"I am sorry I startled you," he said quietly. "I was afraid to speak

suddenly, or move, for fear I would do--what I have done."

It was Mr. Harbison.

"I--I thought you were--it is very late," I managed to say, with dry

lips. "Do you know where the electric switch is?"

"Mrs. Wilson!" It was clear he had not known me before. "Why, no; don't

you?"

"I am all confused," I muttered, and beat a retreat into the dining

room. There, in the friendly light, we could at least see each other,

and I think he was as much impressed by the fact that I had not

undressed as I was by the fact that he HAD, partly. He wore a hideous

dressing gown of Jimmy's, much too small, and his hair, parted and

plastered down in the early evening, stood up in a sort of brown brush

all over his head. He was trying to flatten it with his hands.

"It must be three o'clock," he said, with polite surprise, "and the

house is like a barn. You ought not to be running around with your arms

uncovered, Mrs. Wilson. Surely you could have called some of us."

"I didn't wish to disturb any one," I said, with distinct truth.

"I suppose you are like me," he said. "The novelty of the situation--and

everything. I got to thinking things over, and then I realized the

studio was getting cold, so I thought I would come down and take a look

at the furnace. I didn't suppose any one else would think of it. But

I lost myself in that pantry, stumbled against a half-open drawer, and

nearly went down the dumb-waiter." And, as if in judgment on me, at

that instant came two rather terrific thumps from somewhere below,

and inarticulate words, shouted rather than spoken. It was uncanny, of

course, coming as it did through the register at our feet. Mr. Harbison

looked startled.

"Oh, by the way," I said, as carelessly as I could. "In the excitement,

I forgot to mention it. There is a policeman asleep in the furnace room.

I--I suppose we will have to keep him now," I finished as airily as

possible.

"Oh, a policeman--in the cellar," he repeated, staring at me, and he

moved toward the pantry door.

"You needn't go down," I said feverishly, with visions of Bella Knowles

sitting on the kitchen table, surrounded by soiled dishes and all the

cheerless aftermath of a dinner party. "Please don't go down. I--it's

one of my rules--never to let a stranger go down to the kitchen. I--I'm

peculiar--that way--and besides, it's--it's mussy."

Bang! Crash! through the register pipe, and some language quite

articulate. Then silence.

"Look here, Mrs. Wilson," he said resolutely. "What do I care about the

kitchen? I'm going down and arrest that policeman for disturbing the

peace. He will have the pipes down."




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