CHAPTER VIII

The house was a red-brick building like all the others in the block. The steps were of the conventional brownstone with rusty iron railings. The front door over the basement entrance was open, and he rang a jangling bell, the handle of which was so loose in its socket that it was drawn almost out of place. While he waited he looked into the hall. It was clean, though the carpets on the floor and visible stairs were worn and the massive hat-rack of walnut leaned forward from the wall as if about to fall. The basement door was opened and a portly woman with a red face and tousled yellow hair climbed the stair to the sidewalk and approached him.

"I understand you have rooms to rent," Charles said.

The woman eyed him curiously, evidently surprised at the elegance of his clothing and the politeness of his attitude, for he had taken off his hat in greeting her.

"Top floor back, three a week; hallroom back, next to it, two," she answered, wiping her fat hands on a white apron. "Want to see 'em?"

"If you please," Charles said.

"No trouble. That's what I'm here for," she smiled pleasantly. She came up the steps and led him into the hall. "Three flights up," she explained. "Will you leave your bag? If you do I'll have to lock the door. Roomers can't leave overcoats or hats on the rack now. Thieves are as plentiful as mosquitoes in Jersey—some in the house, as for that. My folks keep their rooms locked."

"I'll take the bag up with me," he said, feeling that, no matter what the rooms were like, he would take one.

The stairs were dark. A wire hanging down the shaft was attached to a bell at the top in order that it might be rung from the basement by the landlady as a signal to her few servants who might be working above when needed below. Immediately over the stairs in the roof was an oblong skylight of variegated glass through which the tinted rays of sunlight came. The woman pushed open the door of the larger room.

"The girl hasn't had a chance to get at it yet," she apologized. "The bed hasn't been made up, and the man that is in it has left his things lying around. He is going away this afternoon. If you like the room I'll put his things out. He is unable to pay and I can't run my house on nothing."

Charles saw an open unpacked trunk of very cheap quality in the center of the room. The sight of the chamber in its disorder was decidedly unpleasant, and Charles did not enter it. "What is the other like?" he asked.

"I'll show you," said the woman, and she opened the door of the adjoining room. It was very small, and it had only a single chair and one window with a torn shade and cheap cotton-lace curtains. The only place to hang clothing was the back of the door, into which hooks had been screwed. There was a tiny wash-stand with a bowl in which a pitcher stood, and a rack holding two thin cotton towels.

"This will do very well," he said. "It is large enough for me. I want to cut down expenses. I am out of work at present."

"Oh, I see!" the landlady said, sympathetically. "A good many young men are out of work. That is what is the matter with the fellow next door!"

Charles paid for a week in advance, and when she was about to leave she said:

"Is your trunk coming? If it is, I'll send it up."

"No, I don't happen to have one," he said, trying to summon a casual smile.

"Oh," she exclaimed, avoiding his eyes, "I make a rule to insist on that. I've had trouble with some roomers, and it was always them that just had hand-baggage."

"I can pay you more in advance, if you wish," he proposed, anxiously. "I don't want you to break any rules on my account."

"Oh, never mind!" she said. "I know you are all right. I'm a pretty good judge. The Lord knows I see all sorts of folks in my business, and most of them will do me whenever they can. I've had thugs and counterfeiters in my house. One man that said he was studying to be a minister had six wives scattered over the country. They arrested him one afternoon while I was giving him a cup of tea down-stairs—the smoothest talker that ever lived, by all odds. I missed some trinkets, but, being a widow, I never mentioned it to the officers. You see, it was all in the papers and any little thing like that might have put my name on the list of his victims; as it was, the number of my house was all that got into print."

When she had left him Charles closed the door and softly locked it. He sat down in the chair and leaned back. The little walled space gave him an odd sense of security. It was his own, for the time being, at least. The window was open and a cooling breeze came in, fanning back the white curtains. He took out his cigarettes and began to smoke, and as he smoked his mind became very active in dealing with recent events. Two marvelous things had taken place. He was free from future contact with his Boston friends and acquaintances, who knew of his recent escapades and their humiliating consequences, and he had released his brother from conditions that were even worse. The memory of William's open-mouthed stare of hope as he clutched at life anew drenched his soul with joy inexpressible. What did it matter that he was never again to see William, or his wife or child, or that he was never again to walk the historic streets of his native city? What was to become of him he knew not. Somehow it did not seem to matter. For the first time in his existence life had taken on a meaning that was worth consideration. It meant that by his persistent self-obliteration another man might reach readjustment, and a woman and a child would escape pain and disgrace.

"Good! good!" Charles exclaimed, and slapped his knee. "I haven't lived in vain, after all—that is," was his afterthought, "if I am not caught; but I shall escape. The infinite powers could not will it otherwise. William shall be a new man, and—why, I am already one! It is strange, but I am. This room"—he swept the walls with exultant eyes—"seems as natural to me as one in a fashionable club or hotel. It is all owing to one's point of view. I now live on this plane, and it is good. How amusing that woman was just now! How remarkable that I should feel inclined to laugh at her drollery! Another week and she would have been the seventh wife. The tea in the basement proves it. She is funny. I like her."

Then his facile mood changed. What was happening at the bank at that very moment? He looked at his watch. It was ten o'clock. The bank examiners were at work. The discovery was made. Poor, crushed William at his desk had only to say that the brother he had trusted had fled, and, understanding all, they would leave him alone.