THE STORY-TELLER. My "Paying Guests."

Evening Post, Volume LX, Issue 102, 27 October 1900, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE STORY-TELLER. My "Paying Guests."

• I. When my dear husband died two years ago, leaving me with little money and an invalid daughter, it was as if a warm, protecting wall between me and tho north, wind had been suddenly removed. Fortunately, our house, with its pretty garden at the back, and decent neighbours, was loft us; and there w<w a steady demand for our front and hsuk parlours, and the little room off, that answered for library or dressing-room. Lodgers came and went, and very cheerfully added their sovereigns to the fine growing sum which I kept — where tlo you think? — in an empty tea-caddy. Well, in my very biggest rush of visitors they came. The young man came first — a good-looking boy oi 24 or so — 'who avus willing to pay any reasonable price for a comfortable quiet room all tJfl^iimself , ' where he could sleep in tho day — he being employed! on a. big morning paper ' during tin© -week, arid until a late hour on Saturday upon a Sunday paper. *• The next morning ho came, bag and baggnga ; and I must say the little- storeroom was not bad, with its clean matting and fresh curtains at the one window, that looked down on the garden. * 1 Mr. Ivry — that was his name — said it wag all very nice, and ho drew a long breath as if quite weary; and I noticed his <jyes looked' tired and a little sad. I always feel so sorry for young people with sad eyes. • I told him I truly hoped he would be suited, and showed him a cupboard 1 at the end of the hall where he could keep his housekeeping supplies. Thero were two divisions, with a key to each, and' I gave him the right-hand one. Then, thinking of his Tsad' eyes — and- maybe also of the teacaddy — I offered! to furnish cream and butter very reasonably. Well, Mr. Ivry had been under my roof for two weeks, and, giving" me no more trouble than a mouse — and nob near so much, for I am mortally afraid of a mouse — when she came. She- came in the evening, when luckily, I had just 'finished' setting Mr. Ivry's little room in icrder. She wanted a room and tho privilege of preparing' her own breakfasts and suppers, an<T she -frould be away at her work at a big milliner's during the day. Now, every cranoiy of my house was full, tJituess — and hero tfee wild plau which led to such constant watchfulness and frightful anxiety jumped into my mind. I told her I feared the only room I had ■would be too small and too plain, to suit ; but if she would like to look at it — and I led the way to Mr. Ivry's room ! There was still a faint odour of coffee, iand a pair of very manly-looking boots peeped from- under the'bureau. I caught them up and held them behind me whale Tve talked. "I will take 1 the room," she said, with p. little sigh of resignation over my flinty price, "and! I will come to-morrow evening, at about 7." ■ "And at what time will you be going jttway in the morning?" I asked, as casuw&\y as possible. "Oh, dreadfully early! I must breakfast at 6, and be in my plaoe at 7 sharp. iWill you kindly let your maid call me at half-past 5, for sometimes I am so sleepy?" I assured her that I would gladly waken slier myself, being always an early riser. And if she would like home-made bread and things of that sort, with fresh cream and' butter, I though I could make ib convenient to supply them — at a reasonable price. She came, and four whole days passed .before the awful possibilities of Sundaydawned upon me. I felt that I had already a sufficiently harrowing time*—remodelling the room so to speak, in the morning for Mr. Ivry, and clearing it up in the evening for Miss Hardy. • More than once I hatt what my dear husband •would have called 1 a close shave. Miss Hardy fell asleap again one morning, after being wakened, and had hardly dashed down the front steps, without her breakfast except for a glass of milk, which I almost poured down her throat — before Mr. Ivry came up them; and I made him wait in the lower hall while, with some excuse, I hustled Miss Hardy's numerous belongings into my clothespress. And one afternoon Mr. Ivry lingered so long over his refreshments — probably reading or writing,. for I heard the rustle, of paper, and the occasional movement of his coffee-enp-^-that I nearly fainted with fear as I "whisked his possessions away and brought out and arranged the Hardy properties in thfeir accustomed ' orfler. Then Mr. : Ivry left his side of the hall cupboard ajar on the third evening, showing plainly, a piece of \ cheese and the remnants of sandwiches, which Miss Hardy must have noticed, for she asked me the next morning if there were other lodgers on our floor, and I was obliged to vaguely prevaricate. What with falsehood and hard: work and wearying watchfulness, my nerves were already becoming shaky. 11. And now Sunday was coming ! How to keep Mis 3 Hardy out of her room from l/a-lf-past 6 to half-past 5, or longer, was tho question. I thought of several things. I had a dear married niece living out in the suburbs in a pretty little house. I telephoned her, asking her as a special favour to take my 1 guest for Saturdaynight and Sunday. She answered "With pleasure!" But when I proposed the delightful outing to Miss Hardy, that young ladjf thanked me most sweetly, and deSiined, The only holiday she yearned for, sho uud, was to lie in bed one long, delicious morning. Then I set about contriving how to keep Mr. Ivry away. Ib isn't pleasant to tell a downright fib, sol couldn't invent some dreadful happening that would moke tho room uninhabitable for a day or twio. I couldn't ask him to change rooms, for thero was none to change to. And it was already Saturday morning. There was nothing to be done but to boldly ask him for his room ovsr Sunday. A friend was coming — and was she nob a friend? — to stay until Monday morning, and I must give her a corner, Hoping he would! not be gtfeatly inconvenienced. Mr. Ivry looked surprised, but answered wry kindly. Oh, yes, he would make some arrangement for 7 that little time. And' I carried. up for hia luncheon a nice cut of broiled chicken. I felt so relieved and grateful, and I am sure he realised how sorry I was to trouble him. But there were more Sundays — perhaps a whole number of them— to follow, ahd hardly was this first one over and! Miss Hardy off to her work, before the next one began to loom up. I tried to send Mr. Ivry out to my niece for Sunday, telling hhn of the quiet, the refreshing lake breeze, and the benefit

of even a brief respite from the heat and uproar of the city. And, almost in Miss Hardy's words, he replied that the only respite he needed was. a few hours of solid sleep, and he could sleep at homo; and ho pleasantly thanked me. Then I resolved to oast myself on Miss Hardy's compassion. I tola her that a friend of mine was coming to spend Sun* day with nie— a person very much in need of rest — and I had no quiet comer — nobbing, in facb, bub my bedroom and the kibchen— and would she mind giving up her room just for the day — and as early in the morning as possible — as a special favour to me? Miss Hardy promptly answered "Yes." I felb myself grow red with shame, thinking of my deception ; bub I confess I was greably relieved, with no conflictiuff Sunday to consider for twelve days to come. However, I had a sufficiency of scares during that time— one morning Miss Hardy, running back for a, handkerchief, and finding me wildly removing her effects as if " engaged in a fire-drill, and only able to "stammer something about "sweaping-day ; " and one evening, catching me just outside- her door with the last armful of Mr. Ivry's things (fortunately the evening was .dark and rainy, and the hall lamp was not yet lighted) ; and Mr. Ivry finding a"tkim&!e aaida. hatpin which' I had clumsily overlooked, politely handed them to mo without even a thought of suspicion. 1 The time fled swiftly, and soon -another unarranged Sunday confronted me. It was Mr. Ivry's turn to be diverted from the room. Now I would toko a bold sband, and say to him that, owing to our cramped quarters, my daughter's illness, and -the fact that %ye were to have a guest for eveiy Sunday — and weren't we? — he would be conferring a great favour if ho would find some other room for just that day, and I would glady make a suitable reduction in his rent, and be so much obliged. I made the suggestion to him with featf and trembling — for there was the chance that he might take leave altogether — and my voice faltered, and the tears came into my eyes, in spite of my effort to be calm and businesslike. Th,o dear boy! He had nothing for me but instant comEassion and ready compliance. He said c could manage somehow, ho was sure; and his room, which had begun to seem like hohie to him, would seem all the pleasanter for these brief absences. The next Saturday afternoon at a quarter to 6, Mr. Ivry went awajy with handbag and umbrella' and! a smiling goodbye, and I flew to my work of reconstruction with a light heart. No more threatening, dreadful Sundays, and only the little minor risks of week days to look out for ! No wonder I hummed as I placed Miss., Hardy's lamp and books, and work-basket and fans, and slippers and dressing-case, and calendars and photographs, 'and fruit-basket in their usual places. I was sitting in our own little room one evening when the blow fell. Latch keys had already admitted the first-floor people, and so when I heard the hall door open and close, and 1 a quick step come bounding up the stairs, 1 knew the end had come. Evidently Mr. Ivry had hastily returned for soniia import-ant forgotten thing, and, thinking 1 that my guest was not to arrive until tho next day, had tried to unlock the door. I heard Miss Hardy utter an exclamation and bound 1 to the door, which she must have opened quite violently, for it banged against the table and made the platesl'attle. The hall was dimly lighted— for I cannot afiord a dazzling outlay of gas, "YVhat do you meant' cried Miss Hardy's voice in startled intensity. "I beg pardon, bub I left " began Mr. Ivry. , - "You are mistaken ! This is my " "Excuse me, it is my room " "If you don't go away this minute I'll call Mrs. Smith!" "Will you listen a moment? I left some paipers here " "Mrs. Smith!" "In tho side pocket of my mackintosh "Mrs. Smith 1" "That hangs — ior did hang an hour ago — in the cbrner by the " "I got to my feet, but weakly sank into my chair again. By this- time they must huve taken a> look at each other, and there camei a little cry from Miss Hardy. "Philip— Mr. Ivry!"' Then there was such a confusion of exclamations that I oould distinguish nothing for a ' few moments. Finally came a. few sentences- in Miss Hardy's clear but slightly trembling voice : • "I am here because I am at work. Papa died a year ago. He lost all his money, and he couldn't get over it. I ma as poori as you are now." "Thank neaven !" said Mr. Ivry very fervieotly. "At the last papa jvas very sorry for —for everything. He told me to see you. But you had gone— l did not know where ; and I "Oh, this is splendid! I «" began Mr. Ivry. "Don't you mind now, mamma," whispered my daughter. "They're so happy they'll forgive you everything." And' so they did.— Answers.