RITCHEY
Well, I was just getting used to the Baldwin and making a few friends
round there when Ella suddenly happened to remember that it was
Griffin who had recommended it. So one day, wile Kate was down to the
chiropodist’s, Ella says it was time for us to move and she had made
up her mind to find an apartment somewheres.
“We could get along with six rooms,” she said. “All as I ask is for
it to be a new building and on some good street, some street where
the real people lives.”
“You mean Fifth Avenue,” said I.
“Oh, no,” she says. “That’s way over our head. But we’d ought to be
able to find something, say, on Riverside Drive.”
“A six room apartment,” I says, “in a new building on Riverside
Drive? What was you expecting to pay?”
“Well,” she said, “you remember that time I and Kate visited the
Kitchells in Chi? They had a dandy apartment on Sheridan Road, six
rooms and brand new. It cost them seventy-five dollars a month. And
Sheridan Road is Chicago’s Riverside Drive.”
“Oh, no,” I says. “Chicago’s Riverside Drive is Canal Street. But
listen: Didn’t the Kitchells have their own furniture?”
“Sure they did,” said Ella.
“And are you intending to furnish us all over complete?” I asked her.
“Of course not,” she says. “I expect to get a furnished apartment.
But that don’t only make about twenty-five dollars a month
difference.”
“Listen,” I said: “It was six years ago that you visited the
Kitchells; beside which, that was Chi and this is the Big Town. If
you find a six room furnished apartment for a hundred dollars in New
York City to-day, we’ll be on Pell Street in Chinatown, and maybe
Katie can marry into a laundry or a joss house.”
“Well,” said the wife, “even if we have to go to $150 a month for a
place on the Drive, remember half of it’s my money and half of it’s
Kate’s, and none of it’s yours.”
“You’re certainly letter perfect in that speech,” I says.
“And further and more,” said Ella, “you remember what I told you the
other day. Wile one reason we moved to New York was to see Life,
the main idear was to give Kate a chance to meet real men. So every
nickel we spend making ourself look good is just an investment.”
“I’d rather feel good than look good,” I says, “and I hate to see us
spending so much money on a place to live that they won’t be nothing
left to live on. For three or four hundred a month you might get
a joint on the Drive with a bed and two chairs, but I can’t drink
furniture.”
“This trip wasn’t planned as no spree for you,” says Ella. “On the
other hand, I believe Sis would stand a whole lot better show of
landing the right kind of a man if the rumor was to get out that her
brother-in-law stayed sober once in a wile.”
“Well,” I said, “I don’t think my liberal attitude on the drink
question affected the results of our deal in Wall Street. That
investment would of turned out just as good whether I was a
teetotaler or a lush.”
“Listen,” she says: “The next time you mention ancient history like
that, I’ll make a little investment in a lawyer. But what’s the use
of arguing? I and Kate has made up our mind to do things our own way
with our own money, and to-day we’re going up on the Drive with a
real estate man. We won’t pay no more than we can afford. All as
we want is a place that’s good enough and big enough for Sis to
entertain her gentleman callers in it, and she certainly can’t do
that in this hotel.”
“Well,” I says, “all her gentleman callers that’s been around here in
the last month, she could entertain them in one bunch in a telephone
booth.”
“The reason she’s been let alone so far,” says the Mrs., “is because
I won’t allow her to meet the kind of men that stays at hotels. You
never know who they are.”
“Why not?” I said. “They’ve all got to register their name when they
come in, which is more than you can say for people that lives in $100
apartments on Riverside Drive.”
Well, my arguments went so good that for the next three days the two
gals was on a home-seekers’ excursion and I had to spend my time
learning the eastern intercollegiate kelly pool rules up to Doyle’s.
I win about seventy-five dollars.
When the ladies come home the first two nights they was all wore
out and singing the landlord blues, but on the third afternoon they
busted in all smiles.
“We’ve found one,” says Ella. “Six rooms, too.”
“Where at?” I asked her.
“Just where we wanted it,” she says. “On the Drive. And it fronts
right on the Hudson.”
“No!” I said. “I thought they built them all facing the other way.”
“It almost seems,” said Katie, “like you could reach out and touch
New Jersey.”
“It’s what you might call a near beer apartment,” I says.
“And it’s almost across the street from Grant’s Tomb,” says Ella.
“How many rooms has he got?” I says.
“We was pretty lucky,” said Ella. “The people that had it was forced
to go south for the man’s health. He’s a kind of a cripple. And they
decided to sublet it furnished. So we got a bargain.”
“Come on,” I says. “What price?”
“Well,” she says, “they don’t talk prices by the month in New York.
They give you the price by the year. So it sounds a lot more than it
really is. We got it for $4,000.”
“Sweet patootie!” I said. “That’s only half your income.”
“Well, what of it?” says Ella. “It won’t only be for about a year and
it’s in the nicest kind of a neighborhood and we can’t meet nothing
only the best kind of people. You know what I told you.”
And she give me a sly wink.
Well, it seems like they had signed up a year’s lease and paid a
month’s rent in advance, so what was they left for me to say? All I
done was make the remark that I didn’t see how we was going to come
even close to a trial balance.
“Why not?” said Katie. “With our rent paid we can get along easy on
$4,000 a year if we economize.”
“Yes,” I said. “You’ll economize just like the rest of the Riverside
Drivers, with a couple of servants and a car and four or five new
evening dresses a month. By the end of six months the bank’ll be
figuring our account in marks.”
“What do you mean ‘our’ account?” says Ella.
“But speaking about a car,” said Katie, “do you suppose we could get
a good one cheap?”
“Certainly,” I said. “They’re giving away the good ones for four
double coupons.”
“But I mean an inexpensive one,” says Kate.
“You can’t live on the River and ride in a flivver,” I said.
“Besides, the buses limp right by the door.”
“Oh, I love the buses!” said Ella.
“Wait till you see the place,” says Katie to me. “You’ll go simply
wild! They’s a colored boy in uniform to open the door and they’s two
elevators.”
“How high do we go?” I said.
“We’re on the sixth floor,” says Katie.
“I should think we could get that far in one elevator,” I says.
“What was it the real estate man told us?” said Ella. “Oh, yes, he
said the sixth floor was the floor everybody tried to get on.”
“It’s a wonder he didn’t knock it,” I said.
Well, we was to have immediate possession, so the next morning we
checked out of this joint and swooped up on the Drive. The colored
boy, who I nicknamed George, helped us up with the wardrobe. Ella
had the key and inside of fifteen minutes she’d found it.
We hadn’t no sooner than made our entree into our new home when I
knew what ailed the previous tenant. He’d crippled himself stumbling
over the furniture. The living room was big enough to stage the high
hurdles, and that’s what was in it, only they’d planted them every
two feet apart. If a stew with the blind staggers had of walked in
there in the dark, the folks on the floor below would of thought he’d
knocked the head pin for a goal.
“Come across the room,” said Ella, “and look at the view.”
“I guess I can get there in four downs,” I said, “but you better have
a substitute warming up.”
“Well,” she says, when I’d finally fell acrost the last white chalk
mark, “what do you think of it?”
“It’s a damn pretty view,” I says, “but I’ve often seen the same
view from the top of a bus for a thin dime.”
Well, they showed me over the whole joint and it did look O. K., but
not $4,000 worth. The best thing in the place was a half full bottle
of rye in the kitchen that the cripple hadn’t gone south with. I did.
We got there at eleven o’clock in the morning, but at three P. M.
the gals was still hanging up their Follies costumes, so I beat it
out and over to Broadway and got myself a plate of pea soup. When I
come back, Ella and Katie was laying down exhausted. Finally I told
Ella that I was going to move back to the hotel unless they served
meals in this dump, so her and Kate got up and went marketing. Well,
when you move from Indiana to the Big Town, of course you can’t be
expected to do your own cooking, so what we had that night was from
the delicatessen, and for the next four days we lived on dill pickles
with dill pickles.
“Listen,” I finally says: “The only reason I consented to leave the
hotel was in the hopes I could get a real home cook meal once in a
wile and if I don’t get a real home cook meal once in a wile, I leave
this dive.”
“Have a little bit of patience,” says Ella. “I advertised in the
paper for a cook the day before we come here, the day we rented this
apartment. And I offered eight dollars a week.”
“How many replies did you get?” I asked her.
“Well,” she said, “I haven’t got none so far, but it’s probably too
soon to expect any.”
“What did you advertise in, the world almanac?” I says.
“No, sir,” she says. “I advertised in the two biggest New York
papers, the ones the real estate man recommended.”
“Listen,” I said: “Where do you think you’re at, in Niles, Michigan?
If you get a cook here for eight dollars a week, it’ll be a
one-armed leper that hasn’t yet reached her teens.”
“What would you do, then?” she asked me.
“I’d write to an employment agency,” I says, “and I’d tell them we’ll
pay good wages.”
So she done that and in three days the phone rung and the agency said
they had one prospect on hand and did we want her to come out and see
us. So Ella said we did and out come a colleen for an interview. She
asked how much we was willing to pay.
“Well,” said Ella, “I’d go as high as twelve dollars. Or I’d make it
fifteen if you done the washing.”
Kathleen Mavourneen turned her native color.
“Well,” I said, “how much do you want?”
“I’ll work for ninety dollars a month,” she said, only I can’t get
the brogue. “That’s for the cookin’ only. No washin’. And I would
have to have a room with a bath and all day Thursdays and Sunday
evenin’s off.”
“Nothing doing,” said Ella, and the colleen started for the door.
“Wait a minute,” I says. “Listen: Is that what you gals is getting in
New York?”
“We’re a spalpeen if we ain’t,” says the colleen bawn.
Well, I was desperate, so I called the wife to one side and says:
“For heaven’s sakes, take her on a month’s trial. I’ll pay the most
of it with a little piece of money I picked up last week down to
Doyle’s. I’d rather do that than get dill pickled for a goal.”
“Could you come right away?” Ella asked her.
“Not for a couple days,” says Kathleen.
“It’s off, then,” I said. “You cook our supper to-night or go back to
Greece.”
“Well,” she says, “I guess I could make it if I hurried.”
So she went away and come back with her suitcase, and she cooked our
supper that night. And Oh darlint!
Well, Beautiful Katie still had the automobile bug and it wasn’t none
of my business to steer her off of it and pretty near every day she
would go down to the “row” and look them over. But every night she’d
come home whistling a dirge.
“I guess I’ve seen them all,” she’d say, “but they’re too expensive
or else they look like they wasn’t.”
But one time we was all coming home in a taxi from a show and come up
Broadway and all of a sudden she yelled for the driver to stop.
“That’s a new one in that window,” she says, “and one I never see
before.”
Well, the dive was closed at the time and we couldn’t get in, but
she insisted on going down there the first thing in the morning and I
and Ella must go along. The car was a brand new model Bam Eight.
“How much?” I asked him.
“Four thousand,” he says.
“When could I get one?” says Katie.
“I don’t know,” said the salesman.
“What do you mean?” I asked him. “Haven’t they made none of them?”
“I don’t know,” says the salesman. “This is the only one we got.”
“Has anybody ever rode in one?” I says.
“I don’t know,” said the guy.
So I asked him what made it worth four thousand.
“Well,” he says, “what made this lady want one?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Could I have this one that’s on the floor?” says Katie.
“I don’t know,” said the salesman.
“Well, when do you think I could get one?” says Katie.
“We can’t promise no deliveries,” says the salesman.
Well, that kind of fretted me, so I asked him if they wasn’t a
salesman we could talk to.
“You’re talking to one,” he said.
“Yes, I know,” said I. “But I used to be a kind of a salesman myself,
and when I was trying to sell things, I didn’t try and not sell them.”
“Yes,” he says, “but you wasn’t selling automobiles in New York in
1920. Listen,” he says: “I’ll be frank with you. We got the New York
agency for this car and was glad to get it because it sells for four
thousand and anything that sells that high, why the people will eat
up, even if it’s a pearl-handle ketchup bottle. If we ever do happen
to get a consignment of these cars, they’ll sell like oil stock. The
last word we got from the factory was that they’d send us three cars
next September. So that means we’ll get two cars a year from next
October and if we can spare either of them, you can have one.”
So then he begin to yawn and I said, “Come on, girls,” and we got a
taxi and beat it home. And I wouldn’t of said nothing about it, only
if Katie had of been able to buy her Bam, what come off might of
never came off.
It wasn’t only two nights later when Ella come in from shopping all
excited. “Well,” she said, “talk about experiences! I just had a ride
home and it wasn’t in a street car and it wasn’t in a taxi and it
wasn’t on the subway and it wasn’t on a bus.”
“Let’s play charades,” said I.
“Tell us, Sis,” says Katie.
“Well,” said the wife, “I was down on Fifth Avenue, waiting for a
bus, and all of a sudden a big limousine drew up to the curb with a
livery chauffeur, and a man got out of the back seat and took off his
hat and asked if he couldn’t see me home. And of course I didn’t pay
no attention to him.”
“Of course not,” I said.
“But,” says Ella, “he says, ‘Don’t take no offense. I think we’re
next door neighbors. Don’t you live acrost the hall on the sixth
floor of the Lucius?’ So of course I had to tell him I did.”
“Of course,” I said.
“And then he said,” says Ella, “‘Is that your sister living with
you?’ ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘she lives with my husband and I.’ ‘Well,’ he
says, ‘if you’ll get in and let me take you home, I’ll tell you what
a beautiful girl I think she is.’ So I seen then that he was all
right, so I got in and come home with him. And honestly, Sis, he’s
just wild about you!”
“What is he like?” says Katie.
“He’s stunning,” says the wife. “Tall and wears dandy clothes and
got a cute mustache that turns up.”
“How old?” says Kate, and the Mrs. kind of stalled.
“Well,” she said, “he’s the kind of a man that you can’t tell how old
they are, but he’s not old. I’d say he was, well, maybe he’s not even
that old.”
“What’s his name?” asked Kate.
“Trumbull,” said the Mrs. “He said he was keeping bachelor quarters,
but I don’t know if he’s really a bachelor or a widower. Anyway, he’s
a dandy fella and must have lots of money. Just imagine living alone
in one of these apartments!”
“Imagine living in one of them whether you’re a bachelor or a
Mormon,” I says.
“Who said he lived alone?” asked Katie.
“He did,” says the Mrs. “He told me that him and his servants had the
whole apartment to themselves. And that’s what makes it so nice,
because he’s asked the three of us over there to dinner to-morrow
night.”
“What makes it so nice?” I asked her.
“Because it does,” said Ella, and you can’t ever beat an argument
like that.
So the next night the two girls donned their undress uniforms and
made me put on the oysters and horse radish and we went acrost the
hall to meet our hero. The door was opened by a rug peddler and he
showed us into a twin brother to our own living room, only you could
get around it without being Houdini.
“Mr. Trumbull will be right out,” said Omar.
The ladies was shaking like an aspirin leaf, but in a few minutes,
in come mine host. However old Ella had thought he wasn’t, she was
wrong. He’d seen baseball when the second bounce was out. If he’d of
started his career as a barber in Washington, he’d of tried to wish a
face massage on Zachary Taylor. The only thing young about him was
his teeth and his clothes. His dinner suit made me feel like I was
walking along the station platform at Toledo, looking for hot boxes.
“Ah, here you are!” he says. “It’s mighty nice of you to be
neighborly. And so this is the young sister. Well,” he says to me,
“you had your choice, and as far as I can see, it was heads you win
and tails you win. You’re lucky.”
So when he’d spread all the salve, he rung the bell and in come Allah
with cocktails. I don’t know what was in them, but when Ella and
Katie had had two apiece, they both begin to trill.
Finally we was called in to dinner and every other course was hootch.
After the solid and liquid diet, he turned on the steam piano and we
all danced. I had one with Beautiful Katie and the rest of them was
with my wife, or, as I have nicknamed them, quarrels. Well, the steam
run out of three of us at the same time, the piano inclusive, and
Ella sat down in a chair that was made for Eddie Foy’s family and
said how comfortable it was.
“Yes,” says Methuselah, “that’s my favorite chair. And I bet you
wouldn’t believe me if I told you how much it cost.”
“Oh, I’d like to know,” says Ella.
“Two hundred dollars,” says mine host.
“Do you still feel comfortable?” I asked her.
“Speaking about furniture,” said the old bird, “I’ve got a few bits
that I’m proud of. Would you like to take a look at them?”
So the gals said they would and we had to go through the entire
apartment, looking at bits. The best bits I seen was tastefully
wrapped up in kegs and cases. It seemed like every time he opened a
drawer, a cork popped up. He was a hundred per cent. proofer than
the governor of New Jersey. But he was giving us a lecture on the
furniture itself, not the polish.
“I picked up this dining room suit for eighteen hundred,” he says.
“Do you mean the one you’ve got on?” I asked him, and the gals give
me a dirty look.
“And this rug,” he says, stomping on an old rag carpet. “How much do
you suppose that cost?”
It was my first guess, so I said fifty dollars.
“That’s a laugh,” he said. “I paid two thousand for that rug.”
“The guy that sold it had the laugh,” I says.
Finally he steered us into his bedroom.
“Do you see that bed?” he says. “That’s Marie Antoinette’s bed. Just
a cool thousand.”
“What time does she usually get in?” I asked him.
“Here’s my hobby,” he said, opening up a closet, “dressing gowns and
bathrobes.”
Well, they was at least a dozen of them hanging on hangers. They was
all colors of the rainbow including the Scandinavian. He dragged one
down that was redder than Ella’s and Katie’s cheeks.
“This is my favorite bathrobe,” he said. “It’s Rose D. Barry.”
So I asked him if he had all his household goods and garments named
after some dame.
“This bathrobe cost me an even two hundred,” he says.
“I always take baths bare,” I said. “It’s a whole lot cheaper.”
“Let’s go back in the living room,” says Katie.
“Come on,” said Ella, tugging me by the sleeve.
“Wait a minute,” I says to her. “I don’t know how much he paid for
his toothbrush.”
Well, when we got back in the living room, the two gals acted kind of
drowsy and snuggled up together on the davenport and I and the old
bird was left to ourself.
“Here’s another thing I didn’t show you,” he says, and pulls a pair
of African golf balls out of a drawer in his desk. “These dice is
real ivory and they cost me twelve and a half berries.”
“You mean up to now,” I said.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll make it a twenty-five dollar limit.”
Well, I didn’t have no business in a game with him, but you know how
a guy gets sometimes. So he took them first and rolled a four.
“Listen,” I says: “Do you know how many times Willard set down in the
first round?”
And sure enough he sevened.
“Now solid ivory dice,” I said, “how many days in the week?”
So out come a natural. And as sure as I’m setting here, I made four
straight passes with the whole roll riding each time and with all
that wad parked on the two thousand dollar rug, I shot a five and a
three. “Ivory,” I said, “we was invited here to-night, so don’t make
me pay for the entertainment. Show me eighter from Decatur.”
And the lady from Decatur showed.
Just then they was a stir on the davenport, and Ella woke up long
enough to make the remark that we ought to go home. It was the first
time she ever said it in the right place.
“Oh,” I says, “I’ve got to give Mr. Trumbull a chance to get even.”
But I wasn’t in earnest.
“Don’t bother about that,” said Old Noah. “You can accommodate me
some other time.”
“You’re certainly a sport,” I says.
“And thanks for a wonderful time,” said Ella. “I hope we’ll see you
again soon.”
“Soon is to-morrow night,” said mine host. “I’m going to take you all
up the river to a place I know.”
“Well,” I says to Katie, when we was acrost the hall and the door
shut, “how do you like him?”
“Oh, shut up!” says Katie.
So the next night he come over and rung our bell and said Ritchey was
waiting with the car and would we come down when we was ready. Well,
the gals had only had all day to prepare for the trip, so in another
half hour they had their wraps on and we went downstairs. They wasn’t
nothing in front but a Rools-Royce with a livery chauffeur that
looked like he’d been put there by a rubber stamp.
“What a stunning driver!” said Katie when we’d parked ourself in the
back seat.
“Ritchey?” says mine host. “He is a nice looking boy, but better than
that, he’s a boy I can trust.”
Well, anyway, the boy he could trust took us out to a joint called
the Indian Inn where you wouldn’t of never knew they was an
eighteenth amendment only that the proprietor was asking twenty
berries a quart for stuff that used to cost four. But that didn’t
seem to bother Methuselah and he ordered two of them. Not only that
but he got us a table so close to the orchestra that the cornet
player thought we was his mute.
“Now, what’ll we eat?” he says.
So I looked at the program and the first item I seen was “Guinea Hen,
$4.50.”
“That’s what Katie’ll want,” I says to myself, and sure enough that’s
what she got.
Well, we eat and then we danced and we danced and we danced, and
finally along about eleven I and Ella was out on the floor pretending
like we was enjoying ourself, and we happened to look over to the
table and there was Katie and Trumbull setting one out and to look at
either you could tell that something was wrong.
“Dance the next one with her,” says Ella, “and find out what’s the
matter.”
So I danced the next one with Katie and asked her.
“He squeezed my hand,” she says. “I don’t like him.”
“Well,” said I, “if you’d of ordered guinea hen on me I wouldn’t of
stopped at your hand. I’d of went at your throat.”
“I’ve got a headache,” she says. “Take me out to the car.”
So they was nothing to it but I had to take her out to the car and
come back and tell Ella and Trumbull that she wasn’t feeling any too
good and wanted to go home.
“She don’t like me,” says the old guy. “That’s the whole trouble.”
“Give her time,” says Ella. “Remember she’s just a kid.”
“Yes, but what a kid!” he says.
So then he paid the check without no competition and we went out and
clumb in the big limmie. Katie was pretending like she was asleep
and neither Ella or Trumbull acted like they wanted to talk, so the
conversation on the way home was mostly one-sided, with me in the
title rôle. Katie went in the apartment without even thanking mine
host for the guinea hen, but he kept Ella and I outside long enough
to say that Ritchey and the car was at our service any time we wanted
them.
So Ella told her that the next noon at breakfast. “And you’d ought
to be ashamed of yourself,” says Ella, “for treating a man like that
like that.”
“He’s too fresh,” says Katie.
“Well,” said Ella, “if he was a little younger, you wouldn’t mind him
being fresh.”
“No,” said Katie, “if he was fresh, I wouldn’t care if he was fresh.
But what’s the number of the garage?”
And she didn’t lose no time taking advantage of the old bird. That
same afternoon it seemed she had to go shopping and the bus wasn’t
good enough no more. She was out in Trumbull’s limmie from two
o’clock till pretty near seven. The old guy himself come to our place
long about five and wanted to know if we knew where she was at. “I
haven’t no idear,” said Ella. “I expected her home long ago. Did you
want to use the car?”
“What’s the difference,” I said, “if he wanted to use the car or not?
He’s only the owner.”
“Well,” says Trumbull, “when I make an offer I mean it, and that
little girl is welcome to use my machine whenever she feels like it.”
So Ella asked him to stay to dinner and he said he would if we’d
allow him to bring in some of his hootch, and of course I kicked
on that proposition, but he insisted. And when Katie finally did
get home, we was all feeling good and so was she and you’d never of
thought they’d been any bad feelings the night before.
Trumbull asked her what she’d been buying.
“Nothing,” she says. “I was looking at dresses, but they want too
much money.”
“You don’t need no dresses,” he says.
“No, of course not,” said Katie. “But lots of girls is wearing them.”
“Where did you go?” said Ella.
“I forget,” says Katie. “What do you say if we play cards?”
So we played rummy till we was all blear-eyed and the old guy left,
saying we’d all go somewheres next day. After he’d gone Ella begin to
talk serious.
“Sis,” she says, “here’s the chance of a lifetime. Mr. Trumbull’s
head over heels in love with you and all as you have to do is
encourage him a little. Can’t you try and like him?”
“They’s nobody I have more respect for,” said Katie, “unless it’s
George Washington.”
And then she give a funny laugh and run off to bed.
“I can’t understand Sis no more,” said Ella, when we was alone.
“Why not?” I asked her.
“Why, look at this opportunity staring her in the face,” says the Mrs.
“Listen,” I said: “The first time I stared you in the face, was you
thinking about opportunity?”
Well, to make a short story out of it, I was the only one up in the
house the next morning when Kathleen said we had a caller. It was
the old boy.
“I’m sorry to be so early,” he says, “but I just got a telegram
and it means I got to run down to Washington for a few days. And I
wanted to tell you that wile I’m gone Ritchey and the car is at your
service.”
So I thanked him and he said good-by and give his regards to the Mrs.
and especially Katie, so when they got up I told them about it and I
never seen a piece of bad news received so calm as Katie took it.
“But now he’s gone,” I said at the breakfast table, “why not the
three of us run out to Bridgeport and call on the Wilmots?”
They’re cousins of mine.
“Oh, fine!” said Ella.
“Wait a minute,” says Katie. “I made a kind of an engagement with a
dressmaker for to-day.”
Well, as I say, to make a short story out of it, it seems like she’d
made engagements with the dressmaker every day, but they wasn’t no
dresses ever come home.
In about a week Trumbull come back from Washington and the first
thing he done was look us up and we had him in to dinner and I don’t
remember how the conversation started, but all of a sudden we was on
the subject of his driver, Ritchey.
“A great boy,” says Trumbull, “and a boy you can trust. If I didn’t
like him for nothing else, I’d like him for how he treats his family.”
“What family?” says Kate.
“Why,” says Trumbull, “his own family: his wife and two kids.”
“My heavens!” says Katie, and kind of fell in a swoon.
So it seems like we didn’t want to live there no more and we moved
back to the Baldwin, having sublet the place on the Drive for three
thousand a year.
So from then on, we was paying a thousand per annum for an apartment
we didn’t live in two weeks. But as I told the gals, we was getting
pretty near as much for our money as the people that rented New York
apartments and lived in them, too.