Irish -- United States -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Runaway wives -- Fiction
“I am glad it is not more. I may not be able to pay that for very long,
but I will pay the first week in advance, and I will pay the next one in
the same way and leave when my money is gone. Can I see the room?”
Again she studied him. This time it was the gray waistcoat, the
well-ironed shirt and collar, English scarf, and the blackthorn stick
which he carried balanced in the hollow of his arm. If he had been in
overalls she would not have hesitated an instant, but she saw that this
man was not of her class, nor of any other class about her. “I don't
know whether ye can or not,” came the frank reply. “I'm thinkin' about
it. You don't look as if ye were flat broke. If you're goin' to take me
room, I don't want to be watchin' ye, and I won't! Once we know ye're
clean and decent, ye can have the run of the place and welcome to it. We
had one dead-beat here last month, and that's enough. Out with it now!
How is it that a”--she hesitated an instant--“yes, a gentleman like you
wants to live over an express office and eat what we can give ye?”
He made a slight movement with his right hand in acknowledgment of the
class distinction and answered in a calm, straightforward way: “You
have put it quite correctly. I am, as you are pleased to state it, flat
broke--quite flat.”
“Well, then, how will ye pay me?” Her question, a certain curiosity
tinged by a growing interest in for all its directness, implied no
suspicion--but rather the man.
“I have just borrowed twenty-five dollars from Mr. Kling on something
which, for the present, I can do without.”
“Pawned it?”
“No, not exactly. Mr. Kling will explain.”
“It vas dot dressin'-case, Kitty, vat I showed you last night--de vun
vid dem bottles vid de silver tops--and dey are real--I found dot out
after you vent avay.”
Kitty's glance softened, and her voice fell to a sympathetic tone. “Oh,
that was yours, was it? I might have known I was right about ye when
I first see ye. Ye are a gentleman, unless ye are a thief, and I don't
belave that--nor nobody can make me belave it.”
Once more his hand was raised, and a smile flashed from his eyes and as
quickly died out.
“That is very good of you, Mrs. Cleary. No, I am not a thief. And now
about the room. Can I see it? But, before you answer, let me tell you
that I have only these twenty-five dollars on which I can lay my hands.
Some of this I owe to my landlady. The balance I am quite willing to
turn over to you, and when it is all gone I will move somewhere else.”
He drew a silver watch from his pocket. “You must decide at once; it is
getting late and I must be moving on.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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