GETTING SETTLED
Half an hour later Ira was the proud possessor-- Now that's what comes
of using phrases. It's a poor habit. As a matter of honest fact, no
one could have been really proud of the articles purchased in Mr.
Joseph Jacobs' Second-hand Emporium. First, there were the remains of
a window seat. Ira had viewed it distastefully until Johnston--it had
developed that his first name was Martin and that he was usually called
Mart--assured him that with a hammer and four nails and a bit o' luck
he could fix it as good as new. Then came a leather couch. The frame,
springs and hair were quite serviceable, but the leather--well, Mart
said it was a "crime," and we'll let it go at that. "But," he pointed
out, "all you've got to do is throw something over it, old man, and
no one will know. Haven't you some trifle like a Paisley shawl or a
Persian rug about your person? Never mind, we'll find something. And
five dollars is dirt cheap for it. Why, it's worth that much for fuel,
and you want to remember that you've got a perfectly good grate to feed
when Winter comes. We'll take it, Jacobs."
The easy-chair was not as easy as it looked. About the only thing easy,
except its appearance, was the price. It was one of those brown-oak
contraptions with a back that let down to form various angles with
the seat. Unfortunately each succeeding angle was more uncomfortable
than the last. "Old Man Mission," observed Mart, "may have been a
dandy carpenter, but he was a mighty poor comforter!" They picked up
some hanging book shelves for sixty cents and two rugs only half worn
out for a dollar apiece and, finally, an oak table-desk with a column
of drawers at one side, one of which would open without the use of a
jimmy. Leaving instructions to have the furniture delivered not later
than five o'clock, they returned to "Maggy's."
Mart heroically paid Mrs. Magoon a dollar, much to that lady's
bewilderment, and then they went up to the room. A decrepit walnut
washstand was already in place, but Ira couldn't see that its presence
added much to the apartment. They tried it in three places and at last
returned it to its original position, restoring the casters which it
had sprinkled around the room in its travels. Then Mart threw himself
into the plush chair and stretched his legs out and viewed the room
thoughtfully.
"Better make a list of things to buy, old man," he advised. "All ready?
Paper of tacks and a hammer--better get a real hammer and not one of
those playthings; a hammer's always useful--, two brass curtain rods--
By Crickey, we forgot curtains! Never mind, though, we'll get those at
Alston's. We can get the rods there, too. And you'd ought to have a
cloth for that table. Every fellow ought to have a cloth on his table,
I should think. And--let's see--" He looked around the room inquiringly.
"I guess that's enough for today," said Ira. "The next thing is to get
my trunk over from the station. I suppose there's an expressman around
somewhere."
"Come on down with me at five and give your check to Harris. He does
most of the school work and won't mind lugging it up two flights. Some
of them expect ten cents more for that. Let's get cooled off a bit and
then buy the curtains, eh? Curtains will make a lot of difference, I
tell you! I'll borrow a yard-stick or something from Maggy and measure
the windows."
When that had been done they sailed forth again. There was one
excellent feature about Ira's abode, and that was its convenience
to the shops. Alston's dry goods store was only a half block away,
across School Street, and soon they were viewing muslin and scrim
curtains which an obliging saleslady hung over big brass rods. Mart
found that he might as well have spared himself the trouble of taking
measurements, for the curtains were all the same length. They finally
selected two pairs of what the young lady called "cross-barred muslin"
and purchased rods and fixtures. Subsequently they visited a hardware
store and bought the hammer and the paper of tacks and a small quantity
of nails. When they got back to Number 200 Main Street they found an
expressman struggling upstairs with the leather couch, followed grimly
by the landlady who exhorted him at every step to "mind the plaster
now!"
When the new purchases were in place the room did look a lot better,
and when Mart had, after much difficulty, put up the rods and pinned
the curtains over them the two boys viewed the result with deep
satisfaction. "It's the little touches that do it," proclaimed Mart.
"Now when we get a cloth----"
But they had forgotten the cloth for the table, as well as the "drape"
for the couch, and had also neglected to provide anything in the way of
a cushion for the window seat. "But Rome was not built in a day," said
Mart cheerfully. "I forget how long it took, but it was more likely
a week. Now, in a week you won't know this place, Rowland. Got any
pictures to hang on this lovely yaller paper?"
"No, but I can get some," answered Ira, regarding the paper
distastefully. "Wish I could get enough to hide the walls entirely!"
"Put up half a dozen and hang a pennant over the door and stick a few
posters around and you won't notice the walls at all. And if I were you
I'd buy a can of brown paint and go over this border again. That colour
on there now makes me sort of faint. What time might it be?"
"Twenty to five."
"Geewhillikins! Where's the afternoon got to? Here, I'll knock this
window seat together and then beat it. Where's that hammer? Don't tell
me--Oh, all right! Toss it over. Nails? Thank you, sir. Now then, you
rickety, tumble-down, lob-sided bunch of boards, how do you go, anyhow?
I say, Rowland, there's a leg missing! I didn't notice that, did you?
Never mind. It won't matter if you don't sit on that corner, and some
time you can nail a piece of board on there. Say, this thing is a
regular Chinese puzzle! Know what I think? Well, I think he's gone and
sold us parts of two different seats!"
But he wronged Mr. Jacobs, for ultimately the sections fitted together,
and when they did the two boys looked at the result in silence and then
burst into howls of laughter. The window seat had been built for a
corner! No matter how they struggled with it it remained L-shaped! If
half of it ran across a window the other half stuck out into the room
at right angles like a sore thumb! Ira subsided on the bed and Mart
sprawled himself on the floor and they laughed until they were weak.
"Well," said Mart finally, "either you've got to change your room or
this seat, and I guess the seat's the easier. Now look here. If we turn
this end around, so, and tack a couple of short boards on here----"
"Oh, don't!" begged Ira. "Don't spoil it! It--it's beautiful!"
"Oh, well, if you won't be serious," laughed Mart, dropping his hammer.
"Let's leave it until tomorrow. I've got to meet Brad at five-twelve.
Put your hat on and come along. Bring your trunk check, by the way.
Hang it, quit laughing! Get a move on, you--you idjit!"
"Y-yes, but--but look at it, Johnston!" gasped Ira. "Isn't it--_funny_?"
"It's killing," agreed the other, grinning. "I say, why not leave it
that way just for a joke?"
"I--I'm going to! I--l-like it!"
"Well, don't cry, old man! Pull yourself together! Here's your hat. Now
come on. We've only got eight minutes."
The railway station was four blocks south and by the time Ira had
arranged for the delivery of his trunk and rescued his suitcase from
the parcel room those eight minutes were gone and the express was
rumbling in. Mart left Ira at the waiting-room door, with instructions
not to move until he returned, and was presently pushing his way
through the throng of arriving students in search of his roommate. Ira,
however, concluded that he would only be in the way. The chums would of
course have lots to say to each other and he didn't believe that either
of them would really be any happier for his presence. So, before the
new arrivals had more than overflowed the platform, he was on his way
uptown again, the heavy suitcase, into which at the last moment he had
forced a lot of things that had been intended for the trunk, tugging
at his arm. Station carriages, filled to capacity with merry youths,
began to pass him before he reached Main Street and turned toward his
lodgings, but he saw nothing of Mart.
He had a bath in the wonderful enamelled tub on the floor below and
felt cooler and generally better for it. After he had returned to
his room and made himself as comfortable on the bed as the hard,
lumpy mattress would allow he heard the sound of arrivals. Voices and
footsteps and the banging of doors came to him. Downstairs a spirited
battle began for the possession of the bathroom. Across the hall from
his closed door a youth with a strident voice sang loudly and opened
and shut drawers most ungently. In spite of the noise, Ira, who had
slept but poorly on the train the night before, drowsed off presently
and knew no more until there came a banging at his portal. Half awake,
he admitted the expressman with his trunk, paid for it in a stupor and
then subsided on it to gather his faculties. His blinking gaze rested
on the window seat and he began to chuckle at the perfectly idiotic way
in which it thrust one decrepit end into the room. By that time he was
sufficiently awake to find his key and open the trunk, after which he
donned fresh underwear and his second-best suit of blue serge, spruced
himself up and thought of supper. However, there was no great hurry
about that, he concluded. Since he had decided to get his meals at the
restaurants for awhile he was not required to observe regular hours. It
was only a little past six, and there was his trunk to unpack and his
things to find places for.
The closet, although short on hooks, was roomy. He made a mental
memoranda to buy some hooks tomorrow and in the meanwhile "doubled
up" with what there were. The bureau drawers stuck abominably, but he
at last conquered them and arranged his possessions within. Books,
of which he had brought a good many, were equally divided between
bookcase and shelves. (He wondered why he had bought the shelves until
he remembered that he hadn't; that Mart Johnston had bought them!) By
half-past six the nearly empty trunk was pushed out of sight in the
closet, his few toilet things decorated the marble top of the bureau,
sponge and toothbrush reposed on the washstand and, in short, he was
settled.
The room really began to look a bit homelike, he concluded, viewing it
critically from what would have been the hearth-rug had he possessed
such a thing. He would have to get something to hide the tattered and
torn leather on the couch, and a cloth for the hideous walnut table;
and, of course, there was that ridiculous window seat! He had to smile
every time his eyes fell on it, but for some reason it seemed quite the
most companionable article of furniture in sight. He decided that he
would find an upholsterer and have a good cushion made for it, and then
he would buy some pillows. Probably, he reflected, he would fall over
the protruding end of the crazy thing a dozen times in the next week.
If only----
And right there a brilliant idea struck him! "Why, of course!" he
exclaimed. He tugged and pushed the oak desk alongside the end of
the seat that ran out from the wall, restored the walnut table to
its erstwhile position in the middle of the rug, placed the plush
easy-chair beside it and there you were! That put his desk between the
windows, with the light coming over his left shoulder very nicely, and
made a back for the homeless end of the window seat. And it looked
great! He was quite proud of that arrangement and went out in search of
supper very cheerfully.
He found a lunch room around the corner on Linden Street and, probably
more because he was really hungry than because the food was especially
good, made an excellent repast, with an evening paper propped up
against the vinegar cruet. It was nearly eight when he wandered back
to his lodging through the warm, quiet evening. Most of the stores
on Main Street were closed, but a few windows still threw floods of
yellow radiance across the brick sidewalks. Doorsteps held family
groups, quite as if Summer had not gone, and children played along the
pavement. An old-fashioned lantern with a gas jet sizzling inside it
hung above the door of Number 200 and threw a wavering, uncertain light
on the four creaking steps. As Ira passed into the hall the door of the
tailor's shop was open and he saw a little hunchbacked man of uncertain
age and nationality working steadily and swiftly over a pressing board.
On each floor a dim gaslight flickered, but for most of the distance
each flight was in darkness and he made his way upwards warily, a
guiding hand on the banister rail.
Halfway up the second flight he heard Mrs. Magoon's voice. It sounded
querulous, even a trifle resentful. The next moment another voice broke
in angrily, and Ira reached the third floor and viewed an astounding
scene. In the doorway of his room, seated determinedly on a small
trunk, with a bag on his knees, was a boy of perhaps sixteen. In front
of him stood Mrs. Magoon, her hands wrapped in her apron. At the sound
of his footsteps both actors in the little drama staged on his doorsill
turned their heads and regarded him, the boy with an expression of
dogged defiance and Mrs. Magoon with very evident relief.