Books › The Red Book 1911-01: Vol 16 Iss 3, 1911 › scan 172
Scan 172
The Red Book 1911-01: Vol 16 Iss 3, 1911
38 lines. Read by computer on 14 September 2026. Printed page 555. See the scan on archive.org.
1THE TRIUMPH OF "TOOTHBRUSH"
3she said, to study drawing, not to lend herself to domestic tasks. But her suitor had detected a tinkle in her voice and a twinkle in her eye when she said it, and therefore he had lent himself more resolutely to his suit.
5One night, as they were strolling home from a boat-ride in Central Park, there was a Riviera-like something in the air and necromancy of moonlight a-plenty, which somehow made her let him kiss her. That was certainly a score for Jimmie. Then, womanlike, she handed him a prize package of reproof for being a newspaper man, with all the stealing of pictures, rustling of interviews under false pretenses, and kindred inelegant and unchurchly chores for city editors which newspaper work involves. This was where Miss Virginia scored. And before they arrived at the Maison Finley, the girl had shot so many holes into the profession of a reporter that thereafter, for a month, Jimmie dared essay no further conversation in re a license to wed.
7Having thus established her defense, Virginia, by way of a follow-up system, sent many a keen-pointed dart at Jimmie. And a cruel delight she took in so doing. On his return home, evenings, she would frequently ask: "How many lies did you tell to-day, Mr. Grant?" or "Did you steal any pictures to-day from women or children?" or "How many poor divorcées did you bombard with fresh questions to-day?" And one night, when Jimmie wounded his finger, drawing blood, while fixing a piece of broken metal on Virginia's trunk, she said: "It's too bad you didn't have your hand protected with a strip of your reporter's conscience."
9So much for ancient history. Half a chapter of her novel had Virginia read that evening, when she heard a step behind her on the stoop, looked around, and beheld little "Toothbrush." He bowed with the grandeur of an Elizabethan courtier.
11"Good evening," said Virginia pleasantly, "wont you sit down?"
13"I thank you," said the little man, dropping into a rocker near hers, and letting one thin leg, enveloped in its shiny, shabby, striped trouser, dangle over the other.
15"You seem to be a happy family here," he ventured. "This neighborhood holds many a charming memory for me. Years ago I lived in the next block. Those days I had a studio down in Union Square."
17"A studio?" replied the girl with growing interest. "Then you are an artist?"
19"In a sense, yes. I scrape the fiddle."
21"Oh, I just love the violin!" declared the girl, impulsively. "Will you play for us sometime?" she asked eagerly.
23"I should be happy to," said the professor. "I fancy you are an art student," he said abruptly.
25"Yes, at the Art Students' League. How did you ever guess?"
27"From the shape of your hands, your eyes, and the tone of your question."
29"How strange," murmured the girl, closing her open book and composing herself to listen.
31"Let me look at your hand," he said, reaching for it with the frank assurance of his five and forty years. Virginia obeyed, propped her left elbow upon her knee, placed her palm under her chin, and leaned forward with pretty expectation.
33"You inherit your love of art from your mother," spoke the revealer of secrets. "You care little for form or modeling. But you have a passion for color. You look first of all for color in a picture, in literature, in landscape, in everything."
35"Go on," breathed the girl, amazed at his accuracy.
37As the little man talked on, his pale, mystic eyes seemed to X-ray the girl's soul. There was something uncanny about it all, something incomprehensible to her. He told her of events in her life which made her gasp with astonishment. With deadly accuracy he read her character, her temperament, her very foibles. The queer little stranger seemed to know her better than she had ever known herself. The two sat conversing until after the last hurdy-gurdy in the neighborhood had ground out "Rings on Her Fingers and Bells on Her Toes," and the rest of the répertoire of those wandering troubadours who disgust, delight, and derange Manhattan.
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