Passing of the Third Floor Back | Page 4

"Dunno," admitted Mary Jane. But still she went on smiling.
"What's he like then?" demanded Mrs. Pennycherry.
"'E ain't the usual sort," was Mary Jane's opinion.
"Thank God for that," ejaculated Mrs. Pennycherry piously.
"Says 'e's been recommended, by a friend."
"By whom?"
"By a friend. 'E didn't say no name." Mrs. Pennycherry pondered. "He's
not the funny sort, is he?"
Not that sort at all. Mary Jane was sure of it.
Mrs. Pennycherry ascended the stairs still pondering. As she entered
the room the stranger rose and bowed. Nothing could have been
simpler than the stranger's bow, yet there came with it to Mrs.
Pennycherry a rush of old sensations long forgotten. For one brief
moment Mrs. Pennycherry saw herself an amiable well-bred lady,
widow of a solicitor: a visitor had called to see her. It was but a
momentary fancy. The next instant Reality reasserted itself. Mrs.
Pennycherry, a lodging-house keeper, existing precariously upon a
daily round of petty meannesses, was prepared for contest with a
possible new boarder, who fortunately looked an inexperienced young
gentleman.
"Someone has recommended me to you," began Mrs. Pennycherry;

"may I ask who?"
But the stranger waved the question aside as immaterial.
"You might not remember--him," he smiled. "He thought that I should
do well to pass the few months I am given--that I have to be in London,
here. You can take me in?"
Mrs. Pennycherry thought that she would be able to take the stranger
in.
"A room to sleep in," explained the stranger, "--any room will do--with
food and drink sufficient for a man, is all that I require."
"For breakfast," began Mrs. Pennycherry, "I always give--"
"What is right and proper, I am convinced," interrupted the stranger.
"Pray do not trouble to go into detail, Mrs. Pennycherry. With whatever
it is I shall be content."
Mrs. Pennycherry, puzzled, shot a quick glance at the stranger, but his
face, though the gentle eyes were smiling, was frank and serious.
"At all events you will see the room," suggested Mrs. Pennycherry,
"before we discuss terms."
"Certainly," agreed the stranger. "I am a little tired and shall be glad to
rest there."
Mrs. Pennycherry led the way upward; on the landing of the third floor,
paused a moment undecided, then opened the door of the back
bedroom.
"It is very comfortable," commented the stranger.
"For this room," stated Mrs. Pennycherry, "together with full board,
consisting of--"
"Of everything needful. It goes without saying," again interrupted the
stranger with his quiet grave smile.
"I have generally asked," continued Mrs. Pennycherry, "four pounds a
week. To you--" Mrs. Pennycherry's voice, unknown to her, took to
itself the note of aggressive generosity--"seeing you have been
recommended here, say three pounds ten."
"Dear lady," said the stranger, "that is kind of you. As you have divined,
I am not a rich man. If it be not imposing upon you I accept your
reduction with gratitude."
Again Mrs. Pennycherry, familiar with the satirical method, shot a
suspicious glance upon the stranger, but not a line was there, upon that
smooth fair face, to which a sneer could for a moment have clung.

Clearly he was as simple as he looked.
"Gas, of course, extra."
"Of course," agreed the Stranger.
"Coals--"
"We shall not quarrel," for a third time the stranger interrupted. "You
have been very considerate to me as it is. I feel, Mrs. Pennycherry, I
can leave myself entirely in your hands."
The stranger appeared anxious to be alone. Mrs. Pennycherry, having
put a match to the stranger's fire, turned to depart. And at this point it
was that Mrs. Pennycherry, the holder hitherto of an unbroken record
for sanity, behaved in a manner she herself, five minutes earlier in her
career, would have deemed impossible--that no living soul who had
ever known her would have believed, even had Mrs. Pennycherry gone
down upon her knees and sworn it to them.
"Did I say three pound ten?" demanded Mrs. Pennycherry of the
stranger, her hand upon the door. She spoke crossly. She was feeling
cross, with the stranger, with herself--particularly with herself.
"You were kind enough to reduce it to that amount," replied the
stranger; "but if upon reflection you find yourself unable--"
"I was making a mistake," said Mrs. Pennycherry, "it should have been
two pound ten."
"I cannot--I will not accept such sacrifice," exclaimed the stranger; "the
three pound ten I can well afford."
"Two pound ten are my terms," snapped Mrs. Pennycherry. "If you are
bent on paying more, you can go elsewhere. You'll find plenty to oblige
you."
Her vehemence must have impressed the stranger. "We will not
contend further," he smiled. "I was merely afraid that in the goodness
of your heart--"
"Oh, it isn't as good as all that," growled Mrs.