“She says the numbers on the streets runs criss-cross-like.
Thirty-four’s on one side o’ the street an’ thirty-five on t’other.
How’s that?”
“That is the invariable rule, I believe.”
“Then—I say—these here new folk that you ’n’ your wife seem so
mighty taken up with—d’ye know anything about ’em?”
“I know nothing about the character of your boarders, Mr. Jacobus,”
I replied, conscious of some irritability. “If I choose to
associate with any of them——”
“Jess so—jess so!” broke in Jacobus. “I hain’t nothin’ to say
ag’inst yer sosherbil’ty. But do ye _know_ them?”
“Why, certainly not,” I replied.
“Well—that was all I wuz askin’ ye. Ye see, when _he_ come here
to take the rooms—you wasn’t here then—he told my wife that he
lived at number thirty-four in his street. An’ yistiddy _she_ told
her that they lived at number thirty-five. He said he lived in an
apartment-house. Now there can’t be no apartment-house on two sides
of the same street, kin they?”
“What street was it?” I inquired, wearily.
“Hundred ’n’ twenty-first street.”
“May be,” I replied, still more wearily. “That’s Harlem. Nobody
knows what people will do in Harlem.”