II

_Mrs. Paynter's Boarding-House: which was not founded as an

Eleemosynary Institution._

There was something of a flutter among the gathered boarders when Miss

Weyland was seen to be entering the house, and William Klinker, who

announced the fact from his place by the window, added that that had

ought to help some with the supper. He reminded the parlor that there

had been Porterhouse the last time. Miss Miller, from the sofa, told Mr.

Klinker archly that he was _so_ material. She had only the other day

mastered the word, but even that is more than could be said for Mr.

Klinker. Major Brooke stood by the Latrobe heater, reading the evening

paper under a flaring gas-light. He habitually came down early to get it

before anybody else had a chance. By Miss Miller on the sofa sat Mr.

Bylash, stroking the glossy moustache which other ladies before her time

had admired intensely. Despite her archness Miss Miller had heard with a

pang that Miss Weyland was coming to supper, and her reason was not

unconnected with this same Mr. Bylash. In earlier meetings she had

vaguely noted differences between Mrs. Paynter's pretty niece and

herself. True, she considered these differences all in her own favor,

as, for example, her far larger back pompadour, with the puffs, but you

never could tell about gentlemen.

"I'm surprised," she said to Mr. Klinker, "Mr. Bylash didn't go out to

give her the glad hand, and welcome her into our humble _coturee_."

Mr. Bylash, who had been thinking of doing that very thing, said rather

shortly that the ladies present quite satisfied _him_.

"And who do you think brought her around and right up to the door?"

continued William Klinker, taking no notice of their blandishments.

"Hon. West--Charles Gardenia West--"

A scream from Miss Miller applauded the witty hit.

"Oh, it ain't mine," said Mr. Klinker modestly. "I heard a fellow get it

off at the shop the other day. He's a pretty smooth fellow, Charles

Gardenia is--a little too smooth for my way of thinking. A fellow that's

always so smilin'--Oh, you Smithy!" he suddenly yelled out the

window--"Smithy! Hey!--Aw, I can beat the face off you!--Awright--eight

sharp at the same place.--Go on, you fat Mohawk you!... But say," he

resumed to the parlor, "y'know that little woman is a stormy petrel for

this house--that's right. Remember the last time she was here--the time

we had the Porterhouse? Conference in the dining-room after supper, and

the next morning out went the trunks of that red-head fellow--from

Baltimore--what's his name?--Milhiser."

"Well, she hasn't got any call to intrude in my affairs," said Mr.

Bylash, still rather miffed. "I'm here to tell you that!"

"Oh, I ain't speakin' of the reg'lars," answered Klinker, "so don't get

nervous. But say, I got kind of a hunch that here is where the little

Doc gets his."

Klinker's hunch was not without foundation; this very question was being

agitated at that moment in the room just over his head. Miss Weyland,

having passed the parlor portières with no thought that her movements

were attracting interest on the other side of them, skipped up the

stairs, rapped on her Aunt Jennie's door, and ran breathlessly into the

room. Her aunt was sitting by the bureau, reading a novel from the

circulating library. Though she had been sitting right here since about

four o'clock, only getting up once to light the gas, she had a casual

air like one who is only killing a moment's time between important

engagements. She looked up at the girl's entrance, and an affectionate

smile lit her well-lined face.

"My dear Sharlee! I'm so glad to see you."

They kissed tenderly.

"Oh, Aunt Jennie, tell me! Is he--this man you telephoned me about--is

he a little, small, dried young man, with spectacles and a brown derby,

and needing a hair-cut, and the gravest, drollest manner in the world?

Tell me--is he?"

"My dear, you have described him to the life. Where did you see him?"

Sharlee collapsed upon the bed. Presently she revived and outlined the

situation to Aunt Jennie.

Mrs. Paynter listened with some interest. If humor is a defect, as they

tell us nowadays, she was almost a faultless woman. And in her day she

had been a beauty and a toast. You hear it said generously of a

thousand, but it happened to be true in her case. The high-bred

regularity of feature still survived, but she had let herself go in

latter years, as most women will who have other things than themselves

to think about, and hard things at that. Her old black dress was

carelessly put on; she could look at herself in the mirror by merely

leaning forward an inch or two, and it never occurred to her to do

it--an uncanny thing in a woman.

"I'm sure it sounds quite like him," said Mrs. Paynter, when her niece

had finished. "And so Gardiner West walked around with you. I hope, my

dear, you asked him in to supper? We have an exceptionally nice

Porterhouse steak to-night. But I suppose he would scorn--"

The girl interrupted her, abolishing and demolishing such a thought. Mr.

West would have been only too pleased, she said, but she positively

would not ask him, because of the serious work that was afoot that

night.

"The pleasure I've so far given your little man," laughed she, patting

her aunt's cheeks with her two hands, "has been negligible--I have his

word for that--and to-night it is going to be the same, only more so."

Sharlee arose, took off her coat and furs, laid them on the bed, and

going to the bureau began fixing her hair in the back before the long

mirror. No matter how well a woman looks to the untrained, or man's,

eye, she can always put in some time pleasurably fixing her hair in the

back.

"Now," said Sharlee, "to business. Tell me all about the little

dead-beat."

"It is four weeks next Monday," said Mrs. Paynter, putting a shoe-horn

in her novel to mark the place, "since the young man came to me. He was

from New York, and just off the train. He said that he had been

recommended to my house, but would not say by whom, nor could he give

references. I did not insist on them, for I can't be too strict,

Sharlee, with all the other boarding-places there are and that room

standing empty for two months hand-running, and then for three months

before that, before Miss Catlett, I mean. The fact is, that I ought to

be over on the Avenue, where I could have only the best people. It would

be infinitely more lucrative--why, my dear, you should hear Amy Marsden

talk of her enormous profits! And Amy, while a dear, sweet little woman,

is not clever! I remember as girls--but to go back even of that to the

very heart of the matter, who ever heard of a clever _Wilkerson_? For

she, you know, was born ..."

"Never you mind Mrs. Marsden, Aunt Jennie," said the girl, gently

drawing her back to the muttons,--"we'll make lots more money than she

some day. So you gave him the room, then?"

"Yes, the room known as the third hall back. A small, neat, economical

room, entirely suitable for a single gentleman. I gave him my lowest

price, though I must say I did not dream then that he would spend all

his time in his room, apparently having no downtown occupation, which is

certainly not what one expects from gentlemen, who get low terms on the

silent understanding that they will take themselves out of the house

directly after breakfast. Nevertheless--will you believe it?--ten days

passed and not a word was said about payment. So one morning I stopped

him in the hall, as though for a pleasant talk. However, I was careful

to introduce the point, by means of an anecdote I told him, that guests

here were expected to pay by the week. Of course I supposed that the

hint would be sufficient."

"But it wasn't, alas?"

"On the contrary, ten days again passed, and you might suppose there was

no such thing as money in all this world. Then I resolved to approach

him directly. I knocked on his door, and when he opened it, I told him

plainly and in so many words that I would be very much gratified if he

would let me have a check whenever convenient, as unfortunately I had

heavy bills due that must be met. I was very much mortified, Sharlee! As

I stood there facing that young man, dunning him like a grocer's clerk,

it flashed into my mind to wonder what your great-grandfather, the

Governor, would think if he could have looked down and seen me. For as

you know, my dear, though I doubt if you altogether realize it at all

times, since our young people of to-day, I regret to have to say

it--though of course I do except you from this criticism--"

By gentle interruption and deft transition, Sharlee once more wafted the

conversation back to the subject in hand.

"And when you went so far as to tell him this, how did he take it?"

"He took it admirably. He told me that I need feel no concern about the

matter; that while out of funds for the moment, doubtless he would be in

funds again shortly. His manner was dignified, calm, unabashed--"

"But it didn't blossom, as we might say, in money?"

"As to that--no. What are you to do, Sharlee? I feel sure the man is not

dishonest,--in fact he has a singularly honest face, transparently

so,--but he is only somehow queer. He appears an engrossed,

absent-minded young man--what is the word I want?--an eccentric. That is

what he is, an engrossed young eccentric."

Sharlee leaned against the bureau and looked at her aunt thoughtfully.

"Do you gather, Aunt Jennie, that he's a gentleman?"

Mrs. Paynter threw out her hands helplessly. "What does the term mean

nowadays? The race of gentlemen, as the class existed in my day, seems

to be disappearing from the face of the earth. We see occasional

survivals of the old order, like Gardiner West or the young Byrd men,

but as a whole--well, my dear, I will only say that the modern standards

would have excited horror fifty years ago and--"

"Well, but according to the modern standards, do you think he is?"

"I _don't_ know. He is and he isn't. But no--no--no! He is _not_ one. No

man can be a gentleman who is utterly indifferent to the comfort and

feelings of others, do you think so?"

"Indeed, no! And is that what he is?"

"I will illustrate by an incident," said Mrs. Paynter. "As I say, this

young man spends his entire time in his room, where he is, I believe,

engaged in writing a book."

"Oh, me! Then he's penniless, depend upon it."

"Well, when we had the frost and freeze early last week, he came to me

one night and complained of the cold in his room. You know, Sharlee, I

do not rent that room as a sitting-room, nor do I expect to heat it, at

the low price, other than the heat from the halls. So I invited him to

make use of the dining-room in the evenings, which, as you know, with

the folding-doors drawn, and the yellow lamp lit, is converted to all

intents and purposes into a quiet and comfortable reading-room. Somewhat

grumblingly he went down. Fifi was there as usual, doing her algebra by

the lamp. The young man took not the smallest notice of her, and

presently when she coughed several times--the child's cold happened to

be bad that night--he looked up sharply and asked her please to stop.

Fifi said that she was afraid she couldn't help it. He replied that it

was impossible for him to work in the room with a noise of that sort,

and either the noise or he would have to vacate. So Fifi gathered up her

things and left. I found her, half an hour later, in her little

bedroom, which was ice-cold, coughing and crying over her sums, which

she was trying to work at the bureau. That was how I found out about it.

The child would never have said a word to me."

"How simply outrageous!" said the girl, and became silent and

thoughtful.

"Well, what do you think I'd better do, Sharlee?"

"I think you'd better let me waylay him in the hall after supper and

tell him that the time has come when he must either pay up or pack up."

"My dear! Can you well be as blunt as that?"

"Dear Aunt Jennie, as I view it, you are not running an eleemosynary

institution here?"

"Of course not," replied Aunt Jennie, who really did not know whether

she was or not.

Sharlee dropped into a chair and began manicuring her pretty little

nails. "The purpose of this establishment is to collect money from the

transient and resident public. Now you're not a bit good at collecting

money because you're so well-bred, but I'm not so awfully well-bred--"

"You _are_--"

"I'm bold--blunt--brazen! I'm forward. I'm resolute and grim. In short,

I belong to the younger generation which you despise so--"

"I don't despise _you_, you dear--"

"Come," said Sharlee, springing up; "let's go down. I'm wild to meet Mr.

Bylash again. Is he wearing the moleskin vest to-night, do you know? I

was fascinated by it the last time I was here. Aunt Jennie, what is the

name of this young man--the one I may be compelled to bounce?"

"His name is Queed. Did you ever--?"

"Queed? _Queed_? Q-u-e-e-d?"

"An odd name, isn't it? There were no such people in my day."

"Probably after to-morrow there will be none such once more."

"Mr. Klinker has christened him the little Doctor--a hit at his

appearance and studious habits, you see--and even the servants have

taken it up."

"Aunt Jennie," said Sharlee at the door, "when you introduce the little

Doctor to me, refer to me as your business woman, won't you? Say 'This

is my niece, Miss Weyland, who looks after my business affairs for me,'

or something like that, will you? It will explain to him why I, a

comparative stranger, show such an interest in his financial affairs."

Mrs. Paynter said, "Certainly, my dear," and they went down, the older

lady disappearing toward the dining-room. In the parlor Sharlee was

greeted cordially and somewhat respectfully. Major Brooke, who appeared

to have taken an extra toddy in honor of her coming, or for any other

reason why, flung aside his newspaper and seized both her hands. Mr.

Bylash, in the moleskin waistcoat, sure enough, bowed low and referred

to her agreeably as "stranger," nor did he again return to Miss Miller's

side on the sofa. That young lady was gay and giggling, but watchful

withal. When Sharlee was not looking, Miss Miller's eye, rather hard

now, roved over her ceaselessly from the point of her toe to the top of

her feather. What was the trick she had, the little way with her, that

so delightfully unlocked the gates of gentlemen's hearts?

At supper they were lively and gay. The butter and preserves were in

front of Sharlee, for her to help to; by her side sat Fifi, the young

daughter of the house. Major Brooke sat at the head of the table and

carved the Porterhouse, upon which when the eyes of William Klinker

fell, they irrepressibly shot forth gleams. At the Major's right sat his

wife, a pale, depressed, nervous woman, as anybody who had lived thirty

years with the gallant officer her husband had a right to be. She was

silent, but the Major talked a great deal, not particularly well. Much

the same may be said of Mr. Bylash and Miss Miller. Across the table

from Mrs. Brooke stood an empty chair. It belonged to the little

Doctor, Mr. Queed. Across the table from Sharlee stood another. This one

belonged to the old professor, Nicolovius. When the meal was well along,

Nicolovius came in, bowed around the table in his usual formal way, and

silently took his place. While Sharlee liked everybody in the

boarding-house, including Miss Miller, Professor Nicolovius was the only

one of them that she considered at all interesting. This was because of

his strongly-cut face, like the grand-ducal villain in a

ten-twenty-thirty melodrama, and his habit of saying savage things in a

soft, purring voice. He was rude to everybody, and particularly rude, so

Sharlee thought, to her. As for the little Doctor, he did not come in at

all. Half-way through supper, Sharlee looked at her aunt and gave a

meaning glance at the empty seat.

"I don't know what to make of it," said Mrs. Paynter _sotto voce_. "He's

usually so regular."

To the third floor she dispatched the colored girl Emma, to knock upon

Mr. Queed's door. Presently Emma returned with the report that she had

knocked, but could obtain no answer.

"He's probably fallen asleep over his book," murmured Sharlee. "I feel

certain it's that kind of book."

But Mrs. Paynter said that he rarely slept, even at night.

"... Right on my own front porch, mind you!" Major Brooke was

declaiming. "And, gentlemen, I shook my finger in his face and said,

'Sir, I never yet met a Republican who was not a rogue!' Yes, sir, that

is just what I told him--"

"I'm afraid," said Nicolovius, smoothly,--it was the only word he

uttered during the meal,--"your remark harrows Miss Weyland with

reminders of the late Mr. Surface."

The Major stopped short, and a silence fell over the table. It was

promptly broken by Mrs. Paynter, who invited Mrs. Brooke to have a

second cup of coffee. Sharlee looked at her plate and said nothing.

Everybody thought that the old professor's remark was in bad taste, for

it was generally known that Henry G. Surface was one subject that even

Miss Weyland's intimate friends never mentioned to her. Nicolovius,

however, appeared absolutely unconcerned by the boarders' silent rebuke.

He ate on, rapidly but abstemiously, and finished before Mr. Bylash, who

had had twenty minutes' start of him.

The last boarder rising drew shut the folding-doors into the parlor,

while the ladies of the house remained to superintend and assist in

clearing off the supper things. The last boarder this time was Mr.

Bylash, who tried without success to catch Miss Weyland's eye as he slid

to the doors. He hung around in the parlor waiting for her till 8.30, at

which time, having neither seen nor heard sign of her, he took Miss

Miller out to the moving-picture shows. In the dining-room, when Emma

had trayed out the last of the things, the ladies put away the unused

silver, watered the geranium, set back some of the chairs, folded up the

white cloth, placing it in the sideboard drawer, spread the pretty

Turkey-red one in its stead, set the reading lamp upon it; and just then

the clock struck eight.

"Now then," said Sharlee.

So the three sat down and held a council of war as to how little Doctor

Queed, the young man who wouldn't pay his board, was to be brought into

personal contact with Charlotte Lee Weyland, the grim and resolute

collector. Various stratagems were proposed, amid much merriment. But

the collector herself adhered to her original idea of a masterly waiting

game.

"Only trust me," said she. "He can't spend the rest of his life shut up

in that room in a state of dreadful siege. Hunger or thirst will force

him out; he'll want to buy some of those apples, or to mail a letter--"

Fifi, who sat on the arm of Sharlee's chair, laughed and coughed. "He

never writes any. And he never has gotten but one, and that came

to-night."

"Fifi, did you take your syrup before supper? Well, go and take it this

minute."

"Mother, it doesn't do any good."

"The doctor gave it to you, my child, and it's going to make you better

soon."

Sharlee followed Fifi out with troubled eyes. However, Mrs. Paynter at

once drew her back to the matter in hand.

"Sharlee, do you know what would be the very way to settle this little

difficulty? To write him a formal, businesslike letter. We'll--"

"No, I've thought of that, Aunt Jennie, and I don't believe it's the

way. A letter couldn't get to the bottom of the matter. You see, we want

to find out something about this man, and why he isn't paying, and

whether there is reason to think he can and will pay. Besides, I think

he needs a talking to on general principles."

"Well--but how are you going to do it, my dear?"

"Play a Fabian game. Wait!--be stealthy and wait! If he doesn't come out

of hiding to-night, I'll return for him to-morrow. I'll keep on coming,

night after night, night after night, n--Some one's knocking--".

"Come in," said Mrs. Paynter, looking up.

The door leading into the hail opened, and the man himself stood upon

the threshold, looking at them absently.

"May I have some supper, Mrs. Paynter? I was closely engaged and failed

to notice the time."

Sharlee arose. "Certainly. I'll get you some at once," she answered

innocently enough. But to herself she was saying: "The Lord has

delivered him into my hand."