Martin Dressler: The Tale of an American Dreamer by Steven Millhauser Read Free Book Online

the front desk, while secretly disapproving of the request. Carefully he explained that he was required to remain behind the desk and couldn’t leave to follow Alice if she wandered from view, nor could he promise that he would be able to watch her at every moment. “Oh, Alice is very good at sitting in chairs,” replied Mrs. Bell. “She knows how to take care of herself. You won’t have anything to do but glance over at her from time to time. I do appreciate it. It’s so hard, sometimes, with a child.”
    That was the beginning; and now every day, and sometimes twice a day, Mrs. Bell asked Martin to keep an eye on little Alice, who sat with her legs dangling from a big red-plush chair or took little walks about the lobby, glancing obediently over her shoulder to make certain she didn’t wander out of Martin’s sight. Sometimes she came over near the front desk and stood watching Martin as he turned the leather-bound register toward a new guest, or lifted abig key from its hook, or called orders to the bellboys. Martin, turning back from the mailboxes, would catch sight of the serious blue eyes of Alice Bell staring up at him from beside a potted plant, and sometimes he would invite her to sit on a high stool behind the desk off to one side and watch him while he worked. The slightest sign of attention seemed to touch her deeply; and one day she handed Martin a small package, wrapped in pink tissue paper, which contained a slightly melted piece of chocolate wrapped in gold foil.
    As Martin waited for Mrs. Bell and her daughter to return to Boston—a return that was bound to take place any day, he assured himself, as the mother thanked him profusely, fluttered her handsome eyelashes, and hurried out onto Broadway—he began to notice in Alice a number of puzzling looks. She had grown fond of him in the course of their two-week friendship, but in her large, serious, beautiful eyes he sometimes saw, or seemed to see, a look that made him avert his own eyes. It was a look that could only be described as tender or adoring, as if—but it was precisely the “as if” that stopped him short, for he didn’t know how to think about it, though he understood clearly enough that he was the accidental repository of the girl’s baffled affection. She took to wearing handsome ribbons in her hair, and blushing furiously when her mother suggested that it was for Mr. Dressler’s sake; and sometimes he would exchange with Alice Bell, past her mother’s shoulder, a look of mournful understanding.
    One morning she gave him a little flat package wrappedin blue tissue paper. When Martin opened it, he discovered a lock of blond hair. He was on the point of saying something witty when he raised his eyes and saw little Alice Bell staring at him tensely. Without a word he nodded gravely at her, gently wrapped up the curl of hair, and placed it in his pocket.
    A day came when Mrs. Bell failed to return to the hotel at noon. Martin paced in the lobby, trying to suppress his anger, while Alice walked a little bit out of his way, casting at him looks of shame and mortification. He strode over to the cigar stand and talked for a few minutes with Bill Baer, who gave him an apple and half a hard roll, then resigning himself to a ruined hour he sat down in a red-plush lobby chair and watched the guests walking purposefully, striding in and out of parlors, sinking flamboyantly into armchairs and couches. Beside him Alice kneeled by the arm of the chair and seemed to try to see what he was seeing. Martin knew that she felt his irritation and, glancing down at her as she kneeled there, he had a moment of pity for the lobby orphan and of anger at himself. He let his left hand drop over the side of the chair and touched her on the shoulder. Alice grew suddenly tense—turned to him with a startled, almost violent look—her shoulder trembled—and all at once Martin felt something pass over him, his heart beat fast, there was an inner bursting, and the