E-text prepared by Darleen Dove, Roger Frank, Mary Meehan, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 33218-h.htm or 33218-h.zip: (https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/33218/pg33218-images.html) or (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/33218/33218-h.zip) A TOP-FLOOR IDYL by GEORGE VAN SCHAICK Author of "Sweetapple Cove," "The Son of the Otter," "The Girl at Big Loon Post" Illustrated by Chase Emerson Boston Small, Maynard & Company Publishers Copyright, 1917, By Small, Maynard & Company (Incorporated) Printers S. J. Parkhill & Co., Boston, U.S.A. TO MY DEARLY LOVED SISTER ELISE [Illustration: And always she was a friend, nothing but the dear friend.] CONTENTS I THE NIGHT ALARM II FRIEDA THE ANGEL III I WATCH AN INFANT IV THE BOLT V GORDON HELPS VI A BIT OF SUNSHINE VII THE OTHER WOMAN VIII WE TAKE AN EXCURSION IX I HEAR RUMOURS ABOUT GORDON X THE WORK LOST XI GORDON VACILLATES XII GORDON BECOMES ENGAGED XIII DR. PORTER GOES TO WORK XIV I BEGIN TO PLOT XV THE LIGHTNING STROKE XVI FRANCES READS MY BOOK XVII MISS VAN ROSSUM CALLS XVIII DIANA AMONG MORTALS XIX FRANCES GOES TO THE COUNTRY XX RICHETTI IS PLEASED XXI THE CONCERT XXII GORDON RETURNS XXIII THE REPAIR OF A BROKEN STRAND XXIV "THE MOTHER AND CHILD" LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS And always she was a friend, nothing but the dear friend. No, she was only a woman, with a soul for harmony. Her lovely head was bent down towards the sleeping mite. A TOP-FLOOR IDYL CHAPTER I THE NIGHT ALARM I smiled at my friend Gordon, the distinguished painter, lifting up my glass and taking a sip of the _table d'hote_ claret, which the Widow Camus supplies with her famed sixty-five cent repast. It is, I must acknowledge, a somewhat turbid beverage, faintly harsh to the palate, and yet it may serve as a begetter of pleasant illusions. While drinking it, I can close my eyes, being of an imaginative nature, and permit its flavor to bring back memories of ever-blessed _tonnelles_ by the Seine, redolent of fried gudgeons and mirific omelettes, and felicitous with gay laughter. "Well, you old stick-in-the-mud," said my companion, "what are you looking so disgruntled about? I was under the impression that this feast was to be a merry-making to celebrate your fortieth birthday. Something like a grin just now passed over your otherwise uninteresting features, but it was at once succeeded by the mournful look that may well follow, but should not be permitted to accompany, riotous living." At this I smiled again.