Part 27 (1/2)
That we will do our duty by our children and young people, as a wise Society should, and cut off the crop of criminals by not making them.
That--; no; here are quite enough resolutions for one year.
HER HOUSEKEEPER
On the top floor of a New York boarding-house lived a particularly attractive woman who was an actress. She was also a widow, not divorcee, but just plain widow; and she persisted in acting under her real name, which was Mrs. Leland. The manager objected, but her reputation was good enough to carry the point.
”It will cost you a great deal of money, Mrs. Leland,” said the manager.
”I make money enough,” she answered.
”You will not attract so many--admirers,” said the manager.
”I have admirers enough,” she answered; which was visibly true.
She was well under thirty, even by daylight--and about eighteen on the stage; and as for admirers--they apparently thought Mrs. Leland was a carefully selected stage name.
Besides being a widow, she was a mother, having a small boy of about five years; and this small boy did not look in the least like a ”stage child,” but was a brown-skinned, healthy little rascal of the ordinary sort.
With this boy, an excellent nursery governess, and a maid, Mrs. Leland occupied the top floor above mentioned, and enjoyed it. She had a big room in front, to receive in; and a small room with a skylight, to sleep in. The boy's room and the governess' rooms were at the back, with sunny south windows, and the maid slept on a couch in the parlor. She was a colored lady, named Alice, and did not seem to care where she slept, or if she slept at all.
”I never was so comfortable in my life,” said Mrs. Leland to her friends. ”I've been here three years and mean to stay. It is not like any boarding-house I ever saw, and it is not like any home I ever had.
I have the privacy, the detachment, the carelessness of a boarding-house, and 'all the comforts of a home.' Up I go to my little top flat as private as you like. My Alice takes care of it--the housemaids only come in when I'm out. I can eat with the others downstairs if I please; but mostly I don't please; and up come my little meals on the dumbwaiter--hot and good.”
”But--having to flock with a lot of promiscuous boarders!” said her friends.
”I don't flock, you see; that's just it. And besides, they are not promiscuous--there isn't a person in the house now who isn't some sort of a friend of mine. As fast as a room was vacated I'd suggest somebody--and here we all are. It's great.”
”But do you _like_ a skylight room?” Mrs. Leland's friends further inquired of her?”
”By no means!” she promptly replied. ”I hate it. I feel like a mouse in a pitcher!”
”Then why in the name of reason--?”
”Because I can sleep there! _Sleep_!--It's the only way to be quiet in New York, and I have to sleep late if I sleep at all. I've fixed the skylight so that I'm drenched with air--and not drenched with rain!--and there I am. Johnny is gagged and m.u.f.fled as it were, and carried downstairs as early as possible. He gets his breakfast, and the unfortunate Miss Merton has to go out and play with him--in all weathers--except kindergarten time. Then Alice sits on the stairs and keeps everybody away till I ring.”
Possibly it was owing to the stillness and the air and the sleep till near lunchtime that Mrs. Leland kept her engaging youth, her vivid uncertain beauty. At times you said of her, ”She has a keen intelligent face, but she's not pretty.” Which was true. She was not pretty. But at times again she overcame you with her sudden loveliness.
All of which was observed by her friend from the second floor who wanted to marry her. In this he was not alone; either as a friend, of whom she had many, or as a lover, of whom she had more. His distinction lay first in his opportunities, as a co-resident, for which he was heartily hated by all the more and some of the many; and second in that he remained a friend in spite of being a lover, and remained a lover in spite of being flatly refused.
His name in the telephone book was given ”Arthur Olmstead, real estate;”
office this and residence that--she looked him up therein after their first meeting. He was rather a short man, heavily built, with a quiet kind face, and a somewhat quizzical smile. He seemed to make all the money he needed, occupied the two rooms and plentiful closet s.p.a.ce of his floor in great contentment, and manifested most improper domesticity of taste by inviting friends to tea. ”Just like a woman!” Mrs. Leland told him.
”And why not? Women have so many attractive ways--why not imitate them?” he asked her.
”A man doesn't want to be feminine, I'm sure,” struck in a pallid, overdressed youth, with openwork socks on his slim feet, and perfumed handkerchief.
Mr. Olmstead smiled a broad friendly smile. He was standing near the young man, a little behind him, and at this point he put his hands just beneath the youth's arms, lifted and set him aside as if he were an umbrella-stand. ”Excuse me, Mr. Masters,” he said gravely, but you were standing on Mrs. Leland's gown.”