Rudolph Klein had not for a moment believed Anna's story about the
watch, and on the day after he discovered it on her wrist he verified
his suspicions. During his noon hour he went up-town and, with the
confident swagger of a certain type of man who feels himself out of
place, entered the jeweler's shop in question.
He had to wait for some little time, and he spent it in surveying
contemptuously the contents of the show-cases. That even his wildest
estimate fell far short of their value he did not suspect, but his lips
curled. This was where the money earned by honest workmen was spent,
that women might gleam with such gewgaws. Wall Street bought them, Wall
Street which was forcing this country into the war to protect its loans
to the Allies. America was to pull England's chestnuts out of the fire
that women, and yet more women, might wear those strings of pearls,
those glittering diamond baubles.
Into his crooked mind there flashed a line from a speech at the Third
Street hall the night before: "War is hell. Let those who want to, go to
hell."
So--Wall Street bought pearls for its women, and the dissolute sons of
the rich bought gold wrist-watches for girls they wanted to seduce.
The expression on his face was so terrible that the clerk behind the
counter, waiting to find what he wanted, was startled.
"I want to look at gold wrist-watches," he said. And eyed the clerk for
a trace of patronage.
"Ladies?"
"Yes."
He finally found one that was a duplicate of Anna's, and examined it
carefully. Yes, it was the same, the maker's name on the dial, the space
for the monogram on the back, everything.
"How much is this one?"
"One hundred dollars."
He almost dropped it. A hundred dollars! Then he remembered Anna's
story.
"Have you any gold-filled ones that look like this?"
"We do not handle gold-filled cases."
He put it down, and turned to go. Then he stopped.
"Don't sell on the installment plan, either, I suppose?" The sneer in
his voice was clearer than his anxiety. In his mind, he already knew the
answer.
"Sorry. No."
He went out. So he had been right. That young skunk had paid a hundred
dollars for a watch for Anna. To Rudolph it meant but one thing.
That had been early in January. For some days he kept his own counsel,
thinking, planning, watching. He was jealous of Graham, but with a
calculating jealousy that set him wondering how to turn his knowledge to
his own advantage. And Anna's lack of liberty comforted him somewhat. He
couldn't meet her outside the mill, at least not without his knowing it.