The note on the dining room table proved, to the captain's delight, to be from James Pearson. It was brief and to the point.
"Why don't you come and see me?" wrote the young man. "I've been expecting you, and you promised to come. Have you forgotten my address? If so, here it is. I expect to be in all day to-morrow."The consequence of this was that eleven o'clock the next day found Captain Elisha pulling the bell at a brick house in a long brick block on a West Side street. The block had evidently been, in its time, the homes of well-to-do people, but now it was rather dingy and gone to seed. Across the street the first floors were, for the most part, small shops, and in the windows above them doctors'
signs alternated with those of modistes, manicure artists, and milliners.
The captain had come a roundabout way, stopping in at the Moriarty flat, where he found Mrs. Moriarty in a curious state of woe and tearful pride. "Oh, what will I do, sir?" she moaned. "When Ithink he's gone, it seems as if I'd die, too. But, thanks to you and Miss Warren--Mary make it up to her!--my Pat'll have the finest funeral since the Guinny saloon man was buried. Ah, if he could have lived to see it, he'd have died content!"The pull at the boarding-house bell was answered by a rather slatternly maid, who informed the visitor that she guessed Mr.
Pearson was in; he 'most always was around lunch time. So Captain Elisha waited in a typical boarding-house parlor, before a grate with no fire in it and surrounded by walnut and plush furniture, until Pearson himself came hurrying downstairs.
"Say, you're a brick, Captain Warren!" he declared, as they shook hands. "I hoped you'd come to-day. Why haven't you before?"The captain explained his having mislaid the address.
"Oh, was that it? Then I'm glad I reminded you. Rather a cheeky thing to do, but I've been a reporter, and nerve is necessary in that profession. I began to be afraid living among the blue-bloods had had its effect, and you were getting finicky as to your acquaintances.""You didn't believe any such thing."
"Didn't I? Well, perhaps I didn't. Come up to my room. I think we can just about squeeze in, if you don't mind sitting close."Pearson's room was on the third flight, at the front of the house.
Through the window one saw the upper half of the buildings opposite, and above them a stretch of sky. The bed was a small brass and iron affair, but the rest of the furniture was of good quality, the chairs were easy and comfortable, and the walls were thickly hung with photographs, framed drawings, and prints.
"I put those up to cover the wall paper," explained the host. "Idon't offer them as an art collection, but as a screen. Sit down.
Put your coat on the bed. Shall I close the window? I usually keep the upper half open to let out the pipe smoke. Otherwise Imight not be able to navigate without fog signals."His visitor chuckled, followed directions with his coat and hat, and sat down. Pearson took the chair by the small flat-topped desk.
"How about that window?" he asked. "Shall I shut it?""No, no! We'll be warm enough, I guess. You've got steam heat, Isee."
"You mean you hear. Those pipes make noise enough to wake the dead. At first I thought I couldn't sleep because of the racket they made. Now I doubt if I could without it. Would you consider a cigar, Captain?""Hum! I don't usually stop to consider. But I tell you, Jim--just now you said something about a pipe. I've got mine aboard, but Iain't dared to smoke it since I left South Denboro. If you wouldn't mind--""Not a bit. Tobacco in this jar on the desk. I keep a temporary supply in my jacket pocket. Matches? Here you are! What do you think of my--er--stateroom?""Think it makes nice, snug quarters," was the prompt answer.
"Humph! Snug is a good word. Much like living in an omnibus, but it answers the purpose. I furnished it myself, except for the bed.
The original bureau had pictures of cauliflowers painted on each drawer front. Mrs. Hepton--my landlady--was convinced that they were roses. I told her she might be right, but, at all events, looking at them made me hungry. Perhaps she noticed the effect on my appetite and was willing for me to substitute."The captain laughed. Then, pointing, he asked: "What's that handbill?"The "handbill" was a fair-sized poster announcing the production at the "Eureka Opera House" of the "Thrilling Comedy-Drama, The Golden Gods." Pearson looked at it, made a face, and shook his head.
"That," he said, "is my combined crusher and comforter. It is the announcement of the first, and next to the last, performance of a play I wrote in my calf days. The 'Eureka Opera Houses is--or was, if the 'gods' weren't too much for it--located at Daybury, Illinois. I keep that bill to prevent my conceit getting away with me. Also, when I get discouraged over my novel, it reminds me that, however bad the yarn may turn out to be, I have committed worse crimes.
This led to the captain's asking about the novel and how it was progressing. His companion admitted having made some progress, more in the line of revision than anything else. He had remodeled his hero somewhat, in accordance with his new friend's suggestions during their interview at the Warren apartment, and had introduced other characters, portrait sketches from memory of persons whom he had known in his boyhood days in the Maine town. He read a few chapters aloud, and Captain Elisha waxed almost enthusiastic over them.
