Jack and Susan in 1913 by Michael McDowell Read Free Book Online

euphemistic green-room tattle—for on lower First Avenue was a cluster of pawnshops. She’d been out so little lately that she was happy for even so melancholy an errand as this.
    But Tripod looked so forlorn as she was pulling on her cape that Susan relented. “All right, you can go too.”
    The animal struggled out from underneath the table where he’d crept, and flung himself through the air at Susan in his happiness.
    He dashed against her, nearly knocking her over, and when he came away, she saw that he had a small pink envelope in his mouth.
    Susan looked at it a moment in perplexity, and then realized that the envelope must have been protruding from the pocket of her cape, which had been hanging on the back of the door.
    The pink envelope smelled half of Tripod, and half of a perfume of violets.
    Inside were five one-hundred-dollar treasury notes.

CHAPTER SIX
    M Y DEAR MISS Bright,
    I know that I am acting directly contrary to your wishes in writing to you once more, but I wanted to tell you that you would never hear from me again. Having found Chicago a congenial city in every respect, I have decided to settle here. I do not anticipate any return to New York.
    My memory of the inadvertent injury done to you still makes me quake in mortification and remorse. And even though you have refused to accept any recompense whatever from me so that I might atone, in some small measure, for your discomfort—physical and mental—I am taking the liberty of enclosing a sum of cash. There is no way for you to return this money, as I have refrained from giving you my address. My account in Wall Street has been closed. If you still do not wish to have even this much reminder of our unfortunate encounter, I beg you to give the money to some worthy charity.
    In painful regret, Miss Bright,
    Of What Might Have Been,
    I remain,
    Most Sincerely,
    Your Humble Servant,
    Jay Austin
    Tripod jumped into Susan’s arms, and together they danced happily about the room—until they were interrupted by a loud thumping sound from below.
    Susan suddenly remembered Mr. Beaumont. He was evidently knocking against his ceiling with the handle of the broom or some other such object.
    She immediately stopped dancing, but her excitement still sought release. She threw open the window, pushed her face into the cold air, and produced one brief, loud, happy scream. Then she leaned farther out and craned to see as much of the city as she could. This was precious little—a bit of the street, a slice of river, the tops of a few trees, and a great deal of wall. But brilliant February sunshine beamed down upon everything, and New York seemed a brighter, cleaner, and more promising place than it had seemed in weeks.

    Mrs. McCalken arrived shortly after noon, and never had Susan counted out money as happily as she did then. To have paid her rent and still be possessed of four hundred ninety-nine dollars and sixty-three cents seemed more riches than any mortal deserved.
    Except of course that it wasn’t hers; she had no right to it, and conscience demanded that she return it as quickly as possible. She would be penniless again, but under no circumstances could she keep the money.
    The appearance of the envelope in the pocket of her cape had at first seemed a mystery. But it quickly became apparent to Susan that Ida Conquest had left it there on her visit the day before.
    Jay Austin would have known Ida, from He and She , gotten in touch with her and persuaded her to assist him in this deed.
    The quickest way to find Jay Austin, and return his money, was through Ida, who made it a point to keep track of rich young men.
    Adjuring Tripod to remain inside, Susan took one of her crutches and hobbled down to the telephone on the third-floor landing. She lifted the receiver and asked to be connected with the Cosmic Film Company.
    The Fenwick Apartments’ telephone was on a private exchange servicing that portion of the city west