Read Online Jack and Susan in 1913 by Michael McDowell - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael McDowell
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door, the weight of Susanâs cast, and the length of her skirt. But at last it was accomplished when Mr. Beaumont simply put his strong hands about her waist and lifted her inside, then climbed in behind her. He picked up the speaker tube and instructed the driver to take them to number 27 West Twenty-seventh Street.
On the way Susan tried not to think of the extravagance of this cab, but turned in the seat so that she could peer out the back flap of the closed compartment, which Mr. Beaumont gallantly held open for her. It seemed as if she had never seen a crowd before, so entranced was she by the sheer numbers of people on the streets. She had never considered Seventh Avenue to be particularly splendid, but today she thought there was no street in the world to match it. At least she held that opinion until the cab turned on Forty-fourth Street, and then continued on down Fifth Avenue. For nothing was more splendid than that.
âYouâve been hiding away in that room too long,â Mr. Beaumont said, a trifle hesitantly, as if afraid that he might have made too personal a remark.
âSometimes I think Iâm going mad up there,â Susan admitted, still gazing out the back flap. âThatâs why you hear me pacing so. Thatâs why I sometimes find myself doing a tarantella at eight in the morningââ
ââwith a three-legged dog for a partner?â Mr. Beaumont said with a laugh, then blushed again.
âIâm entirely mad,â said Susan. âAnd I do thank you for allowing me to come along today. Iâm not sureâin fact, I know I wouldnât have ventured so far away from homeââ
She broke off, for that admission made her sound like such a timid creature! The fact was that her hibernation had nothing to do with fear or an unwillingness to exert herself. Now she felt as if for the past several weeks she had been a pathetic, trapped creature, imprisoned not by a broken leg but by depression and a lack of self-confidence. The thought made her ashamed, even though she knew that one couldnât be strong all the time.
She felt happy today, and seeing so many people all about who quite demonstrably got by in life suggested to Susan that she would be able to get by as well. But what was she to do with herself? And where was her life to go? The question wasnât one that was going to melt like January snow.
CHAPTER EIGHT
S USANâS EXPECTATIONS concerning the appearance of the Cosmic Film Company were not fulfilled. Sheâd assumed, rather laughably, she guessed, that moving pictures were made in a theater. But the building at 27 West Twenty-seventh Street was much more like a factory, plain and brick. It did not possess posters outside the entrance, only a small placard announcing that on the third, fourth, and fifth floors were located the premises of the Cosmic Film Company. No marble foyer with gilt and mirrors and crimson carpeting greeted them inside, but only a grimy granite entranceway and a growling elevator, the door to which Mr. Beaumont held open for her.
They rose to the third floor and emerged into a large low room that was quite reminiscent of a factory, with a strong odor of chemicals. Men in long dirty white aprons ran about in a general air of barely controlled frenzy. One of these men stopped long enough to stare at them in a way that plainly asked their business. âWeâre here to see Mr. Collamore,â said Mr. Beaumont.
The man stuck out an upraised thumb, which signified up . Susan and Mr. Beaumont got back into the elevator.
âShall we try four?â Susan suggested.
On the fourth floor was clearly the business end of the operation, for here telephones were ringingâfive of them on a single desk, behind which sat a sullen young boy. Susan was certain it was he who had been so rude to her the previous day. Messenger boys in blue uniforms waited about, apparently for canisters of film to be taken out to
On the way Susan tried not to think of the extravagance of this cab, but turned in the seat so that she could peer out the back flap of the closed compartment, which Mr. Beaumont gallantly held open for her. It seemed as if she had never seen a crowd before, so entranced was she by the sheer numbers of people on the streets. She had never considered Seventh Avenue to be particularly splendid, but today she thought there was no street in the world to match it. At least she held that opinion until the cab turned on Forty-fourth Street, and then continued on down Fifth Avenue. For nothing was more splendid than that.
âYouâve been hiding away in that room too long,â Mr. Beaumont said, a trifle hesitantly, as if afraid that he might have made too personal a remark.
âSometimes I think Iâm going mad up there,â Susan admitted, still gazing out the back flap. âThatâs why you hear me pacing so. Thatâs why I sometimes find myself doing a tarantella at eight in the morningââ
ââwith a three-legged dog for a partner?â Mr. Beaumont said with a laugh, then blushed again.
âIâm entirely mad,â said Susan. âAnd I do thank you for allowing me to come along today. Iâm not sureâin fact, I know I wouldnât have ventured so far away from homeââ
She broke off, for that admission made her sound like such a timid creature! The fact was that her hibernation had nothing to do with fear or an unwillingness to exert herself. Now she felt as if for the past several weeks she had been a pathetic, trapped creature, imprisoned not by a broken leg but by depression and a lack of self-confidence. The thought made her ashamed, even though she knew that one couldnât be strong all the time.
She felt happy today, and seeing so many people all about who quite demonstrably got by in life suggested to Susan that she would be able to get by as well. But what was she to do with herself? And where was her life to go? The question wasnât one that was going to melt like January snow.
CHAPTER EIGHT
S USANâS EXPECTATIONS concerning the appearance of the Cosmic Film Company were not fulfilled. Sheâd assumed, rather laughably, she guessed, that moving pictures were made in a theater. But the building at 27 West Twenty-seventh Street was much more like a factory, plain and brick. It did not possess posters outside the entrance, only a small placard announcing that on the third, fourth, and fifth floors were located the premises of the Cosmic Film Company. No marble foyer with gilt and mirrors and crimson carpeting greeted them inside, but only a grimy granite entranceway and a growling elevator, the door to which Mr. Beaumont held open for her.
They rose to the third floor and emerged into a large low room that was quite reminiscent of a factory, with a strong odor of chemicals. Men in long dirty white aprons ran about in a general air of barely controlled frenzy. One of these men stopped long enough to stare at them in a way that plainly asked their business. âWeâre here to see Mr. Collamore,â said Mr. Beaumont.
The man stuck out an upraised thumb, which signified up . Susan and Mr. Beaumont got back into the elevator.
âShall we try four?â Susan suggested.
On the fourth floor was clearly the business end of the operation, for here telephones were ringingâfive of them on a single desk, behind which sat a sullen young boy. Susan was certain it was he who had been so rude to her the previous day. Messenger boys in blue uniforms waited about, apparently for canisters of film to be taken out to
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