The Life of the PartyCobb, Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury)
General
The Life of the Party
Cobb, Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury)
Costume -- Fiction; Humorous stories; Lawyers -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction
Within the coping of the stoop he crouched and waited--waited for five
long palpitating minutes which seemed to him as hours. Then he applied
an eager and quivering finger to the Braydons' button. Sweet boon of
vouchsafed mercy! Almost instantly the latch clicked. And now in another
instant Mr. Leary was within solid walls, with the world and the weather
shut out behind him.
He stood a moment, palpitant with mute thanksgiving, in the hallway,
which was made obscure rather than bright by a tiny pinprick of
gaslight; and as thus he stood, fortifying himself with resolution for
the embarrassing necessity of presenting himself, in all his show of
quaint frivolity, before these comparative strangers, there came
floating down the stair well to him in a sharp half-whisper a woman's
voice.
"Is that you?" it asked.
"Yes," answered Mr. Leary, truthfully. It was indeed he, Algernon Leary,
even though someone else seemingly was expected. But the explanation
could wait until he was safely upstairs. Indeed, it must wait. Attempted
at a distance it would take on rather a complicated aspect; besides, the
caretaker just below might overhear, and by untoward interruptions
complicate a position already sufficiently delicate and difficult.
Down from above came the response, "All right then. I've been worried,
you were so late coming in, Edward. Please slip in quietly and take the
front room. I'm going on back to bed."
"All right!" grunted Mr. Leary.
But already his plan had changed; the second speech down the stair well
had caused him to change it. Safety first would be his motto from now
on. Seeing that Mr. Edward Braydon apparently was likewise out late it
would be wiser and infinitely more discreet on his part did he avoid
further disturbing Mrs. Braydon, who presumably was alone and who might
be easily frightened. So he would just slip on past the Braydon
apartment, and in the hallway on the fourth floor he would cannily bide,
awaiting the truant Slack's arrival.
On tiptoe then, flight by flight, he ascended toward the top of the
house. He was noiselessly progressing along the hallway of the third
floor; he was about midway of it when under his tread a loose plank gave
off an agonized squeak, and, as involuntarily he crouched, right at his
side a door was flung open.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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