"Sister and I are at the nice old mid-Victorian Brevoort House for three
or four days. Sister is calmly and courageously hunting rooms for
us--or, if not rooms, a room. She hopes for the plural. We like this
quarter of town. It's near enough publishers and things for walking, and
it's not quite so New Yorky as some others. What Sister is trying to
avoid for us is slavery to the Subway, which is awful! But we may have
to fly up beyond Columbia, or even to the Bronx, before we're through.
The hotel objected to Togo, but I descended to hitherto untried depths
of feminine wheedle--and justified them by getting my way. Sister
blushed for me--and herself--but has since felt more confident about my
chances for success in this wickedly opportunist world.
"Better skip this part if you read extracts to Phil; he'll brood. But
perhaps you'd better begin disillusioning him at once, for I'm
discovering dreadful possibilities in my nature--now the Hillhouse
inhibitions seem remote. New York, one sees overnight, is no place for a
romantic idealist--Maltby's phrase, not mine, bless Phil's heart!--but
luckily I've never been one. Birch Street is going to stand me in good
stead down here. New York _is_ Birch Street on a slightly exaggerated
scale; Hillhouse Avenue is something entirely different. Finer too,
perhaps; but the world's future has its roots in New Birch Street. I
began to feel that yesterday during my first hunt for a paying job.
"I've plunged on shop equipment, since Jimmy says, other things being
equal, the factory with the best tools wins--that is, I've bought a
reliable typewriter, and I tackled my first two-finger exercises last
night. The results were dire--mostly interior capitals and extraneous
asterisks. I shan't have patience to take proper five-finger lessons.
Sister vows she's going to master the wretched thing too, so she can
help with copying now and then. There's a gleam in her eye,
dear--wonderful! This is to be her great adventure as well as mine.
'Susan, Sister & Co., Unlicensed Hacks--Piffle While You Wait!' Oh, we
shall get on--you'll see. Still, I can't truthfully report much progress
yesterday or to-day, though a shade more to-day than yesterday. I've
been counting callously on Maltby, as Phil disapprovingly knows, and I
brought three short manufactured-in-advance articles for the Garden Ex.
down with me. So my first step was to stifle my last maidenly scruple
and take them straight to Maltby; I hoped they would pay at least for
the typewriter. It was a clear ice-bath of a morning, and the walk up
Fifth Avenue braced me for anything. I stared at everybody and a good
many unattached males stared back; sometimes I rather liked it, and
sometimes not. It all depends.
"But I found the right building at last, somewhere between the Waldorf
and the Public Library. There's a shop on its avenue front for the sale
of false pearls, and judging from the shop they must be more expensive
than real ones. Togo dragged me in there at first by mistake; and as I
was wearing my bestest tailor-made and your furs, and as Togo was
wearing his, plus his haughtiest atmosphere, we seemed between us to be
just the sort of thing the languid clerks had been waiting for. There
was a hopeful stir as we entered--no, swept in! I was really sorry to
disappoint them; it was horrid to feel that we couldn't live up to their
expectations.
"We didn't sweep out nearly so well! But we found the elevator round the
corner and were taken up four or five floors, passing a designer of _de
luxe_ corsets and a distiller of _de luxe_ perfumes on the way, and
landed in the impressive outer office of the Garden Ex.
"But how stupid of me to describe all this! You've been there twenty
times, of course, and remember the apple-green art-crafty furniture and
potted palms and things. Several depressed-looking persons were
fidgeting about, but my engraved card--score one for Hillhouse!--soon
brought Maltby puffing out to me with both hands extended. Togo didn't
quite cut him dead, but almost, and he insulted an entire roomful of
stenographers on his way to the great man's sanctum. My first _sanctum_,
Ambo! I did get a little thrill from that, in spite of Maltby.
"Stop chattering, Susan--stick to facts. Yes, Phil, please. Fact One:
Maltby was surprisingly flustered at first. He was, Ambo! He jumped to
the conclusion that I was down for shopping or the theaters, and assumed
of course you were with me. So you were, dear--our way! But I thought
Maltby asked rather gingerly after you. Why?
"Fact Two: I did my best to explain things, but Maltby doesn't believe
yet I'm serious--seemingly he can't believe it, because he doesn't want
to. That's always true of Maltby. He still thinks this must be a sudden
spasm--not of virtue; thinks I've run away for an unholy lark. It suits
him to think so. If I'm out on the loose he hopes to manage the whole
_Mardi gras_, and he needn't hear what I say about needing work too
distinctly. That merely annoyed him. But I did finally make him
promise--while he wriggled--to read my three articles and give me a
decision on them to-morrow. I had to promise to lunch with him then to
make even that much headway.--Oof!
"Meanwhile, I fared slightly better to-day. I took your letter to Mr.
Sampson. The sign, Garnett & Co., almost frightened me off, though,
Ambo; and you know I'm not easily frightened. But I've read so many of
their books--wonderful books! I knew great men had gone before me into
those dingy offices and left their precious manuscripts to strengthen
and delight the world. Who was I to follow those footsteps? Luckily an
undaunted messenger boy whistled on in ahead of me--so I followed his
instead! By the time I had won past all the guardians of the _sanctum
sanctorum_, my sentimental fit was over. Birch Street was herself again.
"And Mr. Sampson proved all you promised--rather more! The dearest odd
old man, full of blunt kindness and sudden whimsy. I think he liked me.
I know I liked him. But he didn't like me as I did him--at first sight.
Togo's fault, of course. Why didn't you tell me Mr. Sampson has a
democratic prejudice against aristocratic dogs? I must learn to leave
poor Togo at home--if there ever is such a place!--when I'm looking for
work; I may even have to give up your precious soul-and-body-warming
furs. Between them, they belie every humble petition I utter. Sister and
I may have to eat Togo yet.
"Mr. Sampson only began to relent when I told him a little about Birch
Street. I didn't tell him much--just enough to counteract the furs and
Togo. And he forgave me everything when I told him of Sister and
confessed what we were hoping to do--found a home together and earn our
own right to make it a comfy one to live in. He questioned me pretty
sharply, too, but not from snifty-snoops like Mrs. Arthur.
"By the way, dear, she was on the train coming down, as luck would have
it, in the chair just across from mine. Her questions were masterpieces,
but nothing to my replies. I was just wretched enough to scratch without
mercy; it relieved my feelings. But you'd better avoid her for a week or
two--if you can! I didn't mind any of Mr. Sampson's questions, though I
eluded some of them, being young in years but old in guile. I'm to take
him my poems to-morrow afternoon, and some bits of prose things--the
ones you liked. They're not much more than fragments, I'm afraid. He
says he wants to get the hang of me before loading me down with bad
advice. I do like him, and--the serpent having trailed its length all
over this endless letter--I truly think his offhand friendship may prove
far more helpful to me than Maltby's----! _You_ can fill in the blank,
Ambo. My shamelessness has limits, even now, in darkest New York.
"Good night, dear. Please don't think you are ever far from my me-est
thoughts. Now for that ---- typewriter!"