Mr. Lawson twisted his little blond moustache awhile, then he suddenly
exclaimed joyfully, as Archimedes cried, "Eureka" when he discovered the
law of specific gravity: "Watch their mail!"
"They certainly get mail from the girls. Let Mr. Baer watch their mail
and get one of their letters, and that will solve the whole thing."
The manager pronounced it a splendid idea and I was instructed
accordingly. I went up to see Mr. Sokol a few times and reported that
they got no mail. One morning, while visiting them, I found that the man
had died over night. Among the mourners were two beautiful, pale girls.
The daughters of the old couple.
I reported the occurrence at the office. Mr. Lawson called me to his
room.
"So he died? He died?" he repeated. "We will send her to the old
people's asylum. That will save rent. But you saw the girls, did you?"
"Yes."
"What's their address? Did you find out?"
"I could not ask their address in such a moment," I retorted.
"It's a mistake, an awful mistake, Mr. Baer," he censured me. "It was
the best occasion. You should have taken advantage of the moment. Please
return to the house and get their address," he instructed, as he led me
to the door.
From the hall I ran out into the street. I wanted fresh air--air and
space. And this same Mr. Lawson almost cried when his wife's pet dog
died. And Mr. Rogers pitied the poor little bird that picked the putty
off the sill. And at charity conventions, when he had to appeal for
funds, he almost shed tears about "our unfortunate brothers and
sisters." Now they advise, when the father lay dead on the floor: "It
was the best occasion. You should have taken advantage of the moment."
Would a criminal be treated in this way during the third degree?
The woman died a month after, in a hospital. Hunger and privation of all
sorts had undermined her strength. _Charity had killed them both._