Finally, the sign “Boarding Here” caught his eye. He went into the yard and knocked at the door. A plump German girl opened it, and, to his question as to accommodation, replied that she would see her mistress. He was ushered into a little parlour that boasted some shabby attempts at finery, and was soon joined by a woman whom he took to be the “lady of the house.”
Yes, Mrs. Jones took boarders. Would he want room and board? Terms five dollars per week. Had he work in the city? No? Well, from gentlemen who were out of work she always had her money in advance. But would he see his room first?
Wondering much at Mrs. Jones’s strange business arrangement, Brent allowed her to conduct him to a room on the second floor, which looked out on the noisy street. It was not a palatial place by any means, but was not uncomfortable save for the heat, which might be expected anywhere on such a day. He was tired and wanted rest, so he engaged the place and paid the woman then and there.
“You just come off the train, I see. Will you have luncheon at once, Mr.—?”
“Brent,” said he. “Yes, I will have some luncheon, if you please.”
“Do you take beer with your luncheon?”
“No-o,” he said, hesitating; and yet why should he not take beer? Everybody else did, even the children. Then he blushed as he thought of what his aunt Hester would think of his even hesitating over the question. She would have shot out a “no” as if it were an insult to be asked. So without beer he ate his luncheon and lay down to rest for the afternoon. When one has travelled little, even a short journey is fatiguing.
In the evening Brent met some of the other boarders at supper; there were not many. They were principally clerks in shops or under-bookkeepers. One genial young fellow struck up a conversation with Fred, and became quite friendly during the evening.
“I guess you will go out to the ‘Zoo’ tomorrow, won’t you? That is about the first place that visitors usually strike for when they come here.”
“I thought of getting a general idea of the city first, so that I could go round better before going farther out.”
“Oh, you won’t have any trouble in getting around. Just ask folks, and they will direct you anywhere.”
“But everybody seems to be in a hurry; and by the time I open my mouth to ask them, they have passed me.”
The young clerk, Mr. Perkins by name, thought this was a great joke and laughed long and loudly at it.
“I wish to gracious I could go around with you. I have been so busy ever since I have been here that I have never seen any of the show sights myself. But I tell you what I will do: I can steer you around some on Thursday night. That is my night off, and then I will show you some sights that are sights.” The young man chuckled as he got his hat and prepared to return to the shop. Brent thanked him in a way that sounded heavy and stilted even to his own ears after the other’s light pleasantry.
“And another thing,” said Perkins, “we will go to see the baseball game on Sunday, Clevelands and the Reds—great game, you know.” It was well that Mr. Perkins was halfway out of the door before he finished his sentence, for there was no telling what effect upon him the flush which mounted to Brent’s face and the horror in his eyes would have had.
Go to a baseball game on Sunday! What would his people think of such a thing? How would he himself feel there—he, notwithstanding his renunciation of office, a minister of the gospel? He hastened to his room, where he could be alone and think. The city indeed was full of temptations to the young! And yet he knew he would be ashamed to tell his convictions to Perkins, or to explain his horror at the proposition. Again there came to him, as there had come many times before, the realisation that he was out of accord with his fellows. He was not in step with the procession. He had been warped away from the parallel of everyday, ordinary humanity. In order to still the tumult in his breast, he took his hat and wandered out upon the street. He wanted to see people, to come into contact with them and so rub off some of the strangeness in which their characters appeared to him.
The streets were all alight and alive with bustle. Here a fakir with loud voice and marketplace eloquence was vending his shoddy wares; there a drunkard reeled or was kicked from the door of a saloon, whose noiselessly swinging portals closed for an instant only to be reopened to admit another victim, who ere long would be treated likewise. A quartet of young negroes were singing on the pavement in front of a house as he passed and catching the few pennies and nickels that were flung to them from the door. A young girl smiled and beckoned to him from a window, and another who passed laughed saucily up into his face and cried, “Ah, there!” Everywhere was the inevitable pail flashing to and fro. Sickened, disgusted, thrown back upon himself, Brent turned his steps homeward again. Was this the humanity he wanted to know? Was this the evil which he wanted to have a go with? Was Aunt Hester, after all, in the right, and was her way the best? His heart
