The House | Page 7

by a determination to do
Now or to perish in the attempt, Alice had sallied forth in quest of the
precious game. She had gone directly to the owner, had subtly
ingratiated herself in the confidence of Mrs. Schmittheimer, and, in less
than fifteen minutes' time, had made terms with that amiable woman.
And such terms! My head fairly swims when I think of it.
Mrs. Schmittheimer is a widow. Since her husband's demise two years
ago come next September, she has lived in comparative solitude in the
old home. She was not wholly alone, for with characteristic Teutonic
thrift she had rented the lower part of the house to a small family,
consisting of a mechanic, his wife, their baby, and a small dog. Mrs.
Schmittheimer herself lived and moved and had her being in the second
story, doing her own cooking and other housework, her only
companion being her faithful omnipresent cat, the sex of which (I state
this for a reason which will hereinafter transpire) was feminine.
Although the good Mrs. Schmittheimer was not unfrequently visited by
female compatriots who condoled with her and drank her coffee and ate
her kuchen, after the fashion of sympathetic, suffering womanhood, she
wearied of this loneliness; she was, in fact, as anxious to get away from
the old place as Alice and I were to get into it.
So Alice and Mrs. Schmittheimer had little trouble in coming to an
understanding mutually agreeable. The late Mr. Schmittheimer had
always demanded the round sum of ten thousand dollars for the

property under discussion, but the prevalence of hard times and the
persuasive eloquence of my dear diplomatic Alice induced the late Mr.
Schmittheimer's relict to consent to a reduction of the price to nine
thousand five hundred dollars, "one thousand dollars in cash and the
balance in five years at six per cent. interest, payable semi-annually."
"You see," said Alice to me, "that we practically get the place for five
years by simply paying rent. We pay one thousand dollars down and
fifty dollars a month interest. In five years there are sixty months. and
in that time we shall have paid for this place four thousand dollars,
which is but four hundred dollars more than we should have to pay if
we remained in the house we are now living in at sixty dollars a month
rental! You see, I have figured it all out, and figures can't lie!"
You will agree with me when I tell you right here that my wife Alice is
a superior woman.
"Now we must be very careful," said Alice, "not to breathe a word
about this to anybody until all the papers have been signed and the
property has been transferred."
I suggested that in so serious a proceeding it might be wise to have the
counsel of the more intimate of our neighbors; the Baylors, the Rushes
and the Tiltmans had had experience in such matters, and might be of
important service to us in this particular undertaking.
"No," said Alice, "we must guard against every possibility of failure.
Our plan might leak out and reach the ears of the real-estate dealers,
and then we should be hopelessly lost. Our neighbors mean well, but
they are human. No, the only people I shall consult are the Denslows."
I saw at once the wisdom of this determination. The Denslows are most
estimable folk and I admire and love them. Mrs. Denslow is of an
exceptionally warm, generous, and liberal nature, while, upon the other
hand, Mr. Denslow has the reputation of being the most cautious
business man in our city; the consequence is that in the administration
of affairs in the Denslow household you meet with that conservative
happy medium which is beautiful to contemplate. Alice was right; our

precious secret would be secure with the Denslows. In fact the
Denslows would be of distinct help to us in the vast enterprise in which
we had embarked. Mrs. Denslow would be prepared at all times to
provide sympathy and enthusiasm, and Mr. Denslow would be
constituted at once absolute engineer and watchdog of the business
details of the affair.
But--I make the confession amid blushes--I cannot prevaricate, neither
can I dissemble. Alice knew the guilelessness and singleness of my
nature, and she should not have imposed that dreadful oath of secrecy
upon me. I would not for all the wealth of the Indies live over again the
awful four hours which followed my solemn promise to Alice not to
reveal the blissful tidings that we had bought the old Schmittheimer
place! I felt as if I had committed a crime; I was as a haunted man must
be. I dared not look my neighbors in the face lest they should read the
sweet truth in