Bangladeshi-Bengali.Com: Online Story. The Nice People.

"A good deal like looking at humanity," he said; "there is such a

thing as getting so far above our fellow men that we see only one side

of them."

Ah, how much better was this sort of talk than the chatter and gossip

of the Tabb and the Hoogencamp--than the Major's dissertations upon

his everlasting circulars! My wife and I exchanged glances.

"Now, when I went up the Matterhorn" Mr. Brede began.

"Why, dear," interrupted his wife, "I didn't know you ever went up the

Matterhorn."

"It--it was five years ago," said Mr. Brede, hurriedly. "I--I didn't

tell you--when I was on the other side, you know--it was rather

dangerous--well, as I was saying--it looked--oh, it didn't look at all

like this."

A cloud floated overhead, throwing its great shadow over the field

where we lay. The shadow passed over the mountain's brow and

reappeared far below, a rapidly decreasing blot, flying eastward over

the golden green. My wife and I exchanged glances once more.

Somehow, the shadow lingered over us all. As we went home, the Bredes

went side by side along the narrow path, and my wife and I walked

together.

"_Should you think_," she asked me, "that a man would climb the

Matterhorn the very first year he was married?"

"I don't know, my dear," I answered, evasively; "this isn't the first

year I have been married, not by a good many, and I wouldn't climb

it--for a farm."

"You know what I mean," she said.

I did.

* * * * *

When we reached the boarding-house, Mr. Jacobus took me aside.

"You know," he began his discourse, "my wife she uset to live in N'

York!"

I didn't know, but I said "Yes."

"She says the numbers on the streets runs criss-cross-like.

Thirty-four's on one side o' the street an' thirty-five on t'other.

How's that?"

"That is the invariable rule, I believe."

"Then--I say--these here new folk that you 'n' your wife seem so

mighty taken up with--d'ye know anything about 'em?"

"I know nothing about the character of your boarders, Mr. Jacobus," I

replied, conscious of some irritability. "If I choose to associate

with any of them----"

"Jess so--jess so!" broke in Jacobus. "I hain't nothin' to say ag'inst

yer sosherbil'ty. But do ye _know_ them?"

"Why, certainly not," I replied.

"Well--that was all I wuz askin' ye. Ye see, when _he_ come here to

take the rooms--you wasn't here then--he told my wife that he lived at

number thirty-four in his street. An' yistiddy _she_ told her that

they lived at number thirty-five. He said he lived in an

apartment-house. Now there can't be no apartment-house on two sides of

the same street, kin they?"

"What street was it?" I inquired, wearily.

"Hundred 'n' twenty-first street."

"May be," I replied, still more wearily. "That's Harlem. Nobody knows

what people will do in Harlem."

I went up to my wife's room.

"Don't you think it's queer?" she asked me.

"I think I'll have a talk with that young man to-night," I said, "and

see if he can give some account of himself."

"But, my dear," my wife said, gravely, "_she_ doesn't know whether

they've had the measles or not."

"Why, Great Scott!" I exclaimed, "they must have had them when they

were children."

"Please don't be stupid," said my wife. "I meant _their_ children."

After dinner that night--or rather, after supper, for we had dinner in

the middle of the day at Jacobus's--I walked down the long verandah to

ask Brede, who was placidly smoking at the other end, to accompany me

on a twilight stroll. Half way down I met Major Halkit.

"That friend of yours," he said, indicating the unconscious figure at

the further end of the house, "seems to be a queer sort of a Dick. He

told me that he was out of business, and just looking round for a

chance to invest his capital. And I've been telling him what an

everlasting big show he had to take stock in the Capitoline Trust

Company--starts next month--four million capital--I told you all about

it. 'Oh, well,' he says, 'let's wait and think about it.' 'Wait!' says

I, 'the Capitoline Trust Company won't wait for _you_, my boy. This is

letting you in on the ground floor,' says I, 'and it's now or never.'

'Oh, let it wait,' says he. I don't know what's in-_to_ the man."

"I don't know how well he knows his own business, Major," I said as I

started again for Brede's end of the veranda. But I was troubled none

the less. The Major could not have influenced the sale of one share of

stock in the Capitoline Company. But that stock was a great

investment; a rare chance for a purchaser with a few thousand dollars.

Perhaps it was no more remarkable that Brede should not invest than

that I should not--and yet, it seemed to add one circumstance more to

the other suspicious circumstances.