The Gray of the Streets - Page 2
Thankfully for the fellow sufferers Louie and the little girl, Farthers arrived unaccompanied. He shot a wrathful glance around the dismal room and empty stage, where there lay one, lonely red feather, fallen from Madeline's attire. A meaningful glare of hatred was bestowed on the drunken writer, who cried ever louder into his arms, oblivious to the world. Who could blame the man! His wife had left him, in the end, leaving the despised baby made with the butcher or the mailman or someone. He didn't even remember whose name it was his wife stabbed his heart out with, oh the agonies! Such were his thoughts. He was pitiful and would have lived for many pitiful years with that bastard child of his faithless wife, had Farthers' son not shot him on his miserable way home. The son's name was Billy Farthers, precocious in the nature of effecting the demise of happy lives and unhappy lives together. Unfortunately for little Billy, who was only eighteen at the time, he made the mistake of committing the crime in front of witnesses, including several policemen off to drink. Billy, hanged the next day as an atrocious murderer and threat to society, lived only one day more than his pitiful victim.
Farthers stuck his face rudely at Louie and made a frightful grimace. Louie knew what he thought. Empty again, Louie? You watch yourself, Louie. You're next, Louie. Farthers' thumb was unlike any other's. Even the bearded man must admit that, Louie thought.
Louie sighed. Farthers shook his head at Louie. Louie is such a waste of time, and that dirty little girl, sidling up to the bar in her dirty, disgusting rags, ugh. Farthers was of half a mind to shoot her feet off, for to merely kill her would be too easy and not afford as much suffering to the little bag of trash. Madeline arrived on the scene next, from the back door. The little girl was stunned to see the beauty up close and to smell the wondrous woman and to be in such heaven. She forgot her own life as she soaked in the joy being this near perfection.
Madeline spat at the little girl, and then she walked up to Farthers and fluttered her long, pretty eyelashes. Farthers glared once more at Louie, wrapped his oily fingers around Madeline's slender red waist, and he led her out of the dank room. The writer continued to sob, pitifully. Tears tumbled out of the little girl's eyes as well, but she didn't sob out loud. Louie looked at her with pity, but what could he do? He turned away from her and commenced to arrange the glasses.
The little girl drew from her pocket the bright, scraggly red feather Madeline dropped on the stage, and she looked at it. She turned to go home. Perhaps Sam hadn't left yet. He would see her dance with a feather in her hair. Wouldn't he be impressed, and wouldn't she look so beautiful? Sammy would say she looked beautiful, at any rate. She didn't look back at Louie or the writer as she left through the back door, not the regular entrance Madeline and Farthers had used. The feather waving in her hand looked lovely against the gray of the streets.
