The reigning belle

That morning, a woman, rather young but meanly clad, and appearing miserably over-worked, came into Mrs. Lambert’s kitchen. She was conducted to the laundry by the cook, whose department had fallen so woefully behind hand in the way of table-linen, that she considered a little outside help necessary. The woman who was usually called upon, when such occasions arose, happened to be ill, and had sent this haggard young person, who lived in the same tenement house, as a substitute. The laundry in which her work lay was a little dark, and for that reason the door leading into the kitchen was left partly open.

During the morning a young man came in, carrying a basket of groceries, and, while the cook was heaping the different articles on a table, the two fell into conversation.

When the washerwoman’s eyes fell on this young man, she stopped work, and the napkin she was rubbing rolled down the wash-board into the suds, while she held on to a side of the tub with each hand, looking keenly through the door, herself quite unseen.

“I had to do it myself this morning,” said the youth, addressing the cook, “because our boy’s been and got took up for helping to rob the concern.”

“Not that pretty, dark-eyed little fellow that comes here generally of late,” said the cook, with something like regret in her voice.

“Yes, just him; and no mistake about that. He was took to the Tombs last night.”

“You don’t say so! What did he take?”

“Money, and lots on lots of groceries—tea worth its weight in gold; lots of things.”

“But what could he do with them?”

“Well, it’s all out now, and I don’t mind your knowing about it. The boy’s mother is a sly old party, poor as a wharf-rat, and, oh my, how crafty! She sot the boy on, and hid the things for him in the wood-house. The detective found them there. Now, tell me, do you want any better proof than that?”

“Then they found the things on the premises?”

“That’s just what they did, and this morning the old woman was walked off by a policeman. I saw her go.”

“Well, I’m awful sorry for the boy,” said the good-natured cook; “he seemed such a nice little shaver. Them eyes didn’t look dishonest; but there is no knowing who to trust these times.”

“Exactly! Shouldn’t wonder if some one was to suspect me, one of these days. The more innercent a feller looks, the more suspicious, say I. But, tell me, is Mr. Mahone about? I’d just like to speak a word with him, if you’ll be kind enough to look him up.”

The cook laid a paper parcel on the table, and good-naturedly went in search of Mr. Mahone, observing,

“He’s more than likely in the servants’ parlor, with Ellen Post. Now you’ve told me some news that’ll give me a fit of mournfulness all day long, so I’ll just rertalerate, and tell you something worth while. Mr. Mahone and Ellen Post are engaged. They’re going to be married right out of hand. She’s going to open a first-class boarding-house, and he——Well, I suppose he’ll do like the rest of ’em, and keep up the marketing.”

A clothes-horse, full of snow-white linen, stood near the door where these two persons were talking. The woman at the wash-tub, who had become strangely interested, as the conversation went on, stole softly behind this screen, and stood close to the wall, not three feet from the cook and her companion. She heard all that they were saying, and the last sentence brought a flash of fire to her dark eyes. Why she could not herself have told, for she knew of no person named Mahone, and she had never heard of Ellen Post in her life. Still the fire was in her eyes, and a sharp throb of nameless suspicion in her heart.

For a moment the young man Boyce was silent, then a low shrill whistle broke from him.

“So, that’s his little game, is it! Well, all right. Just say that I’m here and a waiting to speak with him. I’ll stay here.”

The cook having disposed of her groceries, gave the empty basket to Boyce, and went into the servants’ parlor.

Directly the footman came out, looking flushed and anxious.

“Is it you, Boyce?” he said, pausing close to the laundry-door, and peering in to be sure the room was empty. “Just step inside here, and be quick; you and I must not be seen together much just now. Well, what is it? Speak low!”

“The old woman, Mrs. Laurence, was arrested this morning.”

“All right! But how do you know?”

“I stood in the store, and saw the man go that way; you know the house is in full sight. By just stepping under the awning I can see the vines on the porch, and that crowd of flowers in front.”

“Does Mrs. Smith know yet?”

“Yes. She’s just found it out, and pitched into her husband awful. He’s satisfied, and won’t give way an inch. But isn’t she on the rampage! The worst of it is, I’ve got to go before the justice, and I tell you it’s unpleasant.”

“Yes; but you are in for it, and must go through. Anything else?”

“Yes; something that the cook told me. Tell me, old fellow, have you put your foot in it to the extent of saddling yourself with another sweetheart. She talks of your being engaged, of a wedding, and so forth. How much of this is true?”

The footman drew Boyce farther into the room, and shut the door.

“I say Boyce, if I was to marry a woman, with more than five hundred dollars laid up from wages, and five thousand a pretty sure thing, would you stand by me?”

“Through thick and thin; so long as we shared!” answered Boyce, holding out his hand, and working his long fingers like the claws of a bird.

“Of course, I should be liberal. Brothers are brothers, you know.”

“Yes, and don’t they grind one another down? Oh, no, never! It isn’t in the natur of one to do nothing, and take all he can grip at. He never lets any one take risks of the law for him. Oh, no!”

“But you will run no risk when I marry Ellen Post. The law comes on me there.”

“Exactly. But I come between you and the law, having seen you married to that other woman, and knowing just where she’s to be found any minute!”

“Well, well, you will not be unreasonable?”

“Oh, no! But won’t she cut up rusty?”

“How is she to find out? What does Mary Boyce know about Robert Mahone? Why, she don’t know who I am living with. In fact, thinks I’m tending bar in some place where women never come; generally out of business though, or I shouldn’t get a share of her earnings.”

“And you mean to do it, anyhow?”

“Yes. I’ve made up my mind. Such a pile of money don’t tumble in upon a fellow without some risk; so I’ll stand the racket, especially as Ellen Post is a splendid cretur.”

“Handsomer than Mary?”

“No comparison; but you’ve seen her. She was out here the other day.”

“What! That woman with the cap and ribbons? You don’t say so; golly! here she comes, and I’m off. Don’t want to be introduced to my new sister-in-law just yet. She might put on airs.”

With these words Boyce stepped into the kitchen, took up his basket, and left the house.