Oh, Money! Money! | Page 8

a close-cropped, sandy beard,
and an air of diffidence and apology. As he took off his hat and came
nearer, it was seen that his eyes were blue and friendly, and that his hair
was reddish-brown, and rather scanty on top of his head.
"I am looking for Mr. Blaisdell--Mr. James Blaisdell," he murmured
hesitatingly.
Something in the stranger's deferential manner sent a warm glow of
importance to the woman's heart. Mrs. Blaisdell was suddenly
reminded that she was Mrs. James D. Blaisdell of the West Side.
"I am Mrs. Blaisdell," she replied a bit pompously. "What can we do
for you, my good man?" She swelled again, half unconsciously. She
had never called a person "my good man" before. She rather liked the
experience.
The man on the steps coughed slightly behind his hand--a sudden
spasmodic little cough. Then very gravely he reached into his pocket
and produced a letter.
"From Mr. Robert Chalmers--a note to your husband," he bowed,
presenting the letter.
A look of gratified surprise came into the woman's face.
"Mr. Robert Chalmers, of the First National? Jim!" She turned to her
husband joyously. "Here's a note from Mr. Chalmers. Quick--read it!"
Her husband, already on his feet, whisked the sheet of paper from the
unsealed envelope, and adjusted his glasses. A moment later he held
out a cordial hand to the stranger.
"Ah, Mr. Smith, I'm glad to see you. I'm glad to see any friend of Bob
Chalmers'. Come up and sit down. My wife and children, and my sister,
Miss Blaisdell. Mr. Smith, ladies--Mr. John Smith." (Glancing at the
open note in his hand.) "He is sent to us by Mr. Chalmers, of the First
National."

"Yes, thank you. Mr. Chalmers was so kind." Still with that deference
so delightfully heart-warming, the newcomer bowed low to the ladies,
and made his way to the offered chair. "I will explain at once my
business," he said then. "I am a genealogist."
"What's that?" It was an eager question from Benny on the veranda
railing. "Pa isn't anything, but ma's a Congregationalist."
"Hush, child!" protested a duet of feminine voices softly; but the
stranger, apparently ignoring the interruption, continued speaking.
"I am gathering material for a book on the Blaisdell family."
"The Blaisdell family!" repeated Mr. James Blaisdell, with cordial
interest.
"Yes," bowed the other. "It is my purpose to remain some time in your
town. I am told there are valuable records here, and an old burying-
ground of particular interest in this connection. The neighboring towns,
too, have much Blaisdell data, I understand. As I said, I am intending to
make this place my headquarters, and I am looking for an attractive
boarding-place. Mr. Chalmers was good enough to refer me to you."
"To us--for a BOARDING-place!" There was an unmistakable frown
on Mrs. James D. Blaisdell's countenance as she said the words. "Well,
I'm sure I don't see why he should. WE don't keep boarders!"
"But, Hattie, we could," interposed her husband eagerly. "There's that
big front room that we don't need a bit. And it would help a lot if--" At
the wrathful warning in his wife's eyes he fell back silenced.
"I said that we didn't keep boarders," reiterated the lady distinctly.
"Furthermore, we do need the room ourselves."
"Yes, yes, of course; I understand," broke in Mr. Smith, as if in hasty
conciliation. "I think Mr. Chalmers meant that perhaps one of you"--he
glanced uncertainly at the anxious-eyed little woman at his
left--"might--er--accommodate me. Perhaps you, now--" He turned his

eyes full upon Miss Flora Blaisdell, and waited.
The little dressmaker blushed painfully.
"Me? Oh, mercy, no! Why, I live all alone--that is, I mean, I couldn't,
you know," she stammered confusedly. "I dressmake, and I don't get
any sort of meals--not fit for a man, I mean. Just women's things--tea,
toast, and riz biscuit. I'm so fond of riz biscuit! But, of course, you--"
She came to an expressive pause.
"Oh, I could stand the biscuit, so long as they're not health biscuit,"
laughed Mr. Smith genially. "You see, I've been living on those and hot
water quite long enough as it is."
"Oh, ain't your health good, sir?" The little dressmaker's face wore the
deepest concern.
"Well, it's better than it was, thank you. I think I can promise to be a
good boarder, all right."
"Why don't you go to a hotel?" Mrs. James D. Blaisdell still spoke with
a slightly injured air.
Mr. Smith lifted a deprecatory hand.
"Oh, indeed, that would not do at all--for my purpose," he murmured.
"I wish to be very quiet. I fear I should find it quite disturbing-- the
noise and confusion of a public place like that. Besides, for my work, it
seemed eminently fitting, as well as remarkably convenient,