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Marion, the Story of an Artist's Model

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<h2>XXX</h2> THE following night Jimmy turned up sure enough, not only with his overcoat, but, as he said, “the price of another bang-out.” He said his mother had wept when she saw him “shivering,” and “you better believe no one ever shivered better than I did,” said Jimmy. So I went to supper again with Jimmy. When we were sitting at the table, and he started to order beer for me, I said: “Now, look here, Jimmy, I’ll eat supper with you, but I won’t drink with you, and that’s all there is to it.” “Be a sport, Marion.” “I don’t pretend to be a sport,” I replied, “and anyway in Montreal that means to shoot or skate or snowshoe or toboggan. Here when you say ‘sport’ you mean to drink a lot of liquor. I think it’s horrid.” Jimmy regarded me reproachfully. “I bet those farmers in Montreal drink their share all right,” he said. “Of course, that bum Canadian village isn’t really on the map at all{182}” (he was teasing me), “but I’ll bet the booze is right there. Say, don’t you really have cars running there? I bet you had some fine Jay-farmer beaus all right—oh! How about the one whose letters you’re always so glad to get? You nearly fell down the stairs the other day in your hurry to get that one from Miss Darling.” I couldn’t help laughing to think of Reggie being called a farmer. Jimmy took offense at my laughing. “Say, what’re you laughing about anyhow? If you don’t want my company, say so, and I’ll take myself off.” “Don’t be silly, Jimmy. You know very well I like your company, or I wouldn’t be sitting with you now.” “Then why can’t you drink a glass of beer with a fellow? I bet you would if I were that Montreal chap.” “I’ll drink the beer on one condition,” I said. “If you’ll promise not to drink any whiskey to-night.” Jimmy leaned over the table. “I’ll promise you anything on earth, Marion. I’m half-crazy about you anyhow.” The waiter was passing, and looking at us, he said: “No kissing allowed.” Jimmy was on his feet.{183} “What the devil do you mean? Did you mean to insult this lady?” His voice was raised and he had seized that waiter by the collar. I felt ashamed and afraid. I jumped up and tried to pull Jimmy from the waiter, but he wouldn’t let go. “Please, Jimmy, for my sake, stop!” I pleaded. The waiter was smiling a forced sort of smile, and he said: “No insult was intended, sir.” “All right then, apologize to this lady.” The waiter did so. “And now,” said Jimmy in a very lordly way, “come along, Marion, we don’t have to stay in this place. Come along.” When we got out to the street I turned upon him and said: “You can take me home, Jimmy Odell. I won’t go into another restaurant with you. I’m not going to be disgraced again.” “Oh, all right-oh!” said he sulkily. “I guess I can get all the whiskey I want alone without any one preaching to me,” and he turned around as if to leave me. I ran after him and caught him by the arm. “Jimmy, don’t drink any more.” He tried to shake off my hand, and he said recklessly: “What difference does it make? You do{184}n’t care anything about me. You wouldn’t really care if I drank myself to death.” “I would care, Jimmy. I care an awful lot about you.” Jimmy stopped short in the street. “Do you mean that? You do care for me?” I nodded. “Very well, then,” said he, “it’s up to you to stop me. If you’ll marry me, I’ll quit the booze. That’s on the level, Marion.” “Now, Jimmy, you know what I told you before, and yet you couldn’t keep away from that old flask of whiskey. You love it better than me. And I’m not going to marry you till I do see some real signs in you of reforming. Besides, anyway, you’ve got two years still to finish at Harvard, and I guess your people would be crazy if you got married before you graduated.” “Say, who is marrying, they or me?” demanded Jimmy. “Ah, come along, like a good fellow. Here’s just the joint we want,” and he drew me into a chop house on Washington Street. No sooner was he seated at the table than he ordered two steins of beer for us, but he kept his word about the whiskey. I had difficulty in drinking from the stein, as the lid knocked my hat crooked, and this amused Jimmy vastly. He began to chuckle loudly all of a sudden, and he leaned over the table and said: “Tell you what I’ll do, Marion. My siste{185}r’s giving some sort of party to-morrow night. How’d you like to go along?” “Why, how can I? She hasn’t invited me.” “Well, I guess I can bring my friends to our house if I want,” declared Jimmy, as though some one had questioned his right. “Will you or won’t you go? Yes or no?” “We-el—” “No ‘well’ about it. Yes or no?” “Yes.{186}” <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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