The Story of Julia Page | Page 6

slippers,
packages of gum and of cigarettes, and packs of cards, as well as more
ornamental matters: china statuettes and glass cologne bottles, a
palm-leaf fan with roses painted on it, a pincushion of redwood bark,
and a plush rolling-pin with brass screws in it, hung by satin ribbons.
Over all lay a thick coat of dust.
Emeline took Julia in her lap, and sat down in one of the patent rockers.
She remained for a long time staring out of the front window. George's
words burned angrily in her memory--she felt sick of life.
A spring twilight was closing down upon O'Farrell Street. In the row of
houses opposite Emeline could see slits of gaslight behind lowered
shades, and could look straight into the second floor of the
establishment that flourished behind a large sign bearing the words,
"O'Connor, Modes." This row of bay-windowed houses had been
occupied as homes by very good families when the Pages first came to
O'Farrell Street, but six years had seen great changes in the block. A
grocery and bar now occupied the corner, facing the saloon above
which the Pages lived, and the respectable middle- class families had
moved away, one by one, giving place to all sorts of business
enterprises. Milliners and dressmakers took the first floors, and rented
the upper rooms; one window said "Mme. Claire, Palmist," and another
"Violin Lessons"; one basement was occupied by a dealer in plaster
statuary, and another by a little restaurant. Most interesting of all to the
stageloving Emeline was the second floor, obliquely opposite her own,
which bore an immense sign, "Gottoli, Wigs and Theatrical Supplies.
Costumes of all sorts Designed and on Hand." Between Gottoli's
windows were two painted panels representing respectively a very
angular, moustached young man in a dress suit, and a girl in a Spanish
dancer's costume, with a tambourine. Gottoli did not do a very
flourishing business, but Emeline watched his doorway by the hour,
and if ever her dreams came back now, it was at these times.
To-night Julia went to sleep in her arms; she was an unexacting little

girl, accustomed to being ignored much of the time, and humoured,
over-indulged, and laughed at at long intervals. Emeline sat on and on,
crying now and then, and gradually reducing herself to a more softened
mood, when she longed to be dear to George again, to please and
content him. She had just made up her mind that this was no
neighbourhood for ideal home life, when George, smelling strongly of
whiskey, but affectionate and repentant, came in.
"What doing?" asked George, stumbling in the dark room.
"Just watching the cable cars go up and down," Emeline said, rousing.
She set the dazed Julia on her feet, and groped for matches on the
mantel. A second later the stifling odour of block matches drifted
through the room, and Emeline lighted a gas jet.
"Had your supper?" said she, as George sat down and took the child
into his arms.
"Nope," he answered, grinning ashamedly. "Thought maybe you and I'd
go to dinner somewheres, Em."
Emeline was instantly her better self. While she flew into her best
clothes she told George that she knew she was a rotten manager, but
she was so darn sick of this darn flat--She had just been sitting there
wondering if they hadn't better move into the country, say into Oakland.
Her sister May lived there, they might get a house near May, with a
garden for Julia, and a spare room where George could put up a friend.
George was clumsily enthusiastic. Gosh, if she would do that--if she
could stand its being a little quiet--
"I'd get to know the neighbours, and we'd have real good times," said
Emeline optimistically, "and it would be grand for Julie!"
Julia had by this time gone off to sleep in the centre of the large bed.
Her mother removed the child's shoes and some of her clothing,
without rousing her, loosened her garters, and unbuttoned whatever
buttons she could reach.

"She'll be all right," she said confidently. "She never wakes."
George lowered the gas, and they tiptoed out. But Julie did waken half
an hour later, as it happened, and screamed for company for ten
hideous minutes. Then Miss Flossie Miniver, a young woman who had
recently rented the top floor, and of whom Emeline and the other ladies
of the house disapproved, came downstairs and softly entered the Page
flat, and gathered the sobbing little girl to her warm, soft breast. Miss
Miniver soothed her with a new stick of gum and a pincushion that
looked like a fat little pink satin leg, with a smart boot at one end and a
ruffle of lace at the other, and left Julia peacefully settled down to