PASSING OF THE THIRD FLOOR BACK(三楼去又回)

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PASSING OF THE THIRD FLOOR BACK

PASSING OF THE

THIRD FLOOR BACK

By JEROME K. JEROME

PASSING OF THE THIRD FLOOR BACK

The neighbourhood of Bloomsbury Square towards four o'clock of a

November afternoon is not so crowded as to secure to the stranger, of

appearance anything out of the common, immunity from observation.

Tibb's boy, screaming at the top of his voice that _she_ was his honey,

stopped suddenly, stepped backwards on to the toes of a voluble young

lady wheeling a perambulator, and remained deaf, apparently, to the

somewhat personal remarks of the voluble young lady. Not until he had

reached the next corner--and then more as a soliloquy than as information

to the street--did Tibb's boy recover sufficient interest in his own affairs to

remark that _he_ was her bee. The voluble young lady herself, following

some half-a-dozen yards behind, forgot her wrongs in contemplation of

the stranger's back. There was this that was peculiar about the stranger's

back: that instead of being flat it presented a decided curve. "It ain't a

'ump, and it don't look like kervitcher of the spine," observed the voluble

young lady to herself. "Blimy if I don't believe 'e's taking 'ome 'is washing

up his back."

The constable at the corner, trying to seem busy doing nothing, noticed

the stranger's approach with gathering interest. "That's an odd sort of a

walk of yours, young man," thought the constable. "You take care you

don't fall down and tumble over yourself."

"Thought he was a young man," murmured the constable, the stranger

having passed him. "He had a young face right enough."

The daylight was fading. The stranger, finding it impossible to read

the name of the street upon the corner house, turned back.

"Why, 'tis a young man," the constable told himself; "a mere boy."

"I beg your pardon," said the stranger; "but would you mind telling me

my way to Bloomsbury Square."

"This is Bloomsbury Square," explained the constable; "leastways

round the corner is. What number might you be wanting?"

The stranger took from the ticket pocket of his tightly buttoned

overcoat a piece of paper, unfolded it and read it out: "Mrs. Pennycherry.

Number Forty-eight."

PASSING OF THE THIRD FLOOR BACK

"Round to the left," instructed him the constable; "fourth house. Been

recommended there?"

"By--by a friend," replied the stranger. "Thank you very much."

"Ah," muttered the constable to himself; "guess you won't be calling

him that by the end of the week, young--"

"Funny," added the constable, gazing after the retreating figure of the

stranger. "Seen plenty of the other sex as looked young behind and old in

front. This cove looks young in front and old behind. Guess he'll look

old all round if he stops long at mother Pennycherry's: stingy old cat."

Constables whose beat included Bloomsbury Square had their reasons

for not liking Mrs. Pennycherry. Indeed it might have been difficult to

discover any human being with reasons for liking that sharp-featured lady.

Maybe the keeping of second-rate boarding houses in the neighbourhood

of Bloomsbury does not tend to develop the virtues of generosity and

amiability.

Meanwhile the stranger, proceeding npon his way, had rung the bell of

Number Forty-eight. Mrs. Pennycherry, peeping from the area and

catching a glimpse, above the railings, of a handsome if somewhat

effeminate masculine face, hastened to readjust her widow's cap before the

looking-glass while directing Mary Jane to show the stranger, should he

prove a problematical boarder, into the dining-room, and to light the gas.

"And don't stop gossiping, and don't you take it upon yourself to

answer questions. Say I'll be up in a minute," were Mrs. Pennycherry's

further instructions, "and mind you hide your hands as much as you can."

***

"What are you grinning at?" demanded Mrs. Pennycherry, a couple of

minutes later, of the dingy Mary Jane.

"Wasn't grinning," explained the meek Mary Jane, "was only smiling

to myself."

"What at?"

"Dunno," admitted Mary Jane. But still she went on smiling.

"What's he like then?" demanded Mrs. Pennycherry.

"'E ain't the usual sort," was Mary Jane's opinion.

"Thank God for that," ejaculated Mrs. Pennycherry piously.

PASSING OF THE THIRD FLOOR BACK

"Says 'e's been recommended, by a friend."

"By whom?"

"By a friend. 'E didn't say no name." Mrs. Pennycherry pondered.

"He's not the funny sort, is he?"

Not that sort at all. Mary Jane was sure of it.

Mrs. Pennycherry ascended the stairs still pondering. As she entered

the room the stranger rose and bowed. Nothing could have been simpler

than the stranger's bow, yet there came with it to Mrs. Pennycherry a rush

of old sensations long forgotten. For one brief moment Mrs.

Pennycherry saw herself an amiable well-bred lady, widow of a solicitor:

a visitor had called to see her. It was but a momentary fancy. The next

instant Reality reasserted itself. Mrs. Pennycherry, a lodging-house

keeper, existing precariously upon a daily round of petty meannesses, was

prepared for contest with a possible new boarder, who fortunately looked

an inexperienced young gentleman.

"Someone has recommended me to you," began Mrs. Pennycherry;

"may I ask who?"

But the stranger waved the question aside as immaterial.

"You might not remember--him," he smiled. "He thought that I

should do well to pass the few months I am given--that I have to be in

London, here. You can take me in?"

Mrs. Pennycherry thought that she would be able to take the stranger

in.

"A room to sleep in," explained the stranger, "--any room will do--with

food and drink sufficient for a man, is all that I require."

"For breakfast," began Mrs. Pennycherry, "I always give--"

"What is right and proper, I am convinced," interrupted the stranger.

"Pray do not trouble to go into detail, Mrs. Pennycherry. With whatever

it is I shall be content."

Mrs. Pennycherry, puzzled, shot a quick glance at the stranger, but his

face, though the gentle eyes were smiling, was frank and serious.

"At all events you will see the room," suggested Mrs. Pennycherry,

"before we discuss terms."

"Certainly," agreed the stranger. "I am a little tired and shall be glad

PASSING OF THE THIRD FLOOR BACK

to rest there."

Mrs. Pennycherry led the way upward; on the landing of the third floor,

paused a moment undecided, then opened the door of the back bedroom.

"It is very comfortable," commented the stranger.

"For this room," stated Mrs. Pennycherry, "together with full board,

consisting of--"

"Of everything needful. It goes without saying," again interrupted

the stranger with his quiet grave smile.

"I have generally asked," continued Mrs. Pennycherry, "four pounds a

week. To you--" Mrs. Pennycherry's voice, unknown to her, took to itself

the note of aggressive generosity--"seeing you have been recommended

here, say three pounds ten."

"Dear lady," said the stranger, "that is kind of you. As you have

divined, I am not a rich man. If it be not imposing upon you I accept

your reduction with gratitude." Again Mrs. Pennycherry, familiar with

the satirical method, shot a suspicious glance upon the stranger, but not a

line was there, upon that smooth fair face, to which a sneer could for a

moment have clung. Clearly he was as simple as he looked.

"Gas, of course, extra."

"Of course," agreed the Stranger.

"Coals--"

"We shall not quarrel," for a third time the stranger interrupted. "You

have been very considerate to me as it is. I feel, Mrs. Pennycherry, I can

leave myself entirely in your hands."

The stranger appeared anxious to be alone. Mrs. Pennycherry, having

put a match to the stranger's fire, turned to depart. And at this point it

was that Mrs. Pennycherry, the holder hitherto of an unbroken record for

sanity, behaved in a manner she herself, five minutes earlier in her career,

would have deemed impossible--that no living soul who had ever known

her would have believed, even had Mrs. Pennycherry gone down upon her

knees and sworn it to them.

"Did I say three pound ten?" demanded Mrs. Pennycherry of the

stranger, her hand upon the door. She spoke crossly. She was feeling

cross, with the stranger, with herself--particularly with herself.

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PASSINGOFTHETHIRDFLOORBACK1PASSINGOFTHETHIRDFLOORBACKByJEROMEK.JEROMEPASSINGOFTHETHIRDFLOORBACK2TheneighbourhoodofBloomsburySquaretowardsfouro'clockofaNovemberafternoonisnotsocrowdedastosecuretothestranger,ofappearanceanythingoutofthecommon,immunityfromobservation.Tibb'sboy,screamingatthetopofhisvoi...

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