first is neither dignified or exhilarating. When I was something more
than half through I pawed about in the air head down in a vain effort
to reach a little chiffonier in Wilhelmine's room.
She watched me with interest to see how near I could come to it, and by
some mental process it dawned upon her at last that she could help
matters by pushing it toward me. Having reached this conclusion the rest
was easy, for she was as strong as an ox and swung the furniture toward
me like a toy.
Five minutes later I had unscrewed the lock and Wilhelmine was free. So
were we, for when I threw the lock into a drawer with a few choice
German remarks which I had been practising for just such an emergency,
Wilhelmine seized upon her bundles, already packed, and, vowing that she
would abide in no place where she could not lie down in the security of
strong and hard twisting keys, she disappeared, strewing the stairway
with German verbs and expletives in her departure.
We saw her no more, and in two weeks, by constant airing, we had our
culinary memories of her reduced to such a degree that the flat on the
floor above found a tenant, and carbolic acid was no longer needed in
the halls.
IX.
_Ann._
And now came Ann, Ann, the Hibernian and the minstrel. During the first
week of her abode with us she entertained us at dinner by singing a
weird Irish love ballad and so won our hearts that the Little Woman
decided to take the Precious Ones for a brief visit to homes and
firesides in the Far West, leaving her Brother Tom and myself in Ann's
charge.
When she went away she beamed upon Tom and me and said, reassuringly,
"Ann will take good care of you all right. We were fortunate to secure a
girl like Ann on such short notice. Get your lunches outside sometimes;
that will please her." Then she and the Precious Ones kissed us both,
the bell rang and they were gone.
My brother-in-law and I were doing what we referred to as "our book" at
this time, and were interested to the point of absorption. Ann the
Hibernian therefore had the household--at least, the back of the
household--pretty much to herself.
I do not know just when the falling off did begin. We were both very
much taken up with our work. But when, one morning, I happened to notice
that it was a quarter of twelve when we sat down to a breakfast of stale
bread and warmed-over coffee, it occurred to me that there was a hitch
somewhere in our system.
That evening, when it got too dark to work, I arose and drifted out to
the kitchen, perhaps with some idea of being hungry, and a mild
curiosity to know when dinner might be expected. There was an air of
desolation about the place that seemed strange, and an odor that seemed
familiar. Like a hound on the trail I followed the latter straight on
through the kitchen, to the servants' room at the back. The door was
ajar, and the mystery was solved. Our noble Ann had fallen prey to the
cup that yearly sweeps thousands into unhonored graves.
We went out for dinner, and the next morning we got our own eggs and
coffee. When our minion regained consciousness we reviled her and cast
her out.
We said we would get our own meals. We had camped out together and taken
turns at the cooking. We would camp out now in the flat. We were quite
elated with the idea, and out of the fulness of our freedom gave Ann a
dollar and a little bracer out of some "private stock." Ann declared we
were "pairfect gintlemen," and for the first time seemed sorry to go.
Both being eager to get back to our work after breakfast, neither of us
referred to the dirty dishes, and I did not remember them again until
dinner time. Tom got into a tangle with our heroine about one o'clock,
and said he would get the lunch by way of relaxation. I presume he
relaxed sufficiently without attending to the plates. At least, I found
them untouched when I went out to look after the dinner.
I discovered, also, that the lavish Tom had exhausted the commissary to
achieve the lunch. I was obliged, therefore, to go at once to the
grocery, and on the way made up a mental list of the things easiest to
prepare. I would get canned things, I said, as many of these were ready
for the table, and some of them could be eaten out of the can. This
would save dishes. I do not recall now just what I had planned as my
bill of fare, but I suppose I must have forgotten some of it when I
learned that our grocer was closing out his stock of wet goods very
cheap, for Tom looked at the stuff when it came and asked if I thought
of running a bar. I said I had bought with a view to saving dishes. Then
he hunted up the cork-screw and we dined.
In spite of my superior management, however, the dish pile in the
kitchen sink grew steadily.
On the morning of the third day the china closet was exhausted, and we
took down the Little Woman's Crown Derby and blue India plates from
their hangers in the parlor.
On the evening of the fourth day Tom got our work into an inextricable
tangle, and took a reflective stroll out into the kitchen. He came back
looking hopelessly discouraged. On the fifth morning we followed Ann's
example.
The atmosphere suddenly cleared now. We reached conclusions by amazingly
short cuts, and our troubles vanished like the dew of morning. The next
day would be Sunday. We would go into the country for recreation.
To-night we would put a line in the paper and on Monday morning we would
have another servant. It seemed hardly worth our while to attempt to
camp out permanently.
I will pass over Sunday without further comment. The recollection is
weird and extravagant. I remember being surprised at finding certain
stretches of pavement perpendicular, and of trying to climb them. Still
we must have got a line in the paper on Saturday night, for on Monday
the bell began ringing violently before we were up. Tom either did not
hear it, or was wilfully unconscious. Finally I got up wretchedly and
dragged on some garments. There was no ice, so I pressed my head for a
few minutes to a marble-topped center table.
I suppose it was because I did not feel very bright that the voices of
my guests were not restful to me. I was almost irritated by one
shrill-voiced creature who insisted on going through every room, even to
our study. Her tone was dictatorial and severe. Still I might have
retained her had she not commented disagreeably on the dishes in the
kitchen sink.
One after another they followed her example. Every woman of them began
to make excuses and back away when she looked at that unwashed china.
Most of them perjured themselves with the statement that they had come
to see about a place for another girl.
After the initial lot they scattered along through the forenoon. Tom had
got up, meantime, and was leaning on the front window-sill watching
hungrily for the ice-man.
In the midst of this anguish the bell rang once more, timidly and with
evident hesitation, and a moment later I feebly opened the door to
admit--Ann!
She was neatly dressed, as when she had first come to us, and there were
other gratifying indications of reform.
"Sure an' I saw your advertisement," she began, humbly, "an' I thought
two such gintlemen as yerselves moight not be too hard on a daycent
woman who only takes a drop or two now an' then----"
I led her back to the kitchen and pointed to the sink. As we passed
through the dining-room she noticed the empty bottles on the table and
crossed herself. When she looked at the kitchen sink she exclaimed,
"Holy Mary!" But she did not desert us. Her charity was greater than
ours.
I went in to tell Tom of the renovation and general reform that was
about to begin. He had just succeeded in hailing the ice-man and was
feeling better. When I went back into the kitchen there was a
wash-boiler of water heating on the range.
Just then the postman whistled and brought a letter from the Little
Woman.
"I have decided to stay a week longer than I intended," she wrote. "It
is so pleasant here, and Ann, I am sure, is taking good care of you."
We had a confidential understanding with Ann that night. She remained
with us a year afterward, and during that time the sacred trust formed
by the three of us was not betrayed.
X.
_A "Flat" Failure._
In the Monte Cristo apartments it would seem that we had found harbor at
last. Days ran into weeks, weeks to months, and these became a year, at
length--the first we had passed under any one roof. Then there came a
change. The house was not so well built as it had appeared, and with the
beginning of decay there came also a change of landlord and janitor. Our
spruce and not unworthy colored man was replaced by one Thomas, who was
no less spruce, indeed, but as much more severe in his discipline as his
good-natured employer was lax in the matter of needed repairs.
Every evening, at length, when we gathered about the dinner table, the
Little Woman recited to me the story of her day's wrongs. They were many
and various, but they may be summed up in the two words--janitor and
landlord. The arrogance of one and the negligence of the other were
rapidly making life in the Monte Cristo apartments insupportable. Of
course there were minor annoyances--the children across the hall, for
instance, and the maid in the kitchen--but these faded into
insignificance when contrasted with the leaky plumbing, sagging doors,
rattling windows and the like on the part of Mr. Griffin, the landlord,
and new arbitrary rulings concerning the supply of steam for the parlor,
coal for the kitchen range, the taking away of refuse, and the austere
stairway restrictions imposed upon our Precious Ones on the part of
Thomas, the janitor.
It is true the landlord was not over-exacting in the matter of rent, and
when he came about, which was not often, would promise anything and
everything with the greatest good-will in the world, while Thomas kept
the front steps and halls in a condition which was really better than we
had been used to, or than the rent schedule would ordinarily justify.
But the good-will of the landlord usually went no farther than his ready
promises, while the industry of Thomas was overshadowed by his gloomy
discipline and haughty severity, which presently made him, if not the
terror, certainly the awe, of Monte Cristo dwellers. We had not minded
this so much, however, until when one day the Precious Ones paused on
the stair a moment to rest, as was their wont, and were perhaps even
laughing in their childish and musical way, Thomas, who had now been
with us some three months or more, appeared suddenly from some concealed
lurking-place and ordered them to their own quarters, with a warning
against a repetition of the offense that seemed unduly somber. It
frightened the Precious Ones so thoroughly that they were almost afraid
to pass through the halls alone next day, and came and went quite on a
run, looking neither to the right nor to the left.
It was then that we said we would go. Of course, moving was not
pleasant; we had enough memories in that line already, though time had
robbed them of their bitterness, I suppose, for we grew quite cheerful
over the idea of seeking a new abiding-place, and it being Sunday,
began looking over the advertisement columns immediately after
breakfast. I would make a list, I said, and stop in here and there to
investigate on the way to and from business. We would get nearer to
business, for one thing, also nearer the car-line. We would have a
lighter flat, too, and we would pay less for it. We agreed upon these
things almost instantly. Then we began putting down addresses. It was
surprising how many good, cheap places there seemed to be now. So many
new houses had been built since our last move. We regretted openly to
each other that we had not gone before. Then we rested a little to find
fault with our quarters. We dug over all the old things, and unearthed a
lot of new and hitherto concealed wretchedness that was altogether
disheartening. We would move at once, we said. Now! This week!
Perhaps I seemed a trifle less cheerful when I returned next evening.
The Little Woman must have noticed it, I suppose, for she asked if I
wasn't well. I said that I was tired, which was true. I added that a
good many landlords were unscrupulous in the matter of advertising,
which I can take an oath is also true. I had left the office early and
investigated a number of the apartments on my list, at the expense of
some nerve-tissue and considerable car-fare. The advertisements had been
more or less misleading. The Little Woman said that in the morning she
would go.
The Little Woman herself looked tired the next evening--more tired and
several years older than I had ever seen her look. She had walked a
good many miles--steep stair miles which are trying. In the end she had
arrived only at the conclusion that the best apartments were not
advertised. She said it would be better to select the locality we
preferred and walk leisurely about the good streets until we spied
something attractive. She wished we might do so together.
I took a holiday and we pursued this programme. Like birds seeking a new
nesting-place we flitted hither and thither, alighting wheresoever the
perch seemed inviting. We alighted in many places, but in most of them
we tarried but briefly. It was not that the apartments were
inattractive--they were almost irresistible, some of them, but even
hasty reflection convinced me that it would be inadvisable to invest
ninety-five per cent of my salary each month in rent unless I could be
altogether certain that the Little Woman and the Precious Ones could
modify their appetites and remain quite well.
Being enthusiastic at first, we examined some of these apartments and
the Little Woman acquired credit in my eyes as we proceeded. I did not
realize until now the progress she had made since the day of our arrival
in Gotham nearly four years previous. Her education was complete--she
was a graduate in the great school of flat-life, and was contemplating a
post-graduate course. Figures that made me gasp and sustain myself by
the silver-mounted plumbing left her quite undisturbed. From her manner
you would suppose that it was only the desirability of the apartment
itself that was worth consideration. She criticised the arrangement of
the rooms and the various appointments with an air of real consequence,
while the janitor and I followed her about, humble and unimportant,
wondering how we could ever have imagined the place suitable to her
requirements.
In one place where the rent was twenty-four hundred it seemed almost
impossible to find fault. I began to be frightened for the Little Woman,
in the thought that now, after all, she really would be obliged to
confess that the little trifle of eighteen hundred dollars a year more
than we could possibly pay rendered the place undesirable. But a moment
later I realized how little I knew her. When we got to the kitchen she
remarked, passively, there was no morning sun in the windows. As the
apartment faced east, and there was morning sun in the parlor, this
condition seemed more or less normal, as the janitor meekly pointed out.
But the Little Woman declared she would never live in another place
where the kitchen was dark mornings, and turned away, leaving the
janitor scratching his head over the problem of making the sun shine
from two directions at once and remaining in that position all day long.
Still it was a narrow escape, and we were consuming time. So we
contented ourselves after that with merely inquiring the size and price
of the apartment of the hall-boy, and passing on. Even this grew
monotonous at length, and we gradually drifted into the outer edges of
the chosen district, and from the outer edges into that Section wherein
we had made our first beginning nearly four years before, the great
wilderness lying north of One Hundred and Sixteenth Street. Then we
began work in earnest. We looked at light apartments and dark
apartments--apartments on every floor, even to the basement. Though many
changes had taken place it carried us back to the day of our first
experience, and set us to wondering if we really had learned anything
after all.
We saw apartments that we would not have, and apartments which, because
of our Precious Ones, would not have us. Apartments that ran straight
through the house, apartments that, running down one side of the house
and back on the other, solved in a manner the Little Woman's problem of
having sunlight in both ends of the house at one time.
It was one of these last that we took. The building, which was
comparatively new, was located in the middle of the block, on a little
square bit of ground, and had on each floor a cozy octagonal hall with
one apartment running entirely around it. The entrance steps and halls
were not as unsullied as those of our present habitat, but the janitor
was a good-natured soul who won us at first glance, and who seemed on
terms of the greatest amity with a small boy who lived on the first
landing and accompanied us through. We saw also that the plumbing was in
praiseworthy condition, and the doors swung easily on their hinges.
To be sure, the price was a trifle more than we were paying in our
present apartment, and the location was somewhat farther from business;
but we said that a few blocks more or less were really nothing when one
was once on the car, which was almost as near as at the old place, and
we figured that the slight difference in rent we could save in the
gas-bill, though I had a lingering suspicion that to strike a general
average of light in the two places would be to cast but slight
reflection on either.
The janitor was the main thing--the good-natured janitor and the
landlord. We could even put up with slight drawbacks for the sake of an
apartment in good condition and the companionable soul down-stairs.
Then, too, we were foot-sore in flesh and spirit, and after the day's
experiences welcomed this haven as a genuine discovery. We went home
really gratified, though I confess our old nest had never seemed more
inviting.
I will touch but lightly upon the next few days. I would rather forget
the atmosphere of squalor and destitution that pervaded our household
when the carpets had been stripped up and we were stumbling about among
half-packed barrels upon bare, resounding floors. I do not seek to
retrace in detail the process of packing, which began with some buoyancy
and system, to degenerate at last in its endlessness into dropping
things mechanically and hopelessly into whatever receptacle came first
to hand. I do not wish to renew the moments of vehemence and
exasperation when our Precious Ones, who really seemed to enjoy it all,
clattered about among the débris, or the vague appreciation of suicide
that was born within me when, in the midst of my despair, the Little
Woman suggested that after all she was afraid we were making a mistake
in leaving our little home where we had been happy so long; also that we
moved too often, an unusual statement considering the fact that we had
been there for more than a year. I told her that she reminded me of my
mother, who daily rated my father for keeping them poor, moving, they
having moved twice in thirty-eight years. I added that I had seen my
mother publicly denounce my father for having left out a broken stew-pot
when they moved the last time, some twenty years before.
I will not review these things fully, nor will I recall, except in the
briefest manner, the usual perfidiousness of the moving-man, who, as
heretofore, came two hours late, and then arranged upon the pavement all
the unbeauteous articles of our household, leaving them bare and
wretched in the broad light of day while he thrust into the van the
pieces of which we were justly proud.
I will also skim but lightly over the days devoted to getting settled. I
sent word to the office that I was ill--a fact which I could have sworn
to if necessary, though for a sick man my activity was quite remarkable.
The Little Woman was active, too, while the Precious Ones displayed a
degree of enterprise and talent for getting directly in my chosen path,
which was unusual even for them.
We were installed at last, however, and the jolly janitor had given us a
lift now and then which completely won our hearts and more than made up
for some minor shortcomings which we discovered here and there as the
days passed. We named our new home the "Sunshine" apartment and assured
each other that we were very well pleased, and when one morning as I set
out for the office I noticed that the lower halls and stairway had
suddenly taken on an air of spruce tidiness--had been magically
transformed over night, as it were--I was so elated that I returned to
point these things out to the Little Woman. She came down to the door
with me and agreed that it was quite wonderful, and added the final
touch to our satisfaction. She added that it looked almost as if Thomas
had been at work there. I went away altogether happy.
Owing to the accumulation of work at the office it was rather later than
usual when I returned that evening. As I entered I observed on the face
of the Little Woman a peculiar look which did not seem altogether due to
the delayed dinner. The Precious Ones also regarded me strangely, and I
grew vaguely uneasy without knowing why. It was our elder hope who first
addressed me.
"On, pop! you can't guess who's here!"
"No," chimed in the echo, "you never could! Guess, papa; just guess!"
As for the Little Woman, she leaned back in her chair and began laughing
hysterically. This was alarming. I knew it could not be her brother who
had just sailed for Japan, and I glanced about nervously, having in mind
a composite vision of my Aunt Jane, who had once invaded our home with
disastrous results, and an old college chum, who only visited me when in
financial distress.
"Wh--where are--they?" I half whispered, regarding anxiously the
portières.
"Here--up-stairs, down-stairs, everywhere!" gasped the Little Woman,
while the Precious Ones continued to insist that I guess and keep on
guessing without rest or sustenance till the crack of doom.
Then suddenly I grew quite stern.
"Tell me," I commanded, "what is the matter with you people, and stop
this nonsense! Who is it that's here?"
The Little Woman became calm for a brief instant, and emitted a single
word. "Thomas!"
I sank weakly into a chair. "Thomas?"
"Yes, Thomas! Thomas!" shrieked the Precious Ones, and then they, too,
went off into a fit of ridiculous mirth, while recalling now the sudden
transfiguration of the halls I knew they had spoken truly. The Little
Woman was wiping her eyes.
"And Mr. Griffin, too," she said, calmly, as if that was quite a matter
of course.
"And Mr. Griffin, too!" chorused the Precious Ones.
"Mr. Griffin?"
"Why, yes," said the Little Woman. "He bought this house yesterday, and
put Thomas over here in charge. He will occupy the top floor himself."
"Oh!"
"And you never saw anybody so glad of anything as Thomas was to see us
here. It was the first time I ever saw him laugh!"
"Oh, he laughed, did he?"
"Yes; and he gave us each some candy!" chanted the Precious Ones. "He
said it was like meeting home folks."
"Oh, he did?"
"Mine was chocolate," declared our elder joy.
"Mine was marshmallows!" piped the echo.
"Little Woman," I said, "our dinner is getting cold; suppose we eat
it."
XI.
_Inheritance and Mania._
And now came one of these episodes which sometimes disturb the
sequestered quiet of even the best regulated and most conventional of
households. We were notified one day that my Aunt Jane, whom I believe I
have once before mentioned having properly arranged her affairs had
passed serenely out of life at an age and in a manner that left nothing
to be desired.
I was sorry, of course,--as sorry as it was possible to be, considering
the fact that she had left me a Sum which though not large was absurdly
welcome. I did not sleep very well until it came, fearing there might
be some hitch in administrating the will, but there was no hitch (my
Aunt Jane, heaven rest her spirit, had been too thoroughly business for
that) and the Sum came along in due season.