The Brass Bowl | Page 2

that was to be his. He rose, negligently shaking off his duster, and
stepped down to the sidewalk.
Somebody in the car called a warning after him, and turning for a
moment he stood at attention, an eyebrow raised quizzically, cigarette

drooping from a corner of his mouth, hat pushed back from his
forehead, hands in coat pockets: a tall, slender, sparely-built figure of a
man, clothed immaculately in flannels.
When at length he was able to make himself heard, "Good enough," he
said clearly, though without raising his voice. "Sherry's in an hour.
Right. Now, behave yourselves."
"Mind you show up on time!"
"Never fear," returned Maitland over his shoulder.
A witticism was flung back at him from the retreating car, but spent
itself unregarded. Maitland's attention was temporarily distracted by the
unusual--to say the least--sight of a young and attractive woman
coming out of a home for confirmed bachelors.
The apartment house happened to be his own property. A substantial
and old-fashioned edifice, situated in the middle of a quiet block, it
contained but five roomy and comfortable suites, --in other words, one
to a floor; and these were without exception tenanted by unmarried men
of Maitland's own circle and acquaintance. The janitor, himself a
widower and a convinced misogynist, lived alone in the basement.
Barring very special and exceptional occasions (as when one of the
bachelors felt called upon to give a tea in partial recognition of social
obligations), the foot of woman never crossed its threshold.
In this circumstance, indeed, was comprised the singular charm the
house had for its occupants. The quality which insured them privacy
and a quiet independence rendered them oblivious to its many minor
drawbacks, its lack of many conveniences and luxuries which have of
late grown to be so commonly regarded as necessities. It boasted, for
instance, no garage; no refrigerating system maddened those dependent
upon it; a dissipated electric lighting system never went out of nights,
because it had never been installed; no brass-bound hall-boy lounged in
desuetude upon the stoop and took too intimate and personal an interest
in the tenants' correspondence. The inhabitants, in brief, were free to
come and go according to the dictates of their consciences,
unsupervised by neighborly women-folk, unhindered by a parasitic
corps of menials not in their personal employ.
Wherefore was Maitland astonished, and the more so because of the
season. At any other season of the year he would readily have
accounted for the phenomenon that now fell under his observation, on

the hypothesis that the woman was somebody's sister or cousin or aunt.
But at present that explanation was untenable; Maitland happened to
know that not one of the other men was in New York, barring himself;
and his own presence there was a thing entirely unforeseen.
Still incredulous, he mentally conned the list: Barnes, who occupied the
first flat, was traveling on the Continent; Conkling, of the third, had left
a fortnight since to join a yachting party on the Mediterranean;
Bannister and Wilkes, of the fourth and fifth floors, respectively, were
in Newport and Buenos Aires.
"Odd!" concluded Maitland.
So it was. She had just closed the door, one thought; and now stood
poised as if in momentary indecision on the low stoop, glancing toward
Fifth Avenue the while she fumbled with a refractory button at the
wrist of a long white kid glove. Blurred though it was by the darkling
twilight and a thin veil, her face yet conveyed an impression of
prettiness: an impression enhanced by careful grooming. From her hat,
a small affair, something green, with a superstructure of grey ostrich
feathers, to the tips of her russet shoes,--including a walking skirt and
bolero of shimmering grey silk,--she was distinctly "smart" and
interesting.
He had keenly observant eyes, had Maitland, for all his detached pose;
you are to understand that he comprehended all these points in the
flickering of an instant. For the incident was over in two seconds. In
one the lady's hesitation was resolved; in another she had passed down
the steps and swept by Maitland without giving him a glance, without
even the trembling of an eyelash. And he had a view of her back as she
moved swiftly away toward the Avenue.
Perplexed, he lingered upon the stoop until she had turned the corner;
after which he let himself in with a latch-key, and, dismissing the affair
temporarily from his thoughts, or pretending to do so, ascended the
single flight of stairs to his flat.
Simultaneously heavy feet were to be heard clumping up the basement
steps; and surmising that the janitor was coming to light the hall, the
young man waited, leaning over the balusters. His guess proving
correct, he called down:
"O'Hagan? Is that you?"
"Th' saints presarve us! But 'twas yersilf