"What would you advise? Take a
cottage?"
"Take a cottage!" Mr. Chapman fairly gasped. "Are you a millionaire in
disguise? If you were, I don't believe you could get one. The swells
shut up theirs when they don't come, or let them to their friends. The
others are mostly taken year after year by the same people. No; I'll
tell you what you want--a bachelor's apartment. They are not so easy to
get either, but I happen to know of one. It was rented four years ago by
Jack Delancy, but he blew in most of his money, and then tried to
recuperate on cordage. The bottom fell out of that, and now goodness
knows where he is. At all events, his apartment is to let. Suppose we go
now and see it. There's no time to lose."
Andrew assented willingly, profoundly thankful that he had met Mr.
Chapman. The apartment was near the hotel. They found it still vacant,
furnished with a certain bold distinction. The rent was high, but Andrew
stifled the economic promptings of his nature, and manfully signed a
check. That night there was nothing to be seen in Newport, not even a
moon. The city was like a necropolis. Andrew gratefully employed his
leisure hunting for servants. The following day he was comfortably
installed and had invited the fortunate Mr.
Pages:
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171