THE BABY NEXT DOOR.

Press, Volume LVIII, Issue 11000, 25 June 1901, Page 10

THE BABY NEXT DOOR.

Bt ftu» Etraaa. B«u» waa a bachelor. He can» in late as usual, turned up the single ga« jet, and" thww aside coat end hat and wghed. bs*n snowing aU day. He had trampetf about a good bit getting facta lor h» Sunday story. ~v . Brace wasn't brilliant bat he could be > nepsiided on for facts, and that made Mift to the paper. Not that it was a sheet of unblemished character or spotless reputation, being given to sensationalism and scare hfcads oi not altogether strict veracity, but if* well to have a few reliable reporters on Ih? staff. . Tlie room was cheerless and uncompronus- ; inc. also the conscience of tbe landlady, this discriminating person arguing that, !tbe c«rs?!em.-m who was so seldom in, it dtdn-t ujait-r." and acting on this hypothesis had abstracted certain serviceable pieces of nirniittra and substituted various invalided and mo'h-enten articles instead. . . Brace w.as of tbe uncomplaining sort aud said mithirii!. U> drew au extraordinarily uncomfortable chair to the legister. A treacherous vhwr. A chair it. were grueluuii satire to call "easy/ mid yet it had been ■old v, such a century back by some primitive c;if/ir.=rtniaker. A low, degraded chair, with a dirty yellow completion and a iramj'ed-nj> "dejected "let-me-alone"' look: hut Bniwt drairged it remorselessly forth close to the radimor from which a faint, unconvincing whiff of warm air timidly struggled. I wish I could say tliasfc "In crimson dressing gown faced with quilted satin and embroidered velvet slippers, our hero reclined upon a Turkish couch, and puffed contentedly an exquisitely carved- meerschaum pipe, the thoughtful gift of a fair friend, while the fire on the open hearth blazed merrily, and the shaded lights cast a halo over the artistic surroundings." But 1 can't, for Brace wasn't that kind of a bachelor, and his den wasn't that kind id a den. After a few twists and turns and thumps, in which the chair came off vk- ' torioiw Brace fell into it desperately and lit a rather bad cigar tlie artist had given him tliat afternoon. Tlie house in which he lived wan one of a row long since deserted by the progressively inclined, and relegated to the übiquitous boarding-house keeper, terms moderate.

They were old-fashioned brick, high j stooped dwellings, enclosed by ornamental J ironwork of a past generation. As Brace bent forward in an effort to | lure reluctant wstrmth. from the heater, his j ear caught a peculiar ndise. He knew (the j hour's being built exactly alike and the walls | thin) tbat the radiator'next door was just j opposite his own, and sounds, even of 1 a j subdued character, were plainly audible. I The silence lwsretofore proved the room va- j cant, but now it was evidently rented and j occupied. The sound was so unusual that j he remained leaning over staring at the j wall. I It was a croon. A soft, sootliing, com- I forting croon and a tiny Voice echoed it ] more softly still. was rocking, j rocking gently to and fro and singing a lul- j laby to a baby. Good heavens! How j many years was it since Brace hud heard ; that same lullaby? He didn't care to count, ; but as tha singer crooned the simple verse, J a vision of a dear, pale woman with smooth ! brown luair and tender eyes arose before j him. He could see the quaint, low-ceilinged \ . room, tlie table with a bright red cover, the : big lamp with a pictured shade over it, the china ornaments on the mantel shelf, the wax flowers under a glass case, and over nguinst the wall, a wonderful tall old clock. ' By tho stove sat a kindly, sturdy man ab- j sorbed in a weekly paper, and mother, for ' the dear, pale woman was his mother, rocked s to and fro singing the lullaby that the wo- j man next door was singing now. Well, [ they were both dead, thq kindly man, Iris j father, and tlie gentle, loving mother. The sweetheart he had hoped to win was dazzled by a soldier lad's bright uniform and. left the little village to follow tho fortanes of S war, so he himself had hustled out into the ] world and hadn't done particularly well. "Ah, how very sweet the; voice was," thought Brace as he finally put out the gas and crept between th© chilly sheets; "how very, very aweet." The morning aent a gleam of wintry sunahine through the dingy panes of glass, and made the shabby carpet and decrepit furniture look more shabby and decrepit still. John Braoe could get no hot water. It waa turned off. The landlady did not encourage wastefulness. Tbe faint and flickering ! warmth from the radiator had died a natural \ death during the night. The one and only j "hungry servant" had forgotten to leave towels. It was an outrage. He would ! stand it no longer. He would move. He; looked around the cold, dreary apartment j and sighed. After all, one place was prob- ! ably as bad as another. What was tbat? J A chuckle distinetfy a chuckle; followed by j a goo, a whole chorus of goes. It was the ; baby next door. John Brace listened, j Really it must be a remarkably quiet child, i It hadn't cried once in the night. He was j sure of tliat because somehow he hadn't slept' at all well. And jmw it was ee-oing and i splashing, actually splashing. Why it must f behaving a bath. Good Lord, what does? | the woman mean? Bathing a baby in such j a cold room? But come to think of it, some- t body told him that next door was conducted | upon much more honourable principles than j his present abode, and was cleaner. lb \ looked cleaner from tlie outside. He would i call and enquire aa to their accommodations, j The hungry servant was sweeping ! the sidewalk and saw him go up the i stoop, dropping her broom in open- S mouthed amazement at his temerity, j He rang. No, the house was full, nothing but a hall room left. A hall room on i the top floor. ! The landlady expected to have the third ! floor back empty very shortly, very shortly, j iudead. "Oh," exclaimed Brace, visibly disturbed, j "Yes," continued Mrs Smith, confiden- j tially. "You see the party's not prompt. I I'm a lon© woman myself and of course ! I have feeKngs, but I must have my j money in advance, and so I told her. I'm aorry for her, A young widder with a little baby, lost her husband in them Philippines, but my grocer and butcher won't wait for mc, and I can't wait for nobody. I understand she's been selling her bits of jewellery and looking for work, but gracious I folks ain't got no use for a woman with a baby, and she won't hear to putting it away. Just holds it close and gets white an chalk. I can show the room right now. Oh, no, the lady doesn't mind. She knows she's got to go." John had murmured something about intrusion, but wa» whistled down the wind, and medtly followed. "Come in," a soft voice answered to the somewhat peremptory knock. The room was pretty and warm. The homelike air seemed to bring back memories of better things than he had known of lato years. A slender dark-clad figure bent over a little brass crib in the corner, but turned a lovely, pale face toward them as they entered. « "John I" "Mary!" Then i«inds met. "You 'pear to bs acquainted," remarked the landlady, drily. "Old friends," said Brace, his voice trembling. "We come from the same town." "Well, if that's the case, you'll mebbe like to talk over things, so I'll get done sweeping my stain?, and if you want mc you can just come out and holler," and with tbe discretion of a diplomat she disappeared. An hour later Brace arose and said: "Well, Mary,*l think I'd bettor atop next I door and pock my trunk, and if you lave no objection I'll rent tbe top hall room for the present that ia "he hesitated. "What aa it, John?" He placed an arm about her, and resting one firm brown hand upon the tiny crib, replied: "That you'll promise to let mc help you take care of the baby 1" * "I wUI, John."