THE THREE ROOMS
What is more delightful than home-hunting? And more exhausting? You
start in early in the morning full of adventurous daring; you wind up
at twilight, dazed and drooping. Twenty flats tangle your brain. Every
time Edith saw a to-let sign she ran Frank up any number of flights of
stairs. But nothing pleased both. These rooms were too dark; those too
costly; these other in a bad neighborhood. Finally Edith suggested that
they follow the migration northward and settle in the Bronx.
Then came long car-rides and dashes into unexplored territory. Here was
light and air and quiet, but not the rich highly-colored life of the
Ghetto, not the flow of humanity, the brilliance of packed streets.
Rather rawness, newness, and a brightly-polished squalor. Edith was for
light and air, thinking of little children. The East Side was no place
for babies, for they died there one out of three. Frank was for the
rich life, the excitement, and the familiar haunts.
Nevertheless, one Sunday morning, when they stood in a bright sunny
parlor on the fourth floor, up in the 180’s--with just a hint of nearby
park through the window--they both felt in a flash that this was theirs.
The janitor stood rubbing his hands, and surveying grimly the handsome
pair.
“Well, lady and gentleman, you couldn’t do better for the money in
New York. Look at that steamheat radiator. It’s no fake. And them
chandeliers--cost ten plunks apiece. And this here bath-room--open
plumbing. Take my tip and grab it. There was a party in only an hour
ago, highly pleased--coming back in an hour, and take it sure as fate.
You take my tip and don’t let it go!”
Edith flushed with excitement.
“Someone else wants it?”
“Ah, say,” laughed Frank, “that’s an old gag.”
The janitor was very indignant.
“Don’t believe it, eh? All right. But don’t you grumble if it’s
snatched under your nose.”
Edith’s eyes sparkled. She whispered to Frank.
“What do you think of it?”
“What do you?”
“What? Frank, it’s just what I want!”
“Sure?”
“Just look at it--and look out that window. And with a park near! Oh,
it’s beautiful!”
“All right,” cried Frank, “I’m game. Here goes.”
“What are you going to do?” cried Edith.
“Take it!”
“Really?” Her eyes grew wide.
“Yes, really!”
“You’re sure?”
Frank turned to the janitor.
“We’ll take it!”
“That’s speaking English, young man! Now, looky here--rent’s twelve
per. That means a deposit down.”
“How much?”
“Three dollars.”
Frank drew out three dollars, and the janitor gave him a receipt. The
young couple were red with excitement.
“Now it’s ours!” cried Edith.
“Yes, sweetheart, our home!”
“Home!”
And surely it was a glorious moment. They surveyed every nook and
corner; they measured the floors; they planned the furniture. They
gazed on the little place with loving pride.
A week followed crowded with quick events. There were kitchen utensils,
linens, odds and ends, and the furniture to get. Edith’s brain grew
acute. A hundred dormant housewife powers sprang into life. Frank was
delighted with the little woman. And finally one morning they stood in
it, and it shone round them stocked with goods.
Sunlight streamed in on them. They had found their cranny in the stormy
world, their little cave. Here would they live together, and who knew
what sweet life would laugh in their sunny home? The sacredness of
Home, the glory of that habitation which is the refuge and nursery of
the race, lifted them again to the miraculous heights.
“Oh,” cried Edith, her eyes sparkling with tears, “this is lovelier
than I dreamed!”
“It’s ours, sweetheart,” said Frank, “and it would be beautiful no
matter what it was!”
And so their little home stood ready! They fixed their marriage-day
for two weeks later. Perhaps some of the wild enchantment came back
to them, perhaps out of their fresh memories sprang the old golden
air, for their pulses chimed with ecstasy, their blood sang hymns in
the white morning and in the starry night. The gates of life stood
within reach of hands; two weeks, and they would fling open on the rich
landscape of married life. Toward this, they knew now, the last few
months had been speeding them. Closer and closer had the souls grown,
and now rapidly they were being woven into one another, to go braiding
down the happy years. The wild-rose wore a touch of color in her black;
youth blew its buds again in her cheeks; her eyes shed the fair light
of girlish days; she was all radiance, grace again. Frank seemed more
manly, stronger, nobler. He was very considerate, very thoughtful.
He made many good resolves. He knew of old that before a man marries
he should be examined by a physician, and, though he was practically
well, with but the traces of an old trouble, he made up his mind to
see Doctor Rast. That would please Edith, if later she came to know of
it. Finally he told Edith she was tired and needed a rest, and as he
could not get off for a honeymoon, she must spend a week away before
the marriage. Edith laughed at him, but he persisted, so anxiously, so
ardently, that more to please him (she would do anything to please him)
she packed up and ran off to the mountains.
In the train, with people passing them up and down the aisle, they
embraced passionately.
“I don’t want to go!” cried Edith; “I was so happy!”
“Hush!” he said. “Then how much more happy we will be to have each
other!”
“You’ll still love me? Surely?”
“Love you!”
“And you’ll miss me?”
“Every moment!”
“And write every day?”
“Every day!”
He felt her arms about him tight, tight--he felt the pressure of her
lips--he felt her hair caressing his forehead--all her presence went
swimming through him. He could not let her go. And then came the cry of
“All aboard!”
“Good-by!”
“Good-by, good-by! Oh, sweetheart!”
“Good-by!”
He ran down the moving car and turned and waved his hand; she waved her
handkerchief. And then he was gone and she was gone.
One week! one week, sweet Edith! Go your way, wild-rose! Soon the last
touch of girlishness will vanish, and the great years begin.