Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 29: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

-GENTLEMEN ONLY. “Whatever you do, keep women out of your house,” she had warned Mrs. Ladd. ‘“They’re always messin’ around in your kitchen or else sneakin’ in a gas plate or one of these, now, grills and runnin’ up your light bills. Rent your rooms to gents. They mind their p’s and q’s and don’t try to do a family wash in the bathroom on Sunday morning.” She was a big, domineering woman, and Amalie had listened politely, although she already had her own ideas on the subject. But her lessor delivered herself of as much practical advice as the untutored Amalie seemed to merit. Having thus salved her conscience she departed, along with innu- merable iron bedsteads and rickety chairs and devastated washstands and the major portion of a dimly remembered and not too arduously mourned Mr. Ladd’s bequest to his widow. That meager bequest ad an innate and incorrigible domesticity comprised the slen- der capital upon which Mrs. Ladd’s venture was built. It was indeed a daring and a worthy impulse that had brought her to the metropolis: daring because it meant leaving the comfortably rutted paths of precedent; worthy, since it would render her self-sup- porting and contribute to a deserving cause. ' Every one in Sharleyville knew what a cold and heartless place New York was—a friendless foster home for the ambitious off- spring of every other State in the country. Thus, in supplying a home for a deserving handful of these ambitious foundlings, one might combine altruism with enterprise. Hence, Amalie Ladd found herself of a bright October Sunday morning, happily re- reading her own literary effort in the Sunday Sentinel and marveling a little at the gran- deur accruing to the printed version. She was a compact little person, with young blue eyes and inadequate looking little hands and feet. She sat in the sunny back sitting room which she had reserved for her own use, and the sun struck through the dusty branches of a lone ailanthus tree and played hide and seek in her bright hair. The remaining rooms in the house, each of which had received its particular bit of reno- vation and its particular portion of family heirlooms, were ready. So was Victoria, = 663 sole remaining feature of the old régime whose former nondescript status had been nicely defined by a neat uniform of black and white. So was Amalie herself, whose presence in New York was her one defiant gesture to all of Sharleyville. She waited now, moving restlessly about the room, as athrill with anticipation as an angling novice in strange waters. She had cut out the portentous bit of print and propped it against the clock on the mantel- piece. She had expressed her willingness to interview applicants after ten, but that hour had not yet struck when the bell clamored shrilly and she heard the elevated Victoria shambling up the stairs from the lower regions. Her quickening pulse brought the color into her cheeks when the maid appeared in the doorway. ‘“ Here’s a man come to see about rooms,” she announced dispassionately. ““ Lodgings,” corrected Mrs. Ladd auto- matically, and to the hovering stranger: ‘“‘ Good morning! Come in, if you please!” He was a swarthy person, constructed in a series of rolling pillows beginning with an assortment of gradated chins that merged almost imperceptibly into an expansive stomach. The checks in his nicely pressed suit were slightly smaller than those of the average checkerboard and diamonds flashed from his dimpled pink fingers. “T saw your ad in the morning paper,” he confided genially. “I thought I’d run over and take a look at your rooms—” “Lodgings,” substituted Amalie pa- tiently. : ‘“A single room is what I want. got a single room?” “Oh, yes, that is if you mean a room with a single bed in it.” ‘* 'That’s the idea—but none of your cots, mind! None of these trick beds that fold up on you when you're asleep.” “Oh, but I wouldn’t have a cot in any of my rooms!” She was shocked. “But I know what you mean, and I think they’re criminal—nothing less! its that sort of thing—cot beds and all— ‘“Damned uncomfortable, anyway!” fe summarized heartily. “ What floor’s it on? I can’t stand many stairs.” Amalie’s eyes were startled. You But of oO CORMCOOOKSsCO