“I am not leaving you,” she told him. “I don't even know that I am blaming you. But I am not going to have anything to do with it, and that's flat.”
So it happened that K., making a spring pilgrimage to see Tillie, stopped astounded in the road. The weather was warm, and he carried his Norfolk coat over his arm. The little house was bustling; a dozen automobiles were parked in the barnyard. The bar was crowded, and a barkeeper in a white coat was mixing drinks with the casual indifference of his kind. There were tables under the trees on the lawn, and a new sign on the gate.
Even Schwitter bore a new look of prosperity. Over his schooner of beer K. gathered something of the story.
“I'm not proud of it, Mr. Le Moyne. I've come to do a good many things the last year or so that I never thought I would do. But one thing leads to another. First I took Tillie away from her good position, and after that nothing went right. Then there were things coming on”--he looked at K. anxiously--“that meant more expense. I would be glad if you wouldn't say anything about it at Mrs. McKee's.”
It was then, when K. asked for Tillie, that Mr. Schwitter's unhappiness became more apparent.
“She wouldn't stand for it,” he said. “She moved out the day I furnished the rooms upstairs and got the piano.”
“As far as the barn. She wouldn't stay in the house. I--I'll take you out there, if you would like to see her.”
K. shrewdly surmised that Tillie would prefer to see him alone, under the circumstances.
“I guess I can find her,” he said, and rose from the little table.
“If you--if you can say anything to help me out, sir, I'd appreciate it. Of course, she understands how I am driven. But--especially if you would tell her that the Street doesn't know--”
“I'll do all I can,” K. promised, and followed the path to the barn.
Tillie received him with a certain dignity. The little harness-room was very comfortable. A white iron bed in a corner, a flat table with a mirror above it, a rocking-chair, and a sewing-machine furnished the room.
“I wouldn't stand for it,” she said simply; “so here I am. Come in, Mr. Le Moyne.”
There being but one chair, she sat on the bed. The room was littered with small garments in the making. She made no attempt to conceal them; rather, she pointed to them with pride.