The Last Leaf - Part One

In New York city there is a district west of Washington Square called Greanwich Village. Its narrow streets and eighteenth-century buildings give it a great deal of charm. Not many years ago, artists were attracted there because of the low rents. Thus the interesting old Village became a popular art "colony".

At the top of a three story brick house, Sue and Johnsy had their studio. Sue and Johnsy's real name was Joanna. She had come from California to live in New York. The other girl was from Maine. They had met at a small restaurant on Eighth Street. When they found out that theire tastes in art, food, and dress were very much alike, they decided to share a studio.

That was in May. In November, a cold, silent stranger, whom the doctors called Mr. Pneumonia, moved quietly about the colony, touching one here and one there with his icy fingers.

Mr. Pneumonia was not a polite old gentleman. Little Johnsy, her blood thinned by the warm California weather, was no match for that red-faced, short-breathed, old fellow. And so he touched Johnsy with his icy fingers, too; and she lay ill, scarcely moving, on her old iron bed, looking through the small window at the blank side of the brick house next door.

One day when the busy doctor came to examine Johnsy, he asked Sue to follow him into hall. "She has about one chance in ten," he said as he shook down his thermometer. "And that chance depends on whether she wants to live. This patient has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Is there anything on her mind?"

"Well, she has always siad that she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day," answered Sue.

"Paint? Nonsense ! Is there anything on her mind worth thinking about twice - a man, for instance?"

"A man?" Sue exclaimed in surprise. "No, doctor, I'm sure she's not worrying about a man."

"Well, her problem is just weakness then, caused by the fever. I'll do everything in my power to save her. But when a patient loses hope of getting well, the power of medicine is reduced by at least fifty percent. If she starts asking questions about the new winter fashion, I can promise you a one-in-five chance for her in stead of one-in-ten."

After the doctor has gone, Sue went into the studio and sobbed. Then forcing her herself to smile, she entered Johnsy's room with her drawing materials, whistling a popular tune.

Johnsy lay very still under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window, Sue stopped whistling, thinking Johnsy was asleep. She put down the drawing board and began to make some pen and ink sketches to illustrate a magazine story. As Sue was drawing figures on the board, she heard a low sound which was repeated several times, she went quickly to the bedside.

Johnsy's eyes were wide open. She was looking out of the window and counting but counting backward.

"Twelve," she said, and a little later, "eleven"; and then "ten" and then "nine"; and then "eight " and "seven".

Sue looked curiously out the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare dull yard and the blank side of the brick house a few feet away. An old vine, decayed at the root, climbed halfway up the brick wall. The cold autumn wind had blown the leaves from the vine until its branches were almost bare.

"What is it, dear? Tell me !"

"Six," said Johnsy, almost whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now."

"Five what, dear? Please tell me."

"Leaves" - on the vine. When the last one falls. I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?"

"Oh, I've never heard such nonsense," said Sue. "What have those old leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that old vine so much. Don't be silly. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances of getting well soon are ten-to-one! That's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on a streetcar or walk past a building under construction. Please try to eat some soup now. Let me go back to my drawing, so I can earn some money to buy food and wine for us."

"You needn't buy any more wine," said Johnsy as she continued to stare at the bare vine. "There goes another leaf. No, I don't want any soup. There are just four leaves left. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too."

"Johnsy, dear,' said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise to keep your eyes closed and not look out the window until I've finished my work? I must deliver these drawings tomorrow. I need the light; otherwise I would pull down the window shade."

"Can't you work in the other room?" Johnsy asked coldly.

"I'd rather be here with you," replied Sue. "Besides, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly old leaves."

"Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes and lying white and still as a statue. "I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of thinking. I want to go just like one of those poor, tired leaves."

"Try to sleep now," said Sue. "I must go downstairs to ask Behrman to be a model for my next drawing. I won't be gone a minute. Don't try to move until I get back."

To be continued

While the Wife is Away

John Perkins walked slowly toward his apartment. He had just finished a hard day's work at the office, and he knew precisely what would happen when he reached home. After all, he said to himself, there are no surprises awaiting a man who has been married two years and lives in a tiny New York apartment. He knew that his wife Katy would meet him at the door with a kiss flavored with lipstick and candy. He would take off his coat, sit in his favorite chair, and read the evening newspaper. After dinner, which would consist of the usual meat, two vegetables, and fruit dessert, Katy would show him the clothes that she was mending. At half past seven they would spread newspaper over the furniture in order to catch the pieces of plaster that fell from the ceiling when the fat man in the apartment above them began to take his exercises. Exactly at eight, the couple in an apartment below them would begin to argue loudly. Then somebody in the house across the street would begin to play a musical instrument. Something would go wrong wih heater. A friend of his wife's who owned a little dog would come in for a moment before taking her evening stroll. And the whole evening routine of the apartment house would be the same always.

John Perkins knew that these things would happen. And he knew that at a quarter past eight he would reach for his hat, and his wife would ask, "Now where are you going, John Perkins?"

"I think I'll go to McCloskey's Poolroom for a little while", he would answer. "I want to play a few games of pool with the fellows."

Lately this has been John Perkins' habit. At ten or eleven he would return. Sometimes Katy would be asleep when he came in; sometimes she would wait for him, ready to express her opinion, which was always unfavorable, of his nightly habits.

That night, on his arrival, John Perkins found everything different. Katy was not there to greet him with her candy flavored kiss. The three small rooms of the apartment seemed to be in complete disorder. All of Katy's clothes lay in confusion - shoes in the middle of the floor, and clothes, powder box, mirror, hairbrush, and combs piles on the bureau and chairs; this was not the way the apartment usually looked. Katy was exeptionally neat. With a sinking heart, John began to realize that something serious had happened.

Lying on the dining room table was a piece of paper, John picked it up quickly. It was a note from his wife:

Dear John,

I just received a telegram saying that my mother is
very sick. I am going to take the 4:30 train. My brother is going to meet me at
the station. There is some cold meat in the refrigerator. Pay the milkman fifty
cents. And don't forget to write the gas company about the meter. Your good
socks are in the top drawer of the bureau. I'll write tomorrow.

Hastily,

Katy

John and Katy had never been separated during their two years of married life. John read the note over and over again. Here was the first break in a routine that had never deviated, and it left him feeling very confused.

On the back of a chair the red apron, which she always wore while preparing his meals, hung empty and formless. Her weekday clothes had been thrown here and there in her haste. A little paper bag of her favorite candy lay on the floor, and near it was the daily paper. Everything in the room suggested a loss of something close to him. John Perkins stood among these things with a queer feeling of loneliness in his heart.

He began to straighten the room as much as he could. When he touched Katy's clothes, a feeling of helplessness went through him. He had never thought how life would be without Katy. She had become so thoroughly a part of his existence that she was like the air he breathed - neccessary but scarcely noticed. Now, without warning, she was gone, as completely absent as if she had never existed. Of course, her absence would only be for a few days, or a week or two at the most, but it seemed to him as if death has visited his secure and uneventful home.

John took the cold meat from the refrigerator, made coffee, and sat down to a lonely meal. As he ate he thought about the many times Katy had served him at that dining room table. Now his home as wrecked. His mother-in-law had upset the whole household routine. After dinner he sat near the window and thought about Katy.

He didnot want to smoke. Outside, people were going by, and the noises from the street attracted his attention. Suddenly an idea occurred to him. Why shouldn't he go out? After all, he was free - as free as any gay bachelor. He could wander through the city all night long if he wished to do so; there would be no Katy waiting for him when he came home. He could play pool at McCloskey's with his friends until dawn if he wanted to. Katy was gone.

As John Perkins sat there in his tiny living room, he began to understand why he felt so sad. He knew that Katy was necessary to his happiness. His love for her had been dulled by the routine of married life, and now he as shaken by the loss of her presence. It was like the old saying, "One never misses the water until the well is dry."

"I'm a fool", thought John Perkins. "I've been mistreating Katy. Every night I play pool and have fun with the fellows instead of staying at home with her. The poor girl is here all along all evening with nothing to amuse her. I'm the worst kind of husband. When Katy comes home, I'll take her out and let her have some amusement. And I'll stop going to McCloskey's right now."

Yes, at that moment there were places he could go to and have a good time. At McCloskey's the fellows were knocking the balls around on the pool tables. But nothing could persuade him to join them. He could think of nothing but Katy. Katy's blue dress was laying on the back of a chair near his right hand. Midway on the sleeves there were tiny little wrinkles made by the movement of her arms while working for his comfort and pleasure. Tears - yes, tears - came into John Perkins' eyes. When she returned, everything would be different. He was not going to neglect her any more.

At that moment the door opened. Katy walked in carrying a little handbag. John stared at her stupidly.

"I'm certainly glad to get home", she said. "Mother wasn't very sick. My brother met me at the station. He said she got better soon after they telegraphed me. So I took the next train back. I'd love to have a cup of coffee."

As she said this, everything returned to normal. The routine again !

John Perkins looked at the clock. It was 8:15. He reached for his hat and walked to the door.

"Now where are you going, John Perkins?" asked Katy.

"I think I'll go to McCloskey's Poolroom for a little while," said John. " I want to play a few games of pool with the fellows."