«you will surely accomplish, for you are inclined to under-rate yourself.» At the time I laughed, saying he didn't even guess at my unlimited conceit, but his words and counsel sank into my mind and in due course exercised a decisive, shaping influence on my life. I returned to Lawrence, put up a sofa-bed in my law room and went to the Eldridge House nearby for my meals. I read law assiduously and soon had a few clients, «hard cases» for the most part, sent to me, I found, by Judge Stephens and Barker, eager to foist nuisances on a beginner. An old mulatto woman kept our offices tidy and clean for a few dollars monthly from each of us, and one night I was awakened by her groans and cries. She lived in a garret up two flights of stairs and was evidently suffering from indigestion and very much frightened, as colored folk are apt to be when anything ails them.
«I'm gwine to die!» she told me a dozen times. I treated her with whisky and warm water, heated on my little gas-heater, and sat with her till at length she fell asleep. She declared next day I had saved her life and she'd never forget it. «Nebber, fo' sure!» I laughed at her and forgot all about it. Every afternoon I went over to Liberty Hall for an hour or so to keep in touch with events, though I left the main work to Will Thomson. One day I was delighted to find that Bret Harte was coming to lecture for us: his subject: «The Argonauts of '49.» I got some of his books from the bookstore kept by a lame man named Crew, I think, on Massachusetts Street, and read him carefully. His poetry did not make much impression on me-mere verse, I thought it; but The Outcasts of Poker Flat and other stories seemed to me almost masterpieces in spite of their romantic coloring and tinge of melodrama. Especially the description of Oakhurst, the gambler, stuck in my mind: it will be remembered that when crossing the «divide,» Oakhurst advised the party of outcasts to keep on traveling till they reached a place of safety. But he did not press his point: he decided it was hopeless, and then came Bret Harte's extraordinary painting phrase: «Life to Oakhurst was at best an uncertain sort of game and he recognized the usual percentage in favor of the dealer.»
There is more humor and insight in the one sentence than in all the ridiculously overpraised works of Mark Twain. One afternoon I was alone in the box office of Liberty Hall when Rose came in, as pretty as ever. I was delighted to renew our acquaintance and more delighted still to find that she would like tickets for Bret Harte's lecture. «I didn't know that you cared for reading, Rose,» I said, a little surprised. «Professor Smith and you would make anybody read,» she cried; «at any rate you started me.» I gave her the tickets and engaged to take her for a buggy ride next day. I felt sure Rose liked me, but she soon surprised me by showing a stronger virtue than I usually encountered. She kissed me when I asked her in the buggy, but told me at the same time that she didn't care much for kissing.
«All men,» she said, «are after a girl for the same thing; it's sickening; they all want kisses and try to touch you and say they love you; but they can't love and I don't want their kisses.» «Rose, Rose,» I said, «you mustn't be too hard on us: we're different from you girls and that's all.» «How do you mean?» she asked. «I mean that mere desire,» I said, «just the wish to kiss and enjoy you, strikes the man first, but behind that lust is often a good deal of affection, and sometimes a deep and sacred tenderness comes to flower; whereas the girl begins with the liking and affection and learns to enjoy the kissing and caressing afterwards.» «I see,» she rejoined quietly. «I think I understand: I am glad to believe that.»
Her unexpected depth and sincerity impressed me and I continued:
«We men may be so hungry that we will eat very poor fruit greedily because it's at hand, but that doesn't prove that we don't prefer good and sweet and nourishing food when we can get it.» She let her eyes dwell on mine. «I see,» she said, «I see!» And then I went on to tell her how lovely she was and how she had made a deathless impression on me, and I ventured to hope she liked me a little and would yet be good to me and come to care for me; and I was infinitely pleased to find that this was the right sort of talk, and I did my best in the new strain. Three or four times a week I took her out in a buggy and in a little while I had taught her how to kiss and won her to confess that she cared for me, loved me, indeed, and bit by bit she allowed me the little familiarities of love. One day I took her out early for a picnic and said, «I'll play Turk and you must treat me,» and I stretched myself out on a rug under a tree. She entered into the spirit of the game with zest, brought me food, and at length, as she stood close beside me, I couldn't control myself; I put my hand up her dress on her firm legs and sex. Next moment I was kneeling beside her. «Love me, Rose,» I begged, «I want you so: I'm hungry for you, dear!» She looked at me gravely with wide open eyes. «I love you too,» she said, «but oh! I'm afraid. Be patient with me!» she added, like a little girl. I was patient but persistent and I went on caressing her till her hot lips told me that I had really excited her.
My fingers informed me that she had a perfect sex and her legs were wonderfully firm and tempting; and in her yielding there was the thrill of a conscious yielding out of affection for me, which I find is hard to express. A soon persuaded her to come next day to my office. She came about four o'clock and I kissed and caressed her and at length in the dusk got her to strip. She had the best figure I had ever seen and that made me like her more than I would have thought possible; but I soon found when I got into her that she was not nearly as passionate as Kate even, to say nothing of Lily. She was a cool mistress but would have made a wonderful wife, being all self-sacrifice and tender, thoughtful affection. I have still a very warm corner in my heart for that lovely child-woman and am rather ashamed of having seduced her, for she was never meant to be a plaything or pastime. But incurably changeable, I had Lily a day or two afterwards and sent Rose a collection of books instead of calling on her. Still I took her out every week till I left Lawrence and grew to esteem her more and more. Lily, on the other hand, was a born «daughter of the game,» to use Shakespeare's phrase, and tried to become more and more proficient at it: she wanted to know when and how she gave me the most pleasure, and really did her best to excite me. Besides, she soon developed a taste in hats and dresses, and when I paid for a new outfit, she would dance with delight. She was an entertaining, light companion, too, and often found odd little naughty phrases that amused me. Her pet aversion was Mrs. Mayhew: she called her always «the Pirate,» because she said Lorna only liked «stolen goods» and wanted every man «to walk the plank into her bedroom.» Lily insisted that Lorna could cry whenever she wished, but had no real affection in her, and her husband filled Lily with contempt. «A well-matched pair,» she exclaimed one day, «a mare and a mule, and the mare, as men say, in heat-all wet,» and she wrinkled her little nose in disgust. At the Bret Harte lecture both Rose and Lily had seats and they both understood that I would go and talk with the great man afterwards. I expected to get a great deal from the lecture and Harte's advance agent had arranged that the hero of the evening should receive me in the Eldridge House after the address.