Our Mr. Wrenn: The Romantic Adventures of a Gentle ManLewis, Sinclair
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Our Mr. Wrenn: The Romantic Adventures of a Gentle Man
Lewis, Sinclair
Courtship -- Fiction; Love stories; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Middle-aged men -- United States -- Fiction
“I’m _awful_ sorry, Mrs. Zapp, but I’m afraid I can’t take it. Fact is,
I may go traveling for a while.”
“Co’se you’ll keep your room if you do, Mist’ Wrenn?”
“Why, I’m afraid I’ll have to give it up, but—Oh, I may not be going
for a long long while yet; and of course I’ll be glad to come—I’ll want
to come back here when I get back to New York. I won’t be gone for more
than, oh, probably not more than a year anyway, and—”
“And Ah thought you said you was going to be perm’nent!” Mrs. Zapp
began quietly, prefatory to working herself up into hysterics. “And
here Ah’ve gone and had your room fixed up just for you, and new paper
put in, and you’ve always been talking such a lot about how you wanted
your furniture arranged, and Ah’ve gone and made all mah plans—”
Mr. Wrenn had been a shyly paying guest of the Zapps for four years.
That famous new paper had been put up two years before. So he
spluttered: “Oh, I’m _awfully_ sorry. I wish—uh—I don’t—”
“Ah’d _thank_ you, Mist’ Wrenn, if you could _conveniently_ let me
_know_ before you go running off and leaving me with empty rooms, with
the landlord after the rent, and me turning away people that ’d pay
more for the room, because Ah wanted to keep it for you. And people
always coming to see you and making me answer the door and—”
Even the rooming-house worm was making small worm-like sounds that
presaged turning. Lee Theresa snapped just in time, “Oh, cut it out,
Ma, will you!” She had been staring at the worm, for he had suddenly
become interesting and adorable and, incidentally, an heir. “I don’t
see why Mr. Wrenn ain’t giving us all the notice we can expect. He said
he mightn’t be going for a long time.”
“Oh!” grunted Mrs. Zapp. “So mah own flesh and blood is going to turn
against me!”
She rose. Her appearance of majesty was somewhat lessened by the creak
of stays, but her instinct for unpleasantness was always good. She said
nothing as she left them, and she plodded up-stairs with a train of
sighs.
Mr. Wrenn looked as though sudden illness had overpowered him. But
Theresa laughed, and remarked: “You don’t want to let Ma get on her
high horse, Mr. Wrenn. She’s a bluff.”
With much billowing of the lower, less stiff part of her garments, she
sailed to the cloudy mirror over the magazine-filled bookcase and
inspected her cap of false curls, with many prods of her large firm
hands which flashed with Brazilian diamonds. Though he had heard the
word “puffs,” he did not know that half her hair was false. He stared
at it. Though in disgrace, he felt the honor of knowing so ample and
rustling a woman as Miss Lee Theresa.
“But, say, I wish I could ’ve let her know I was going earlier, Miss
Zapp. I didn’t know it myself, but it does seem like a mean trick. I
s’pose I ought to pay her something extra.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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