Part 1 (2/2)

”Hush, for G.o.d's sake!” broke in Mr. Ladley, and after that they spoke in whispers. Even with my ear against the panel, I could not catch a word.

The men came just then to move the piano, and by the time we had taken it and the furniture up-stairs, the water was over the kitchen floor, and creeping forward into the hall. I had never seen the river come up so fast. By noon the yard was full of floating ice, and at three that afternoon the police skiff was on the front street, and I was wading around in rubber boots, taking the pictures off the walls.

I was too busy to see who the Ladleys' visitor was, and he had gone when I remembered him again. The Ladleys took the second-story front, which was empty, and Mr. Reynolds, who was in the silk department in a store across the river, had the room just behind.

I put up a coal stove in a back room next the bathroom, and managed to cook the dinner there. I was was.h.i.+ng up the dishes when Mr. Reynolds came in. As it was Sunday, he was in his slippers and had the colored supplement of a morning paper in his hand.

”What's the matter with the Ladleys?” he asked. ”I can't read for their quarreling.”

”Booze, probably,” I said. ”When you've lived in the flood district as long as I have, Mr. Reynolds, you'll know that the rising of the river is a signal for every man in the vicinity to stop work and get full.

The fuller the river, the fuller the male population.”

”Then this flood will likely make 'em drink themselves to death!” he said. ”It's a lulu.”

”It's the neighborhood's annual debauch. The women are busy keeping the babies from getting drowned in the cellars, or they'd get full, too. I hope, since it's come this far, it will come farther, so the landlord will have to paper the parlor.”

That was at three o'clock. At four Mr. Ladley went down the stairs, and I heard him getting into a skiff in the lower hall. There were boats going back and forth all the time, carrying crowds of curious people, and taking the flood sufferers to the corner grocery, where they were lowering groceries in a basket on a rope from an upper window.

I had been making tea when I heard Mr. Ladley go out. I fixed a tray with a cup of it and some crackers, and took it to their door. I had never liked Mrs. Ladley, but it was chilly in the house with the gas shut off and the lower floor full of ice-water. And it is hard enough to keep boarders in the flood district.

She did not answer to my knock, so I opened the door and went in.

She was at the window, looking after him, and the brown valise, that figured in the case later, was opened on the floor. Over the foot of the bed was the black and white dress, with the red collar.

When I spoke to her, she turned around quickly. She was a tall woman, about twenty-eight, with very white teeth and yellow hair, which she parted a little to one side and drew down over her ears. She had a sullen face and large well-shaped hands, with her nails long and very pointed.

”The 'she-devil' has brought you some tea,” I said. ”Where shall she put it?”

”'She-devil'!” she repeated, raising her eyebrows. ”It's a very thoughtful she-devil. Who called you that?”

But, with the sight of the valise and the fear that they might be leaving, I thought it best not to quarrel. She had left the window, and going to her dressing-table, had picked up her nail-file.

”Never mind,” I said. ”I hope you are not going away. These floods don't last, and they're a benefit. Plenty of the people around here rely on 'em every year to wash out their cellars.”

”No, I'm not going away,” she replied lazily. ”I'm taking that dress to Miss Hope at the theater. She is going to wear it in _Charlie's Aunt_ next week. She hasn't half enough of a wardrobe to play leads in stock. Look at this thumb-nail, broken to the quick!”

If I had only looked to see which thumb it was! But I was putting the tea-tray on the wash-stand, and moving Mr. Ladley's papers to find room for it. Peter, the spaniel, begged for a lump of sugar, and I gave it to him.

”Where is Mr. Ladley?” I asked.

”Gone out to see the river.”

”I hope he'll be careful. There's a drowning or two every year in these floods.”

”Then I hope he won't,” she said calmly. ”Do you know what I was doing when you came in? I was looking after his boat, and hoping it had a hole in it.”

”You won't feel that way to-morrow, Mrs. Ladley,” I protested, shocked. ”You're just nervous and put out. Most men have their ugly times. Many a time I wished Mr. Pitman was gone--until he went. Then I'd have given a good bit to have him back again.”

<script>