The Shadow Portrait by Gilbert Morris Read Free Book Online Page A

going to be pretty pricey,” Grebb advised him. “I can take you to some cheaper parts of town if you like.”
    For a moment Phil hesitated, then he said, “I guess that might be a good idea.”
    “I could take you over to the Seventh Ward down on the East River. It ain’t fancy, but I make out there,” Grebb said.
    “I think that’ll suit me fine.”
    The next hour was a revelation to Phil. He had seen poverty in Europe, but what he saw in the deteriorated tenement house section of the Seventh Ward was frightening. He listened as Grebb informed him of how the tenements were built.
    “The fronts of these houses, you see, were pretty nice at one time, but the rich folks moved away. Families comin’ in from Italy and Germany had to have some place, so they took these big, fancy houses and divided them up into little apartments—lots of apartments. And then behind them, where the yards were, they added other buildings, so that the people in the back don’t have no yard or nothin’. Sometimes just an air shaft between buildings. So many people crowded in here that the whole place got run down real fast. It’s pretty rough, Phil.”
    Phil cringed at the thought of families living in such cramped, squalid conditions. Finally, after they’d driven around some more, Phil found a neighborhood he thought looked more inviting down on Nassau Street. He figured it was at least two miles back north to the art institute, but he was healthy and strong and knew the exercise would do him good. Getting out of the cab, he handed Grebb one dollarand added two bits, saying, “You’ve been a big help, Harry. Thanks a lot.”
    “Watch out for these city slickers! They can skin a frog, and he won’t even know he’s been skinned.”
    Grinning at the tall man, Phil waved, then turned and began walking up the street, looking for “Room to Let” signs. Finally spotting a brownstone that looked more promising than some of the others, he climbed the steps and rang the doorbell. The landlady who opened the door was short and dumpy, with iron gray hair and a pair of sharp, dark eyes that took him in carefully and with obvious suspicion. But when he offered to pay in advance she grew more cheerful.
    “I’m Mrs. Brown,” she said. “I have to be a little bit careful. Not everybody who comes here is upright and honest. You never know who you can trust.”
    “I’ll try to behave myself, Mrs. Brown.”
    “Are you a Christian man, Mr. Winslow?”
    “Yes, I am.”
    “Well, that’s all right, then. I’d like to invite you to our church, Calvary Baptist. It’s very close.”
    “I’d be glad to come and visit,” Phil said at once. He followed her to the second floor, where she showed him the available space. It was actually a tiny apartment, with a sitting room and a bedroom. Both rooms were small, and only the sitting room had a window, covered with a dingy curtain. All the walls were a dirty light green, and the dull wood floor was covered with dark spots, as if it had not been cleaned for years. The furnishings were, Phil thought, basic: a broken-down brown couch, two high-backed chairs upholstered in a tattered chintz, a single heavy table holding an old brass lamp, a small pine bed, a bedside table whose marble top was cracked down the middle, and a tall chest of drawers with knobs missing.
    “The bath is right down the hall, Mr. Winslow. You’ll have to furnish your own towels, you understand.”
    “Yes, of course. Thank you, Mrs. Brown.”
    After the landlady had left, Phil opened his suitcase, unpacked his few belongings into the chest of drawers, and hung the one nice suit he had brought on a peg on the wall. He had shipped his art supplies, and they would not arrive for several days. He was not all that anxious to begin, anyway. He sat down on the bed and stared at his dingy surroundings. Well, here I am in New York. I wonder if I will fare any better here than in London or Paris. Pulling off his shoes, he stretched