The Argosy, June 1904 — page 88: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

574 love, though. Now me and Mr. I., we fell in love at first sight.” They were in the vestibule now. The agent opened the front door and nerv- ously put on his hat. “My land!” cried Mrs. Fisby, “if you ain’t just the image or Mr. F., now you get your hat on!” During the next week the agent found it necessary to make several calls upon Mrs. Fisby. He was fairly driven to it, partly by an awakened con- science concerning certain imperfec- tions in the house which he usually neg- lected to mention to a prospective ten- ant, and partly by a more insistent force which was doubtless responsible for the state of his conscience. The third time he came he brought with him several dozen neat little rub- ber stoppers, and insisted upon plug- ging the drains in the stationary wash- bowls, explaining as mildly as possible that this precaution was necessary if she wished to keep live roomers. The fact that he might have told her this before she hired the house never occurred to her, and with cheerful alacrity she assisted him in his task of inserting the plugs. The two front bed- | rooms were already taken, and he no- ticed many little comforts that made them homelike and showed a woman’s care and taste. In one room a pair of gaily embroid- ered slippers lay on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Yes,” said Mrs. Fisby, with open pride, “I see you’re looking at those slippers with an envious eye, as they say in books. 1 made ’em. Mr. F., he hked those slippers, too. I told Mr. I’. the very day he passed away that I was go- ing to do them up careful, and he needn't fear mortal man would ever set foot in them again, but that mice boy who took this room didn’t have a slip- per to his name, and I just said to my- self, “There’s Mr. F. up there, harping on his harp and not caring a penny whether anybody’s wearing his old slip- pers or not, and I’m just going to make that poor hoy comfortable. ” As she talked there was such a beau- tiful, motherly look upon Mrs. Fisby’s face, and her brown eyes grew so soft that the little agent had the temerity PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG CeO reached shelter at last, THE ARGOSY to take her hand. Tender, unaccus- tomed words clamored for utterance. “My dear—my dear—ahem! Mrs. Fisby!” he said, and then a mighty panic seized him and the golden mo- ment was lost. “What is shyly. The agent swallowed hard, then a way of escape opened before him. “What | was about to say,” he an- swered in matter-of-fact tones, as he produced a small green can from his pocket, “ was, that “if you will sprinkle this powder thoroughly in the corners of your sink and ‘along your pantry shelves you will have no further trouble with—that is—of the sort you men- tioned a short time ago.” “Oh, but wasn’t it real thoughtful of you to bring it!” Mrs. Fisby took the can gratefully and gave the bold fingers that still erasped hers a faint pressure. “ You did speak about it so delicate, too—just like Mr. F. He was that refined—he never would call a spade a spade!” Beside Mrs. Fisby on a slippery horse- hair sofa that sank in recklessly toward the middle, the agent now spent a blissful but uneasy half-hour. He made no further attempt to put his feelings into words, but by judicious allusions to the condition of his lonely heart and fireside (a hall bed-room ra- diator), he called forth Mrs. Fisby’s ever ready sympathy, and when he finally took his departure he was entirely satis- fied that the lovely widow was his for the asking. The next afternoon the equinoctial set in. Just as the little agent was start- ing homeward from the. office to the bleak comforts of his boarding-house he was overtaken by a messenger-boy with a note for him. The rain was falling heavily, and he had no umbrella, 80 he put the bright pink envelope in his pocket to be opened as soon as he should get home. He wet to the skin, and in his haste to get into dry clothes he entirely forgot the note. He ate a soggy dinner, and then, hud- died close to the luke-warm radiator, he prepared to spend a dismal evening alone in his little room. while the wind it?” asked Mrs. Fishy mMICLOOK a) S C@ = ELECTRONIC REPRODUCTION PROHIBITED