The Game by Jack London


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Page 2

He paused with swift awkwardness, again confounded by his unwonted flow
of speech. Never in his life had he been stirred to such utterance, and
never in his life had there been cause to be so stirred. For it was the
Game that had been questioned, its verity and worth, the Game itself, the
biggest thing in the world--or what had been the biggest thing in the
world until that chance afternoon and that chance purchase in
Silverstein's candy store, when Genevieve loomed suddenly colossal in his
life, overshadowing all other things. He was beginning to see, though
vaguely, the sharp conflict between woman and career, between a man's
work in the world and woman's need of the man. But he was not capable of
generalization. He saw only the antagonism between the concrete, flesh-
and-blood Genevieve and the great, abstract, living Game. Each resented
the other, each claimed him; he was torn with the strife, and yet drifted
helpless on the currents of their contention.

His words had drawn Genevieve's gaze to his face, and she had pleasured
in the clear skin, the clear eyes, the cheek soft and smooth as a girl's.
She saw the force of his argument and disliked it accordingly. She
revolted instinctively against this Game which drew him away from her,
robbed her of part of him. It was a rival she did not understand. Nor
could she understand its seductions. Had it been a woman rival, another
girl, knowledge and light and sight would have been hers. As it was, she
grappled in the dark with an intangible adversary about which she knew
nothing. What truth she felt in his speech made the Game but the more
formidable.

A sudden conception of her weakness came to her. She felt pity for
herself, and sorrow. She wanted him, all of him, her woman's need would
not be satisfied with less; and he eluded her, slipped away here and
there from the embrace with which she tried to clasp him. Tears swam
into her eyes, and her lips trembled, turning defeat into victory,
routing the all-potent Game with the strength of her weakness.

"Don't, Genevieve, don't," the boy pleaded, all contrition, though he was
confused and dazed. To his masculine mind there was nothing relevant
about her break-down; yet all else was forgotten at sight of her tears.

She smiled forgiveness through her wet eyes, and though he knew of
nothing for which to be forgiven, he melted utterly. His hand went out
impulsively to hers, but she avoided the clasp by a sort of bodily
stiffening and chill, the while the eyes smiled still more gloriously.

"Here comes Mr. Clausen," she said, at the same time, by some
transforming alchemy of woman, presenting to the newcomer eyes that
showed no hint of moistness.

"Think I was never coming back, Joe?" queried the head of the department,
a pink-and-white-faced man, whose austere side-whiskers were belied by
genial little eyes.

"Now let me see--hum, yes, we was discussing ingrains," he continued
briskly. "That tasty little pattern there catches your eye, don't it
now, eh? Yes, yes, I know all about it. I set up housekeeping when I
was getting fourteen a week. But nothing's too good for the little nest,
eh? Of course I know, and it's only seven cents more, and the dearest is
the cheapest, I say. Tell you what I'll do, Joe,"--this with a burst of
philanthropic impulsiveness and a confidential lowering of
voice,--"seein's it's you, and I wouldn't do it for anybody else, I'll
reduce it to five cents. Only,"--here his voice became impressively
solemn,--"only you mustn't ever tell how much you really did pay."

"Sewed, lined, and laid--of course that's included," he said, after Joe
and Genevieve had conferred together and announced their decision.

"And the little nest, eh?" he queried. "When do you spread your wings
and fly away? To-morrow! So soon? Beautiful! Beautiful!"

He rolled his eyes ecstatically for a moment, then beamed upon them with
a fatherly air.

Joe had replied sturdily enough, and Genevieve had blushed prettily; but
both felt that it was not exactly proper. Not alone because of the
privacy and holiness of the subject, but because of what might have been
prudery in the middle class, but which in them was the modesty and
reticence found in individuals of the working class when they strive
after clean living and morality.

Mr. Clausen accompanied them to the elevator, all smiles, patronage, and
beneficence, while the clerks turned their heads to follow Joe's
retreating figure.

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Fri 29th Mar 2024, 5:15