“Look out — it iss Leo!” cried the widow, tearing herself loose and retreating to her own chair.
The pale-faced young man passed through the shop to the room in the rear without speaking.
“Come back tonight,” whispered Mrs. Sturcke softly. “He goes home at six o’clock.”
“Tonight at seven. Darling! Happy love!” returned Mr. Chidden, pressing her hand. “You will be waiting for me?”
“Yess, Robert.”
Mr. Chidden emerged into the sunshine of Twenty-third Street with a springy, youthful step and a heart bounding with happiness. His hat was placed at a perilous angle on one side of his head, his hands were thrust deep in his pockets, and his shoulders swayed from side to side as he walked.
At last freedom! The twenty years’ tyranny was at an end.
What a pleasant place that little shop was, to be sure! Of course, it wasn’t worth much — perhaps six or eight hundred — but the custom was very good. It was two years now since Sturcke had died, and his widow had begun to run the place alone; it really wouldn’t be surprising if she had managed to save up a thousand dollars. Just the right amount to put in a little stock of gents’ furnishings — nothing elaborate, of course.
Suddenly Mr. Chidden stopped and swore at himself. As if it mattered whether the widow had saved up a thousand dollars or a thousand cents! As if it were not enough, and more than enough, that he was at last to escape from the inexorable clutches of his sister Maria! Never again to hear that hated voice raised in command! The joyousness of the thought caused Mr. Chidden to dance about on the sidewalk. He declared to himself that it would be worth it, even if he had to fire Leo and do all the work himself. At least, he would be master. He was humming a little tune under his breath as he turned in at the door of the rooming house.
“Robert!” came his sister’s voice from the kitchen as he entered the hall.
Mr. Chidden descended the stairs with the step of a conqueror, flung the kitchen door open, and stood on the threshold.
“Well?” he inquired insolently.
His sister looked up from a pot she was stirring on the stove, and grunted.
“So you’re back,” she observed. “It’s time. I want you to beat them rugs.”
“All right,” said Mr. Chidden cheerfully.
He went to the closet in the back hall, took therefrom the carpet beater, and returned to the kitchen. For some time he stood in the middle of the room, regarding his sister’s back as she bent over the pot. His expression was an indescribable mixture of triumph and impudence.
“I’ll clean ’em good,” he observed finally, whirling the carpet beater about in the air, “because I may not get another chance at ’em.”
“Now what are you talking about?” came from the pot.
“I say, I may not get another chance at the rugs, because I’m going to leave.”
His sister turned to look at him.
“Leave! Leave where?”
“Leave here. This house. I’m going away, Maria.”
But Maria refused to be at all impressed by this startling information.
“I suppose John D. has given you a million to start in business with,” she observed sarcastically. “Now, you stop talking nonsense and do what I told you. And I don’t want you running off a day or a week, either. I thought you was done with that foolishness. If you do, I won’t let you in when you come back.”
“Don’t you worry,” retorted Mr. Chidden. “I won’t come back. It’s different this time. The fact is, as you might say, I’m going to get married.”
His sister whirled around, dropping the spoon in the pot with a splash.
“Married! You!” she exclaimed in a tone of scornful disbelief.
“Yes, married — me!” repeated Mr. Chidden warmly. “Married in every sense of the world. Just because you don’t appreciate your own brother, Maria Chidden, is no sign some others wouldn’t. It’s a little love affair I run into. Amorous passion, my dear. She’s a widow — remarkably beautiful woman — about half as old as you, I should say. Modern romance. I can’t help it.”
“Half as old as me! Romance!” cried Miss Maria shrilly, her face flaming, and trembling all over with anger. “Half as old as me, indeed!” she repeated. “Thank you, Robert Chidden!” She stopped a moment, choking with indignation; then demanded sternly: “Who is this woman?”
“You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?” observed Mr. Chidden impudently.
“Yes, and what’s more, I’m going to know.”
“Maybe.” Mr. Chidden threw the carpet beater over his shoulder and started for the door. “She’s a lady, and she’s a widow, and that’s all I have to say,” he threw back.
Silence pursued him to the door and a few paces into the court. He had flung four rugs over the line and was picking up the fifth when his sister’s voice, sharp, with a ring in it, came from the kitchen:
“Robert! Is it Gretta Sturcke?”
Mr. Chidden returned to the door, and stood looking in.
“If it is,” he replied truculently, “what about it?”
Then he became silent with wonder at the change that took place in his sister’s face. Her eyes, which had glared with indignation, lost their fire and assumed their normal expression of calm and relentless tyranny; her lips were pressed together in a grim smile of satisfaction; the red flag of agitated displeasure disappeared from her cheeks. Mr. Chidden’s brain entertained the astounding idea that his sister Maria was actually pleased by the information that he was to marry Gretta Sturcke!
“What... what is it?” he faltered at last. “What’s the matter?”
“Matter? Nothing!” Miss Chidden chuckled. “So she got you, did she? I suppose she thinks I’ll make a fool of myself. Well, I won’t. What I’ve got, I’ll keep. Though, to be sure, I shan’t be sorry to have you around the shop; goodness knows you’re no account here. And it’ll save me Leo’s wages, as soon as you learn to do the work.”
These words were Greek to Mr. Chidden, but he felt somehow that they were ominous. Why should his sister Maria pay Leo’s wages? Why— He felt himself grow pale as a horrible thought entered his mind. Could it be possible? Could fate play him so dastardly a trick?
“Maria,” he stammered, “what do you mean?”
Again Miss Chidden chuckled.
“Ask Gretta Sturcke,” she advised sardonically. “Ask her why she wants a little spindle-legged thing like you for a husband. Lord knows she didn’t have much luck with the first one. If it hadn’t been for me stepping in when he died and paying eight hundred dollars for a business that wasn’t worth a cent more than seven hundred and fifty, she’d have found herself without a roof over her head. And besides that, I gave her a job to live on. Ain’t I been payin’ her twelve dollars a week just to look after the place? Lord knows it ain’t made me rich, but I haven’t lost anything, and with you there, Robert, to watch things, and me to watch you, I guess it won’t be so bad. Only I have to laugh at Gretta Sturcke. I suppose she thought I’d give you the shop for a wedding present. Humph!”
Mr. Chidden gasped, tottered, and sank into a chair.
“Maria,” he said weakly, “do you mean to say that tailor shop is yours?”
“I do,” answered Miss Chidden dryly. “Can’t you understand plain English? Romance! Huh! You’re a fine subject for romance, you are! Go on out and beat them rugs.”