I do hate changes, but when my sister Laura, who keeps house for me,
determined to move further uptown, I really had no choice in the matter
but to acquiesce. I am a bachelor of long standing, and it's my opinion
that the way to manage women is simply to humor their whims, and since
Laura's husband died I've been rather more indulgent to her than before.
Any way, the chief thing to have in one's household is peace, and I
found I secured that easily enough by letting Laura do just as she
liked; and as in return she kept my home comfortable and pleasant for
me, I considered that honors were even. Therefore, when she decided we
would move, I made no serious objection.
At least, not in advance. Had I known what apartment-hunting meant I
should have refused to leave our Gramercy Park home.
But "Uptown" and "West Side" represented to Laura the Mecca of her
desires, and I unsuspectingly agreed to her plans.
Then the campaign began.
Early every morning Laura scanned the papers for new advertisements.
Later every morning she visited agents, and then spent the rest of the
day inspecting apartments.
Then evenings were devoted to summing up the experiences of the day and
preparing to start afresh on the morrow.
She was untiring in her efforts; always hopeful, and indeed positive
that she would yet find the one apartment that combined all possible
advantages and possessed no objectionable features.
At first I went with her on her expeditions, but I soon saw the futility
of this, and, in a sudden access of independence, I declared I would
have no more to do with the search. She might hunt as long as she chose;
she might decide upon whatever home she chose; but it must be without my
advice or assistance. I expressed myself as perfectly willing to live in
the home she selected, but I refused to trail round in search of it.
Being convinced of my determination, my sister accepted the situation
and continued the search by herself.
But evenings I was called upon as an advisory board, to hear the result
of the day's work and to express an opinion. According to Laura it
required a careful balancing of location and conveniences, of
neighborhood and modern improvements before the momentous question
should be decided.
Does an extra bathroom equal one block further west? Is an onyx-lined
entrance greater than a buttoned hall-boy? Are palms in the hall worth
more than a red velvet hand-rail with tassels?
These were the questions that racked her soul, and, sympathetically,
mine.
Then the name. Laura declared that the name was perhaps the most
important factor after all. A name that could stand alone at the top of
one's letter paper, without the support of a street number, was indeed
an achievement. But, strangely enough, such a name proved to be a very
expensive proposition, and Laura put it aside with a resigned sigh.
Who does name the things, anyway? Not the man who invents the names of
the Pullman cars, for they are of quite a different sort.
Well, it all made conversation, if nothing more.
"I wish you would express a preference, Otis," Laura would say, and then
I would obligingly do so, being careful to prefer the one I knew was not
her choice. I did this from the kindest of motives, in order to give the
dear girl the opportunity which I knew she wanted, to argue against my
selection, and in favor of her own.
Then I ended by being persuaded to her way of thinking, and that settled
the matter for that time.
"Of course," she would say, "if you're never going to marry, but always
live with me, you ought to have some say in the selection of our home."
"I don't expect to marry," I returned; "that is, I have no intention of
such a thing at present. But you never can tell. The only reason I'm not
married is because I've never seen the woman I wanted to make my wife.
But I may yet do so. I rather fancy that if I ever fall in love, it will
be at first sight, and very desperately. Then I shall marry, and hunt an
apartment of my own."
"H'm," said my sister, "you seem to have a sublime assurance that the
lady will accept you at first sight."
"If she doesn't, I have confidence in my powers of persuasion. But as I
haven't seen her yet, you may as well go ahead with your plans for the
continuation of the happy and comfortable home you make for me."
Whereupon she patted me on the shoulder, and remarked that I was a dear
old goose, and that some young woman was missing the chance of her life
in not acquiring me for a husband!
At last Laura decided, regarding our home, that location was the thing
after all, and she gave up much in the way of red velvet and buttons,
for the sake of living on one of the blocks sanctioned by those who
know.
She decided on the Hammersleigh; in the early sixties, and not too far
from the river.
Though not large, the Hammersleigh was one of the most attractive of the
moderate-priced apartment houses in New York City. It had a dignified,
almost an imposing entrance, and though the hall porter was elevator boy
as well, the service was rarely complained of.
Of course dwellers in an apartment house are not supposed to know their
fellow-tenants on the same floor, any more than occupants of a
brown-stone front are supposed to be acquainted with their next-door
neighbors. But even so, I couldn't help feeling an interest which almost
amounted to curiosity concerning the young lady who lived in the
apartment across the hall from our own in the Hammersleigh.
I had seen her only at a few chance meetings in the elevator or in the
entrance hall, and in certain respects her demeanor was peculiar.
Of course I knew the young lady's name. She was Miss Janet Pembroke, and
she lived with an old uncle whom I had never seen. Although we had been
in the Hammersleigh but two weeks, Laura had learned a few facts
concerning the old gentleman. It seems he was Miss Pembroke's
great-uncle, and, although very wealthy, was of a miserly disposition
and a fierce temper. He was an invalid of some sort, and never left the
apartment; but it was said that his ugly disposition and tyrannical ways
made his niece's life a burden to her. Indeed, I myself, as I passed
their door, often heard the old ogre's voice raised in tones of
vituperation and abuse; and my sister declared that she was not
surprised that the previous tenants had vacated our apartment, for the
old man's shrill voice sometimes even penetrated the thick walls.
However, Laura, too, felt an interest in Miss Pembroke, and hoped that
after a time she might make her acquaintance.
The girl was perhaps twenty-one or twenty-two, of a brunette type, and,
though slender, was not at all fragile-looking. Her large, dark eyes had
a pathetic expression, but except for this her appearance was haughty,
proud, and exceedingly reserved. She had never so much as glanced at
Mrs. Mulford or myself with the least hint of personal interest. To be
sure, I had no reason to expect such a thing, but the truth is, I felt
sorry for the girl, who must certainly lead a hard life with that
dreadful old man.
Laura informed me that there was no one else in the Pembroke household
except one servant, a young colored woman.
I had seen Miss Pembroke perhaps not more than a half-dozen times, and I
had already observed this: if I chanced to see her as she came out of
her own door or descended in the elevator, she was apparently nervously
excited. Her cheeks were flushed and her expression was one of utter
exasperation, as if she had been tried almost beyond endurance. If, on
the other hand, I saw her as she was returning from a walk or an errand,
her face was calm and serene--not smiling, but with a patient, resigned
look, as of one who had her emotions under control. At either time she
was beautiful. Indeed, I scarcely know which aspect seemed to me more
attractive: the quivering glow of righteous indignation or the brave
calm of enforced cheerfulness.
Nor had I any right to consider her attractive in either case. It is not
for a man to think too personally about a woman he has never met.
But I had never before seen a face that so plainly, yet so
unconsciously, showed passing emotions, and it fascinated me.
Aside from Miss Pembroke's beauty, she must be, I decided, possessed of
great strength of character and great depth of feeling.
But beyond all doubt the girl was not happy, and though this was not my
affair, it vaguely troubled me.
I admitted to myself, I even admitted to Laura, that I felt compassion
for this young woman who seemed to be so ill-treated; but my sister
advised me not to waste my sympathy too easily, for it was her opinion
that the young woman was quite capable of taking care of herself, and
that in all probability she held her own against her poor old uncle.
"I don't see why you assume a poor old uncle," I said, "when you know
how he berates her."
"Yes, but how do I know what she may do to deserve it? Those dark eyes
show a smouldering fire that seems to me quite capable of breaking into
flame. I rather fancy Miss Pembroke can hold her own against any verbal
onslaught of her uncle."
"Then I'm glad she can," I declared; "as she has to stand such unjust
tyranny, I hope she has sufficient self-assertion to resent it. I'd
rather like to see that girl in a towering rage; she must look
stunning!"
"Otis," said my sister, smiling, "you're becoming altogether too deeply
interested in Miss Pembroke's appearance. She is a good-looking girl,
but not at all the kind we want to know."
"And why not, pray?" I inquired, suddenly irritated at my sister's tone.
"I think she is quite of our own class."
"Oh, gracious, yes! I didn't mean that. But she is so haughty and moody,
and I'm sure she's of a most intractable disposition. Otis, that girl is
deceitful, take my word for it. I've seen her oftener than you have, and
I've heard her talk."
"You have! Where?"
"Oh, just a few words now and then--in the elevator perhaps; and one day
she was talking to the agent who lives on the first floor of the
apartment. _Tumultuous_ is the only word to describe her."
"H'm; she must be of a tumultuous nature if she can't control it when
talking to an elevator boy or a house agent."
"Oh, I don't mean she was then; but she gave me the impression of a
desperate nature, held in check by a strong will."
"Sounds interesting," I said, smiling at my sister's vehemence.
"But that's just what I don't want!" declared Laura, emphatically.
"You're not to get interested in that Pembroke girl; I won't have it! If
you're going to fall in love at first sight, it must be with some one
more gentle and more pleasing of demeanor than our mysterious neighbor."
"But you see, I've already had my first sight of Miss Pembroke, and
so----" I looked at my sister, teasingly.
"And you've already fallen in love? Oh, don't tell me that!"
"Nonsense! Of course I haven't done anything of the sort! I've seen Miss
Pembroke two or three times. I admire her beauty, and I can't help
thinking that she is terribly treated by that cruel uncle. She may be a
termagant herself--I've no means of knowing--but as a casual observer my
sympathies are with her, and I can't help feeling hard toward the old
man."
"You take a perfectly ridiculous attitude," Laura responded. "Like all
men you are bewitched by a pair of big dark eyes and a pathetic mouth. I
tell you, in all probability that poor old man is more entitled to
sympathy than that melodramatic-looking girl!"
As I have said, I always humor Laura, even in her opinions; so I only
responded: "Very likely you are right, my dear," and let the subject
drop. I'm a lawyer, and I'm thirty-two years old, both of which
conditions have led me to the conclusion that in dealing with women
acquiescence in unimportant matters is always expedient.
But we were destined to become intimately acquainted with the Pembroke
household, and to have opportunities to judge for ourselves whether Miss
Janet deserved our sympathy or not.
The hall boy usually brought the first morning mail to our door at about
eight o'clock, and when he rang the bell it was my habit to open the
door and take the letters from him myself.
One morning I did this, as usual, and stood a moment looking carelessly
over the letters before I closed the door. I may as well own up that I
did this partly in the hope that Miss Pembroke would appear at the
opposite door, where the boy was already ringing the bell. But my hope
was unfulfilled, for, with a little click, the door was pulled open,
then suddenly stopped with a sharp snap by reason of a night-chain.
"Laws!" exclaimed what was unmistakably a negro girl's vice, "I nebber
can 'member dat chain!"
The door was clicked shut again, and I could hear the chain slid back
and released; then the door opened and the grinning face of the colored
girl appeared, and the boy gave her the letters. As there was no further
hope of catching a glimpse of Miss Pembroke, I went back to my
breakfast.