Jennie Gerhardt

 
 
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CHAPTER X 
The world into which Jennie was thus unduly thrust forth was that in which 
virtue has always vainly struggled since time immemorial; for virtue is the 
wishing well and the doing well unto others. Virtue is that quality of 
generosity which offers itself willingly for another's service, and, being this, 
it is held by society to be nearly worthless. Sell yourself cheaply and you 
shall be used lightly and trampled under foot. Hold yourself dearly, however 
unworthily, and you will be respected. Society, in the mass, lacks woefully in 
the matter of discrimination. Its one criterion is the opinion of others. Its 
one test that of self-preservation. Has he preserved his fortune? Has she 
preserved her purity? Only in rare instances and with rare individuals does 
there seem to be any guiding light from within. 
Jennie had not sought to hold herself dear. Innate feeling in her made for 
self-sacrifice. She could not be readily corrupted by the world's selfish 
lessons on how to preserve oneself from the evil to come. 
It is in such supreme moments that growth is greatest. It comes as with a 
vast surge, this feeling of strength and sufficiency. We may still tremble, the 
fear of doing wretchedly may linger, but we grow. Flashes of inspiration 
come to guide the soul. In nature there is no outside. When we are cast from 
a group or a condition we have still the companionship of all that is. Nature 
is not ungenerous. Its winds and stars are fellows with you. Let the soul be 
but gentle and receptive, and this vast truth will come home—not in set 
phrases, perhaps, but as a feeling, a comfort, which, after all, is the last 
essence of knowledge. In the universe peace is wisdom. 
Jennie had hardly turned from the door when she was overtaken by Bass. 
"Give me your grip," he said; and then seeing that she was dumb with 
unutterable feeling, he added, "I think I know where I can get you a room." 
He led the way to the southern part of the city, where they were not known, 
and up to the door of an old lady whose parlor clock had been recently 
purchased from the instalment firm by whom he was now employed. She 
was not well off, he knew, and had a room to rent. 
"Is that room of yours still vacant?" he asked. 
"Yes," she said, looking at Jennie. 
"I wish you'd let my sister have it. We're moving away, and she can't go yet." 
The old lady expressed her willingness, and Jennie was soon temporarily 
installed. 
"Don't worry now," said Bass, who felt rather sorry for her. "This'll blow over. 
Ma said I should tell you not to worry. Come up to-morrow when he's gone." 
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Jennie said she would, and, after giving her further oral encouragement, he 
arranged with the old lady about board, and took his leave. 
"It's all right now," he said encouragingly as he went out. "You'll come out all 
right. Don't worry. I've got to go back, but I'll come around in the morning." 
He went away, and the bitter stress of it blew lightly over his head, for he 
was thinking that Jennie had made a mistake. This was shown by the 
manner in which he had asked her questions as they had walked together, 
and that in the face of her sad and doubtful mood. 
"What'd you want to do that for?" and "Didn't you ever think what you were 
doing?" he persisted. 
"Please don't ask me to-night," Jennie had said, which put an end to the 
sharpest form of his queries. She had no excuse to offer and no complaint to 
make. If any blame attached, very likely it was hers. His own misfortune and 
the family's and her sacrifice were alike forgotten. 
Left alone in her strange abode, Jennie gave way to her saddened feelings. 
The shock and shame of being banished from her home overcame her, and 
she wept. Although of a naturally long-suffering and uncomplaining 
disposition, the catastrophic wind-up of all her hopes was too much for her. 
What was this element in life that could seize and overwhelm one as does a 
great wind? Why this sudden intrusion of death to shatter all that had 
seemed most promising in life? 
As she thought over the past, a very clear recollection of the details of her 
long relationship with Brander came back to her, and for all her suffering 
she could only feel a loving affection for him. After all, he had not 
deliberately willed her any harm. His kindness, his generosity—these things 
had been real. He had been essentially a good man, and she was sorry—
more for his sake than for her own that his end had been so untimely. 
These cogitations, while not at all reassuring, at least served to pass the 
night away, and the next morning Bass stopped on his way to work to say 
that Mrs. Gerhardt wished her to come home that same evening. Gerhardt 
would not be present, and they could talk it over. She spent the day 
lonesomely enough, but when night fell her spirits brightened, and at a 
quarter of eight she set out. 
There was not much of comforting news to tell her. Gerhardt was still in a 
direfully angry and outraged mood. He had already decided to throw up his 
place on the following Saturday and go to Youngstown. Any place was better 
than Columbus after this; he could never expect to hold up his head here 
again. Its memories were odious. He would go away now, and if he 
succeeded in finding work the family should follow, a decision which meant 
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the abandoning of the little home. He was not going to try to meet the 
mortgage on the house—he could not hope to. 
At the end of the week Gerhardt took his leave, Jennie returned home, and 
for a time at least there was a restoration of the old order, a condition 
which, of course, could not endure. 
Bass saw it. Jennie's trouble and its possible consequences weighed upon 
him disagreeably. Columbus was no place to stay. Youngstown was no place 
to go. If they should all move away to some larger city it would be much 
better. 
He pondered over the situation, and hearing that a manufacturing boom 
was on in Cleveland, he thought it might be wise to try his luck there. If he 
succeeded, the others might follow. If Gerhardt still worked on in 
Youngstown, as he was now doing, and the family came to Cleveland, it 
would save Jennie from being turned out in the streets. 
Bass waited a little while before making up his mind, but finally announced 
his purpose. 
"I believe I'll go up to Cleveland," he said to his mother one evening as she 
was getting supper. 
"Why?" she asked, looking up uncertainly. She was rather afraid that Bass 
would desert her. 
"I think I can get work there," he returned. "We oughtn't to stay in this 
darned old town." 
"Don't swear," she returned reprovingly. 
"Oh, I know," he said, "but it's enough to make any one swear. We've never 
had anything but rotten luck here. I'm going to go, and maybe if I get 
anything we can all move. We'd be better off if we'd get some place where 
people don't know us. We can't be anything here." 
Mrs. Gerhardt listened with a strong hope for a betterment of their 
miserable life creeping into her heart. If Bass would only do this. If he would 
go and get work, and come to her rescue, as a strong bright young son 
might, what a thing it would be! They were in the rapids of a life which was 
moving toward a dreadful calamity. If only something would happen. 
"Do you think you could get something to do?" she asked interestedly. 
"I ought to," he said. "I've never looked for a place yet that I didn't get it. 
Other fellows have gone up there and done all right. Look at the Millers." 
He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked out the window. 
"Do you think you could get along until I try my hand up there?" he asked. 
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"I guess we could," she replied. "Papa's at work now and we have some 
money that, that—" she hesitated, to name the source, so ashamed was she 
of their predicament. 
"Yes, I know," said Bass, grimly. 
"We won't have to pay any rent here before fall and then we'll have to give it 
up anyhow," she added. 
She was referring to the mortgage on the house, which fell due the next 
September and which unquestionably could not be met. "If we could move 
away from here before then, I guess we could get along." 
"I'll do it," said Bass determinedly. "I'll go." 
Accordingly, he threw up his place at the end of the month, and the day 
after he left for Cleveland.