Dismal, dreary, depressing, are adjectives that scarcely qualify the
week that ensued. They do not express the subtile, underlying something
that made my home almost unendurable. There was a sense of impending
crisis that was horrible. Mrs. Potzenheimer's ailments became more
numerous, varied, and pungent. My whisky bills were absolutely menacing.
Letitia developed quite a _connoisseur's_ estimate of spirituous
liquors, and the various brands of rye and Scotch, as well as of Old Tom
and Holland in the gin list, seemed to displace her student's
appreciation of Cicero and Ovid as light literature.
On three occasions we dined at a restaurant, while Mrs. Potzenheimer
went to bed. We generally spoke in whispers, and once, when I whistled
_Hiawatha_, Letitia nearly grew hysterical. This was not due to the fact
that _Hiawatha_ happened to be extremely hackneyed, but to the
circumstance that Nellie was trying to take a nap. How I hated it all!
Letitia was pale and looked worn, for she never went out. Mrs.
Potzenheimer was too infirm to open the door when the bell rang and
Letitia insisted upon doing it herself. The dinners of which we partook
at home were invariably composed of stew and rice pudding. They palled.
Nellie, when remonstrated with (and not by Letitia), explained that the
Duchess of Marlborough had been so partial to stew that she had
practically lived upon it, and what was good enough for Her Grace of
Marlborough was good enough, she thought--etcetera. At the end of the
week the mere thought of stew sickened me. It was a subject that I
detested to mention and an object that I loathed to see before me. Mrs.
Potzenheimer wept just as frequently. I believe she wept tears of whisky
and gin. I could have sworn, once or twice, that I saw Old Tom trickling
down her cheeks.
Then came the climax. It had been a dark day. The birds were _not_
twittering in the sunshine; the air was _not_ laden with the balmy
perfume of a thousand flowers. I had felt a sense of oppression all day
while at the office. I had brooded to such an extent that Arthur
Tamworth had begged me to take a holiday. Tamworth, by-the-by, had
recovered, I am thankful to say, and he never alluded to our little
dinner. At first he had seemed gently reproachful but this wore off. He
was now quite able to be up and doing.
The climax, above mentioned, bore down upon me when I reached my
apartment. There was no Letitia to greet me. The dense silence could
almost be felt, and through it I groped my way to the drawing-room. My
wife was there, in an arm-chair, propped up by cushions, and asleep.
Although it was the hour when, according to our code, it was barbaric to
be found in any but evening garb, Letitia wore a Mother Hubbard wrapper
of red flannelette. There were traces of tears on her face; her
eyelashes were wet; it was quite evident that she had just fallen asleep
after some exhausting experience. Her tousled and generally dilapidated
appearance was extraordinary.
As I bent over her, she moved uneasily, and I heard her murmur: "It's
Old Tom, Nellie. It's Old Tom."
Of course, I understood. Not being like the fools in the foolish plays
of to-day, I was quite aware that Old Tom was not a rival, but merely a
gin. Consequently there was no dramatic situation in my mind as I mopped
my perspiring brow. I was simply aghast at the inexplicable position of
my domestic evening.
"It isn't Old Tom, dear," I said gently, kissing her awake, "it's old
Archie."
She looked at me in perplexity for a moment or two before she disturbed
the silence. I thought it best to ask no questions, but to let the evil
tidings come all by themselves.
"The worst has happened, Archie," she said slowly, and she even forgot
to kiss me. "I have had the most fearful afternoon. I don't know how
I've lived through it, and--and--Nellie's gone!"
"Thank Heaven!" I exclaimed fervently. "If that is all, Letitia, if
there is nothing more than that to account for red flannelette at six
o'clock, I am immensely thankful."
She glanced at her undignified Mother Hubbard, but did not smile. "I
felt too worn out to dress," she said. "The mere idea of white silk
seemed farcical. Archie, the situation is absolutely red flannelette,
and--abominable. I feel I've aged. I must have gone white--like the
prisoner of Chillon. Oh, I feel a hundred-and-ninety in the shade."
"Calm yourself, dear," I suggested soothingly. "Perhaps if you tell me
all about it, you will feel better. Remember I know nothing."
"Poor Archie!" sighed Letitia; "it is a shame to worry you, but it can't
be helped. Let me see how it began. Ah, yes. After luncheon, dear--I had
some cold stew and a glass of cold water--Mrs. Potzenheimer complained
again of her heart and I was naturally compassionate. I gave her some
gin--Holland, I think it was, as the other was all gone. She was most
insulting, and insisted upon having Old Tom. When I told her that she
had finished it last night, she suggested that I run to the corner and
buy some more. For a moment, Archie--"
"No, Letitia, no," I cried in horror, "don't tell me--I decline to
listen."
"I said 'for a moment,' Archie," Letitia went on, "and if you interrupt,
I'll say no more. For one moment, I confess, I did think that I ought to
humor an invalid. Then I remembered my dignity, and I told her firmly
that it was Holland or nothing. I shall never forget it--never. She rose
and in a most matter-of-fact voice announced that her week of trial was
up, and that she had had enough of us, that she would thank me for her
wages, and that she was going. At first I thought she was joking."
"You don't mean--"
"She seemed perfectly well," Letitia continued. "All her aches and pains
had disappeared as if by magic. She said that our house was too dull for
her and that she had been used to life and excitement. She couldn't live
with people who didn't seem to entertain and who never dined out. I was
so amazed that I could scarcely speak, but I murmured something about
her health and she burst out laughing. She said that such a dingy
couple as we were would make any woman ill. Such ingratitude, such a
fiendish reward for my kindness, I could never have contemplated. At
first I refused to give her any wages, and she threatened some
Protective Women's Association on me, and told me that I hadn't a chance
against such an old woman as she was. So I handed out the money."
"Very wrongly, Letitia," I asserted.
"And if she had asked for double the amount, I should have handed that
out, too," Letitia continued, not heeding my interruption. "She made a
great point of the legal aspect of the case. I seemed to see a crowded
court-room, and you, Archie, being led in as the prisoner. And--and--I
almost heard a verdict of guilty. I tell you, dear, I was delighted to
escape it all by means of a five-dollar bill. It seemed a ridiculously
cheap way out of it. But that isn't all. It isn't nearly all. The worst
is yet to come."
"No more Vanderbilt servants for me," I muttered bitterly. "Hang the
Vanderbilts and their beastly system of housekeeping!"
"Archie," said Letitia mysteriously, "I don't believe that Mrs.
Potzenheimer ever saw a Vanderbilt. I was furious with her, and told her
that I should write at once to the Duchess of Marlborough and inform
her of the behavior of her favorite cook. I thought that she might be
contemplating returning to the service of the Vanderbilts. Would you
believe it, Archie? She simply grinned in my face and mimicked me. I was
so anxious for her to leave the house that I could scarcely wait. I
don't think that she was more than five minutes getting ready, but it
seemed like an eternity. After she had gone I went to my room to
dress--don't think, dear, that the red flannelette was premeditated--and
it was then I discovered that my diamond ring--the hoop you gave me,
Archie--that I had laid on my bureau had vanished."
"I'll go at once and get a detective," I exclaimed ferociously.
"Hush," she said in a tired voice. "Six silver spoons, monogrammed
A. L. F., that Aunt Julia gave me, your gold whisky flask, and my
tortoise-shell comb, with the pearls and turquoises are all missing. She
was in a great hurry to go, and I was in a greater hurry to see her
go--"
"And she was such a simple, inoffensive old woman," I muttered savagely,
"and you hated to see her work! And you thought she should be with her
grandchildren! And the cottage with honeysuckle all over it! And nowhere
to go! And a weak heart! And that infernal mutton stew--"
I paused in incoherent anger, only to experience a painful remorse, as
Letitia began to sob.
"That is so like a man!" she cried, turning from me as I uttered fervent
apologies and pleas for pardon. "You are a man, after all, Archie, and I
never looked upon you as one. I thought you were something
better--something nobler. I was mistaken. I find--I find that I
have--have married--have married a man after all."
I was greatly alarmed. This was the first sign of the demon of
disenchantment. Although I don't know why I was so bitterly chagrined at
Letitia's discovery that I was a man--I nevertheless was. For the moment
it seemed disgusting to be a man. I could have found it in my heart to
wish that I were a monkey.
"Forgive me, Letitia, forgive me," I urged, severely distressed; "I was
wrong. I hope you'll pardon me. Don't--don't, dear--call me a man,
again, in that tone. I can't stand it. Oh, curse this Potzenheimer woman
who has brought us to this!"
"There--there!" exclaimed Letitia, brushing away her tears and kissing
me. "You didn't mean it, I know, but after what I've gone through this
afternoon, I can't endure very much more. And you appeared to be
reproaching me, as though I were upholding that villainous hypocrite of
a woman, who seemed--"
She paused, as though expecting me to add "so simple and inoffensive."
But this time, I had learned my lesson, and I was so thankful for
Letitia's forgiveness that I had nothing further to say. And, after all,
I had been wrong to taunt her.
"You can imagine how I felt," Letitia went on presently, "when I
discovered the loss of the valuables. I didn't mind the whisky flask, or
the comb, or the spoons, but the ring you gave me, Archie--it almost
broke my heart to lose it. Just as I had made up my mind to send for
you, there was a peal at the bell, and in stalked a woman, who said she
was Mrs. Archer, living in the apartment below us."
"How horribly informal!" I exclaimed. "How do we know anything about
Mrs. Archer?"
"It wasn't an occasion for etiquette, Archie. Mrs. Archer was in a
desperate state. It seems that her cook spent most of her time with Mrs.
Potzenheimer, when we were dining out at restaurants on account of Mrs.
Potzenheimer's health. The irony of it all! Her cook was another
antiquity, with an aristocratic record. She had come to Mrs. Archer,
without references, but had declared she had lived with the Ogden
Goelets."
"Go on, Letitia," I said, in a Sherlock Holmes voice.
"_And_ Mrs. Ogden Goelet was in Europe, visiting the Duchess of
Roxburghe. _And_ the Duchess of Roxburghe had been very much attached to
her, and had been crazy to take her to London. _And_ she was too old to
go, and wanted to 'rest her bones' in New York. _And_ she was always
ailing, and nothing seemed to do her any good but gin and whisky."
"I guessed it, Letitia," I cried triumphantly; "I guessed it."
"She behaved precisely like Mrs. Potzenheimer. She came from the same
intelligence office. She left, at a moment's notice."
"Taking with her a diamond ring, six silver spoons, a gold whisky flask,
and a comb with pearls and turquoises," I went on glibly, still in those
staccato Sherlock Holmes tones.
"Or valuables to that effect," corrected Letitia.
"Certainly," I assented judicially, "certainly. It is clear, Letitia,
that these women must have been in league, and that a carefully planned
robbery has been effected."
"If you had made that discovery yesterday, Archie, before it had been
effected, you might have done some good. Of course, it is quite clear
to-day. A child could see that," she added impatiently. "I wish you
wouldn't interrupt me with such wonderful deductions, dear. I dare say
they _are_ clever, but--"
Letitia's irritable tone hurt me. The pain of these incidents had been
temporarily deadened by my Sherlock Holmes demeanor. Still, I was bound
to confess that, as Letitia pointed out, the case did seem simple.
"Mrs. Archer seemed furious with _me_," Letitia said querulously. "The
more we discovered that our troubles coincided, the angrier she grew. At
one time"--and here Letitia flushed--"she seemed to be positively
suspicious. She had noticed the constant communication between the two
cooks by means of the dumb-waiter."
"The dumb-waiter seems to be a sort of hyphen, connecting devils," I
interpolated epigrammatically.
"Don't be witty, Archie. Don't even try to be witty, please. As I think
of Mrs. Archer's attitude, when she first entered, I feel humiliated.
She admitted that she thought Rosie was here. Rosie was the cook. And it
was not until I told her of Nellie's departure, and the loss I had
sustained, that her manner changed. When I mentioned the fact that I
had missed a diamond ring, six silver spoons, a gold whisky flask, and
a comb with pearls and turquoises, she really heaved a sigh of relief.
She said, 'Oh, I'm so glad, Mrs. Fairfax--' and then she checked
herself, and added that she was glad the case was not complicated."
"I'll see her husband, and demand a written apology," I declared
indignantly.
"You are always too late, dear," said Letitia quietly. "Mrs. Archer
apologized profusely. She told me that her husband had always been
suspicious of people who live in apartments--since Dr. Parkhurst had
bungled up New York. She was very nice. She said she could see at once
that we were quite respectable."
"How insulting!" I cried.
"Insulting!" echoed Letitia. "If she had said she could see that we were
_not_ quite respectable, then it would have been insulting. Perhaps I am
describing the scene badly. At any rate, though it may sound insulting
to you, Archie, it didn't to me. She didn't say it in precisely the
terms I have used. Mrs. Archer is a very pleasant person. We grew quite
chummy. We added up our losses. Rosie had taken three hundred and
thirty-seven dollars' worth, and Nellie had gone off with at least seven
hundred and fifty dollars' worth. She admitted that I was twice as
aggrieved as she was. And I must say, Archie, I couldn't help feeling
pleased that I had the best of her."
"The best of her, Letitia? You mean the worst of her."
"I don't," she insisted. "When a woman confronts you angrily and
announces indignantly that she is a victim, it is a satisfaction to turn
upon her, with the irrefutable evidence that she is not as much of a
victim as you are. I felt a triumphant sense of 'There now!' Just the
same, now that she has gone, I could cry all over again as I think of my
loss. I put a brave face on the matter, for the sake of appearances. We
had tea together, but when she had left, the trouble all came back to me
and I think, Archie, that I must have wept myself to sleep."
"I suppose I had better report the case," I suggested.
"It will be waste of time," said Letitia. "Mrs. Archer told me so. Now
that Rosie and Nellie have gone, she remembers reading of two crooks who
have been robbing apartment houses lately. Like you, dear, she is a bit
late."
"I don't know why you speak so slightingly of your husband, Letitia," I
interposed haughtily.
"I don't mean to slight you at all, Archie. But you see through a case
when it is all over, and Mrs. Archer remembers important information
when it is no longer important. That is all, dear. Rosie and Nellie have
probably left the city, and the state, taking care to cover their
tracks."
"Still for the sake of other possible victims--"
"Never mind them, Archie," said Letitia promptly, "they must take care
of themselves as we have had to do. Anyway, now that you are here, and
that I have eased myself by telling you all, I feel better. And it is
such a relief not to have a patient with a weak heart on one's hands.
Positively, dear, I am relieved. It is as though I have shifted a
burden. It is almost worth seven hundred and fifty dollars to feel
comfortable. You really didn't need the gold whisky flask, and I can get
along without the tortoise-shell comb. The diamond ring _is_ a blow, but
I intend to forget it. I'll just put on my things and you shall take me
out to dinner, and then we'll go to the theater and see something jolly,
with rattle in it."
"Sothern's playing _Hamlet_," I insinuated, "and Shakespeare always
cheers you."
"But he wouldn't to-night, Archie. Who shall minister to a mind
be-cooked? One must be mentally serene to appreciate _Hamlet_. I want to
forget Mrs. Potzenheimer, and although I adore classics, they don't
exhilarate on occasions like these. Would you think me quite dreadful
and illiterate, if, instead of _Hamlet_, I suggest--"
"Mrs. Fiske in _Hedda Gabler_?"
"No, dear, just--er--Weber and Fields'. Do you mind?"
"Oh, Letitia," I said in a shocked voice, though I could scarcely
repress a smile of joy, "I am amazed. I should never have thought it of
you. Still, if you insist,--well, let us go to Weber and Fields'. We can
leave when we are disgusted."
"I shall stay till the end," announced Letitia firmly, "and I hope it
lasts until midnight. That is the way I feel to-night."