Originally
Dusk had just fallen and the girl in the gray dress had come back to that quiet remote corner of the park. She sat on a bench reading a book, a large mesh veil covering her hooded hat and serene, quiet eyes. She had been here at the same time yesterday, and the day before that; young men who knew about the situation hovered nearby.
Turning the pages, the girl's book slipped from her hand, knocked on a chair, and rolled a full yard away. The young man could not wait to pounce on the book, and with the poise that prevails in parks and on public **** occasions - courteous solicitude - returned the book to its owner, venturing an irrelevant remark about the weather in a pleasant and charming tone of voice.
The girl surveyed him calmly, looking at his neat, plain clothes and his features, which had no particular expression. "You might as well sit down if you're happy," she said, her voice low and brisk, "the light is too dim for reading. I'd rather talk."
"You know," he said, "I haven't seen a girl as marvelous as you in a long time! I noticed you yesterday. Beautiful chick?"
"Whoever you are," the girl said coldly, "you must remember that I am a superior woman. I can forgive you for what you just said, and I invite you to sit down, and if that invitation invites your 'chick' instead, then count me out."
"I ask your pardon with all my heart." The young man begged.
"Change the subject. Now talk about the people coming and going along this path, where are they going? Why are they in a hurry? Are they happy?"
"It is indeed interesting to look at them," he said in obedience to her words, "It is the wonderful drama of life. Some go to dinner, some go elsewhere. It's hard to guess what they are."
The girl said, "I am not that curious. I sit here because it is the only place where I can get close to the great, ****ing, beating heart of humanity. My position in life prevents me from ever feeling that beat. Can you guess why I'm talking to you - your name?"
"Parkenstag." The young man replied. Then he eagerly expected her to give her own last name.
"Can't say," the girl held up a slender finger and smiled slightly, "Once I do you'll know who I am, and it's practically impossible to keep my name out of the papers. This veil and the maid's bonnet conceal my true nature. I spoke to you because I wanted to talk to someone who was not sullied by contemptible wealth and false social position. Oh! You don't know how tired I am of - money! Money! Money! Pleasures, jewels, travel, intercourse, all manner of luxuries call me tired of it."
"I always thought," the young man stammered testily, "that money would be a good thing."
"Just enough to live comfortably. When you've got millions--," she made a helpless gesture, "it's the monotony that kills you. The drives, the parties, the plays, the balls, the dinners, everything is gilded with the extravagance of wealth. Sometimes the very clinking of ice cubes in champagne glasses almost drives me crazy."
"What line of work are you in, Mr. Parkenstag?" She asked.
"I," Mr. Parkinstag declared, "work in the dining room."
The girl shuddered slightly. "Not a waiter, are you?" She asked.
"I'm a cashier at--" There was a brightly lit sign for "Restaurant" on the street directly in front of them facing the park--"the restaurant. - "That restaurant."
"Why aren't you at work?" She asked.
"I'm on the night shift," the young man replied, "and I won't be working for another hour. Is it possible to meet with you again?"
"It's hard to say. Perhaps - but I may not have any more whims. Gotta get going now, there's a party. You may have noticed a car, white-bodied, around the corner in front of the park when you came here."
"The one with the red wheels?" The young man said with a contemplative frown.
"Yeah. I always take that car. Pierre waits for me in it; he thinks I'm shopping at the department store across the square. Think how unfree this life is when you have to cheat even your own driver. Good-bye."
"It's dark now," said Mr. Parkenstag, "and the park is full of rude people. May I keep you company--"
"If you respect my wishes," said Beginning Lady firmly, "you will wait ten minutes in a chair until I have left. Good-bye."
She left quickly and demurely in the twilight. The young man watched her graceful form as she walked down the sidewalk at the edge of the park toward the corner where the car was parked. Unwillingly and without hesitation he used the cover of the trees in the park to keep a firm eye on her along a route parallel to hers. The girl stepped around the corner, looked at the automobile, then walked past it, toward the opposite side of the street, into the diner with the dazzling sign, stepped into some hidden corner inside, removed her hat and veil, and took her place at the cashier's desk.
The young man walked slowly back down the sidewalk. On the corner he came upon a small paperback book at his feet, which he recognized as the one the girl had been reading a moment before, picked it up carelessly, saw that the title was The New Tennessee, and still threw the book down on the grass, hesitating for a moment. Then he stepped into the waiting automobile, leaned back against the seat cushion, and said simply to the driver, "Club, Onley."