The servant problem had bothered Mrs. Parkes for nearly twenty-three years, since the day when she first took upon herself the task of letting "nice rooms with board for select ladies and gentlemen." Left a widow in straitened circ.u.mstances after a none too happy married life, and faced with the urgent necessity of doing something for a living, it occurred to her that the best way to provide herself and boy with a home and income was to open a boarding house. She leased an old four-story residence on West Fourteenth Street, and, furnishing it as neatly as possible with the capital at her disposal, she hung out her shingle.

Lodgers knocked at the door to inquire, were attracted by the clean rooms, and remained for years. It was hard work catering for the table and looking after the wants of the guests, but Mrs. Parkes toiled uncomplainingly. It would not be forever, she promised herself. When her boy grew up, she could take a rest. He would provide for everything, and they would no longer be under the necessity of taking boarders.

Her boy was Mrs. Parkes' one weakness. There were just three things in which she took special pride--cleanliness of her house, the respectability of her boarders, and her son Harry. Not that there existed any good reason for feeling particular satisfaction over her offspring. Harry grew up as other boys do, but his earning capacity did not grow with him. Like other boys who are made too comfortable at home, he saw no necessity to exert himself, and at the age of thirty he was still living at home, more of a hindrance than a help in the domestic economy, his usefulness being limited to doing odd jobs around the house and keeping tab on the lodgers' accounts. Recently he had found employment in an architect's office, and then he became intolerable. There was nothing that he could not do; no heights to which he could not climb. A good deal of a _poseur_ he wore gold-rimmed gla.s.ses, aped the absent-minded manner of the student, and spoke in vague terms of big things he was about to accomplish. That nothing came of them surprised n.o.body but his credulous and indulgent mother, who lived on year after year in the blissful conviction that one day Harry would astonish the world. If she had any secret worries about her son at all, it was that he might commit some folly with the other s.e.x and marry below his station. Mrs. Parkes was only a boarding house keeper, but she was proud. She did not forget the fact that on her maternal side she was descended from one of the best families in the South. Not that she had any cause to complain of Harry in this respect, but she recalled certain anxieties which her dead husband had caused her in this respect, and she sometimes feared that her son might have inherited some of the paternal traits. For this reason alone she was glad Hilda was leaving. There was no telling what mischief might happen with such a bold creature around the house.

Mrs. Parkes was absorbed in her reflections when the sound of a well-known voice made her look up.

"Hallo, ma! Whatever are you doing that for? Where's Hilda?"

An oldish-looking young man, a pipe in his mouth, newspaper in his hand, stood in the doorway looking at her.

Mrs. Parkes smiled at her son:

"There's no one else to do it, Harry. Hilda is going."

The young man was so surprised that he took the pipe from his mouth, gave an expressive whistle, and came into the room.

"Hilda leaving? I just met her coming down stairs with all her things on. She looks deuced pretty in her street clothes. What are you sending her for?"

"She gave me insolence. I scolded her for neglecting her work. She said she would go. That's all." Looking at her son searchingly, she added: "Why are you so interested?"

The young man laughed, and, throwing himself into an armchair, proceeded to make himself comfortable.

"Interested? I'm not particularly interested that I know of. I'm sorry if you have to do all the work, that's all."

Mrs. Parkes shook her head ominously as she said:

"Harry, you're your father over again."

Absorbed in reading his newspaper, the young man at first made no answer. Then looking up, he chuckled lightly:

"Mother--you're over-anxious--and like most over-anxious mothers, you're mistaken."

Mrs. Parkes looked at him fondly as she answered slowly:

"My dear boy--I know human nature----"

He shrugged his shoulders impatiently:

"You knew father, that's all," he said testily. "I wish to goodness he'd been a better husband, then you wouldn't make my life miserable by always suspecting the worst. I can't speak to a girl--I can't even look at one--that you don't jump to the ridiculous conclusion that I'm falling in love with her, or that I'm like my father. Why don't you hire j.a.ps?"

His mother could not suppress a smile:

"They're too expensive for a boarding house. Besides, some of my lady guests might object to having them around. No--it's not you, my boy.

It's our designing s.e.x I'm afraid of. I know I'm anxious, but I don't want to lose you as I lost your father."

"You're always throwing my father at me," he answered. "Can I help it if he was a little wild? He's dead now. Why can't you let him alone?"

Rising and flinging down his newspaper with a gesture of impatience, the young man crossed the room, and, pausing at a door near the window, he leaned his head forward and listened. His mother watched him in silence.

Disapproval at his behavior was plainly written on her face.

"What are you doing at that door, sir?" she demanded sharply.

Harry grinned. He knew his mother's weakness too well to be much impressed with her affected tone of severity.

"Is Miss Marsh in?" he asked, in a low tone.

A new suspicion crossed Mrs. Parkes' mind. Hilda was safe out of the way, but here was a new peril. Before this she had noticed her son staring at her young lady lodger. Dear--dear--how like his father he was!

"Why do you want to know?" she demanded. "What concern is it of yours?"

"I want to see her on important business," he said doggedly.

Mrs. Parkes held up her finger warningly.

"Now, Harry--don't make a fool of yourself. Remember--this Miss Marsh is a boarder--under my roof. She seems a nice girl--even if she does owe me three weeks' rent. But she's nothing for you to waste your time on."

Harry held up his hand in protest.

"Mother," he cried. "I'm thirty years old--I'm earning fifteen hundred a year as a.s.sistant draughtsman in the office of the biggest firm of architects in New York City. I'm a free, separate ent.i.ty, an independent individual, a somebody, and I warn you--if you try to pick out my company for me--as you did for my father, you'll lose me as you did him.

You'll not only be a gra.s.s widow, but a gra.s.s mother. I want to see Miss Marsh because--well, I want to see her----"

"She owes me three weeks' board," repeated Mrs. Parkes doggedly.

"What of it?" he laughed. "I don't want to see her about that."

"I don't trust a girl who owes me three weeks' lodging----"

"You do trust her, or she wouldn't owe you. You trust her because she's a lady, because you like her--yes, you do! She's in trouble, mother--and you're never hard on anyone that's in trouble, you dear old bundle of inconsistencies!"

Going up to his mother, he put his arm round her neck. Kissing her, he added:

"She'll pay you as soon as she gets the money her father left her. You know she's won her lawsuit."

Fumbling in her pocket, Mrs. Parkes drew out an envelope.

"Yes, so I heard," she said dryly, "but this is a little reminder--just to let her know how much it is. I never knew you took such an interest in her affairs."

"An interest?" exclaimed Harry, with mock surprise. "What nonsense. Come here, mother--sit down. I want to talk seriously with you."

Drawing up a chair, he made her take a seat. Taking a seat opposite, he asked:

"Mother, was my father a serious man?"

"Never--except when he was broke."

"Well--I am serious. I love Paula Marsh. Now, don't faint. Last night I asked her to be my wife----"

Mrs. Parkes gasped.