Jan Tingloff, not wishing to get too far away from the dry dock, turned
up a side street near the water-front, and there, in a basement window
of a narrow four-story brick building, he saw the sign "Furnished Room
to Rent."
A second look showed Jan that the basement also afforded an entrance to
a not too well lit pool-room and that a not overclean alley ran up one
side of the building. Jan, with no prejudices against alleys or
pool-rooms, entered the pool-room to inquire. "Yeh," said the man behind
the cigar-case--"second floor--a week in advance--ring the front-door
bell--a woman will come and show you."
A woman who preceded him like a discouraged shadow showed him the room,
but it was to the man in the basement that she told Jan to pay the
week's rent when he said he would take the room. "Yes; I take the
rent--always," this man said; and his eyes brightened as Jan pushed the
money across the cigar-case at him. And he wore finger-rings out of all
keeping with the dark little place; but he had a pleasant smile for Jan
and Jan smiled back at him; for Jan was one of those friendly natures
who prefer to be pleasant, even to men whose looks they do not like.
Jan Tingloff slept in his new quarters that night. He saw nobody
connected with the house as he passed out in the morning; but that
evening as he entered the front-door he heard a cough. It was a woman's
cough and dimly he saw a woman's form--a rather slender form. Jan's
senses were the kind which see a thing large at first and then go back
for details. He hurried to close the door so that the cold November wind
would not endanger the poor creature further. As he closed the door she
said:
"Good evening."
Jan hurried to take off his hat.
"Good evening, ma'am."
"You go off early mornings, captain?"
"Yes, ma'am." He peered into the twilight of the hall and saw a hand
lighting the suspension lamp. "But I'm not a captain, ma'am. I was a
seafaring man one time; but I am a ship-carpenter now in a repairing job
on a big coaster in the dry dock, and I have to be over there early to
get my gang started."
She was turning the wick of the lamp high and then low, and high again,
and Jan was vexed to think he had not offered to light the lamp for her
in the first place, especially as he now recognized in her the same
sad-eyed woman who had showed him his room the evening before. It was
twilight then, too, but she had lit no lamp in the hall or in the room,
and Jan guessed why and did not blame her for it. The furnishings here,
as in his room, were shabby.
Jan began to feel a pity for her. There was that in the curve of her
back which caused him to address her with unwonted gentleness--and
ordinarily Jan was gentle enough for anybody's taste. Yes, she was the
same woman; but if he had met her anywhere else he would not have known
her. She was now all tidied up. Her clothes were fresh, her shoulders
had lost their droop. Her face was less pale and a glow was coming into
her eyes.
Jan's room was on the second floor and now he ascended the stairs to go
there. At the top of the stairs he glanced back; but catching her
looking at him he looked quickly away. From the darkness of the
second-floor hallway, however, he could peer down and she could not see
him. She was still there, standing under the lamp which was now at full
blaze. One arm had been raised high in regulation of the wick and now
she raised the other to steady the lamp, which was swinging. Her figure
was in the shadow from the waist down, but her bust, her neck, face and
long, slim hands were in full light.
"I'd never took her for the same woman--never!" thought Jan.
Next evening Jan saw her again, this time in the narrow second-floor
hallway near the stairs. She shrank against the stair-rail to let him
pass. Jan drew up against the wall. She mutely indicated that he should
pass.
"After you, ma'am," said Jan, and resolutely waited.
"Thank you," she said, and passed on. At the head of the flight of
stairs she turned her head. Jan was still there.
"Is your room all right?" She asked the question hurriedly, awkwardly.
"All right, ma'am."
"And not too noisy for you here?--the basement noise, I mean."
"A ship-carpenter, ma'am--he soon gets used to noise."
"Of course." She glanced furtively at him. "Good-night." She hurried
downstairs.
That night when Jan, who read romantic fiction to relieve his
loneliness, laid down his stirring mediæval tale to go to bed, he did
not follow up the intention with immediate action, as usual.
By and by he raised the window-sash, and the cool, damp sea-air feeling
good, he leaned out to enjoy it. It was a cloudy night, with a touch of
coming snow in the air; but for all that a night to enjoy, only for the
racket ascending from the pool-room.
"I don't think much of those people down there," thought Jan as he
lowered the sash to all but six or eight inches for fresh air and picked
up the alarm clock from the rickety dresser. "I wonder if she's one of
that crowd?" And he began to wind the clock. "But sure she ain't--sure
not."
Jan had been holding the clock absently in his hand. Suddenly he set it
down and scolded himself--"Jan Tingloff, remember you has to be up at
six in the morning!"--and undressed, blew out the light and slid into
bed, and tried to go to sleep. And he did after a while; but his last
thought before he fell into slumber was: "Who'd ever think one day a
woman could grow so young-looking the next day?"
Many an evening after that Jan met the landlady on the stairs or in the
hall, and always she stopped to ask him how he was coming on with his
ship; but never any more than that or a brief word as to the weather and
his comfort, though there were times when Jan felt he would like to
become better acquainted--times when he even had a feeling that if he
had asked her to sit down somewhere for a talk she would be willing. Jan
had learned, however, that she was married. It had been a shock to learn
that. It had come about by his noticing after three or four days the
plain gold ring on the wedding finger. He had kept staring at it until
she could not help remarking it; and by and by, in a casual sort of way,
she had told him she was married.
"And is your husband living, ma'am?" asked Jan.
"He's living--yes," she answered slowly.
That made a difference. Even though a man didn't know anybody in the
city except the men he worked with and it was terribly lonesome of
evenings--even so, her being married made all the difference. And she
must have been a wonderfully pretty girl once--and was pretty yet, now
he had a chance to look good at her. Pretty--yes; but--well, Jan didn't
know what it was, except that she was all right. Jan knew he didn't know
much about women, especially strange women--and he knew, too, that he
never would; but he would never believe she wasn't all right--never!
Yes, it was pretty lonesome at times; and there was the girl who roomed
on the top floor. Jan was thrilled by alluring glimpses of her in the
half-dark recesses of the back halls, but the glimpses remained only
glimpses after he saw her one Sunday by daylight. Only then was Jan
convinced that she painted. She was a little too much and he took to
dodging her. Yet it was a pity--oh, a pity! and Jan, still thinking what
a pity, was going out for a lonesome walk one night, when who should
meet him on the front stoop but that same top-floor girl! And no sliding
by her this time. She nipped the lapel of his coat with a dexterous
thumb and forefinger.
"Why, hello, cap! Where yuh goin'?"
"Nowheres."
"Then you got time, ain't you, to buy a girl a glass o'--" She stopped
and winked sportively.
"Glass o' what?"
"Why, ginger ale!" She laughed at his surprise. "You thought I was goin'
to say beer, or maybe somethin' stronger, didn't yuh? But I don't drink
no hard stuff. No. An' I was dyin' for a drink o' somethin' when yuh
pops out that door. An' I know yuh ain't any hinge."
"How do you know I ain't a hinge?"
"Oh, don't I? Leave it to me to pick a sport from a piker."
"But I'm no sport either."
"You could if yuh wanted ter. An' yuh ain't any hinge, even if they do
say you're a square-head. Come on an' let's go in back an' have a couple
o' bottles o' ginger ale in Hen's place."
And Jan followed her into the private room beyond the pool-room--the
room to which, as he had gathered before this, the street girls of that
section steered drunken sailors. The ginger ale was brought in by the
proprietor himself. Jan threw down a ten-dollar bill. Jan had a good
many bills with him that evening--his month's wages; and seeing it was
the fashion round there to show your money when you paid for anything,
why, he'd show them--even if he was a square-head--that he could carry a
wad too.
"Say, cap, but yuh must be drawin' down good coin?"
"Oh, a boss ship-carpenter gets pretty good wages." And with one
splendid sweep Jan emptied his glass.
"I should say yes. An' there's tinhorners round here that if they had
half your wad Hen'd have to ring in the fire alarm to put 'em
out--they'd feel themselves such warm rags. But what d'yuh say to
another ginger ale?"
"Sure," said Jan, and called aloud for them. And again Hen brought in
the ginger ale in two long glasses, but also with two empty bottles to
show Jan by the labels that it was the real imported and no phony stuff;
and Jan said, "I know! I know!" as he paid and waved Hen away.
A door led from this back room into the lower back hall of the house,
and in the shadow of the back hall Jan thought for an instant that he
saw the landlady's figure; but he wasn't sure. Two minutes--or it may
have been five minutes--later, a boy whom Jan had noticed round the
house came into the room by way of that same door and said to the girl:
"Mrs. Goles wants to see you a minute."
"Tell her I got no minute to spare--not now."
The boy went out and quickly came back.
"Mrs. Goles says for you to come out and see her or she'll have the
policeman in off the beat. He's at the corner now."
The girl went out.
"Who's Mrs. Goles?" asked Jan of the boy.
"Why, she's the landlady."
"Oh!" said Jan. So that was her husband, the handsome proprietor with
the evil eyes. "Poor woman!" muttered Jan, and absent-mindedly drank his
ginger ale.
The boy was still there. "Where is Mrs. Goles now?" asked Jan.