Susan Lenox: Her Fall and Rise, by David Graham Phillips

clearer, though the walls were grimy and also the grass in theoccasional tiny front yards. But the curtains at the windows lookedclean and fresh, and so did the better class of people among thoseon the sidewalk. It delighted her to see so many well-dressedwomen, wearing their clothes with an air which she told herself shemust acquire. She was startled by the conductor's calling out:"Now, miss!"She rose as he rang the bell and was ready to get off when thecar stopped, for she was eager to cause him as little trouble aspossible."The house is right straight before you," said the conductor."The number's in the transom."She thanked him, descended, was on the sidewalk before Mrs.Wylie's. She looked at the house and her heart sank. She thoughtof the small sum in her purse; it was most unlikely that such ahouse as this would harbor her. For here was a grand stonestairway ascending to a deep stone portico, and within it greatdoors, bigger than those of the Wright mansion, the palace ofSutherland. However, she recalled the humble appearance andmode of speech of her friend the drug clerk and plucked up thecourage to ascend and to ring.A slattern, colored maid opened the door. At the first glancewithin, at the first whiff of the interior air, Susan felt more at ease.For she was seeing what even her bedazzled eyes recognized ascheap dowdiness, and the smell that assailed her nostrils was thatof a house badly and poorly kept–the smell of cheap food and badbutter cooking, of cats, of undusted rooms, of variousunrecognizable kinds of staleness. She stood in the center of thebig dingy parlor, gazing round at the grimed chromos until Mrs.Wylie entered–a thin middle-aged woman with small brown eyesset wide apart, a perpetual frown, and a chin so long and soprojected that she was almost jimber-jawed. While Susanexplained stammeringly what she had come for, Mrs. Wylie eyedher with increasing disfavor. When Susan had finished, sheunlocked her lips for the first time to say:"The room's took.""Oh!" cried Susan in dismay.The telephone rang in the back parlor. Mrs. Wylie excusedherself to answer. After a few words she closed the doors between.She was gone fully five minutes; to Susan it seemed an hour. Shecame back, saying:"I've been talking to my nephew. He called up. Well, I reckonyou can have the room. It ain't my custom to take in ladies asyoung as you. But you seem to be all right. Your parents allowedyou to come?""I haven't any," replied Susan. "I'm here to find a place andsupport myself."Mrs. Wylie continued to eye her dubiously. "Well, I have no wishto pry into your affairs. 'Mind your own business,' that's my rule."She spoke with defiance, as if the contrary were being asserted bysome invisible person who might appear and gain hearing andbelief. She went on: "If Mr. Ellison wants it, why I suppose it's allright. But you can't stay out later'n ten o'clock.""I shan't go out at all of nights," said Susan eagerly."You »look« quiet," said Mrs. Wylie, with the air of adding thatappearances were rarely other than deceptive."Oh, I »am« quiet," declared Susan. It puzzled her, thisrecurrence of the suggestion of noisiness."I can't allow much company–none in your room.""There won't be any company." She blushed deeply. "That is,a–a young man from our town–he may call once. But he'll be off forthe East right away."Mrs. Wylie reflected on this, Susan the while standing uneasily,dreading lest decision would be against her. Finally Mrs. Wyliesaid:"Robert says you want the five-dollar room. I'll show it to you."They ascended two flights through increasing shabbiness. Onthe third floor at the rear was a room–a mere continuation of thenarrow hall, partitioned off. It contained a small folding bed, a smalltable, a tiny bureau, a washstand hardly as large as that in thecabin on the boat, a row of hooks with a curtain of flowered chintzbefore them, a kitchen chair, a chromo of "Awake and Asleep," a