Part 31

"Oh, the good Lord and the Virgin Mary bless ye, child!" And she patted me affectionately on the back.

Indeed, I had been getting affectionate pats most of the time, though the majority of them were from the male help. The composite impression of that first day as I took my way home on the sticky Subway was that the world was a very affectionate place, nor was I quite sure just what to do about it.

The second morning I was given a glimpse of what can be done about it. As I was waiting for the elevator on the service floor to be taken down to work, a very attractive girl came along and immediately we became chummy. She had been at the hotel three weeks; her job was to cut fruit. Had she done this sort of work long? Not in this country, but in Europe. Just one year had she been in America. At that moment two youths passed. I saw nothing, but quick as a flash my new friend flared up, "You fresh guy--keep your hands to yourself!" So evidently that's the way it's done. I practiced it mentally. "Lots o' fresh guys round here," I sniffed. "You said it," muttered the still ruffled fruit cutter.

Downstairs, Kelly was waiting with a welcoming nod--Kelly, the unpernickety steward. Everyone was as friendly as if we had been feeding humanity side by side these many years. During the rush the waiters called out as they sped by: "Hi there, little one!" "There's the girlie!" "Ah there, sweetheart!" Verily the world is an affectionate place. If a waiter had an order to give he passed the time of day as he gave it and as he collected his order.

"And how's the little girl to-day?"

"Tiptop--and yourself?"

"A little low in spirits I was to-day until I seen you'd come--an' then. You love me as much as you did yesterday?"

"Move on there. W'at y' a-doin' talkin' to my girl! Now, honey, I'm tellin' you this here guy is too fresh for any lady. I'd like one order of romaine lettuce, bless your sweet heart, if it won't be tirin' your fingers too much. That's the dearie--I'm back in a moment."

Across the way, arms resting on the counter, head ducked under the upper shelf, leaned a burly redheaded helper to the Greek.

Every time the pantry girl looked his way he beamed and nodded and nodded and beamed. "How you lak?" "Fine!" More beams and nods. Soon a waiter slipped a glass of ice coffee, rich in cream and sugar, under my counter. Beams and nods fit to burst from the assistant coffee man across the way. Beams and nods from the pantry girl. Thus every day. Our sole conversation was, "How you lak?" "Fine!" He said the rest with coffee.

With the lunch rush over, Kelly sneaked around my entrance and jerked his head sidewise. That meant, naturally, that I was to approach and harken unto what he had to say. When Kelly imparted secrets--and much of what Kelly had to impart was that sort of information where he felt called upon to gaze about furtively to make sure no one was over-hearing--when he had matters of weight then to impart he talked down in his boots and a bit out of the corner of his mouth.

"Say, kid"--Kelly jerked his head--"want to tell you about this eatin' business. Y'know, ain't no one supposed to eat nothin' on this floor. If the boss catches ya, it's good-by dolly. Sign up over the door sayin' you'll be dismissed at once if you eat anything--see? But I'm givin' ya a little tip--see? I don't care how much ya eat--it's nothin' to me. I say eat all ya got a mind to. Only for Gawd's sake don't let the Big Boss catch ya." (The Big Boss was the little chief steward, who drew down a fabulous salary and had the whole place scared to death.) "See--pull a cracker box out so and put what ya got to eat behind it this way, then ya can sit down and sorta take your time at it. If the boss does come by--it's behind the cracker box and you should worry! Have a cup of coffee?"

I was full up of coffee from my gentleman friend across the way, so declined Kelly's assistance in obtaining more. Every day, about 2.30, Kelly got in a certain more or less secluded corner of my compartment and ate a bit himself. "Been almost fired a couple of times for doin' this--this place is full o' squealers--gotta watch out all the time. Hell of a life I say when a fella has to sneak around to eat a bit of food."

That second afternoon, Kelly stopped in the middle of a gulp of coffee.

"Say, w'at t' hell's a girl like you workin' for, anyhow? Say, don't you know you could get married easy as--my Gawd! too easy. Say, you could pick up with one of these waiters just like that! They're good steady fellas, make decent pay. You could do much worse than marry a waiter. I'm tellin' ya there's no sense to a girl like you workin'."

That was an obsession with Kelly. He drilled it into me daily. Kelly himself was a settled married man. Of his state we talked often. I asked Kelly the very first day if he ever went to Coney Island.

"Ustta--'ain't been for ten years."

"Why not for ten years?"

Kelly looked at me out of the corner of his eyes. "Got married ten years ago."

"Well, and w'at of it? Don't you have no more fun?"

"You said it! I'm tellin' ya there's no more fun. Gee! I sure don't know myself these ten years. I was the kind of a fella"--here Kelly was moved in sheer admiration to do a bit of heavy cursing--"I was the kind of fella that did everything--I'm tellin' ya, everything. Bet there ain't a thing in this world I 'ain't done at least once, and most of 'em a whole lot more 'n that. An' now--look at me now! Get up at four every mornin', but Sundays, get down here at six" (Kelly was a suburbanite), "work till three, git home, monkey with my tools a bit or play with the kids, eat dinner, sit around a spell, go to bed."

A long pause. "Ain't that a hell of a life, I'm askin' ya?"

Another pause in which Kelly mentally reviewed his glowing past. He shook his head and smiled a sad smile. "If you could 'a' seen me ten years ago!"

Kelly told me the story of his life more or less in detail some days later. I say advisedly "more or less." Considering the reputation he had given himself, I am relieved to be able to note that he must have left some bits out, though goodness knows he put enough in. But Kelly's matrimonial romance must be told.

Kelly went with a peach of a girl in the years gone by--swellest little kid--gee! he respected that girl--never laid hands on her. She wanted to go back to the old country for a visit, so he paid her way there and back--one hundred and sixty-five dollars it had cost him. Coming home from a ball where Kelly had been manager--this at 4 A.M.--a remark of the girl's led Kelly to suspect she was not the stainless bit of perfection his love had pictured. So after three years of constant devotion Kelly felt that he had been sold out. He turned around and said then and there to his fair one, "You go to hell!" He never laid eyes on her again.

A few years later Kelly met an American girl. He went with her three years, was making seventy-five dollars a month, had saved eight hundred and seventy-six dollars, and in addition possessed one hundred and ten dollars in life insurance. So he asked the lady to marry him. Y' know w'at she said to Kelly? Kelly leaned his shaggy mop of hair my way. She said, "I won't marry nobody on seventy-five dollars a month!" Again Kelly's manhood asserted itself. Do you know w'at Kelly said to her? He says, says he, once more, "You go to hell!" He quit.

Whereupon Kelly drew out every cent he possessed and sailed for Europe. When he landed again in New York City, d' y'know how much money Kelly had in his pocket? Thirty-five cents. Then he went West for seven or eight years, and tore up the country considerable, Kelly did. He came back to New York again, again minus cash. A few days after his return the girl of eight years before met him by appointment at the Grand Central Station. What d' y'know? She asked Kelly to marry her--just like that. Heck! by that time Kelly didn't give a darn one way or the other. She bought the ring, she hired the minister, she did the whole business. Kelly married her--that's the wife he's got right now.

One of Kelly's steady, dependable waiters approached about 5 P.M. "Say, girl, I like you!" Of course, the comeback for that now, as always, was, "Aw go-an!"