days approached me with a request that I allow them to hold clandestine meetings with women at my home. They paid well for the liberty.

“From that I went one step further, and became the landlady of a house of bad repute, entering the field openly and above board.

“Three months ago a woman applied to my house for admission. She looked fairly good and I took her in. I paid little attention to her, and such affairs were so common that I did not attempt to wring from her any ancient history. Her face had a familiar look, that at times puzzled me, but I did not give her much thought. One day I found a picture on her dresser. It was a picture of Leslie. I flew into a rage and questioned her closely. She told me she was his wife, made so by circumstances not conducive to happiness. I concealed my surprise. I knew then where I had seen her face. I managed to keep the truth from her and in a day or two found an excuse to expel her from my house. The last I heard of her she had become a frequenter of these places along the street here. Today I received this letter and picture from Leslie, and my business here tonight is to comply with his request if possible. Here is the letter, I will read it:

“‘Dear Jeanette: I have just learned what you are engaged in, also that my wife is an inmate of your establishment. May God grant that you are not aware of the fact, for although I have mistreated you shamefully, I will not believe that you have hunted her up and taken this method of revenge on me. Enclosed find her picture, the one I showed you before. For Heaven’s sake, send her to me and my baby.

“‘Kill me or torture me personally in any way you desire, but I beg of you do not be a party to the visitation of disgrace on my child. Yours,

“‘LESLIE.’

“And I am hunting Emily Sutton Marsh with a view to returning her to the place where she belongs.”