Queed | Page 9

frost and freeze early last week, he came to me
one night and complained of the cold in his room. You know, Sharlee, I
do not rent that room as a sitting-room, nor do I expect to heat it, at the
low price, other than the heat from the halls. So I invited him to make
use of the dining-room in the evenings, which, as you know, with the
folding-doors drawn, and the yellow lamp lit, is converted to all intents
and purposes into a quiet and comfortable reading-room. Somewhat
grumblingly he went down. Fifi was there as usual, doing her algebra
by the lamp. The young man took not the smallest notice of her, and
presently when she coughed several times--the child's cold happened to
be bad that night--he looked up sharply and asked her please to stop.
Fifi said that she was afraid she couldn't help it. He replied that it was
impossible for him to work in the room with a noise of that sort, and
either the noise or he would have to vacate. So Fifi gathered up her
things and left. I found her, half an hour later, in her little bedroom,
which was ice-cold, coughing and crying over her sums, which she was
trying to work at the bureau. That was how I found out about it. The
child would never have said a word to me."
"How simply outrageous!" said the girl, and became silent and
thoughtful.

"Well, what do you think I'd better do, Sharlee?"
"I think you'd better let me waylay him in the hall after supper and tell
him that the time has come when he must either pay up or pack up."
"My dear! Can you well be as blunt as that?"
"Dear Aunt Jennie, as I view it, you are not running an eleemosynary
institution here?"
"Of course not," replied Aunt Jennie, who really did not know whether
she was or not.
Sharlee dropped into a chair and began manicuring her pretty little nails.
"The purpose of this establishment is to collect money from the
transient and resident public. Now you're not a bit good at collecting
money because you're so well-bred, but I'm not so awfully well-bred--"
"You are--"
"I'm bold--blunt--brazen! I'm forward. I'm resolute and grim. In short, I
belong to the younger generation which you despise so--"
"I don't despise you, you dear--"
"Come," said Sharlee, springing up; "let's go down. I'm wild to meet
Mr. Bylash again. Is he wearing the moleskin vest to-night, do you
know? I was fascinated by it the last time I was here. Aunt Jennie, what
is the name of this young man--the one I may be compelled to
bounce?"
"His name is Queed. Did you ever--?"
"Queed? Queed? Q-u-e-e-d?"
"An odd name, isn't it? There were no such people in my day."
"Probably after to-morrow there will be none such once more."

"Mr. Klinker has christened him the little Doctor--a hit at his
appearance and studious habits, you see--and even the servants have
taken it up."
"Aunt Jennie," said Sharlee at the door, "when you introduce the little
Doctor to me, refer to me as your business woman, won't you? Say
'This is my niece, Miss Weyland, who looks after my business affairs
for me,' or something like that, will you? It will explain to him why I, a
comparative stranger, show such an interest in his financial affairs."
Mrs. Paynter said, "Certainly, my dear," and they went down, the older
lady disappearing toward the dining-room. In the parlor Sharlee was
greeted cordially and somewhat respectfully. Major Brooke, who
appeared to have taken an extra toddy in honor of her coming, or for
any other reason why, flung aside his newspaper and seized both her
hands. Mr. Bylash, in the moleskin waistcoat, sure enough, bowed low
and referred to her agreeably as "stranger," nor did he again return to
Miss Miller's side on the sofa. That young lady was gay and giggling,
but watchful withal. When Sharlee was not looking, Miss Miller's eye,
rather hard now, roved over her ceaselessly from the point of her toe to
the top of her feather. What was the trick she had, the little way with
her, that so delightfully unlocked the gates of gentlemen's hearts?
At supper they were lively and gay. The butter and preserves were in
front of Sharlee, for her to help to; by her side sat Fifi, the young
daughter of the house. Major Brooke sat at the head of the table and
carved the Porterhouse, upon which when the eyes of William Klinker
fell, they irrepressibly shot forth gleams. At the Major's right sat his
wife, a pale, depressed, nervous woman, as anybody who had lived
thirty years with the gallant officer her husband had a right to