The Mystery of the LocksHowe, E. W. (Edgar Watson)
General
The Mystery of the Locks
Howe, E. W. (Edgar Watson)
City and town life -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Mystery fiction; Nebraska -- Fiction
He never neglected an opportunity to talk about his trip, therefore when
he put his chair back from the table, and engaged in quiet meditation,
Silas felt sure he was about to introduce the subject in a new way; for
Armsby was a very ingenious as well as a very lazy man.
"You ought to wear the apron, Silas," Mr. Armsby said, looking at Silas
with the greatest condescension and pity; "but it would be dreadful if
your application should be greeted with the blacks. I don't recommend
that you try it, mind, for that is not allowed, and the records will
show that we lodge men have so much regard for principle that it has
never been done; but it is something that everyone should think about,
sooner or later. Only the very best men wear this emblem of greatness.
But if you have faults, I should advise you not to run the risk of being
humiliated, for the members are very particular. A lazy man, or a
shiftless man, or a bad man of any kind, cannot get in; and when a man
belongs to a lodge, it can be depended upon that he is as near right as
they make them. This is the reason we must be particular in admitting
new members. Reputation is at stake; for, once you are in, the others
stand by you with their lives and their sacred honor. There's nothing
like it."
The landlord occupied himself a moment in pleasant thought of the
lodges, in connection with their cheapness and general utility, and then
continued, after smiling in a gratified way over his own importance in
the lodge connection,--
"When I first went to New York I became acquainted with the very best
people immediately; for every man who wears the apron has confidence in
every other man who wears it; each knows that the other has been
selected from the masses with care, and they trust each other to the
fullest extent. One day I went over into--"
Armsby could not remember names, and he snapped his fingers now in
vexation.
"It is strange I am unable to name the town," he said; "I am as familiar
with it as I am with my own stable. Well, no matter; anyway it is a big
suburb, and you reach it by crossing the--"
Again he stopped, and tried to recall the name of the bridge he had
crossed, and the city he had visited, but to no avail; though he rapped
his head soundly with his knuckles, for its bad behavior, and got up to
walk up and down the room.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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