The Life of the Party

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The Life of the Party Page 8

by Irvin S. Cobb

see him? What do you mean?"

  "I mean he ain't here, that's what. He's out. He's went out for thenight. He's ginerally always out on Friday nights--playin' cards at hisclub, I think. And sometimes he don't come in till it's near breakfasttime. If you're a friend of his I sh'd think it'd be likely you'd knowthat same."

  "Oh, I do--I do," assented Mr. Leary earnestly; "only I had forgottenit. I've had so many other things on my mind. But surely he'll be comingin quite soon now--it's pretty late, you know."

  "Don't I know that for myself without bein' told?"

  "Yes, quite so, of course; naturally so." Mr. Leary was growing more andmore nervous, and more and more chilled, too. "But if you'll only be sovery kind as to let me in I'll wait for him in his apartment."

  "Let you in without seein' you or knowin' what your business is? Ishould guess not! Besides, you couldn't be gettin' inside his flatanyways. He's locked it, unless he's forgot to, which ain't likely, himbein' a careful man, and he must a-took the key with him. I know I ain'tgot it."

  "But if you'll just let me inside the building that will be sufficient.I would much rather wait inside if only in the hall, than out here onthe stoop in the cold."

  "No doubt, no doubt you would all of that." The tone of the unseenfemale was drily suspicious. "But is it likely I'd be lettin' a strangerinto the place, that I never seen before, and ain't seen yet for thatmatter, just on the strength of his own word? And him comin'unbeknownst, at this hour of the mornin'? A fat chancet!"

  "But surely, though, you must recall me--Mr. Leary, his partner. I'vebeen here before. I've spoken to you."

  "That voice don't sound to me like no voice I ever heard."

  "I've taken cold--that's why it's altered."

  "So? Then why don't you come down here where I can have a look at youand make sure?" inquired this careful chatelaine.

  "I'm leaning with my head over the rail of the steps right above you,"said Mr. Leary. "Can't you poke your head out and see my face? I'm quitesure you would recall me then."

  "With this here iron gratin' acrost me window how could I poke me headout? Besides, it's dark. Say, mister, if you're on the level what's thematter with you comin' down here and not be standin' there palaverin'all the night?"

  "I--I--well, you see, I'd rather not come for just a minute--until I'veexplained to you that--that my appearance may strike you as being atrifle unusual, in fact, I might say, queer," pleaded Mr. Leary, seekingby subtle methods of indirection to prepare her for what must surelyfollow.

  "Never mind explainin'--gimme a look!" The suspicious tenseness in hervoice increased. "I tell you this--ayther you come down here right thissecont or I shut the window and you can be off or you can go to thedivil or go anywheres you please for all of me, because I'm anoverworked woman and I need my rest and I've no more time to waste onyou."

  "Wait, please; I'm coming immediately," called out Mr. Leary.

  He forced his legs to carry him down the steps and reluctantly, yetbriskly, he propelled his pink-hued person toward the ray of light thatstreamed out through the grated window-opening and fell across theareaway.

  "You mustn't judge by first appearances," he was explaining with a falseand transparent attempt at matter-of-factness as he came into the zoneof illumination. "I'm not what I seem, exactly. You see, I----"

  "Mushiful Evans!" The exclamation was half shrieked, half gasped out;and on the words the window was slammed to, the light within flippedout, and through the glass from within came a vehement warning.

  "Get away, you--you lunatic! Get away from here now or I'll have thecops on you."

  "But please, please listen," he entreated, with his face close againstthe bars. "I assure you, madam, that I can explain everything if youwill only listen."

  There was no mercy, no suggestion of relenting in the threateningmessage that came back to him.

  "If you ain't gone from here in ten seconts I'll ring for the nightwatchman on the block, and I'll blow a whistle for the police. I've gotme hand on the alarm hook right now. Will you go or will I rouse thewhole block?"

  "Pray be calm, madam, I'll go. In fact, I'm going now."

  He fell back out of the areaway. Fresh uproar at this critical juncturewould be doubly direful. It would almost certainly bring the vengefulSwitzer, with his bruised shanks. It would inevitably bring some one.

  X

  Mr. Leary retreated to the sidewalk, figuratively casting from him theshards and potsherds of his reawakened anticipations, now all so rudelyshattered again. He was doomed. It would inevitably be his fate to cowerin these cold and drafty purlieus until----

  No, it wouldn't either!

  Like a golden rift in a sable sky a brand-new ray of cheer opened beforehim. Who were those married friends of Slack's, who lived on the thirdfloor--friends with whom once upon a time he and Slack had shared achafing-dish supper? What was the name? Brady? No, Braydon. That wasit--Mr. and Mrs. Edward Braydon. He would slip back again, on noiselessfeet, to the doorway where the bells were. He would bide there until thestartled caretaker had gone back to her sleep, or at least to her bed.Then he would play a solo on the Braydons' bell until he roused them.They would let him in, and beyond the peradventure of a doubt, theywould understand what seemed to be beyond the ken of flighty andexcitable underlings. He would make them understand, once he was in andonce the first shock of beholding him had abated within them. They werea kindly, hospitable couple, the Braydons were. They would be only tooglad to give him shelter from the elements until Bob Slack returnedfrom his session at bridge. He was saved!

  Within the coping of the stoop he crouched and waited--waited for fivelong palpitating minutes which seemed to him as hours. Then he appliedan eager and quivering finger to the Braydons' button. Sweet boon ofvouchsafed mercy! Almost instantly the latch clicked. And now in anotherinstant Mr. Leary was within solid walls, with the world and the weathershut 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 ofgaslight; and as thus he stood, fortifying himself with resolution forthe embarrassing necessity of presenting himself, in all his show ofquaint frivolity, before these comparative strangers, there camefloating down the stair well to him in a sharp half-whisper a woman'svoice.

  "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 explanationcould wait until he was safely upstairs. Indeed, it must wait. Attemptedat a distance it would take on rather a complicated aspect; besides, thecaretaker just below might overhear, and by untoward interruptionscomplicate 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 thefront 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 wellhad caused him to change it. Safety first would be his motto from nowon. Seeing that Mr. Edward Braydon apparently was likewise out late itwould be wiser and infinitely more discreet on his part did he avoidfurther disturbing Mrs. Braydon, who presumably was alone and who mightbe easily frightened. So he would just slip on past the Braydonapartment, 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 thehouse. He was noiselessly progressing along the hallway of the thirdfloor; he was about midway of it when under his tread a loose plank gaveoff an agonized squeak, and, as involuntarily he crouched, right at hisside a door was flung open.

  What the discomfited refugee saw, at a distance from him to be measuredby inches rather than by feet, was the face of a woman; and not the faceof young Mrs. Edward Braydon, either, but the face of a middle-aged ladywith startled eyes widely staring, with a mouth just dropping ajar assudden horror relaxed her jaw muscle
s, and with a head of grey hairhaloed about by a sort of nimbus effect of curl papers. What the strangelady saw--well, what the strange lady saw may best perhaps be gauged bywhat she did, and that was instantly to slam and bolt the door and thento utter a succession of calliopelike shrieks, which echoed through thehouse and which immediately were answered back by a somewhat similarseries of outcries from the direction of the basement.

  XI

  Up the one remaining flight of stairs darted the

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