Romance of California Life: Illustrated by Pacific Slope Stories, Thrilling, Pathetic and HumorousHabberton, John
General
Romance of California Life: Illustrated by Pacific Slope Stories, Thrilling, Pathetic and Humorous
Habberton, John
California -- Fiction
True. I was so engrossed by different plans of revenge, that I had not
thought of going into the parlor or dining-room to sleep. We moved to
the parlor; Sophronia took the lounge, while I found the floor a little
harder than I supposed an ex-soldier could ever find any plane surface.
It did not take me long, however, to learn that the parlor-floor was
_not_ a plane surface. It contained a great many small elevations which
kept me awake for the remainder of the night, wondering what they could
be. At early dawn I was as far from a satisfactory theory as ever, and I
hastily loosened one end of the carpet and looked under. The
protuberances were knots in the flooring boards. In the days when the
sturdy patriots of New Jersey despised such monarchical luxuries as
carpets, the soft portions of these boards had been slowly worn away,
but the knots--every one has heard the expression "as tough as a pine
knot." Fortunately, we had indulged in a frightfully expensive rug, and
upon this I sought and found a brief period of repose and forgetfulness.
While we were at the breakfast-table our girl appeared, with red eyes
and a hoarse voice, and remarked that now she _must_ leave; she had
learned to like us, and she loved the country, but she had an aged
parent whose sole support she was, and could not afford to risk her life
in such a house.
"Let her go," said Sophronia. "If variety is the spice of life, why
shouldn't the rule apply to servants?"
"Perhaps it does, my dear," I replied; "but if we have to pay each girl
a month's wages for two or three days of work, the spice will be more
costly than enjoyable--eh?"
Immediately after breakfast I sought the agent. I supposed he would meet
me with downcast eyes and averted head, but he did nothing of the kind;
he extended his hand cordially, and said he was delighted to see me.
"That roof," said I, getting promptly to business, "leaks--well, it's
simply a sieve. And you told me the house was dry."
"So the owner told _me_, sir; of course you can't expect us to inspect
the hundreds of houses we handle in a year."
"Well, however that may be, the owner is mistaken, and he must repair
the roof at once."
The agent looked thoughtful. "If you had wished the landlord to make
necessary repairs, you should have so stipulated in the lease. The lease
you have signed provides that all repairs shall be made at your own
expense."
"Did the landlord draw up the lease?" I asked, fixing my eye severely
upon the agent's liquid orbs. But the agent met my gaze with defiance
and an expression of injured dignity.
"I asked you whether you would have the usual form of lease," said the
agent, "and you replied, 'Certainly.'"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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