ft 
 
 EDWARD 
 
 SALISBURY 
 
 FIELD 
 
 f J. wxiv* .;.
 
 PROPERTY 
 
 of the 
 
 QJtrrulattttg 
 iCtbrarg 
 
 Book No. 
 
 
 OFFICE 
 
 308-9 MARSH-STRONG BUILDING 
 
 LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 tiff!?. OF CALIF. LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 By 
 
 EDWARD SALISBURY FIELD 
 
 Author of 
 " Jl Six-Cylinder Courtship," etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 W. J. WATT & COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT 1913 BY 
 
 W. J. WATT & COMPANY 
 
 Published July 
 
 OTHER NOVELS BY 
 
 EDWARD SALISBURY FIELD 
 THE RENTED EARL 
 THE PURPLE STOCKINGS 
 THE SAPPHIRE BRACELET 
 CUPID'S UNDERSTUDY 
 A SIX-CYLINDER COURTSHIP
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 I HAD intended buying just an ordi- 
 nary bed, but the clerk at Howard 
 and Morgan's said twin beds were stylish 
 and everybody was using them. "My 
 wife and I use them," he said, "and we 
 find them a great comfort because I have 
 the habit of kicking in my sleep." 
 
 I told him Henry didn't kick, but he 
 was a restless sleeper and maybe twin 
 beds would be a good thing. And he 
 said he was sure I ought to take them, 
 and if they weren't satisfactory I could 
 send them back. So I said : ' ' All right, 
 if that's the case I'll take them and put 
 our bed in Ma's room. For you see Ma 
 ' 7 
 
 2129495
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 vas coming to visit us and we needed an 
 extra bed for her to sleep in. And then 
 I bought some more furniture, for Henry 
 and I had never furnished the extra 
 room in our flat except to put window 
 shades in it, and matting on the floor. 
 
 That night at dinner I told Henry 
 about the twin beds, and he said he'd 
 often seen them in store windows and 
 wondered who used them, but he guessed 
 they must be all right if the clerk at 
 Howard and Morgan's recommended 
 them. And I said the clerk seemed a 
 very intelligent man even if he did kick 
 in his sleep. Besides, we could send the 
 beds back if we didn 't like them. 
 
 " There's your Ma to consider, 
 though," said Henry. 
 
 "What about Ma?" I asked. 
 
 "Your Ma's old-fashioned, and she 
 may think it queer our having twin 
 beds." 
 
 8
 
 'Your Ma's old fashioned and she may think it queer our having 
 
 twin beds"
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 ' l Don r t you worry about that, ' ' I said. 
 "Ma's never been in New York before, 
 and everything will seem queer to her 
 at first." 
 
 I hadn't seen Ma for a whole year 
 not since Pd gone back home for Pa's 
 funeral and I was never so glad to see 
 anybody in my life. I could tell from the 
 way she clung to me on the platform of 
 the station she was mighty glad to see 
 me, too, for she ain't the demonstrative 
 kind, and never was. You Ve got to take 
 Ma's love for granted as far as her tell- 
 ing you about it is concerned, but if you 
 were in trouble, or sick, she'd work her 
 fingers to the bone for you, and die for 
 you, too, if necessary, and you knew it. 
 I guess there ain't any better kind of 
 love than that. 
 
 "Well, Ma kissed Henry, too, and 
 Henry took her trunk-check and gave 
 9
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 it to an expressman, and then we walked 
 around to our flat which is on East 123d 
 Street. And then I got dinner, and we 
 spent the evening talking about things 
 back in Centerville, Ma telling us all the 
 news, which wasn't much except that 
 Charlie Sprague 's second wife had come 
 down with typhoid fever from drinking 
 water from a well that had microbes in 
 it, and Evangeline, our Holstein cow, had 
 had a calf which Ma had named Zephyr 
 because there was a cyclone in Ohio the 
 day it was born. 
 
 I don't suppose youVe ever heard of 
 it, but there 's lots worse places than Cen- 
 terville. It's a little town in Indiana, 
 about thirty miles from Indianapolis, 
 and you can go all the way to Terre 
 Haute from there on a trolley car if you 
 want to, though I 've never heard of any- 
 body doing it. 
 
 Ma was born and raised in Centerville, 
 10
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 and I was, too. So was Henry, for that 
 matter. But Henry left there when he 
 was eighteen years old, going first to 
 Chicago, and later coming to New York. 
 It was while he was back on a visit to 
 his folks that we fell in love with each 
 other and got married. Pa was alive 
 then, of course, and my sister Lizzie was 
 still in High School. Lizzie's married 
 now, and living 'way out in Montana, and 
 Pa died a year ago last April. That's 
 how we finally got Ma to come on and 
 make us a visit. Poor Ma ! She wasn't 
 happy in Centerville any more, or in 
 New York, either, when it comes to that. 
 But she was a lot happier when she left 
 for Centerville last week than she was 
 when she came to us, so I guess New 
 York ain 't such a bad place after all. 
 
 But to go back to that first night. 
 After Ma had gone to bed, which was 
 early because she was tired, I asked 
 11
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 Henry how he thought she was look- 
 ing. 
 
 "Well," said Henry, "she's certainly 
 a lot deafer than she was. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, she don't hear anything like as 
 good as she used to," I admitted. You 
 see Ma caught the measles late in life 
 and it sort of settled in her ears. 
 
 "And I may be wrong, but she seems 
 kind of worn and broken." 
 
 ' * Don 't you believe it, " I said. ' ' Ma 's 
 just tired out with that long trip; she's 
 got more spirit this minute than you 
 and me put together. Did you notice the 
 way she looked at you when you smoked 
 that cigarette after dinner!" 
 
 "No," said Henry, "I wasn't notic- 
 ing." 
 
 "Well, Ma didn't like it, and if I was 
 you I wouldn't smoke any more ciga- 
 rettes when she's around." 
 
 "All right," said Henry. "If you 
 12
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 want the truth, I'm kind of scared of 
 your Ma." 
 
 "So am I," I said, and I meant it. 
 For there's no use talking, Ma had a 
 way of looking at you when she thought 
 you were doing wrong that made you 
 feel like thirty cents, even when you 
 knew you had a perfect right to be do- 
 ing what you were. Nothing would have 
 convinced Ma that smoking cigarettes 
 wasn't as much a crime in its way as 
 arson or highway robbery. But I guess 
 there's lots of women in Indiana who 
 feel the same as Ma; there must be or 
 else the Legislature wouldn't have 
 passed that law sending cigarette-smok- 
 ers to jail. Just the same, I didn't want 
 Ma's visit to work any hardship on 
 Henry, so I told him if he felt like a 
 cigarette after dinner he could go in our 
 bedroom and smoke out of the window, 
 and he promised he would. 
 13
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 It's funny about Ma. She's only a 
 wisp of a woman, barely coming up to 
 my shoulders, me being five feet four 
 and rather stoutish, though Henry says 
 I'm just right, and I'm sure I'm satis- 
 fied if he is. Yet Pa was afraid of Ma, 
 and Pa stood six feet one in his stock- 
 ing feet, and was as strong as an ox. 
 He had plenty of spirit, too, in certain 
 ways, but not where Ma was concerned. 
 When Ma told him to do a thing, he did 
 it, and that was all there was to it. 
 
 Our flat is the kind that's called a push- 
 button flat, which means you push a but- 
 ton in the hall to unlock the front door 
 downstairs. It 's on the third floor, too, 
 and isn't very modern; no electric lights 
 nothing but gas. But it's on a corner, 
 so we get plenty of light and air; also, 
 the rent is reasonable, and we're near 
 the subway, which is convenient. 
 
 I showed Ma over the flat next morn- 
 14
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 ing, and she thought it mighty queer to 
 live with one family over you, and two 
 underneath, not to mention the janitor 
 and his wife and five children in the 
 basement. And when she found out I 
 didn't know any of my neighbors except 
 the janitor, she was surprised ; but I told 
 her nobody knows their neighbors in New 
 York. And she did think it odd about 
 the twin beds. "What are they for?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "To sleep in, Ma." 
 
 "What did you say, Blanche?" 
 
 "I said they're to sleep in." 
 
 "But why do you have two beds?" 
 
 "It's the fashion, Ma." 
 
 "Mighty strange fashion," said Ma. 
 And then she asked me point-blank if 
 Henry and I had quarreled. And when 
 I told her that Henry was the best man 
 in the world, and never a hard word had 
 passed between us since we were mar- 
 15
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 ried, I could see she didn't half -believe 
 me. "But no matter," I thought; 
 "she'll see for herself, living right here 
 in the same flat with us.*' 
 
 That night at dinner when Henry 
 asked her what she thought of New 
 York, she said she was disappointed in 
 it. 
 
 "What did you expect, Ma?" asked 
 Henry. 
 
 "I don't know," said Ma, "but I ex- 
 pected it would be different." 
 
 I knew exactly what she meant, for 
 I'd felt the same way when I first came 
 to New York. So I said: "Never 
 mind, Ma. Living in New York is like 
 having prickly heat ; you never really en- 
 joy it, but by-and-by you get used to it. ' ' 
 
 "I wouldn't live in a place where I 
 
 couldn't know my neighbors," said Ma. 
 
 "And I don't think it's healthy to live 
 
 cooped up like chickens the way you and 
 
 16
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 Henry do, with nothing but a rubber 
 plant to keep you company. Now in 
 Centerville there's Brush, the dog, and 
 Evangeline and her calf, and Mazourka, 
 the cat, and Did I tell you, Blanche, 
 that Mazourka had kittens last month? 
 And then there's the trees, and flowers, 
 and the vegetable garden, and " 
 
 "Malaria and mosquitoes," said 
 Henry. "Don't forget them." 
 
 "There ain't any malaria in Center- 
 ville," declared Ma; "it's the healthiest 
 town for its size in Indiana. I wish you 
 and Blanche would move back there and 
 settle down." 
 
 "We can't now, Ma," I said, "but 
 maybe some day " 
 
 "Yes," said Henry, "maybe some 
 day" 
 
 I suppose there's lots of folks who 
 think, like Henry and me, that some day 
 they'll move back to the country, and 
 17
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 enjoy life like they used to; though the 
 chances are if the time ever comes when 
 they can go, they'll have become so used 
 to New York that they won't be happy 
 away from it. Anyway, when I do pray, 
 which ain't as often as it might be, I 
 pray that both me and Henry will keep 
 our simple tastes and not be led astray 
 by Dead Sea apples, which look like ap- 
 ples but ain't, being full of sackcloth and 
 ashes on the inside. 
 
 But to get back to Ma. When she got 
 more used to the way we lived she didn't 
 mind it so much ; she watered the rubber 
 plant, helped with the cooking and mend- 
 ing, and every afternoon we went to a 
 moving-picture show. So you see, what 
 with the housework and the moving-pic- 
 ture shows, Ma had plenty to occupy her 
 mind; and though she didn't like New 
 York at first, before she'd been with us 
 three days she'd perked up a lot, and 
 18
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 become quite cheerful. Ma liked change 
 and excitement as well as the next one. 
 And there was plenty of excitement 
 ahead of her plenty ! Only, of course, 
 I didn't know it at the time. 
 
 And now we come to Ma's first Sat- 
 urday night with us. "Well, Saturday, 
 after dinner, Henry went out. He al- 
 ways goes out Saturday nights; it's an 
 arrangement we made when we were 
 first married: every Wednesday night 
 Henry takes me anywhere I want to go 
 usually to the theater and every Sat- 
 urday night he goes to a bowling alley 
 over on 125th Street and bowls with a 
 couple of men he knows. Henry is 
 crazy about bowling, and I think it's 
 good exercise for him, being shut up in 
 an office all week the way he is. So after 
 dinner he kissed me good-by, the same 
 as he always did, and went off to meet his 
 friends. 
 
 19
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 But if I'd known how he was coming 
 home that night, I never would have let 
 him go. 
 
 20
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 IT was a warm night; so after we'd 
 washed the dishes, Ma and I went 
 into our bedroom, Henry's and mine, 
 to sit, it having three windows and be- 
 ing the coolest room in the flat. I could 
 see Ma didn't approve of Henry's going 
 out, but I thought I wouldn't say any- 
 thing about it, for if I started explain- 
 ing it would give Ma an opportunity to 
 find fault with Henry. So I read the 
 evening paper and a magazine while Ma 
 knitted away on some bedroom slippers 
 she was making for Henry. Ma's aw- 
 ful good at knitting ; she knows more dif- 
 ferent stitches than anybody in Center- 
 ville. 
 
 Now and then I'd stop my reading to 
 21
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 glance at Ma, and my! but she looked 
 grim. You can say what you please, but 
 there are such things as thought waves. 
 Ma was sending them out against Henry 
 enough to drown him, and I knew it just 
 as well as if I'd seen them. When Ma 
 gets it into her head that you're doing 
 wrong, she just naturally clouds up like 
 a thunder storm, and by-and-by she rains. 
 
 That night the storm held off till about 
 ten o 'clock, when Ma started it by glanc- 
 ing at the clock on the bureau and asking 
 if it wasn't time Henry was home 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "Where's he gone?" asked Ma. 
 
 "He's out with his friends," I said. 
 
 "What did you say, Blanche?" 
 
 "He's out with his friends," I re- 
 peated, raising my voice. 
 
 You see, I wasn't used to Ma being 
 so deaf, and half the time I'd forget and 
 use my natural voice. Ma didn't like 
 22
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 that, maintaining as she did that she 
 wasn't really deaf, only a little hard of 
 hearing, and if people would speak dis- 
 tinctly instead of mumbling their words, 
 she could hear as good as anybody. To 
 prove it she would tell how she could al- 
 ways catch everything Letitia Barlow 
 said, Letitia being her cousin's husband's 
 sister. But Letitia had one of those car- 
 rying voices, it being a trait of the Bar- 
 lows, her brother having the same. 
 
 Of course, Ma wanted to know what 
 Henry's friends were, and what he was 
 doing with them, and I told her that one 
 of them was a paying teller in a bank and 
 the other was a shipping clerk in a whole- 
 sale leather house, and that they were 
 probably talking politics, not thinking it 
 necessary to explain that they were 
 bowling, knowing mighty well Ma 
 wouldn't approve of bowling. But Ma 
 didn't approve of anything that night. 
 23
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "It ain't right," she said. "I never 
 let your Pa go out at night like that." 
 
 "I'll just not argue with Ma," I 
 thought, so I didn't say anything. But 
 you've got to argue with Ma when she 
 wants to argue. 
 
 "Blanche!" said she. 
 
 "Yes, Ma." 
 
 "When your Pa went out at night I 
 always went with him." 
 
 "Poor Pa!" I said. 
 
 "What did you say, Blanche?" 
 
 "I said I know you did, Ma." 
 
 "Henry hadn't ought to go out nights 
 and leave you alone like this." 
 
 "I ain't alone, Ma; you're here. 
 Don't you want to look at the evening 
 paper?" 
 
 "No," said Ma, "I don't want to look 
 at the newspaper, and I will be heard. 
 Henry hadn't ought to go out at night 
 alone ; it 's no way to do. ' ' 
 24
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "But it's Saturday night, Ma," I said; 
 " that's Henry's night out." 
 
 And then Ma began. Pa had never 
 had a night out, so why should Henry? 
 It wasn't safe for married men to go 
 gallivanting around alone nights ; it gave 
 them wrong ideas. What if Henry did 
 work hard all week? Hadn't Pa worked 
 hard, too? Hard work was good for 
 men ; it kept them from getting too skit- 
 tish. Besides, New York wasn't like 
 Centerville. New York was a wicked 
 city, full of temptations. "And you 
 needn't tell me times has changed," said 
 Ma; "men are just the same as they al- 
 ways was. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, Ma," I said, "but women 
 ain't." 
 
 "What did you say?" 
 
 "I said Henry has a perfect right to 
 go out Saturday nights if I let him." 
 
 "You shouldn't let him," said Ma. 
 25
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "Your Pa wouldn't have dared ask for a 
 night out." 
 
 "Poor Pa!" I said. 
 
 "What's that about your Pa?" 
 
 "Nothing, Ma. I said Henry didn't 
 ask for a night out ; I gave it to him. " 
 
 "Well, it ain't right," declared Ma. 
 "If Henry loved you the way he ought 
 to, he wouldn't want to leave you." 
 
 Of course, I told Ma she was wrong 
 and that Henry loved me all the better 
 for leaving me once in a while. And 
 then I tried to steer the conversation 
 away from New York, and around back 
 again to Centerville. But Ma wouldn't 
 have it. 
 
 "Blanche!" said she. 
 
 "What, Ma?" 
 
 "Is Henry a drinking man?" 
 
 "Good gracious, no!" I said, not 
 thinking it necessary to mention that 
 though he never drinks any other time, 
 26
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 Henry likes his beer Saturday nights, 
 bowling being hot work. 
 
 "Well," said Ma, "he'll grow to be 
 one, you mark my words. And when he 
 does, you'll remember what I told you. 
 Your Pa never touched a drop in his life, 
 I'm glad to say. What are you smiling 
 at, Blanche?" 
 
 What I was smiling at was the memory 
 of Pa once at the County Fair when he 
 had what Ma thought was a dizzy spell. 
 It was the time one of our hogs won a 
 first prize, and Pa couldn't have been 
 blamed for celebrating. But of course 
 I couldn't tell Ma this, so I said I was 
 just smiling at nothing at all in particu- 
 lar. 
 
 Ma looked at me kind of suspicious 
 over her spectacles, and then went on: 
 "If Henry belonged to me, I'd make him 
 stay at home. What was good enough 
 for me and your Pa ought to be good 
 27
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 enough for you. I guess I'll have to 
 speak to Henry." 
 
 "Don't you do it, Ma," I said. "You 
 leave Henry alone. ' ' 
 
 "But some one had ought to speak to 
 him," insisted Ma. 
 
 "Now see here, Ma," I said. 
 "Henry's my man, and I understand 
 him. For the love of Mike, don't go 
 butting in!" 
 
 Ma looked puzzled. "What's that 
 about Henry's buttons?" she asked. 
 
 "Nothing, Ma; I said you can talk to 
 me as much as you like, but you've got to 
 leave Henry alone." 
 
 "But it ain't right," said Ma. 
 
 "I can't help it," I said. "You've 
 got to leave Henry alone. I'm sure you 
 never took any interference from your 
 mother-in-law. ' ' 
 
 "But I ain't your mother-in-law." 
 
 "You're Henry's, and if you want him 
 28
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 to love you, you've just naturally got to 
 let him alone." 
 
 Ma didn't like that. "Ain't I good to 
 Henry?" she asked. "Ain't I knitting 
 these bedroom slippers for him this very 
 minute?" 
 
 "Yes, Ma." 
 
 "Then I'd like to know what you 
 mean." 
 
 " I mean what I say, Ma. I won 't have 
 you picking on Henry. He's a good 
 man, and he's my man, and I won't let 
 anybody pick on him. ' ' 
 
 With that, I got up out of my chair and 
 said I guessed it was bedtime, and Ma 
 said she guessed so, too, but she'd sit 
 where she was for a spell while I was 
 undressing, as it was more sociable. 
 And then she put away her knitting, and 
 started to read the evening paper, while 
 I got out Henry's pyjamas and laid them 
 on his bed, took off my waist, slipped on 
 29
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 a dressing jacket, and began taking down 
 my hair. 
 
 "Thank goodness that's over!" I 
 thought. "Ma just had to have her say, 
 and now she's had it she feels better, and 
 there's no harm done. I don't believe 
 she '11 say a word to Henry. ' ' 
 
 So I took down my hair, commenced 
 combing out my switch, and was just be- 
 ginning to feel real peaceful, when Ma 
 looked up from her newspaper and said : 
 "I see those Kockabilts are getting a di- 
 vorce. The paper says he's a drinking 
 man like Henry." 
 
 That made me mad. "Look here, 
 Ma," I said, "I told you Henry wasn't a 
 drinking man. ' ' 
 
 "Well, maybe he ain't," said Ma, "but 
 
 he smokes cigarettes. Your Pa used to 
 
 smoke when we was first married, but 
 
 I broke him of it in two weeks. He was 
 
 30
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 mighty uncomfortable at first till he 
 found out that chewing cloves would cure 
 his hankering for tobacco. After that 
 he never smoked at all, just chewed 
 cloves. I guess I'll recommend cloves to 
 Henry." 
 
 That made me smile, knowing as I did 
 how Pa used to escape to the barn and 
 smoke a pipe he kept hidden there. But 
 of course I didn't let on. "All right, 
 Ma," I said, "you can tell Henry that if 
 you want to." 
 
 "Here's a man," said Ma, "that was 
 completely cured of his rheumatism in 
 three days by using Warner's Rheuma- 
 tism Remedy. I guess I'll have to try 
 a bottle of that. Goodness, Blanche, if 
 you ain't wearing a switch! Did you 
 ever put kerosene on your head? Yon 
 remember Martha Winters that used to 
 live across the street from us in Center- 
 31
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 ville f She was perfectly bald on top till 
 she used kerosene on her head, and then 
 her hair grew out like anything." 
 
 Of course, I ain't bald, having plenty 
 of hair of my own except for the new 
 styles, which I told Ma. 
 
 "It only seems yesterday that I used 
 to curl your hair around a piece of 
 broomhandle," said Ma. "My, how 
 time does fly ! " 
 
 "Yes," I said, laying down my switch 
 and taking up my hair-brush, "it does, 
 and that's a fact." Then, as Ma didn't 
 say anything, I began brushing my hair 
 and thinking about when I was a kid, and 
 how Charley Sprague used to be sweet 
 on me, and give me candy, and hang 
 around after school to walk home with 
 me. Charley always said he'd never 
 marry anybody but me, and here he was 
 married twice with a good chance of 
 burying his second wife, she being sick 
 32
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 with typhoid fever from drinking water 
 o it of a well with microbes in it. 
 
 I was thinking how queer things turned 
 out, and how little you know what 's wait- 
 ing for you just around the corner, when 
 all of a sudden I heard a kind of sob, 
 and, looking around, I saw Ma had her 
 spectacles off and was wiping her eyes. 
 
 "Why, what's the matter, Ma?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "I'm lonely, Blanche; I miss your 
 Pa." 
 
 "There, there," I said, going over and 
 putting my arms around her, " don't you 
 cry." 
 
 "I ain't crying," said Ma, putting on 
 her spectacles and blowing her nose. 
 "Only it came over me all of a sudden- 
 like. It's a hard world, Blanche. I 
 ain't resigned like the minister told me 
 to be, and praying don't do any good. 
 I'm just waiting to be took. It's mortal 
 33
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 hard just sitting around waiting to be 
 took." 
 
 "You mustn't talk like that, Ma," I 
 said. "Henry and I will always love 
 you." 
 
 "I know," said Ma, "but that's differ- 
 ent. Pa's gone." 
 
 "He^s waiting for you, Ma." 
 
 "Yes, I know he is. That's the trou- 
 ble. He's up there waiting for me, and 
 I'm here and I can't go to him. Do you 
 think he misses me, Blanche?" 
 
 "I'm sure he does, Ma." 
 
 "It ain't according to the Bible, but I 
 hope he misses me." 
 
 "You want him to be happy," I said. 
 
 "Yes," said Ma, "but not without me. 
 I suppose it's wicked to feel like that, but 
 I can't help it." 
 
 "I don't care whether it's wicked or 
 not," I said. "I'd feel just the same 
 way if Henry was took, and so would 
 34
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 any woman that loved her husband. 
 What gets me, Ma, is what happens to 
 people like Charley Spragne who marry 
 again. It must be mighty embarrassing 
 to meet your first up there and have to 
 explain to her that you're waiting for 
 your second; or maybe meet them both 
 up there at the same time. I guess that 
 would be a sight worse. ' ' 
 
 "Maybe one of them wouldn't go to 
 Heaven," said Ma. "Anyway, it's a 
 comfort to me to know your Pa's in 
 Heaven, and not in the other place, 
 Blanche!" 
 
 "Yes, Ma." 
 
 "I won't say a word to Henry. I 
 guess all mother-in-laws are the same, 
 but I'll leave you paddle your own ca- 
 noe, even if I do think you're paddling it 
 wrong. ' * 
 
 "Thank you, Ma." 
 
 "But don't you think I approve of 
 35
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 Henry's going out alone nights, for I 
 don't." 
 
 With that, Ma went off to bed, and I 
 turned the gas low in the hall, and then 
 I went to bed, too, for Henry doesn't 
 like me to sit up for him. But, some- 
 how, instead of going to sleep right away 
 like I generally do, I got to thinking 
 over what Ma had said, and wondering 
 if, after all, the old-fashioned way wasn't 
 best. Supposing Henry was to get into 
 temptation, going out alone Saturday 
 night the way he did? Women are like 
 that; you sow a doubt in their minds, 
 and if they ain't careful, the first thing 
 they know it's growing like the grain of 
 mustard seed in the Bible. 
 
 Maybe Henry didn 't bowl every Satur- 
 day night; maybe his friends were 
 wicked and were leading him astray. Of 
 course, I knew this wasn't true. But 
 there was Pa, as good a man as ever 
 36
 
 Suppose Henry was to get into temptation going out alone Saturday 
 
 night
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 lived ; and yet he used to deceive Ma in 
 little things right along. That's one rea- 
 son I'd been so liberal with Henry. I 
 began to wonder what I'd do if Henry 
 did drink too much some Saturday night, 
 and come home like that, and I guess 
 I'd have ended by being perfectly mis- 
 erable if what little common sense I pos- 
 sess hadn't come to the front just then. 
 "Blanche Hawkins," I said to myself, 
 "you're a fool! Henry's the best man 
 in the world, and you know it. Now you 
 go to sleep!" And I did. 
 
 I don't believe I'd been asleep ten min- 
 utes when I woke all of a sudden with 
 the idea that the flat was on fire. No, it 
 was the front door-bell ringing. What 
 did that mean? 
 
 Of course, after I'd collected my wits, 
 
 I knew exactly what it meant; Henry 
 
 had gone off without his keys again. 
 
 That's one thing about Henry, he's the 
 
 37
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 forgetfulest man I ever knew. So I got 
 out of bed, went out into the hall and 
 pushed the button that opens the front 
 door downstairs; and when I'd heard 
 that door slam, I unfastened the hall door 
 of our flat and then went back to bed. 
 And pretty soon I heard the hall door 
 close, and then I pretended to be asleep ; 
 for it worries Henry when he forgets his 
 keys and has to wake me up to let him 
 in, so I always tell him it doesn't dis- 
 turb me at all, and that I always go 
 right to sleep the minute I get back in 
 bed. 
 
 But that night Henry didn't seem to 
 know what he was doing. He closed the 
 bedroom door all right, and then I heard 
 him drop his shoes. Henry always takes 
 off his shoes in the hall when he lets him- 
 self in, but I didn't see the use of his 
 taking them off after waking me up to 
 let him in. It seemed mighty queer, but 
 38
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 I didn't say anything till he ran into a 
 chair. 
 
 The room was dark, of course, but the 
 chairs were in their usual places, and 
 he'd never run into one before. So I 
 sat up in bed, just to let him see I was 
 awake, and said: "Is that you, 
 Henry?" And then I nearly died, for 
 though his answer was all right, his voice 
 sounded thick and strange, and I knew 
 perfectly well he'd had too much to 
 drink. 
 
 It had happened just the way Ma said 
 it would. I turned cold all over, and 
 then I got mad clear through. 
 
 39
 
 CHAPTER HI 
 
 WHEN I was a kid back in Center- 
 ville I had a school-teacher 
 named Miss Gibbs, and one thing she 
 taught me I've never forgotten, which 
 was not to speak to anybody when I was 
 mad till I'd counted ten, and counted it 
 slow. For though I was easy-going as 
 a rule, when I did get r'iled I flared up 
 like the forge in Jonas Miller's black- 
 smith shop; and I do to this day. But 
 that night I was so mad I didn't stop at 
 ten; I counted twenty. And then I 
 counted ten more. 
 
 By that time I 'd got control of myself, 
 and was beginning to hope I was doing 
 Henry an injustice. ''Maybe his voice 
 40
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 is funny like that because he's caught 
 cold," I thought. "I'll just speak to 
 him again and make sure." So I asked 
 him if he'd forgotten his keys. 
 
 But when he answered me I knew it 
 wasn't a cold but too much drink that 
 ailed him; for he told me he hadn't for- 
 gotten his keys, that the reason he'd rung 
 the bell downstairs was that the keyhole 
 acted queer. 
 
 "What was the matter with it?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Don't know," he said. "Keyhole 
 wouldn 't stand still kept jumping about 
 like a rabbit. Funny thing! Very 
 funny!" 
 
 1 1 It isn 't funny at all, ' ' I said. < ' It 's 
 disgraceful ! ' ' 
 
 "Quite right, m'dear," said Henry. 
 "Keyholes shouldn't jump about like 
 that. Disgraceful ! ' ' 
 
 "It's you who are disgraceful," I said. 
 41
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 But I wasn't mad any more; I was just 
 unhappy, and wanted to cry. There was 
 no good crying, though ; all I could do was 
 to make the best of it, and hide it from 
 Ma. Besides, I knew Henry would feel 
 meaner than dog pie when he realized 
 how he'd behaved, and I didn't believe 
 he 'd ever come home like that again. I 'd 
 see to it that he didn't. 
 
 "You go to bed," I said. "I'd light 
 the light, only I don't want to lay eyes on 
 you. ' ' 
 
 "Don't want a light," said Henry. 
 * ' Light hurts my eyes. See better in the 
 dark." And with that he bumped into 
 the table. 
 
 I could just make him out in the dim 
 light. No, I should say I didn 't want to 
 see him the way I would with the gas 
 lighted! Just for a minute I felt as if 
 I never wanted to see him again as long 
 as I lived. I suppose there's lots of 
 42
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 women who have felt like that about their 
 husbands, but I'd never felt that way 
 about Henry before, and I'm glad to say 
 I've never felt like that since; though 
 if I had I guess I'd have got over it. 
 That 's one thing about women ; as a rule, 
 they're mighty good at getting over 
 things they have to be. 
 
 But to return to Henry. When he 
 bumped into the table he said a real 
 wicked word, and when I told him to stop 
 talking like that and go to bed, he said 
 he would, only what he did was to come 
 over to the foot of my bed, instead. And 
 when I pointed out his mistake, he didn 't 
 seem to understand, but just kept stand- 
 ing there. 
 
 1 ' What we doing with two beds?'* he 
 asked. 
 
 "They're the new twin beds," I an- 
 swered. 
 
 "Twins?" said Henry. "We got 
 43
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 twins? Never told me we had twins. 
 Wha's their names?" 
 
 ' ' Twin beds, you gump ! ' ' 
 
 "Don't get mad," said Henry. 
 " 'Tain't your fault, m'dear. Every- 
 thing's twins to-night. Twin doors 
 downstairs, twin lights in the hall. 
 Came home in a taxicab driven by two 
 men. Funny ! Very funny ! ' ' 
 
 "It isn't funny, it's dreadful! You 
 ought to be ashamed. Go to bed!" 
 And finally Henry did find his bed, and 
 sat down on it ; but he insisted on talking, 
 and wouldn't go to sleep. "Want to 
 tell you a story," he said. "Very 
 funny! Rose told it to me to-night." 
 
 Rose? My heart seemed to stop beat- 
 ing. 
 
 "Where did you go to-night, Henry?" 
 I asked in a voice that scared me, it 
 sounded so strange. 
 
 "Been to lodge." 
 44
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "But, Henry, you don't belong to any 
 lodge." 
 
 * ' Tha 's right, m 'dear. You know that 
 Elk button I wear sometimes?" 
 
 "What are you talking about!" 
 
 "That little Elk button. I ain't an 
 Elk, I 'ma Bull Moose." 
 
 "Who is Eose, Henry?" 
 
 "Friend of mine. Little Jack Eose 
 used to be jockey." 
 
 "Oh!" I said. 
 
 I'd never been jealous before in my 
 whole life, and I never want to be again ; 
 for from the moment Henry said he'd 
 been out with Eose till I found out who 
 Bose was, I felt exactly like some one 
 had taken my soul and dropped it in 
 boiling hot lard like they would a dough- 
 nut. It was like getting back to Heaven 
 after spending a few days in the other 
 place to find out Eose was a man. And 
 after that I didn't care much if Henry 
 45
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 had taken too much to drink. * ' He won 't 
 do it again," I thought, "and even if he 
 does, there's lots worse things." So I 
 said good-night to him real gentle, and 
 told him he'd better go to sleep. 
 
 But Henry wasn't through talking. 
 1 ' Ain 't in bed yet, "he said. ' ' Want to 
 tell you about that Elk button. Bought 
 it in a pawnshop. Only wear it Satur- 
 day nights." 
 
 "What are you talking about?" I said. 
 
 "Nothing," said Henry. "Forgot. 
 Shouldn't talk about it. Secret." 
 
 "Well, it won't be a secret to-mor- 
 row," I replied. "To-morrow you're 
 going to tell me everything. You'll be 
 sorry to-morrow, Henry." 
 
 "Tha's right, m'dear. Always sorry 
 to-morrow. Always happy to-night. 
 Good-night!" 
 
 "Good-night," I said. 
 
 I don't know how long I stayed awake 
 46
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 after that; maybe ten minutes, maybe 
 half an hour. It seemed at first as if 
 I couldn't go to sleep at all, having so 
 much to think about that was new and un- 
 pleasant. But after a while it came over 
 me how foolish it was to lie awake and 
 brood over things. Besides, it wasn't 
 fair to Henry. 
 
 "It's not for you to harbor resent- 
 ment against Henry," I thought. 
 "What you've got to do is to lead him 
 back to the path of righteousness, and 
 if you lie awake all night you'll be cross 
 to-morrow, and then instead of leading 
 him, you'll try to drive him, which will 
 be bad for you both." So I just put 
 everything out of mind, except how good 
 Henry had always been to me in the past, 
 and with that came faith in the future 
 and sleep. 
 
 It's funny how you wake up sometimes 
 all of a sudden with the feeling that 
 47
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 there's a burglar in the house, or you've 
 forgotten to wind the clock, or you've 
 left the water running in the bathroom, 
 only to find on investigating that you've 
 probably dreamed it. Henry told me 
 afterward that he hadn't made a sound, 
 but just the same the first thing I knew 
 I was awake again, and sitting up in bed, 
 listening. And there was some one in 
 the room, too, for as soon as my eyes got 
 used to the darkness I made out a dim 
 shadow over by the door. 
 
 "Is that you, Henry?" I said. 
 
 "Yes, dear," he answered. 
 
 "What are you doing out of bed?" I 
 asked him. 
 
 ' ' Did I wake you ? I 'm sorry. ' ' 
 
 "Never mind," I said. "Are you all 
 right now?" 
 
 "As right as rain," he replied; and to 
 tell the truth, his voice did sound differ- 
 ent. 
 
 48
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 ''That's good," I said. "Now get 
 back to bed. The bed's over here." 
 
 "Yes, I know. Sorry I woke you up. 
 Go to sleep, dear." 
 
 "I'm glad you woke me up. I see 
 you're all right now." 
 
 " Yes, I'm all right. Good-night. ' ' 
 
 "Good-night." 
 
 I lay back in bed quite contented. 
 Henry couldn't have had very much to 
 drink or else he wouldn't have recovered 
 so quick. Maybe, too, there 'd been some- 
 thing wrong with what he 'd had. 
 
 "That jockey probably put something 
 in his glass to make him like that,*' 
 I thought. "What with gambling and 
 horse-racing, jockeys are apt to be like 
 that. To-morrow I'll make Henry 
 promise not to have anything more to do 
 with Jack Eose." 
 
 In the meantime, Henry didn't seem 
 to have any trouble finding his bed, which 
 49
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 was also encouraging. He didn't say 
 anything about there being two beds, 
 either, or run into the table. 
 
 " That's fine!" I thought. " Henry's 
 himself again ! ' ' 
 
 Have you ever bolstered up your pride, 
 and said everything's all right, only to 
 find out the next minute what a fool 
 you've been? Well, that's exactly what 
 happened to me ; for just as I was con- 
 gratulating myself on Henry's rapid re- 
 covery, I heard him kind of gasp. 
 
 "What's the matter now?" I said, sit- 
 ting up. 
 
 "Matter?" cried Henry. "Matter? 
 Jumping Jehosephat ! Everything's the 
 matter! There's some one in my bed!" 
 
 "Oh, dear!" I said. "And I thought 
 you were all right!" 
 
 "I tell you there's some one in my 
 bed!" 
 
 That worried me. "Do you see any- 
 50
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 thing else?" I asked "pink lizards, or 
 green elephants, or purple snakes!'* 
 
 ' ' What are you talking about ? ' ' Henry 
 asked. 
 
 ''Then you don't see them?" 
 
 "I don't see anything," said Henry, 
 "but I'm going to as soon as I can find a 
 match. ' ' 
 
 "Don't you begin playing with 
 matches now," I said, "or you'll set the 
 flat on fire. You go to bed and stop 
 trapesing around in the dark." 
 
 "But I tell you there's some one in my 
 bed!" 
 
 "I know there is," I said, thinking to 
 humor him. "I put the twins in your 
 bed, but if they disturb you I'll take them 
 in with me. ' ' 
 
 1 1 Twins ? " said Henry. ' Twins I ' ' 
 
 "Yes," I said. "Now do be sensible 
 and go to bed." 
 
 But Henry didn't go to bed. Instead, 
 51
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 lie sort of groaned, and kept on hunting 
 for matches. 
 
 "Are you going back to bed by your- 
 self, or must I get up and put you to 
 bed?" I asked. 
 
 "I'm going, dearest," he answered. 
 And then he struck a match and lighted 
 the gas. 
 
 The light sort of blinded me at first ; 
 then, things clearing up, I saw Henry 
 standing in the center of the room, look- 
 ing at me real anxious and troubled. 
 
 "Why, Henry," I said, "you're all 
 dressed! I thought " And then, my 
 eyes shifting over to Henry's bed, I let 
 out a yell like a wild Indian. For there 
 was some one in Henry's bed! A man! 
 
 "Look!" I cried, pointing to the bed. 
 
 "I'm looking," said Henry. "What 
 does this mean?" 
 
 "I I don't know," I said. And then 
 I began to cry. 
 
 52
 
 "1 1 don't know," 1 said, and then 1 began to cry
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 ONE thing's sure; men at least 
 some men are more reasonable 
 than any woman that ever lived. Now 
 I'm a reasonable woman, as women go. 
 But when I think how Henry acted that 
 night, and how I'd have acted, if I'd come 
 home like he did and found Well, it 
 just makes me sorry women are like that, 
 though I suppose they wouldn't be 
 women if they weren't. 
 
 I wouldn't have blamed Henry if he'd 
 gone off his head and said things when 
 he found that man in his bed. No, I 
 wouldn't have blamed him a bit and I 
 wouldn't have forgiven him. 
 
 But Henry was different ; what he did 
 was to come over and put his arms 
 53
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 around me, and try to comfort me. 
 "Don't you cry, dear," he said. "It's 
 all right." 
 
 "It isn't all right," I sobbed. 
 "You you don't think I knew he was 
 there?" 
 
 "Of course not," he said. 
 
 At that I cried harder than ever. 
 "Henry," I said, "you're you're the 
 sweetest man in the world." 
 
 "Nonsense!" said Henry. "But how 
 did he get here 1 ' ' 
 
 "I I don't know," I replied. "The 
 door-bell rang, and I I thought it was 
 you, and and I went out and pressed 
 the button, and opened the hall door. 
 And then and then I went back to bed. 
 And then Oh, you'll never forgive 
 me ! But when you came in it was dark, 
 and you talked queer, and I thought I 
 thought you'd had too much to drink. 
 Oh, it's too terrible!" 
 54
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 ' ' You poor darling ! ' ' said Henry, very 
 softly. 
 
 All this while the man in Henry's bed 
 had been sleeping peacefully, thank 
 goodness ! or I don't know what I'd have 
 done. Anyway, I felt a lot better after 
 I'd twisted up my hair, and hid in the 
 closet. It was comforting, too, to learn 
 that our guest hadn't undressed except 
 for his coat and shoes, for naturally I 
 wanted to see what was going on. And 
 I did, peering out from behind the closet 
 door. 
 
 What went on first was that Henry 
 leaned over and shook the stranger 
 within his bed, which didn 't do any good 
 at all. 
 
 "You wake up!" said Henry, giving 
 him another shake. 
 
 "Lemme alone!" murmured the stran- 
 ger. 
 
 Henry gave him another shake, and 
 55
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 this time he sat up. "Wha's matter ?" 
 he asked. " Is it morning ? ' ' 
 
 "No," said Henry, "it isn't morning. 
 Who are you, anyway?" 
 
 1 ' Name 's Deane. What are you doing 
 in my flat?" 
 
 "This isn't your flat; it's mine," 
 Henry said sharply. 
 
 " 'Tisn't, either; s'mine." 
 
 "Where do you live?" 
 
 "124 East 123rd Street." 
 
 "No, you don't. I know everybody 
 who lives in this house." 
 
 "All right," said the stranger, and 
 with that he lay down again. 
 
 "Here, you sit up!" said Henry, giv- 
 ing him another shake. "Where do you 
 live!" 
 
 "123 East 124th Street." 
 
 "That's more like it. Did you hear 
 that, Blanche? He lives at 123 East 
 124th Street." 
 
 56
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "124 East 123rd Street," said the 
 stranger. 
 
 "No," said Henry, "123 East 124th 
 Street." 
 
 "Tha's what I said," declared the 
 stranger. 
 
 i ' How long have you lived at 123 East 
 124th Street?" 
 
 ' ' Moved in yesterday. Fine flat ! No 
 gas 'lectric lights. Fifty dollars a 
 month! Wha's matter?" 
 
 "Nothing, only you've got in the 
 wrong flat. ' ' 
 
 "Never mind," said the stranger. 
 "Sleepy now. Good-night." 
 
 "Here, none of that!" said Henry. 
 "You're not going to sleep now. Have 
 you got a wife!" 
 
 "Yes, got a wife. Just had twins. 
 She told me about it to-night. Great 
 surprise! Ought to go home and see 
 
 57
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "I think I know what he's talking 
 about, Henry," I whispered. "He's 
 talking about " 
 
 "Yes," interrupted the stranger, 
 "tha's my name. Henry Henry 
 Deane. Wife's got twins. Never knew 
 about it. ' ' And with that the poor man 
 began to cry. 
 
 1 1 Here, you stop crying ! ' ' said Henry. 
 
 "Can't," said Mr. Deane. "Wife's 
 got twins, little boy and little girl. 
 Ought to go home." 
 
 "What's all this about twins, any- 
 way?" asked Henry, coming over to the 
 clothes-closet where I was hiding. 
 
 "It's like this," I said. "When he 
 came in the dark, I said 'Is that' you, 
 Henry?' and he said 'Yes,' and then he 
 came over to the foot of my bed, and I 
 said, ' Your bed 's over there. ' And then 
 he asked me what was the matter with 
 the beds, and I told him they were the 
 58
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 new twin beds, so that's where he must 
 have got the idea. ' ' 
 
 "I see," said Henry. "Drat it all, 
 he's gone to sleep again!" 
 
 "If that's the case," I said, "I'm com- 
 ing out of the closet." And I did. 
 
 "But what shall we do with him?" 
 asked Henry. 
 
 "I don't know," I answered. "We 
 can't turn him loose the way he is, and 
 we certainly can't take him home like 
 that." 
 
 "Your Ma has the only other bed in 
 the flat, ' ' said Henry. ' ' Tell you what ; 
 we might make up a bed for him on the 
 lounge in the dining-room." 
 
 "I don't like the idea of a perfect 
 stranger sleeping in the dining-room, ' ' I 
 said. "We don't know a thing about 
 him," 
 
 "Then perhaps we'd better let him 
 stay where he is." 
 
 59
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "But what will I do?" I asked. 
 
 "You might go and tuck in with your 
 ma." 
 
 "Not me," I said. "If I was to tuck 
 in with Ma, she'd think we'd quarreled, 
 sure. ' ' 
 
 "Then I don't see anything but to put 
 him to bed in the dining-room. ' ' 
 
 "No," I said, "if he sleeps in the 
 'dining-room, Ma will be sure to get up 
 early and find him there, and then there 
 would be all sorts of explanations. I 
 guess I'd better sleep in the dining-room 
 myself." 
 
 "Yes, I guess you had," agreed Henry. 
 
 "I don't like his sleeping in here with 
 you, though. He might get up in the 
 night and murder you." 
 
 "Nonsense!" said Henry. "He's 
 
 dead to the world. The thing to do is to 
 
 get him out of the flat good and early 
 
 before Ma's awake. Then you can come 
 
 60
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 in here, and there won 't be any explana- 
 tions to make." 
 
 "Yes," I said, "I believe that is the 
 best plan. I wonder if he really does 
 live at 123 East 124th Street. You might 
 look in his coat-pockets, and see if he's 
 got a card." 
 
 Henry thought that was a good idea, 
 so he looked through Mr. Deane 's coat- 
 pockets and discovered a green leather 
 wallet containing some banknotes, and 
 papers, and some business cards, which 
 informed us that Mr. Deane represented 
 the Gibraltar Life Insurance Company. 
 And looking further, he found another 
 card with "123 East 124th Street" 
 scribbled on it. 
 
 "He's wearing an Elk button on his 
 coat, too," said Henry, "so he must be 
 all right." 
 
 "Yes," I said, not thinking it neces- 
 sary to repeat what Mr. Deane had told 
 61
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 me about that Elk button, "I guess he's 
 a respectable citizen except on Saturday 
 nights. " 
 
 With that Henry returned the wallet 
 to the inside pocket of Mr. Deane's coat, 
 and flung the coat across a chair by the 
 bed, which was a natural thing for him 
 to do; though if I'd known what trouble 
 that simple action was going to cause, 
 I'd never have let him do it. But how 
 was I to know? 
 
 "Well," said Henry, "it's all hours of 
 the night, and I guess we'd better make 
 up that bed in the dining-room. If we 
 don't, we'll never go to sleep." 
 
 "No," I said, "we can't go to sleep 
 yet." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because we can't," I said. "Do 
 you know who I'm thinking of, Hen- 
 ry!" 
 
 "No," said Henry, kind of cross, "I 
 62
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 don't. If you're not going to bed, what 
 are you going to do?" 
 
 "I've been thinking about that man's 
 poor wife," I said, pointing to the bed 
 where Mr. Deane was sleeping peaceful 
 as a lamb. "I suppose she's sitting up, 
 wondering what's become of him." 
 
 " Better to let her sit up and wonder 
 than to see him the way he is," said 
 Henry. "If you think I'm going to 
 take him home like that, you're mis- 
 taken. ' ' 
 
 "I don't want you to take him home," 
 I said. "But I can't bear to think of 
 his poor wife waiting up for him, and 
 watching the clock, and wondering if he 
 hasn't been run over by a taxicab, or 
 murdered, or been took sick and gone 
 to a hospital." 
 
 "Well, what are you going to do about 
 it?" asked Henry. 
 
 "It's you who's going to do it," I 
 63
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 answered. "What you've got to do, 
 Henry, is to send her a telegram/' 
 
 Henry agreed that it would be a kind- 
 ness to send a telegram, but wanted to 
 know how in blazes he was going to do 
 it. "I can't leave you here alone with 
 that man," he said. 
 
 "Oh, pshaw!" I said. "That man 
 wouldn't harm a kitten. Besides, it 
 won't take you more than five or six 
 minutes to run over to 125th Street and 
 send a telegram. What puzzles me is 
 what to put in the message." 
 
 "But I won't leave you alone!" 
 
 "Yes, you will, too," I said. "We've 
 just got to send that poor woman a tele- 
 gram. ' ' 
 
 ' * But what would you do if he woke up 
 while I was gone and got gay ? ' ' 
 
 "I'd jab him with this," I said, going 
 out into the hall and returning with my 
 umbrella. 
 
 64
 
 "A hatpin would be better," said 
 Henry. 
 
 "All right, I'll get a hatpin, too. 
 Honestly, Henry, we've just got to send 
 that poor woman a telegram. I know 
 how I'd feel if you didn't come home ; I'd 
 think something awful had happened to 
 you, and I'd cry my eyes out, and would- 
 n't sleep a wink." 
 
 "Bless your heart," said Henry, "I 
 believe you would. ' ' 
 
 "And that's why we have to send a 
 telegram to Mrs. Henry Deane. Good- 
 ness! Supposing his name hadn't been 
 Henry, and when I said, 'Is that you, 
 Henry?' he'd answered, 'No, it's Bob.' " 
 
 "On the whole," said Henry, "if it 
 had to be and I guess it did or it would- 
 n't have happened it's lucky it turned 
 out the way it did. Are you sure it 
 won't scare you to be left alone with 
 him?" 
 
 65
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "Scare me? Of course it will scare 
 me!" 
 
 " You might lock him in here, and wait 
 for me out in the hall. ' ' 
 
 "Not much!" I said. "He might set 
 the flat on fire if he was locked in here all 
 alone by himself. I can manage; don't 
 you worry. Besides, I don 't believe he '11 
 wake for twenty-four hours unless you 
 stick pins in him. He's dead to the 
 world." 
 
 "All right, dear," said Henry, "I'll 
 do as you say. Only, what shall we put 
 in the telegram ! ' ' 
 
 "Let's get a pencil and paper and kind 
 of figure it out, ' ' I said. 
 
 After writing all sorts of messages, 
 we decided on this as being the safest : 
 
 Mrs. Henry Deane, 
 
 123 E. 124th St.. N. Y. City. 
 
 Stopping all night with friends. Be home 
 to-morrow morning. Love. HENRY. 
 
 66
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 My Henry thought it a first-rate tele- 
 gram, and so did I. For see the artful- 
 ness of it ; only a sober man would stop 
 to count his words, and a ten-word mes- 
 sage would convince his wife that her 
 Henry was safe and sober, even if he 
 wasn't truthful. She probably would 
 doubt his word, but that was his affair. 
 Neither Henry nor I could see how we 
 could very well do more than we were 
 doing. 
 
 So Henry put on his hat, lighted the 
 gas in the hall, and I went with him to 
 the door. And then I came back to the 
 bedroom, and with a hatpin in one hand 
 and my umbrella clutched tight in the 
 other, sat down in a rocking chair to wait. 
 
 I never was a good hand at waiting, 
 and the longer I waited the more fidgety 
 I got. I began to wonder if I 'd have the 
 courage to jab our guest with my um- 
 brella if he woke up and acted queer, and 
 67
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 to wish I hadn't been so rash sending 
 Henry off with that telegram. It was 
 all right to be sorry for poor Mrs. Deane 
 crying her eyes out, but here I was left 
 alone with a perfect stranger who might 
 wake up any minute and try to brain 
 me. 
 
 Finally I couldn't stand it any longer. 
 Thinks I: "I've got to do something, 
 or I'll just naturally bust. I guess I'll 
 get out the bedclothes, and make up the 
 lounge in the dining-room." So I went 
 into the closet and took down two sheets 
 and a blanket from a shelf, at the same 
 time being mighty careful to keep my 
 umbrella; I had the hatpin handy, too 
 stuck through my hair. 
 
 Coming out the closet with my arms 
 full of bedclothes and the umbrella dan- 
 gling from my wrist, I went over to my 
 bed to get one of my pillows. And then 
 Well, I'll never forget what happened 
 68
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 next as long as I live ! For just as I was 
 leaning over to get that pillow, who 
 should come marching into the room but 
 Ma! 
 
 69
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 OF course, if I'd stopped to think, I 
 never would have acted as I did. 
 But I didn't expect Ma, and her coming 
 in like that, and Henry gone, and a 
 strange man in his bed knocked what 
 little sense I had out of my head. 
 
 The worst of it was, Ma didn 't say any- 
 thing at first; just stood and stared at 
 me. And I stared back, my legs weak at 
 the knees, and my heart beating like a 
 drum. It was awful! 
 
 Finally Ma found her tongue. " What 
 are you doing with that umbrella?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "I I don't know," I faltered. "I I 
 thought it looked like rain. ' ' 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 70
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "I was putting it away, Ma," I said. 
 "What are you doing trapesing around 
 in your nightgown this time of night ?" 
 
 "I woke up and saw a streak of light 
 under my door, so I thought I'd investi- 
 gate ; and I 'm glad I did. Blanche, this 
 is disgraceful." 
 
 * ' I know it is, Ma, ' ' I said, ' ' but I can 't 
 help it." And then I began to cry. 
 
 11 There, there!" said Ma. "You're 
 all unstrung, ain't you? Don't you cry, 
 girlie! You just come and tuck into 
 my bed with me. Henry ought to be 
 ashamed of himself!" 
 
 "You mustn't blame Henry," I said, 
 "it isn't his fault. Besides, we've 
 known Mr. Deane for years, and he's 
 just like a brother to me." 
 
 "What are you talking about, Blanche? 
 Who's Mr. Deane?" 
 
 "He he's a friend of Henry's," I 
 fanered. 
 
 71
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "He's a poor friend of Henry's, then,'* 
 said Ma, "or this wouldn't have hap- 
 pened." 
 
 "You you don't understand," I 
 sobbed. 
 
 " I do, too, ' ' said Ma. ' ' Henry 's come 
 home " 
 
 "Henry?" I gasped. 
 
 "Yes, Henry," said Ma. "Who do 
 you suppose I'm talking about?" 
 
 I looked at Ma to see if she was really 
 serious, and then glanced at Henry's bed. 
 As a matter of fact, only the top of the 
 stranger 's head was showing, and it was 
 kind of bald like Henry's. "Thank 
 goodness!" I thought. "I won't have 
 to explain after all." 
 
 For you see, it isn't so easy to explain 
 things to Ma, her being deaf; besides, a 
 strange man in your husband's bed needs 
 an awful lot of explaining. So, acting 
 on impulse, I decided to let Ma think the 
 72
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 stranger was Henry if she wanted to, and 
 I said: "You go to bed, Ma. If we 
 stand here talking we '11 wake Henry, and 
 he's tired out." 
 
 "Oh!" said Ma. "He's tired out, is 
 he?" 
 
 "Yes, Henry's dead tired," I replied. 
 "If he wasn't, we'd have woke him up 
 long ago. ' ' 
 
 "But I can't go to bed and leave you 
 like this," said Ma. "What you doing 
 with those bedclothes?" 
 
 Though I hadn't realized it, all this 
 time I'd been hanging on to the two 
 sheets and blanket I'd got out to make 
 up the lounge in the dining-room. Not 
 knowing what else to say (Ain't it awful 
 how one lie leads to another]), I told Ma 
 I'd got out the extra covers because I was 
 having a chill. "But I'm feeling better 
 now," I said, "a lot better." (Which 
 wasn't true, either, for now I was in a 
 73
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 panic for fear the stranger would turn 
 over in his sleep and show his face.) 
 "Do go to bed, Ma." 
 
 "Do you know what I believe?" said 
 Ma, "I believe you're afraid of Henry, 
 and you've got that umbrella, and that 
 hatpin stuck in your hair to protect your- 
 self with. ' * 
 
 "Afraid of Henry!" I cried. "Ma, 
 you're crazy! Why should I be afraid 
 of Henry?" 
 
 "You can't fool me, Blanche; I know 
 what ails Henry." 
 
 "He's tired out." 
 
 "Tired but, your grandmother's cat! 
 Haven 't I got eyes and a nose ? Henry 's 
 the worse for drink, that's what ails 
 him!" 
 
 And now, too late, I saw what I had 
 done. By letting Ma think the stranger 
 was Henry, I'd convicted Henry, in Ma's 
 74
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 eyes, at least, of having come home the 
 worse for drink. It was too dreadful! 
 And yet it seemed almost as bad to tell 
 Ma I'd been lying to her, as to let her 
 think ill of Henry. So I said: "Ma, 
 you're wrong about Henry, and to-mor- 
 row you'll be sorry for having thought ill 
 of him." 
 
 "I don't believe it," said Ma. "If 
 Henry's all right like you say he is, just 
 wake him up and let him prove it. ' ' 
 
 "I won't, either." 
 
 "Then I will," said Ma, starting to- 
 wards the bed. 
 
 ' ' No, you won 't, " I said. ' ' You leave 
 Henry alone ! ' r And then I had an aw- 
 ful thought: supposing Henry was to 
 come walking in, as he might any minute. 
 What would Ma think then? 
 
 "Ma," I said, going over to her and 
 taking her by the arm, "I forgot to bolt 
 75
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 the front door. If I go and bolt it will 
 you promise to leave Henry alone till I 
 get back!" 
 
 "No," said Ma, "I won V 
 
 "Then you've got to go with me," I 
 said, tucking her arm in mine. 
 
 "Are you crazy, Blanche?" 
 
 ' ' Mighty near it. ' ' 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "I said I wasn't crazy, Ma, but I'm 
 afraid to go out in the hall alone, and 
 you've got to come with me." 
 
 "You didn't used to be like that," said 
 Ma. "I remember when you wasn't 
 scared of anything. Henry must have 
 terrorized you a heap to make you like 
 that." 
 
 "I was always like that," I said; 
 "Henry had nothing to do with it. 
 Come along." And with that I half- 
 dragged Ma to the front door, which I 
 bolted. 
 
 76
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "Now, Ma," I said, "you go back to 
 bed." 
 
 "Not likely," said Ma, "with you hav- 
 ing a chill. ' ' 
 
 Of course I told Ma I was through hav- 
 ing chills, and that the best place for me 
 was in bed. Ma agreed with me there, 
 only she insisted on my tucking in with 
 her. And when I said I wouldn't, she 
 declared it was either that, or else she'd 
 tuck in with me. 
 
 ' ' But you can 't, Ma, ' ' I said. * * I only 
 got a single bed. Besides, it wouldn't be 
 proper. ' ' 
 
 "I don't care whether it's proper or 
 not," said Ma. "If you think I'm going 
 to leave a child of mine alone with a man 
 who's had too much drink, you're mis- 
 taken." 
 
 You can imagine what a state I was 
 in with Ma acting like that, and me ex- 
 pecting Henry back any minute. I just 
 77
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 didn't know what to do. If I did tuck in 
 with Ma, Henry, finding the front door 
 bolted when he came back, would prob- 
 ably think Mr. Deane had murdered me ; 
 if I didn't tuck in with Ma, there was no 
 telling what mightn't happen. On the 
 whole, I decided it was better to risk 
 scaring Henry than to take any more 
 chances with Ma, 
 
 Yet I hated to scare Henry. Why 
 couldn't I write him a note, explaining 
 how things were, and slip it under the 
 front door? 
 
 It wouldn't be very cheerful for 
 Henry, waiting out there, but it would be 
 better than thinking I'd been murdered. 
 Besides, if Ma went right to sleep, which 
 I hoped she would, I'd be able to steal out 
 and let him in almost as soon as he 
 arrived. Anyway, that 's what I decided 
 to do, and finally, after promising to join 
 her in five minutes, I got Ma to go back 
 78
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 to bed. Then I dashed into my room 
 and scribbled a note to Henry. 
 
 After I'd done that, and satisfied my- 
 self Mr. Deane was still asleep, I turned 
 out the gas, and went out into the hall 
 where I got down on my knees and 
 pushed the note I'd written under the 
 front door with a hairpin, there being 
 plenty of space, the building being old 
 and kind of out of plumb, so to speak. 
 
 I guess I took longer than five minutes 
 to do it, though, for Ma came out of her 
 room and discovered me just as I got the 
 note under the door. And seeing me on 
 my knees, she naturally thought I was 
 praying, and that I'd chosen a funny 
 place to do it. t ' If you want to pray for 
 Henry," she said "and I guess he needs 
 it if anyone does come into my room, 
 and I'll pray with you. " 
 
 I laughed at that, I couldn't help it. 
 
 " That's right," said Ma. "You're 
 79
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 laughing now, and praying did it. Shall 
 I turn out the gas, Blanche?" 
 "No," I said, "leave it burn." 
 But Ma thought that was wasteful ex- 
 travagance. So she compromised by 
 turning it low, after which I followed her 
 into her room ; and before long we were 
 both in bed, the door into the hall closed, 
 the room dark, and me praying a real 
 prayer, which was that Ma would go to 
 sleep soon so that I could slip out and 
 let poor Henry in. For the more I 
 thought about his staying out there on 
 the landing, the less I liked it. 
 
 Supposing the people in the flat above 
 us were to come home and find him sitting 
 out there? They'd think it mighty 
 
 * 
 
 queer. It wasn't likely they'd be out so 
 late at night, but I couldn't help worry- 
 ing. I'm not the worrying kind, but by 
 this time I'd got into a sort of nervous 
 state, and no wonder. 
 80
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 You see, I took it for granted that 
 Henry had already read my note, and 
 was out there waiting for me to let him 
 in. So you can imagine how I jumped, 
 when all of a sudden I heard a noise out 
 in the hall. It sounded like some one 
 hammering on the front door, though I 
 couldn 't be sure. 
 
 ' * Goodness ! " I thought. ' ' I hope Mr. 
 Deane hasn't woke up and started on the 
 rampage!" For it seemed impossible 
 that Henry could have failed to see the 
 note I'd slipped under the door, and if it 
 wasn't Henry, it must be Mr. Deane. 
 Anyway, I'd better investigate. But 
 when I started to slip out of bed real 
 quiet, Ma, who wasn't asleep yet, reached 
 over and grabbed me by the arm. 
 
 "You lie down and go to sleep," she 
 said. 
 
 "I will in a minute, Ma. I just want 
 to see if Henry's all right." 
 81
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "If you keep jumping in and out of 
 bed like a grasshopper, we'll neither of 
 us get any sleep," said Ma. "You're to 
 come back, mind ! ' ' 
 
 "Yes, Ma," I said, "I'll be right 
 back." And with that I got out of bed 
 and kind of felt my way over to the door. 
 
 By this time the hammering sound had 
 stopped. But I thought I'd better in- 
 vestigate just the same, so I went over 
 to our bedroom door and looked in. 
 Though I couldn't see him, I knew Mr. 
 Deane was asleep because he was snor- 
 ing; not loud, but regular like the tick- 
 ing of a clock. 
 
 "That settles him," I thought "It 
 must have been some one else who made 
 that noise. Anyway, now that I 'm up, I 
 can let Henry in. That is, I can if Ma 
 stays in bed. ' ' 
 
 I felt in my bones that if I did open the 
 front door and let Henry in, Ma would 
 82
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 choose that identical moment to pop out 
 of her room and spoil everything. Just 
 the same, I was going to chance it, for I 
 couldn't bear to think of poor Henry 
 waiting outside there. So after looking 
 over my shoulder and straining my ears 
 for any sound from Ma's room, I slipped 
 the bolt and opened the front door. And 
 then I was completely flabbergasted. 
 Henry wasn't there! When I came to 
 look for it, I found the note I'd written 
 him wasn't there, either. 
 
 1 ' That explains it, " I thought. ' ' After 
 reading my note, Henry waited till he 
 got tired, and now he 's probably killing 
 time by walking around the block. ' ' 
 
 It seemed probable, too, that the ham- 
 mering I'd heard had been a boy with a 
 telegram who'd come up one flight too 
 many. For there was a bright light in 
 the hall below, and by looking over the 
 banisters I could see that the front door 
 83
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 of the flat underneath ours was open. So 
 I closed our front door not slipping the 
 bolt this time and went back to Ma's 
 room. 
 
 I wanted to write Henry another note 
 to tell him the door wasn't bolted now, 
 and he could steal in and go to bed if he 
 wanted to ; but to do that I 'd have to light 
 a light in our room, which I didn't like 
 to do with Mr. Deane asleep in there. 
 Besides, I felt sure Ma was already be- 
 ginning to wonder why I was gone so 
 long. 
 
 I was right about Ma. She was on the 
 point of getting out of bed to come after 
 me, and she scolded me good for skir- 
 mishing around in my bare feet, and me 
 just over a chill. 
 
 "You'll be sick to-morrow, as sure as 
 
 guns, ' * she said. ' * I never passed such a 
 
 night in my life, what with Henry coming 
 
 home the worse for drink, and you telling 
 
 84
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 stories about him, having chills, and 
 tempting Providence the worst way, 
 kneeling to pray like you did by a door 
 with a crack under it, and you with next 
 to nothing on and in a draught all the 
 time you was there. Haven't you got 
 any sense, Blanche?" 
 
 With that, Ma flopped over on her side 
 and tried to go to sleep. If she'd only 
 succeeded ! But she didn 't ; and her not 
 going to sleep caused me so much worry, 
 later, that when I looked in the glass next 
 morning, I almost expected to find my 
 hair had turned white like the Count of 
 Monte Cristo's did or was it Henry 
 Ward Beecher? 
 
 85
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 AS I lay there waiting for Ma to go 
 to sleep, I wondered and wondered 
 what I could do to clear Henry's reputa- 
 tion. I couldn't bear to have Ma think- 
 ing ill of him, and misjudging him the 
 way she was; yet I couldn't see how to 
 convince her she was wrong. Of course 
 Henry had a perfect alibi, but in order to 
 establish it, I'd have to explain that it 
 was Mr. Deane and not Henry who had 
 had too much to drink, and that was 
 something I couldn't very well explain 
 now. It would sound fine to-morrow 
 morning, wouldn't it? for me to Bay: 
 "Ma, that man you saw in Henry's bed 
 last night wasn't Henry at all, but a per- 
 fect stranger." 
 
 86
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 I could tell her this, though: that 
 Henry had come home with a raging 
 toothache, and before he went to sleep 
 had been holding whisky in his mouth to 
 ease the pain. Yes, I'd tell Ma that, and 
 maybe Henry would think of something 
 else to tell her ; for I wasn't going to have 
 Ma return to Centerville with the idea 
 that Henry came home the worse for 
 drink every Saturday night, and him the 
 best man in the world, and the kindest. 
 
 Wasn't it Henry's kindness that was 
 responsible for the whole business? If 
 he 'd turned Mr. Deane out into the street 
 the way most men would instead of run- 
 ning off to send a telegram to his poor 
 wife, there wouldn't have been anything 
 to explain. And there was Mr. Deane 
 asleep and happy, and Henry locked out 
 of his own flat, or just as good as locked 
 out. "When all is said and done, it's no 
 great shakes to pick up a wounded man 
 87
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 by the roadside and give him a lift. I'll 
 bet if the Good Samaritan in the Bible 
 had come home and found a strange man 
 in his wife's twin bed, he wouldn't have 
 acted as generous as Henry did. 
 
 And where was Henry now? Was he 
 waiting outside the front door again, or 
 was he still walking around the block? 
 And would he have sense enough to try 
 the door with his key, or would he wait 
 for me to open the door like I told him I 
 would in the note I wrote him! 
 
 "Are you asleep, Ma?" I asked. 
 
 Ma didn't answer, and I began 
 wondering why she didn't answer. Was 
 she asleep, or hadn't she heard me? 
 
 I'd spoken loud enough, so she should 
 have heard me, only she was lying on her 
 left side, and it's her left ear that she 
 hears best with. So I didn't know 
 whether she was asleep or not. 
 
 By this time I was in such a nervous 
 88
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 state that I was ready to scream, and 
 I was on the point of getting out of bed 
 again, whether Ma was asleep or not, 
 when I heard something that made my 
 blood run cold. It was a queer, splinter- 
 ing sort of noise and sounded for all the 
 world like some one was trying to break 
 down the front door. 
 
 I was out of bed like a shot, making 
 for the door as fast as I could in the 
 dark ; and though Ma proved she wasn 't 
 asleep by ordering me to come back to 
 bed, you can better believe I didn't go 
 back. Instead, I opened the bedroom 
 door and peered out into the hall. 
 
 Cr rash ! 
 
 There was no doubt about it, some one 
 was trying to break down the front door ! 
 
 Glancing over my shoulder I saw that 
 Ma was getting out of bed. Well, I 
 wasn't going to have her face any dan- 
 ger, so I slipped the key from the lock, 
 89
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 and, stepping out into the hall, shut the 
 door and locked it. Ma was safe, any- 
 way. 
 
 Cr rash ! 
 
 Maybe Mr. Deane was a criminal, and 
 the police, having tracked him to our 
 flat, were breaking down our front door 
 to get at him. Grabbing my umbrella 
 from the hat-rack where Pd hung it, I 
 tiptoed towards the front door. 
 
 Cr rash! And Ma pounding on her 
 door and yelling: " Blanche, let me 
 out!" and me scared within an inch of 
 my life ! Just the same, something had 
 got to be done, so I called out in a shaky 
 voice: "Who's there?" And then I 
 heard some one outside say: "Thank 
 God!" and I knew it was Henry. 
 
 But if Henry was thankful, you can 
 
 better believe I wasn't; I was mad as 
 
 a hornet. What did he mean by giving 
 
 me such a fright? Marching up to the 
 
 90
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 front door, I flung it wide open. And 
 then I nearly died! For Henry wasn't 
 alone ; there was a man with him a fat 
 man in pink pyjamas, who carried a 
 stove-lifter ! 
 
 The fat man stared at me, and I stared 
 at him, till, remembering all of a sudden 
 I hadn't anything on but my nightgown, 
 I dashed behind the door. To make mat- 
 ters worse, Ma kept pounding on her 
 door, and demanding to be let out. 
 
 "Are you hurt, dearest !" asked 
 Henry. 
 
 "No, I ain't!" I said. 
 
 "Some one seems to be in trouble, " 
 said the fat man. 
 
 "Yes, what's the matter with your 
 Ma?" asked Henry. 
 
 "Nothing!" I replied. "Henry, you 
 come in here!" 
 
 * * If you don 't need me any more, ' ' said 
 the fat man. 
 
 91
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 ''No, we don't need you, and never 
 did ! " I snapped from behind the door. 
 
 "I'm sure I'm much obliged to yon 
 for your assistance," said Henry. 
 
 "Don't mention it," said the fat man. 
 "Good-night." And with that he 
 started downstairs, and Henry came in. 
 
 "Now," I said, closing the door and 
 standing with my back against it, "will 
 you kindly explain what you mean by 
 trying to break down the front door, and 
 scaring me to death?" 
 
 "Don't you suppose I was scared?" 
 said Henry. "When I came back from 
 sending that telegram and found the 
 front door bolted, I thought something 
 dreadful had happened. And then when 
 I knocked and you didn't answer, I could 
 only think of one explanation, and that 
 was that Mr. Deane had murdered you." 
 
 * * Murdered my aunt ! Didn 't my note 
 explain?" 
 
 92
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "What note?" 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me you didn't 
 get the note I wrote you?" 
 
 "I don't know what you're talking 
 about," said Henry. 
 
 "Then somebody else got it, or " I 
 opened the front door again, and then I 
 saw what had become of the note. You 
 see the landing carpet was loose at the 
 door sill, and what I'd done was to push 
 the note not only under the door, but 
 under the carpet, as well. 
 
 1 ' There, ' ' I said, * ' that explains every- 
 thing!" 
 
 "But, what about your Ma!" 
 
 "She's locked in. You read the note 
 and you'll understand. You see, Ma 
 came into our bedroom after you'd 
 gone." 
 
 "Good Heavens!" said Henry. 
 * ' Then she saw Mr. Deane in my bed ! ' ' 
 
 "She did and she didn't. Of course 
 93
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 she saw him, but only the top of his 
 head was showing, so she thought it was 
 you, and I let her think so." 
 
 "Then it's all right," said Henry. 
 
 "It ain't, either; it's all wrong. Ma 
 smelled whisky the minute she came into 
 our room. And what with Mr. Deane 
 being dead to the world, and not able to 
 defend his character, which he couldn't 
 have, anyway, and me being fool enough 
 to let Ma think he was you " 
 
 "Great Scott!" said Henry. "Then 
 Ma thinks I'm" 
 
 "Exactly," I said. 
 
 "But why did you lock her in her 
 room 1 ' ' 
 
 "* "Because, thinking Mr. Deane was 
 you, and him the worse for drink, she in- 
 sisted on my tucking in with her. And 
 then you had to go and get a fat man to 
 break down the front door, and see your 
 wife with nothing on but a nightgown. 
 94
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 Besides, I thought it was burglars trying 
 to get in, and I wasn't going to have Ma 
 shot at by burglars if I could help it. ' ' 
 
 "But I had to get some one to help 
 me," said Henry. "I couldn't break 
 down the door alone. " 
 
 "Who wanted you to break it down? 
 And now there 's Ma to explain things to. 
 We've got to do something, or she'll hol- 
 ler herself sick, and wear all the skin off 
 her knuckles." 
 
 "Yes," agreed Henry, "your Ma will 
 wake up everybody in the block if we 
 don't do something." 
 
 "Well, then, hurry up and think! 
 What shall we tell her!" 
 
 "I I don't know," said Henry, "un- 
 less we tell her the truth." 
 
 "And have her find out I'd been lying 
 
 to her, and allowing a strange man to 
 
 sleep in my twin bed? Not much! No, 
 
 we'll tell her a burglar was trying to 
 
 95
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 break into the flat, and I locked her in to 
 keep her from doing anything rash, 
 knowing how brave she is. That's what 
 we'll tell her. Hang your hat on the 
 rack, and come along." 
 
 Ma was the maddest white woman in 
 America when we opened her door. She 
 glared at me like a tiger ; wanted to know 
 what I meant by locking her in, and if I 
 thought that was any way for a daughter 
 to treat her mother. 
 
 "I only did it to protect you, Ma," I 
 said. 
 
 " Protect me? Protect me from 
 what?" 
 
 "From burglars, Ma." 
 
 "What's she talking about, Henry?" 
 
 1 ' Burglars, Ma ! " I screamed. i ' They 
 tried to break into the flat ! If you don't 
 believe it, come and look at the front 
 door." 
 
 Ma was perfectly willing to look at the 
 96
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 front door, so we trailed down the hall, 
 opened the door, and Henry pointed out 
 the dents the fat man had made with his 
 stove-lifter. But even then Ma was only 
 half-convinced. 
 
 "I don't believe there were any bur- 
 glars," she said, "and even if there were, 
 you had no business to lock me in my 
 room, Blanche." 
 
 "It was to save you from being shot 
 at, Ma.' r 
 
 "Well, I'd rather be shot at than be 
 locked in a room the way I was. Don't 
 you ever let me catch you doing anything 
 like that again." 
 
 "I won't, Ma," I promised. I hoped 
 it wouldn't be necessary a second time. 
 
 "H'm!" said Henry. "Don't you 
 wish to tell Ma something else, 
 Blanche?" 
 
 ' ' Oh, yes ! I want you to take a good 
 look at Henry, Ma. I've told him what 
 97
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 you thought about him, and his feel- 
 ings are hurt.'* 
 
 "Yes, Ma," said Henry, "how could 
 you think I'd take too much to drink?" 
 
 "Because," said Ma, "I smelled 
 whisky for one thing." 
 
 "He'd had a toothache," I explained, 
 "and had been holding whisky in his 
 mouth to ease the pain. You can see for 
 yourself he's as sober as a judge." 
 
 "I haven't got my glasses," said Ma, 
 "but he seems sober. I'm sorry if I've 
 done you an injustice, Henry, though I 
 must say that holding whisky in your 
 mouth is likely to lead you to forming 
 a habit for strong drink, if you haven't 
 already got the habit, which I'm sure I 
 hope you haven't. And even if you have, 
 it isn't much worse than Blanche's habit 
 of locking people in their rooms. ' ' 
 
 Luckily, I understood Ma well enough 
 to know that what she said amounted to 
 98
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 her admitting tliat she was in the wrong. 
 So I breathed a sigh of relief. At last 
 everything seemed to be running 
 smoothly. Though the thought of it 
 made me turn as pink as his pyjamas, I 
 even forgave Henry for letting that fat 
 man see me there at the door in my night- 
 gown. 
 
 But nothing could go right that night. 
 For just as I was congratulating myself 
 that all was well, I heard a noise 
 (it sounded like some one overturning a 
 chair in our bedroom) that scared me 
 worse than when Henry had tried to 
 break into the flat. And then, before 
 either Henry or I could do anything, or 
 get Ma out of the hall, our bedroom door 
 opened, and Mr. Deane appeared on the 
 scene. 
 
 There he stood, all dressed except for 
 his coat and shoes, thank goodness! but 
 with one hand on his stomach. And as 
 99
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 he blinked at the light, he murmured, 
 "Going to be sick. Going to be awful 
 sick!" 
 
 100
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 OF course it wasn't funny. Besides, 
 Henry says I haven't any sense of 
 humor, and maybe I haven't. But Mr. 
 Deane appearing like that and saying 
 what he did, sort of got me going ; I be- 
 gan to laugh. And once I'd started 
 laughing I couldn't stop, though you can 
 better believe I wanted to, with Henry 
 glaring at me the way he was. Mr, 
 Deane looked mighty reproachful, too; 
 and Ma stared first at me and then at 
 Mr. Deane, her eyes as big as saucers. 
 And me laughing like I was enjoying it 
 when I was really half -crazy with won- 
 dering how on earth we'd ever be able to 
 explain things to Ma now. It was aw- 
 ful! 
 
 101
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 " Who's that man?" demanded Ma, 
 pointing to Mr. Deane. "And why is 
 Blanche laughing?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Henry. 
 
 "Going to be sick," murmured Mr. 
 Deane. "Going to be sick soon." 
 
 "He came out of your room," said 
 Ma. 
 
 "Tell her," I managed to gasp, "tell 
 her he's a burglar." 
 
 "You stop laughing, and tell her your- 
 self," said Henry. 
 
 "Blanche is having hysterics," said 
 Ma. 
 
 "Oh," said Henry, "is that what ails 
 her?" 
 
 "Going to be sick," murmured Mr. 
 Deane. ' ' Going to be sick now. ' ' 
 
 "No, you're not!" said Henry, and 
 with that he grabbed Mr. Deane by the 
 arm and yanked him into our bedroom, 
 slamming the door behind him. 
 102
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "Well, I never!" said Ma. "Who's 
 that man, Blanche, and what is Henry 
 doing to him ? ' ' 
 
 But I only shook my head help- 
 lessly. I was through laughing hy this 
 time ; I was crying now. I couldn't even 
 think clear any more. It came over me 
 suddenly that Mr. Deane was the second 
 man who 'd seen me in my nightgown that 
 night, and so I naturally cried harder 
 than ever. 
 
 Having had a cousin named Loretta 
 Barnes, who used to have hysterics every 
 time there was a thunder storm, which is 
 kind of frequent in Indiana, Ma knew 
 about what to do. So she began sooth- 
 ing me, patting me on the shoulder, and 
 talking to me like I was a baby. ' ' There, 
 there," she said. "Don't you cry, 
 dearie. It's all right. I won't let any- 
 body hurt you." 
 
 At that my mind sort of cleared, and 
 103
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 I thought I saw a way to at least post- 
 pone any more explanations till to-mor- 
 row. 
 
 "Take me to bed," I sobbed. 
 
 "Yes," said Ma, "that's the best place 
 for you." And with that she led me 
 into her room, lighted the gas, and 
 tucked me into her bed. 
 
 "Now," I thought, "if she'll only go 
 to bed, too, everything will be all right. ' ' 
 
 But Ma evidently had no intention of 
 going to bed. Instead, after smoothing 
 my pillow and patting my cheek, she 
 started towards the door. 
 
 "Where are you going?" I screamed, 
 sitting up in bed. 
 
 "I'm going to see if Henry needs any 
 help." 
 
 "No, no!" I cried. "I won't be left 
 here alone ! ' ' 
 
 "But Henry may need me. Who was 
 that man, Blanche ? ' ' 
 104
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "He was a burglar. And don't you 
 dare leave me alone." 
 
 "But if he's a burglar, he may be mur- 
 dering Henry. ' ' 
 
 "I don't care if he is," I said. 
 
 ' * Why, Blanche Hawkins ! ' ' 
 
 "I I'm not myself, Ma," I whim- 
 pered. ' ' If you leave me alone, I '11 die. ' ' 
 
 1 ' What 's that you say. ' ' 
 
 "I said Henry's a match for any bur- 
 glar that ever lived, and I won't be left 
 alone." 
 
 "Then," said Ma, "I know what I'll 
 do." 
 
 Wondering what on earth she was up 
 to now, I watched Ma cross to the bureau, 
 open the top drawer, and take something 
 out something small with a string tied 
 to it. She was making for the window, 
 which was open, when suddenly realiz- 
 ing what she was up to, I jumped out of 
 bed, and running over to her, snatched 
 105
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 what she had out of her hand. It was 
 lucky I did, too; for what Ma had got 
 out of the bureau was a police whistle, 
 and what she meant to do was to lean out 
 of the window and blow it. 
 
 Of course Ma resented my snatching 
 the police whistle away from her, and 
 gave me fits. ' * You ought to be ashamed 
 of yourself!" she said. "Haven't you 
 got any manners? Give me back that 
 whistle!" 
 
 "Do you know what would happen if 
 you blew that whistle ? " I shouted. ' ' The 
 police would come ! ' ' 
 
 ' * Glory be ! " said Ma. ' * Do you think 
 I don't know thatT' 
 
 1 1 But we don 't want the police ! ' ' 
 
 "We do, too! Haven't we got a bur- 
 glar in the house?" 
 
 "Yes," I admitted, "but Henry can 
 take care of him." 
 
 "Maybe he can, and maybe he can't," 
 106
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 said Ma. "You give me that whistle. 
 I 'm not going to take any chances. ' r 
 
 ' ' But, Ma, if the police come, we '11 all 
 have to go to the police court, and tes- 
 tify before judges, and be asked ques- 
 tions. " 
 
 "I don't care if we do!" 
 
 ' * But I care. I think you ought to con- 
 sider me a little. ' ' 
 
 "And I think you ought to consider 
 Henry. What do you mean by leaving 
 him alone at the mercy of a burglar t If 
 it was your Pa, you can better believe 
 I'd be with him instead of having hys- 
 terics, and snatching police whistles out 
 of my mother's hand. I can't imagine 
 what's got into you, Blanche. Henry 
 may need help this minute." 
 
 "I'm sure he doesn't, Ma." 
 
 "Well, I'm not sure," said Ma, "but 
 I'm going to be. I'm fond of Henry, 
 even if you ain 't. You can stay here or 
 107
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 not, just as you like, but I'm going to 
 Henry." 
 
 "You have no right to talk like that," 
 I said. * ' If Henry needed me, I 'd go to 
 him through fire and water, and you 
 know it!" 
 
 "Then, why don't you go to him 
 now?" 
 
 "I'm going," I said. "Come along." 
 
 With that I marched out of the room, 
 Ma after me, and over to Henry's door, 
 where I knocked. 
 
 "Who's there?" called Henry. 
 
 " It 's me, ' ' I said ' ' me and Ma. " 
 
 "What do you want?" 
 
 "Ma thinks you're being murdered by 
 the burglar. Come out in the hall a min- 
 ute, and be sure and close the door after 
 you." 
 
 * ' There ! " I said to Ma, as Henry ap- 
 peared. "He's all right, just as I said 
 he'd be." 
 
 108
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 " Where's the burglar?" asked Ma. 
 
 "Tell her you've tied him to the bed 
 with ropes," I whispered. 
 
 "I've tied him up with ropes, Ma." 
 
 * ' What are you going to do with Mm ? ' ' 
 demanded Ma. 
 
 "I'll turn him over to the police to- 
 morrow morning." 
 
 1 * Do you hear that, Blanche ? Henry 's 
 going to turn the burglar over to the po- 
 lice." 
 
 "If I hadn't prevented it, Ma would 
 have blown a police whistle out of the 
 window," I whispered. 
 
 "Good Heavens!" said Henry. 
 
 "I can't see why you don't have the po- 
 lice in now, ' ' said Ma. 
 
 ' ' Because we 'd have to go with them, ' ' 
 I explained, "and we all need sleep. Be- 
 sides, to-morrow will do just as well. ' ' 
 
 "I don't like the idea of Henry sleep- 
 ing in a room with a burglar, ' ' said Ma. 
 109
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "How is Mr. Deane?" I whispered. 
 
 "Well, he did what he said he was go- 
 ing to do, ' ' said Henry. ' ' Now, Ma, you 
 and Blanche go to bed." 
 
 "What I can't understand," said Ma, 
 "is how the burglar got into your bed- 
 room. And what's queerer still, is his 
 coming out into the hall the way he did, 
 for he must have known we were there." 
 
 "He came out to surrender," I ex- 
 plained. 
 
 "But burglars don't surrender like 
 that. I can't make head or tail of it. 
 If I hadn't seen him with my own eyes, 
 I wouldn't have believed there was any 
 burglar. But I guess you're right about 
 going to bed it's all hours. Though 
 how I'm going to sleep, knowing there's 
 a burglar in the house, is beyond me. 
 Come on to bed, Blanche. ' ' 
 
 "In a minute," I said. Then, going 
 up to Henry, I whispered: "Get Mr. 
 110
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 Deane out of the house early, and be sure 
 and have a story ready for Ma, telling 
 how he escaped. ' ' And then I kissed him 
 good-night. 
 
 "I never passed such a night in my 
 whole life," said Ma, once we were in 
 her room and in bed. "If I ever do go 
 to sleep, which ain't probable, I'll have 
 a nightmare, sure as guns. So if you 
 hear me groaning, Blanche, don't be 
 scared just wake me up. ' ' 
 
 "I will," I promised. "Go to sleep, 
 now. ' ' 
 
 Ma did go to sleep right away, but I 
 didn't. It seemed like I lay awake for 
 hours. And finally, when I did go to 
 sleep, I dreamed of being chased through 
 the streets in my nightgown by a fat man 
 in pink pyjamas. So 'twas me who had 
 the nightmare and not Ma. But even at 
 that, what I dreamed wasn't much worse 
 than what really happened next morning. 
 Ill
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 WHEN I woke the next morning it 
 was quite late, and Ma was al- 
 ready up. "She's probably getting 
 breakfast," I thought. "I do hope 
 Henry woke early and smuggled Mr. 
 Deane out of the flat." 
 
 Still, even if Mr. Deane hadn't es- 
 caped yet, it would be easy to let him out 
 the front door while Ma was in the 
 kitchen; so I needn't worry about that. 
 But I did need some clothes, for every 
 stitch I owned, except the nightgown I 
 had on, was in Henry's room. 
 
 Of course I could have asked Ma, who 
 
 was already dressed, to go and get them 
 
 for me. But, somehow, I felt in my 
 
 bones that Henry had overslept, and that 
 
 112
 
 Henry has a perfect right to go out on Saturday nights if I let him
 
 Then I went to bed too, for Henry doesn't like me to sit up for him
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 Mr. Deane was still occupying my twin 
 bed. If that was so, it wouldn't do to 
 send Ma for my clothes. No, I'd have a 
 bath first, and then go and tap on 
 Henry's door myself. 
 
 If there's anything more refreshing 
 than a cold bath after a hard night, I'd 
 like to know what it is. Anyway, I felt 
 like a different woman after I'd got 
 through, even if I was afraid to look in 
 the glass for fear I'd discover my hair 
 had turned white. You may laugh as 
 much as you please, but it was a real sur- 
 prise to me to find my hair was the same 
 as it always was. And considering what 
 I'd been through, I don't see how you 
 can blame me. 
 
 On the way down the hall to Henry's 
 room, I glanced in at the dining-room, 
 the door being open. Ma wasn't in 
 sight, but I could hear her moving around 
 in the kitchen, so I knew she was all right. 
 113
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 Our dining-robm is quite large, but our 
 kitchen is no bigger than a minute. As 
 a matter of fact, it isn't a separate room 
 at all just an alcove off the dining-room, 
 lighted by a single window that opens on 
 a fire-escape. But it does very nicely 
 for all that. 
 
 Well, Ma was in the kitchen, and 
 there was no use letting her know I was 
 up yet, so I slipped down the hall and 
 tapped at Henry's door. When nobody 
 answered, I was a little worried, and I 
 tapped again; then I knocked good and 
 hard. Nobody answered this time, 
 either, but I wasn't worried any more. 
 It was just as I'd thought; Henry and 
 Mr. Deane had both overslept them- 
 selves. Opening the door gently, I 
 peered in. 
 
 The room was pretty dark, for all the 
 shades were down, but I could make out 
 that some one was in my bed. 
 114
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "It must be Henry," I thought. "It 
 wouldn't be likely he'd let Mr. Deane 
 sleep in my bed." 
 
 Advancing cautiously into the room, I 
 stumbled over a pair of shoes. I don't 
 know why, but that sort of reassured me, 
 for it was just like Henry to leave his 
 k shoes out for people to fall over. By 
 this time, too, I was getting used to the 
 light, and I could see that the man in my 
 bed was Henry, and that Good gra- 
 cious ! I didn't know what to make of it, 
 but Henry's own bed was empty! 
 
 I glanced nervously over my shoulder, 
 half-expecting Mr. Deane to spring out 
 at me from behind the bureau. Or was 
 he hiding in the clothes-closet? .Well, if 
 he was, I couldn 't help it. Going over to 
 the window, I gave the blind a jerk and 
 it flew up, flooding the room with sun- 
 shine; and then I wasn't scared any 
 more. For there's something about sun- 
 115
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 shine that takes the edge off things, and 
 kind of gives you courage. Besides, I 
 knew now what had happened. Henry 
 had woke up early, put Mr. Deane out, 
 and then gone back to bed again. Just 
 the same, it was time Henry was getting 
 up, so I went over and shook him gently. 
 
 "What's the matter?" he asked, wak- 
 ing with a start. 
 
 "Nothing's the matter." 
 
 "Oh, it's you, is it? I thought maybe 
 it was What are you doing in here ? ' ' 
 
 "I came in to wake you up. It's 
 nearly nine o'clock." 
 
 "Yes, I know " He was sitting up 
 now, and staring at his own bed. 
 
 "What's wrong?" I asked. 
 
 < ' Wh where 's Deane ? ' ' 
 
 "Don't you remember? You put him 
 out, and then went back to bed." 
 
 "It's funny," said Henry, "but I don't 
 remember a thing about it." 
 116
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "You were probably half -asleep at the 
 time," I said. 
 
 "But how do you know I put him out ? ' ' 
 
 "Because he isn't here." 
 
 "But I couldn't have put him out. 
 Surely I would remember if I had." 
 
 "Then he let himself out," I said, 
 "and good riddance." 
 
 "I wonder." 
 
 "But, Henry, if he isn't here Get 
 up and see if he's hiding in the clothes- 
 closet." 
 
 "No, he isn't in the clothes-closet," 
 Henry reported, after a thorough search. 
 
 "Well, my clothes are," I said, "and 
 I want them. ' ' 
 
 "It's probably just as you think, 
 dear," said Henry. "He woke up, 
 found himself in a strange place, and 
 managed to steal out and find the front 
 door. And now he's wondering how in 
 the world he got here. Probably he'll 
 117
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 never know just where he spent the 
 night. It must make a man feel mighty 
 queer to find he's spent the night " 
 Henry stopped all of a sudden, and I saw 
 he was staring at the floor. 
 
 " What's the matter now?" I asked. 
 
 * ' Nothing, ' ' said Henry. ' ' Nothing 
 much only I say, Blanche, do you 
 know whose shoes those are!" 
 
 I looked at the shoes Henry was point- 
 ing at. They were the same shoes I'd 
 stumbled over when I'd come into the 
 room. And they weren't Henry's shoes! 
 
 "Good gracious 1" I said. "Mr. 
 Deane has gone off and left his shoes!" 
 
 "But has he gone?" said Henry. 
 
 ' ' Of course he 's gone ! The room was 
 dark, and he couldn't find his shoes, so 
 he went without them. I'll bet you'd 
 have done the same if you'd woke up in 
 a strange room with a strange man sleep- 
 ing beside you in a twin bed. You must 
 118
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 remember Mr. Deane isn't used to twin 
 beds; he practically said so himself. I 
 guess he was so scared he didn't even 
 think of his shoes. Anything to escape, 
 was his motto ; I just know it was." 
 
 "Well, perhaps," said Henry. "Just 
 the same, I'm going to have a look at the 
 front door." 
 
 "You'll find he's slipped the bolt; you 
 see if you don't," I called after him. 
 
 But when Henry came back, I knew 
 it was serious. You see, the bolt on the 
 front door was still in place, so Mr. 
 Deane couldn't have left the flat. 
 
 "But where can he be?" asked Henry. 
 
 "Goodness knows!" I said. "It 
 would be just like him to wander out in 
 the kitchen and scare Ma to death. Come 
 to think of it, I heard some one moving 
 around in the kitchen, and I took it for 
 granted it was Ma. Do run and make 
 sure, Henry!" 
 
 119
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 As Henry dashed from the room, I 
 sank down on my own bed, my legs weak 
 and trembling. If anything had hap- 
 pened to Ma, Fd never forgive myself. 
 I was never so thankful in my life as 
 when Henry returned and reported that 
 though she hadn't seen him, he'd seen 
 Ma, and she was all right. 
 
 "But where can he be? He certainly 
 wasn't in Ma's room, unless " 
 
 "Unless what, dear!" 
 
 "He might be in there now," I said, 
 "hiding in Ma's clothes-closet." 
 
 This started Henry off again. But in 
 a minute he came back with the news that 
 nobody was hiding in Ma's room, or in 
 her clothes-closet, either. 
 
 Then I had an awful thought, and I 
 kind of groaned. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked Henry. 
 "Are you ill?" 
 
 "Not yet," I said, "but I'm liable 
 120
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 to be if Oh, Henry, supposing " 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "Oh, it's so terrible!" 
 
 "What's too terrible?" 
 
 ' ' I just can 't say it. You know that 
 that laundry basket in in the bath- 
 room?" 
 
 "That's so," said Henry. "That 
 basket's big enough to hold a man." 
 
 ' ' It isn 't ! " I screamed. * ' I just know 
 it isn't! And you've no right to say 
 so." 
 
 "But I can't see " 
 
 "Maybe you can't see, but I can ! I'd 
 have you know, Henry Hawkins, that I've 
 just finished taking a bath in the bath- 
 room ! ' ' 
 
 At that Henry began to laugh. 
 
 "You get out of here!" I said. 
 
 "Do you want me to look in the laun- 
 dry basket ? Is that it ? " 
 
 "Yes," I said. "I want you to look in 
 121
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 the laundry basket, and in the china- 
 closet off the dining-room, and every- 
 where else you can think of. ' ' 
 
 "All right," said Henry, and started 
 to go. But I wouldn't let him. 
 
 " You just wait a minute," I said. "I 
 don't care where you find Mr. Deane; but 
 if you do find him, and tell me you found 
 him in the laundry basket, I'll divorce 
 you as sure as my name's Blanche Haw- 
 kins 1 Now, go!" 
 
 122
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 WHILE Henry was looking for Mr. 
 Deane, I did up my hair and 
 dressed myself, so when he returned I 
 was clothed and in my right mind, so to 
 speak. 
 
 "Well?" I said. 
 
 "If I were to tell you I found Mr. 
 Deane in the laundry basket in the bath- 
 room " he began. 
 
 "I wouldn't believe you." 
 
 "And you'd be quite right, dear. He 
 wasn't in the laundry basket." 
 
 "Where was he, then?" 
 
 "He wasn't anywhere, so far as I 
 could discover." 
 
 "But, Henry, he must be somewhere." 
 123
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "I'm not denying he's somewhere. 
 What I do say is that he's not in our 
 flat." 
 
 "But if he didn't go out the front 
 door " 
 
 "You've forgotten the fire-escape," 
 said Henry. 
 
 " Good gracious ! You don't mean to 
 tell me he went down the fire-escape 1 ' ' 
 
 "Either down it, or up it." 
 
 "But I can't see any object in going up 
 the fire-escape. ' ' 
 
 1 ' Or down it, either, ? ' said Henry. * * It 
 ends a good twenty-five feet from the 
 ground. I looked out the kitchen win- 
 dow, but I didn't see anybody stretched 
 out in the court below. ' ' 
 
 "Perhaps the poor man is up on the 
 roof this minute. ' ' 
 
 "If he is, he can stay there," said 
 Henry. "There's another funny thing 
 connected with it, too. Ma declares " 
 124
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "Oh, you've seen Ma, then! Did you 
 tell her Mr. Deane has escaped?" 
 
 "No. I told her I got up early and 
 took him over to the police station. And 
 when she asked me how early, I said 'six 
 o'clock.' " 
 
 "It's perfectly awful the way we've 
 been lying to poor Ma," I said. "But 
 I don't see what else we could have 
 done." 
 
 "No," Henry agreed. "But I wish 
 I'd told her a different lie, for now she 
 declares there's another burglar in the 
 flat." 
 
 "Another burglar? What do you 
 mean?" 
 
 ' ' Well, it seems she got up about eight 
 o'clock, went out into the kitchen, lighted 
 the gas range, and put some water on 
 to boil to make herself a cup of coffee; 
 then she filled a pitcher with Great Bear 
 Water, put it on the sideboard in the din- 
 125
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 ing-room, and then went in to take her 
 bath. And when she went back, the 
 water pitcher was gone." 
 
 "Gone?" 
 
 "It had disappeared completely. " 
 
 "But how could the water pitcher dis- 
 appear?" 
 
 "That's what Ma wanted to know. 
 She said the first thing she did was to 
 look in and see if we were both asleep, 
 and she must have looked in here, for she 
 mentioned my being in your bed and not 
 in my own." 
 
 "We could have pretended we were 
 asleep," I argued. "I'll just tell Ma I 
 got up and took the water pitcher. ' ' 
 
 "But that wouldn't be true," said 
 Henry. 
 
 "I know it wouldn't," I said. "But 
 I've already told so many lies, one more 
 won't make any difference." 
 
 "If you told that lie, it would make a 
 126
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 difference, for you'd have to produce the 
 water pitcher, and you can't.'' 
 
 "Then you think Mr. Deane stole it?" 
 
 "No," said Henry, "I know" he 
 didn't." 
 
 "Then how on earth?" 
 
 "I've figured it out this way. When 
 Mr. Deane woke up, what he'd naturally 
 want more than anything in the world 
 would be a drink of water lots of 
 water." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "So the first thing he did was to go 
 and hunt for some. And he found the 
 pitcher, full of water, on the sideboard in 
 the dining-room." 
 
 " Yes, but I don't see " 
 
 "I'm coming to that. After he'd 
 found the pitcher, he picked it up and be- 
 gan drinking out of it." . 
 
 "He shouldn't have done that," I said 
 "it isn't good manners." 
 127
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "No one ever lets good manners inter- 
 fere with a great thirst," said Henry. 
 "Anyway, that's what he did. And 
 while he was drinking, Ma opened a door, 
 or something, and it scared him so he 
 dropped the pitcher." 
 
 "You make me tired," I said. "To 
 hear you talk, anybody would think I 
 was Doctor Watson, and you were Sher- 
 lock Holmes. I don't believe Mr. Deane 
 did anything of the sort. ' ' 
 
 "But I can prove it," said Henry, 
 handing me a piece of jagged glass. 
 "Take a look at that." 
 
 I examined the piece of glass carefully, 
 and to tell the truth it did look as if it 
 might have been part of our water 
 pitcher. "Where did you find it?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "On the floor under the sideboard. 
 Also, there was a wet spot on the car- 
 pet." 
 
 128
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "I hope you didn't show it to Ma," I 
 said. 
 
 "No. She was in the kitchen when I 
 discovered it. She seemed so sure some- 
 one had stolen the water pitcher that I 
 thought I'd better investigate." 
 
 "But what happened to the other 
 pieces of the pitcher?" 
 
 "Why, when Mr. Deane dropped the 
 pitcher, he probably dodged out into the 
 kitchen where he noticed the fire-escape. 
 Then, as nobody came, he went back, 
 gathered up the broken glass, and dis- 
 posed of it somehow or other; only he 
 failed to see the piece I found, it being 
 under the sideboard. And then he de- 
 parted by way of the fire-escape. Now, 
 am I or am I not, a Sherlock Holmes f ' ' 
 
 "I do believe you're right," I said. 
 
 "I must say I think it was awfully clever 
 
 of you to piece things together the way 
 
 you did. ' ' I gazed at Henry admiringly* 
 
 129
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "It's more tlian likely that Mr. 
 Deane's up on the roof," said Henry. 
 "It would be a mad thing to do, to drop 
 twenty-five feet to the court below ; he 'd 
 probably break his legs if he did. Be- 
 sides, the janitor or his wife would have 
 been bound to see him." 
 \ "And he'd have to go home in his 
 stocking feet; and then what would his 
 wife say!" 
 
 "He could buy a pair of shoes, if it 
 comes to that. ' ' 
 
 "You've forgotten it's Sunday," I 
 said. "Though, he might find a shoe 
 store open on Third Avenue, I doubt it. 
 He'd have been lots better off if he'd 
 stayed here. But I suppose last night 
 is a complete blank to him, and all he 
 thought of this morning was that he was 
 in a strange place, and must escape some- 
 how. How are we going to return his 
 show to him, Henry?" 
 130
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "I'm blessed if I know. If he doesn't 
 remember about last night, I believe it 
 would be kinder to keep his shoes than 
 to send them to him. For sending them 
 would prove we knew his name and ad- 
 dress, and that might worry him." 
 
 "Anyway," I said, "there's no use 
 borrowing trouble. The thing to do now 
 is for you to take your bath and dress 
 yourself, while I go out and set the ta- 
 ble, and help Ma." 
 
 I found Ma seated by the window in the 
 kitchen, looking at the comic supplement 
 of the Sunday paper, which had come up, 
 with the cream, on the dumb waiter. 
 
 "Why, good-morning, Ma," I said. 
 "What's new with the Katzen jammer 
 Kids this morning?" 
 
 "They're scandalous!" said Ma. "I 
 don't see why newspapers print such 
 things. ' ' 
 
 "To amuse people who pretend they 
 131
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 don't like them like you and me, Ma." 
 
 "I don't like them," said Ma. "I 
 don't believe in Sunday newspapers, any- 
 way ; back home I never allow one in my 
 house. Did Henry tell you about the 
 burglar's stealing the water pitcher?" 
 
 "Yes, Ma." 
 
 "Two burglars in twenty-four hours 
 is a good many, even for New York, it 
 seems to me. Do you often have bur- 
 glars, Blanche?" 
 
 "Not any oftener than we can help," 
 I replied. "What are you doing with 
 that carving knife in your lap, Ma ? and 
 that police whistle tied around your 
 neck?" 
 
 "Oh, I just thought I'd have them 
 kandy, just in case!" 
 
 ' ' In case of what, Ma ? " 
 
 "The way I figure it out," said Ma, 
 "a burglar may drop in any minute. 
 And why shouldn't they, with ladders 
 132
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 up the back of every house, and iittle 
 platforms for them to rest on? No won- 
 der there are so many burglars in New 
 York; everything's made so easy for 
 them." 
 
 "But you've got to have fire-escapes, 
 Ma; it's the law. I'm going to set the 
 table now, and you can put the coffee on, 
 and fry the ham, and boil the eggs. ' ' 
 
 With that I went into the dining-room, 
 opened the door of the china-closet, 
 which is big enough to keep lots of things 
 in besides china, got out the breakfast 
 dishes, and set the table. Then I opened 
 the sideboard drawer to take out the 
 knives, and forks, and napkins. And 
 then Well, I could hardly believe my 
 eyes ; but as sure as I live, there, in plain 
 sight, on top of the napkins, lay a pile of 
 broken glass! So that is how Mr. 
 Deane had disposed of the broken water 
 pitcher. Closing the drawer hastily, I 
 133
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 ran in to tell Henry what I'd found; but 
 he wasn't in his room. No, of course 
 not; he was in the bathroom taking his 
 bath. 
 
 Then it occurred to me it was silly to 
 let Ma go on thinking there 'd been a sec- 
 ond burglar. One was bad enough. 
 Why couldn't I tell her f It wasn't 
 true, of course, but certainly it would be 
 better to tell her a hundred lies than to 
 have her expecting a burglar any minute, 
 with a carving knife handy, and a police 
 whistle hung around her neck. So I 
 went back into the kitchen where she was 
 breaking an egg for the coffee, and said : 
 "Ma, I've just remembered something. 
 I had a funny dream last night; or it 
 might have been this morning, for all I 
 know." 
 
 "What was it about?" 
 
 "I dreamed I was thirsty/' 
 
 "Dreamed you were what?" 
 134
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 " Thirsty, Ma." 
 
 ' ' Oh ! ' ' said Ma. * ' I thought you said 
 'thirty.' Well, I don't see anything 
 funny about that." 
 
 "Just you wait. In my dream, I got 
 out of bed, and walked into the dining- 
 room." 
 
 "You did used to walk in your sleep 
 when you were a little tyke, but I guess 
 you outgrew it long ago. ' ' 
 
 "I wonder," I said. "I dreamed I 
 got up, went into the dining-room, took 
 up the water pitcher to pour myself out 
 a drink, and somehow the pitcher slipped 
 out of my hand and broke on the floor. 
 And then I thought (you see, I imagined 
 I was a little girl again) 'Ma will be 
 awfully mad at me for breaking her best 
 water pitcher.' So I picked up the 
 pieces from the floor, and hid them 
 somewhere; only I can't remember 
 where. ' ' 
 
 135
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "I should hope not," said Ma. "It 
 was only a dream, you know." 
 
 "But was it? Maybe I did get up? 
 and maybe I did break the pitcher? 
 Come on in the dining-room, Ma, and I'll 
 see if I can think where I put the 
 pieces." So we went into the dining- 
 room, and I made Ma show me where 
 she'd set the pitcher. 
 
 "That's just what I thought," I said. 
 "And I dropped it here. Do look, Ma; 
 the carpet's wet where I dropped the 
 pitcher!" 
 
 * ' Goodness sakes ! ' ' said Ma, stooping 
 and examining the carpet. " It is wet, as 
 sure as I live." 
 
 "And then," I went on, as if I was 
 having a vision, "and then I picked up 
 the pieces of the pitcher, and put them 
 put them Look in that drawer!" I 
 commanded suddenly, pointing to the 
 drawer in the sideboard. Ma did, and of 
 136
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 course she found what was left of the 
 water pitcher. 
 
 "Great Land of Goshen!" she cried. 
 "It's just as you dreamed it, Blanche! 
 There's no getting around it; you must 
 have walked in your sleep." 
 
 Though it was wicked of me, I guess I 
 was almost as proud of making Ma be- 
 lieve I'd broken the water pitcher in my 
 sleep, as Henry was of solving the mys- 
 tery of what had become of it in the first 
 place; I couldn't wait to tell Henry what 
 I'd done. So I said: "Now you 
 needn't worry about burglars any more, 
 Ma. I'll go and tell Henry to hurry up, 
 or he'll be late to breakfast." 
 
 It says in the Bible that pride goeth be- 
 fore destruction, and a haughty spirit be- 
 fore a fall. It certainly does some- 
 times. For I was no more out in the hall 
 than the door-bell rang. 
 
 I pushed the button in the hall, heard 
 137
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 the front door downstairs slam, and 
 then looked in Henry's room. But of 
 course he wasn't there; he was still in 
 the bathroom taking his bath. I won- 
 dered who on earth could be ringing our 
 bell. 
 
 I was soon to find out. For when I 
 opened the door, I was confronted by a 
 policeman, and a stout lady in black silk 
 who informed me, in a voice as cold and 
 hard as an icicle, that she was Mrs. 
 Henry Deane, and that she'd come for 
 her husband. 
 
 138
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 TO say that I was struck all of a heap 
 would be putting it mildly. Mrs. 
 Henry Deane and a policeman ! A po- 
 liceman and Mrs. Henry Deane ! How 
 on earth had Mrs. Deane found out 
 where her husband had spent the night? 
 And why the policeman? Did he think 
 we ? Did Mrs. Deane imagine that 
 
 T f 
 
 JL . 
 
 "I've come for my husband," Mrs. 
 Deane repeated in a voice that made me 
 hate her. "And I advise you to produce 
 him at once, or I'll " 
 
 "You'll what?" I asked. "You talk 
 like your husband was a rabbit, and I 
 could do sleight of hand with a stovepipe 
 139
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 hat. I can't produce your husband for 
 two reasons ; in the first place, I donbt if 
 he is your husband, and in the second 
 place, he isn't here." 
 
 "I'm sorry, mum," said the pottceman, 
 "but there was a telegram sent last night 
 about this lady's husband, and the record 
 at the telegraph office shows that it was 
 sent by a Mr. Henry Hawkins. Is he 
 your husband ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes, he is!" 
 
 ' ' Then you know something about Mr. 
 Deane?" 
 
 "I know a lot more about him than I 
 want to," I replied. "When my hus- 
 band came home last night, he found him 
 asleep, and the worse for drink, on the 
 landing out there, and being a kind- 
 hearted man " 
 
 "How dare you say my husband was 
 the worse for drink?" 
 
 "Being a kind-hearted man," I con- 
 140
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 tinned, " instead of turning him over to 
 the police like he deserved, my husband 
 brought him in and put him to bed. And 
 to show what sort of a man Mr. Deane 
 is, he skipped out this morning without 
 so much as saying 'thank you,' and broke 
 our best water pitcher, to boot. That's 
 the kind he is ! " 
 
 ' ' A likely story ! Do you know what I 
 believe, officer? I believe this woman 
 and her alleged husband enticed my 
 Henry here to rob him." 
 
 "How dare you say such a thing!" I 
 cried. 
 
 "Now, now, ladies," said the police- 
 man. 
 
 "You keep quiet!" I said. "There's 
 only one lady here, and that's me. 
 You're a pretty specimen, ain't you? 
 to bring a woman like this to my flat, and 
 stand by while she insults me." 
 
 "I'm sorry, mum, but I was detailed 
 141
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 on this case, and I guess I'll have to see 
 it through. ' ' 
 
 "Well, you can't see it through any 
 too quick to suit me. Here's my hus- 
 band, now," I said, as the bathroom door 
 at the end of the hall opened, and Henry 
 appeared in his bathrobe. "Oh, Henry! 
 Come here ! ' ' 
 
 "But I can't!" cried Henry, dodging 
 back into the bathroom, and only stick- 
 ing his head out. "I'm not dressed for 
 company. ' ' 
 
 "These people ain't company, they're 
 intruders- This woman says she's Mrs. 
 Henry Deane." 
 
 "Good gracious!" 
 
 "I'll have you know I am Mrs. Henry 
 Deane ! ' ' 
 
 "And I've just told her how you found 
 Mr. Deane who may, or may not be her 
 husband out on the landing last night, 
 the worse for drink." 
 142
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "Oh," said Henry, "you told her 
 that!" 
 
 "Yes. And I also told her how you 
 brought him in, like the kind-hearted 
 man you are, and tucked him in my bed." 
 
 "In your bed?" gasped Mrs. Deane. 
 
 "In my bed," I replied firmly. "If 
 it will comfort you any, I don 't mind tell- 
 ing you that my husband and I have twin 
 beds; also, that I slept in my mother's 
 bed last night. " 
 
 "Oh! "said Mrs. Deane. 
 
 "And now," I went on, "this smart 
 Aleck policeman, and this woman who 
 says she's married to Mr. Deane, want 
 to search the flat. At least, that's what 
 I suppose they want to do." 
 
 "But Mr. Deane isn't here," said 
 Henry; "he's gone." 
 
 "I've told them that till I'm black in 
 the face, but they won't believe me." 
 
 At that, Henry came out of the bath- 
 143
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 room and strided towards the policeman. 
 ' * Look here ! " he said. ' * When my wife 
 says a thing is so, it's so." 
 
 Women are funny. I wouldn't have 
 missed seeing Henry walk up to that 
 policeman the way he did for anything in 
 the world. He looked so hrave, and so 
 ready to fight for me I According to 
 him, I always told the truth, and he'd 
 punch any policeman's head who said I 
 didn't. Yet I'd just told a whopper 
 about his finding Mr. Deane on the land- 
 ing, and he knew it. What I'd said 
 about his tucking Mr. Deane in my bed 
 wasn't true, either, for Mr. Deane hadn't 
 been in my bed at all. No, I only said 
 that for the satisfaction of seeing Mrs. 
 Deane squirm. Well, she certainly 
 squirmed. 
 
 "What do you mean by doubting my 
 wife's word?" demanded Henry. 
 
 "I don't doubt her word, Mr. Haw- 
 144
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 kins, ' ' replied the policeman. ' ' I would- 
 n't be here now, only " 
 
 * ' Only what ? ' ' snapped Henry. 
 
 "Well, you see " He pointed help- 
 lessly at Mrs. Deane. 
 
 ' " No, it isn 't his fault, ' ' I said. ' l He 's 
 been as polite as possible." 
 
 "I'm sure if I ve been mistaken " 
 Mrs. Deane began. ' ' Not that I believe 
 for a minute I have, ' ' she added grimly. 
 
 "If seeing 's believing," I said, "you'll 
 soon be convinced that my husband and I 
 didn't entice Mr. Deane, who may, or may 
 not be your husband, here to rob him. 
 Perhaps you'd like to inspect the bed he 
 slept in. I think it will interest you, for 
 it's a twin bed, and you don't have twin 
 beds at home ; or so your husband, if he 
 is your husband, told mine. This way, 
 please.'* 
 
 Of course it wasn't polite of me to talk 
 to Mrs. Deane the way I did, but I simply 
 145
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 couldn't stand that woman. Though I'm 
 ordinarily good-natured, I've as sharp 
 a tongue as the next when I'm r 'iled ; and 
 I guess I was even madder than Ma had 
 been the night before when I'd locked 
 her in her bedroom. As if Henry and I 
 were the kind to entice people into our 
 flat and rob them! So I led the way, 
 very high and mighty, into our bedroom, 
 and once inside, began to explain the 
 order of events in about the way the 
 megaphone man does on a rubberneck 
 wagon. 
 
 "Before you," I said, "you will notice 
 the two twin beds already mentioned. 
 Mr. Deane, who may or may not have 
 been the husband of the er injured 
 party, slept in that one" (which wasn't 
 true; he'd slept in the other) "and my 
 husband, Mr. Hawkins, slept here. Now, 
 after carefully looking under both beds, 
 under the table under the bureau, too, 
 146
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 if you like we will search the clothes- 
 closet." 
 
 You see, I thought I'd make Mrs. 
 Deane ashamed of herself; but if I did, 
 she didn't show it. She did look under 
 both beds, and she did rummage in the 
 clothes-closet. 
 
 "Now," I said, as Mrs. Deane came 
 out of the clothes-closet, "if you are 
 satisfied that the person, who may or 
 may not be your husband, isn't here, 
 we'll form in line and move on to my 
 mother's bedroom." 
 
 In the meantime Henry and the police- 
 man had been standing by a window, the 
 policeman looking sheepish, and Henry 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 "I say, Blanche," said Henry, "you 
 er Is it necessary to rub it in like 
 that?" 
 
 "It's just as necessary as it is to 
 search our flat for a man who isn't in it," 
 147
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 I replied. And then, suddenly, I saw 
 something that made me almost faint. 
 I wondered if Mrs. Deane would see it, 
 too. I hoped to goodness she would- 
 n't! 
 
 Of course you think it was Mr. Deane 's 
 shoes I saw. Well, it wasn't. His shoes 
 were there, all right, and in plain sight, 
 too. But it's a wise wife or a foolish 
 one who knows her husband's shoes by 
 sight. No, it wasn't his shoes; it waa 
 something else. 
 
 "Are you ready now?" I asked, my 
 throat so dry I could hardly talk. "Are 
 you ready now to inspect my mother's 
 room?" 
 
 I've already told you that I believe 
 there are such things as thought waves. 
 I also believed, once, that in order to 
 receive them you had to be in sympathy 
 with the sender. Certainly Mrs. Deane 
 and I were as out of sympathy with each 
 148
 
 other as two people very well could be. 
 And yet 
 
 I suppose when people antagonize you 
 the way that woman did me, they're lots 
 closer to you, mentally, than some people 
 are that you really like. Anyway, that's 
 how I've figured it out. For just as 
 sure as there's a blue sky above, the 
 moment I began wishing she wouldn't 
 look where I didn't want her to, Mrs. 
 Deane began catching my thought waves. 
 
 "Are you ready now to inspect my 
 mother's room?" I asked. 
 
 "No," she replied, "I'm not. I feel 
 there's something What's this?" she 
 demanded suddenly, stooping to pick up 
 a green leather wallet which lay by the 
 chair beside Henry's bed. "What's 
 this?" 
 
 "Oh, that?" I said. "Why, that" 
 
 "If is isn't Mr. Deane 's wallet!" said 
 Henry, coming forward. 
 149
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "How did it get here?" demanded 
 Mrs. Deane in a stern voice. 
 
 "It must have fallen out of his 
 pocket," said Henry. 
 
 "How do you know it's his wallet?" 
 asked the policeman. 
 
 "Because I took it out of his pocket 
 last night to verify the address he gave 
 me. You see, in the state he was 
 in" 
 
 ' ' Stop ! " commanded Mrs. Deane. ' 1 1 
 won't have my husband maligned ! Is it 
 likely that my husband would go off 
 without his wallet?" 
 
 "Just as likely as that he'd go off 
 without his shoes," I replied. 
 
 "Who says he went without his 
 shoes?" 
 
 " I do, " I said. ' ' If you don 't believe 
 it, here they are." And with that, I 
 walked over, picked up Mr. Deane 's 
 shoes, and handed them to his wife. 
 150
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "Are those your husband's shoes V 1 
 asked the policeman. 
 
 "How do I know?" answered Mrs. 
 Deane. "They look like his shoes, 
 but " 
 
 "They are his shoes," said Henry. 
 "And I leave it to you, Mr. Officer, if a 
 man who went off without his shoes 
 wouldn't be likely to forget his wallet, 
 and maybe his pants. ' ' 
 
 "How dare you say that my husband 
 would forget his " 
 
 "I didn't say he would," Henry re- 
 plied, "I only said he might." 
 
 "Officer! I believe these dreadful 
 people have murdered my husband ! ' * 
 
 * * Do you hear that, Henry ? She 's call- 
 ing us murderers, now ! Good gracious ! 
 What's that?" 
 
 "It sounds like some one was blowing 
 a police whistle in the dining-room," 
 said Henry. 
 
 151
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 ''They are!" I cried. "It's Ma! 
 Hurry!" And with that, I dashed out 
 of the bedroom, Henry, Mrs. Deane, and 
 the policeman after me. 
 
 152
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 OF course I knew exactly what had 
 happened; Mr. Deane had got 
 tired of staying up on the roof all alon 
 by himself. Perhaps his brain had 
 cleared, too, and he remembered now 
 that we'd treated him kindly. Anyway, 
 he'd decided to come back to our flat, and 
 coming back, he'd run into Ma and 
 scared the life out of her; and Ma had 
 blown her police whistle 
 
 All this popped into my head the min- 
 ute I heard the police whistle, so I prac- 
 tically knew there was nothing to be 
 scared about. Just the same, I was 
 mighty glad to escape from our bedroom ; 
 Mrs. Deane was getting too awful. And 
 to think that it was me that made Henry 
 153
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 go out and send her that telegram. It 
 was like lending a helping hand to a 
 stranger, and then having the stranger 
 turn around and bite you. She would call 
 Henry and me murderers, would she? 
 When she'd seen her husband without 
 his shoes, and a morning-after head on 
 him, maybe she'd think different. Mur- 
 derers ! The idea ! 
 
 So, you see, when I dashed out of our 
 bedroom, I wasn't in a panic at all, 
 though even Henry thought I was. But 
 I did want to make Ma stop blowing that 
 police whistle. If she kept that up, 
 she'd rouse the whole neighborhood, in- 
 cluding the fat man in pink pyjamas, 
 who'd seen me in my nightgown the 
 night before. If there was one person in 
 the world, besides Mrs. Deane, that I 
 never wanted to see again as long as I 
 lived, it was that fat man ; and probably 
 I'd have to pass him on the stairs to- 
 154
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 morrow. Well, if worst came to worst, 
 we could pack up and move to another 
 flat ; and we would, too. 
 
 It's funny how fast your mind works 
 sometimes. Here I was planning 
 Henry's and my future in another flat, 
 and feeling pleased over what Mrs. 
 Deane was going to see when she fol- 
 lowed me into the dining-room and I 
 hadn't reached the dining-room yet. 
 And when I did get there, if things were- 
 n't exactly as I expected to find them, 
 all I can say is that mortal man isn't in- 
 fallible, and mortal woman even less so ; 
 for when I burst into the dining-room, 
 there wasn't any Mr. Deane in sight. 
 Ma was there, though well, I should say 
 she was ! waving a carving knife in one 
 hand, and blowing a police whistle with 
 the other. 
 
 "Here! Stop that, Ma!" I yelled. 
 "What's the matter?" 
 155
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "Matter?'* cried Ma, who was as red 
 as a turkey cock from blowing the 
 whistle. "Matter? That's what I'd 
 like to know. Here I've been blowing 
 this police whistle for a good ten min- 
 utes, and nobody came. Are you all 
 deaf, or what?" 
 
 "No," I said, "we ain't deaf, but 
 we 're liable to be if you keep on blowing 
 that whistle. We came as quick as we 
 could." 
 
 "Like fun you did! Why, the police- 
 man got here as soon as you, and I 
 wouldn't wonder if he run a block. 
 Who's that woman with him, Blanche?" 
 
 "That's his wife, Ma." 
 
 "I'm not," said Mrs. Deane. 
 
 "Well," said Ma, turning to the police- 
 man, "I'm glad you're here, though 
 there wasn't any need to hurry like you 
 did. .I've got him, safe and sound." 
 
 "Got who, Ma?" asked Henry. 
 156
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "The burglar, you gump! What do 
 you suppose I was blowing that whistle 
 for?" 
 
 "I thought maybe you were fright- 
 ened, Ma." 
 
 "Not likely," said Ma. "Give m a 
 good, sharp carving knife, and I'm a 
 match for any burglar, I guess. ' ' 
 
 "But, where is the burglar?" asked 
 the policeman. 
 
 "He wants to know where the burglar 
 is," I screamed. 
 
 "Why," said Ma, "I thought you 
 knew; he's in the china-closet. I locked 
 him in." 
 
 "But where did he come from?" asked 
 Henry. 
 
 "He climbed up the fire-escape," said 
 Ma. " I 'd just gone into my room to get 
 a handkerchief, and when I came back I 
 found him in the dining-room. Luckily, 
 I'd taken the carving knife with me, so 
 157
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 I had it handy. I sprang at him, and 
 told him if he uttered a sound I'd lay him 
 out cold ; and then I marched him into the 
 china-closet, and locked him in. Now, I 
 guess the policeman can do the rest. 
 I've done enough, it seems to me, if I 
 do say so as shouldn't." 
 
 * ' I should think you had ! ' ' said Henry. 
 " You'd better unlock the door, officer, 
 and arrest the burglar. ' ' 
 
 "Just a minute," I said. "It isn't 
 really a burglar; Ma's mistaken." 
 
 * ' How do you know it isn 't a burglar ? ' ' 
 asked the policeman. 
 
 "Because," I said, "when Mr. Deane 
 left the flat, he didn't leave by the front 
 door, but by the fire-escape; and as the 
 fire-escape doesn't lead anywhere except 
 to the roof, it's probably him come back 
 to get his shoes. ' ' 
 
 "I don't believe it," said Mrs. Deane. 
 "If my husband did leave by the fire- 
 158
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 escape, it was because he was afraid of 
 being murdered. ' ' 
 
 " Murdered your grandfather's hind 
 leg! Mr. Deane left by the fire-escape 
 because he didn't have any idea where he 
 was, and because the front door was 
 locked and bolted, and I had the key." 
 
 "You see," Henry explained, "he 
 woke up before I did, and stole " 
 
 "He didn't!" cried Mrs. Deane. 
 "How dare you say my husband stole?" 
 
 "Stole out of the flat," said Henry. 
 
 "He just as good as stole, though; he 
 broke our best water pitcher. If you 
 don't believe it, I'll show you the pieces," 
 ' I said. But before I could open the side- 
 board drawer, Ma demanded to know 
 why the policeman didn't arrest the 
 burglar. 
 
 "Have I got to do everything?" she 
 asked. "I will say the New York police 
 are mighty quick in answering a call, but 
 159
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 as for doing anything after they've 
 arrived, give me the town constable at 
 Centerville every time. ' ' 
 
 "Yes," said Henry to the policeman, 
 "why don't you do something?" 
 
 At that the policeman went over to the 
 china-closet and knocked. 
 
 "Come in," said a muffled voice. 
 
 "I'm coming," said the policeman. 
 "But I want to warn you that I'm an 
 officer of the law." And with that he 
 drew a revolver from under his coat. 
 
 "Now," I said to Mrs. Deane, "we'll 
 see whether my husband and I are mur- 
 derers or not." 
 
 "And we'll see that it isn't my hus- 
 band in there," she replied. 
 
 "Stand back, all of you," said the 
 policeman; "I'm going to open the 
 door. ' ' And he did. ' * Now, come out of 
 there !" he ordered. 
 
 The man in the china-closet obeyed. 
 160
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 And then Well, then the whole world 
 seemed to go black. For it wasn't Mr. 
 Deane. It was merciful Heavens! it 
 was the fat man from downstairs! 
 
 When I came to, I was lying on the 
 couch in the dining-room, with my feet 
 higher than my head, and Henry sprink- 
 ling cold water all over my clean collar. 
 
 "What's happened?" I said. "Is it 
 raining?" 
 
 "No," said Henry, "you fainted." 
 And then I remembered. 
 
 The fat man was still in the dining- 
 room, talking to the policeman and Mrs. 
 Deane. Though he had a bathrobe over 
 it, and slippers on his feet, he was still 
 wearing pink pyjamas, and was saying: 
 "I was just out of bed, and on my way 
 to the bathroom, when I discovered the 
 burglar. I chased him through the flat, 
 out a window, and up the fire-escape. 
 Yes, he came in here, and I came after 
 161
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 him. Then that she-dragon attacked me 
 with a carving knife, and locked me in 
 there." 
 
 "Do yon hear what he's saying, 
 Henry?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 "Well," I said, sitting up, "I feel 
 better now." 
 
 "Don't you get up yet, Blanche," 
 ordered Ma, who was hovering near. 
 "You lie quiet." 
 
 "Oh, I'm all right!" I said, though I 
 did feel weak and trembly. 
 
 "That policeman hasn't arrested the 
 burglar yet," complained Ma. "I 
 shouldn't wonder if he was one of those 
 grafting policeman like you read about 
 in the papers. Don't you let that bur- 
 glar buy himself free, Henry." 
 
 "No, Ma, I won't," Henry promised. 
 
 At that I got up, and with Henry's 
 help walked over to where Mrs. Deane, 
 162
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 and the policeman, and the fat man were 
 standing. 
 
 "I heard what you said about the 
 burglar in your flat, ' ' I began, turning to 
 the fat man, "but he isn't really a bur- 
 glar. He 's a poor, unfortunate man who 
 drinks too much, and I hope you won't 
 have him arrested.'* 
 
 "But he ought to be arrested,'* de- 
 clared the fat man, "breaking into my 
 flat the way he did, and making a laugh- 
 ing-stock of me." 
 
 "I don't ask it for myself, but for 
 this lady's sake," I said, pointing to Mrs. 
 Deane. ' ' The man who broke into your 
 flat is this poor creature's husband." 
 
 "He isn't, either!" snapped Mrs. 
 Deane. 
 
 "Oh!" I said. "Then you're not 
 married to Mr. Deane, after all? In that 
 case, officer " 
 
 "You know what I mean!" cried Mrs. 
 163
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 Deane. "I mean my husband doesn't 
 break into people's houses, and doesn't 
 take too much to drink. If there's a 
 burglar in this flat, it isn't my husband, 
 you can depend on that !" 
 
 "You see," I explained to the fat man, 
 "the poor lady has lost her husband,'' 
 
 "I understand," he said; "a widow, 
 and not quite " he tapped his forehead, 
 significantly. 
 
 "I'm not!" screamed Mrs. Deane. 
 "This woman's a murderer! Her hus- 
 band's a murderer! Her mother attacks 
 people with carving knives !" 
 
 "Mad as a hatter!" murmured the fat 
 man. "She ought to be in an asylum." 
 
 "How dare you, sir!" demanded Mrs. 
 Deane. 
 
 "Humor her," I whispered; "it's the 
 only thing to do. " 
 
 "Stop your fooling, Blanche," said 
 Henry. "This is getting serious. If 
 164
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 Mr. Deane is in the flat, we've got to find 
 him." 
 
 "Well, go ahead and find him," I said. 
 * * Who 's preventing you ? ' ' 
 
 165
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 AFTER Henry, and the fat man, and 
 the policeman had left the dining- 
 room to search for Mr. Deane, Ma, think- 
 ing to be polite, walked over to Mrs. 
 Deane, who she still thought was the 
 policeman's wife, asked her if she always 
 accompanied her husband when he went 
 out to catch burglars. 
 
 "No, I don't!" snapped Mrs. Deane. 
 
 "What did she say, Blanche t" 
 
 "She says she always goes with him 
 when she can, Ma." 
 
 "Now, look here!" said Mrs. Deane. 
 "This has gone far enough!" 
 
 "Just what I think," I replied. 
 "Ma, did you leave anything on the gas 
 range? Something's burning!" 
 166
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "Land's sakes!" said Ma. "I've 
 gone and forgot the ham!" With that 
 she dived into the kitchen just as Henry, 
 and the policeman, and the fat man 
 came in from the hall dragging the big, 
 covered laundry basket between them. 
 
 "What are you bringing that in here 
 for?" I asked. 
 
 "It's evidence," said the policeman. 
 
 "He's inside it !" shouted the fat man. 
 
 "What?" I gasped. 
 
 "I'm sorry, Blanche," said Henry, 
 with a twinkle in his eye, "but I'm forced 
 to tell you that Mr. Deane was hiding in 
 the laundry basket." 
 
 "7s hiding," corrected the fat man. 
 
 "But, why doesn't he get out?" 
 
 "Because," said the policeman, "I 
 told him if he did, I'd shoot the daylights 
 out of him." 
 
 "It was my idea," explained the fat 
 man. "We've got him so nicely crated 
 167
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 that it seemed a shame not to ship him 
 to the police station the way he is. ' ' 
 
 "I suppose you've planned to label 
 him 'Burglar. Handle With Care,' " I 
 said. 
 
 "No," admitted the fat man. "Just 
 the same, it's a good idea." 
 
 "It's good as far as it goes," I said, 
 "but it goes too far; that laundry basket 
 is not to leave this house. You ought to 
 be ashamed of yourself to think of treat- 
 ing the poor man that's inside like that !" 
 
 "Oh, thank you!" came in a trembling 
 voice from inside the basket. 
 
 At the sound of that voice, Mrs. Deane 
 went as white as a sheet. "Henry!" 
 she gasped. "Henry!" 
 
 "It's your wife, Mr. Deane," I said. 
 
 There was a dead silence, followed by 
 a groan from the basket. 
 
 "You can get out of the basket now, if 
 you want to," I said. 
 168
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "Don't want to get out," said Mr. 
 Deane. 
 
 ' ' Henry Deane, you stop making a fool 
 of yourself, and get out of that basket!" 
 commarfded Mrs. Deane. 
 
 "All right, my love, if you insist." 
 With that the cover flew off the basket, 
 and the poor man stood up, looking like 
 a balloonist who 'd lost everything in the 
 world but the basket of his balloon. 
 
 "Ha, ha!" roared the fat man. 
 "That's funny!" 
 
 "Keep quiet!" said Henry. "Don't 
 you think, Blanche, that we'd better with- 
 draw, and leave Mr. and Mrs. Deane 
 alone?" 
 
 "Oh, please don't!" begged Mr. 
 Deane. 
 
 "You get out of that basket!" said 
 Mrs. Deane. 
 
 "I won't!" said Mr. Deane, with un- 
 expected firmness. " I '11 have you know, 
 169
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 Josie, that I've passed a most uncom- 
 fortable night. " 
 
 " Serves you right !" said Mrs. Deane. 
 "You get out of that basket, and come 
 along home." 
 
 1 'Land of love!" cried Ma, coming in 
 from the kitchen. "What's that man 
 doing in your laundry basket, Blanche ?" 
 
 "He he's measuring it for a lining," 
 I said. ' * Be quiet, Ma ! ' ' 
 
 "If you think I've been enjoying my- 
 self," Mr. Deane began 
 
 "No," said my Henry, "he hasn't en- 
 joyed himself. I'll swear to that." 
 
 "What's more," said Mr. Deane, "I 
 won't be ordered about." 
 
 "Quite right," said the fat man. 
 "I'm a widower, myself; but I remem- 
 ber" 
 
 "I've undergone the greatest mental 
 anguish," continued Mr. Deane. "Last 
 night, when I thought you had twins " 
 170
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "Me? Twins? He's lost his mind," 
 said Mrs. Deane, turning in a dazed sort 
 of way to me. 
 
 "And no wonder," I replied. "He's 
 had a terrible experience. I'm sure 
 some one must have given him knock-out 
 drops." 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Deane, eagerly. "I 
 remember, now. Knock-out drops 
 they gave me knock-out drops. ' ' 
 
 "So you see," I said, "you couldn't 
 blame him, Mrs. Deane. ' ' 
 
 "But it it's all so so strange," she 
 faltered. 
 
 "Life is always strange, dear 
 madam," said the fat man. 
 
 "There's one thing I think you ought 
 to do for your wife's sake," I said 
 severely. 
 
 "I'll do anything you suggest," de- 
 clared the grateful Mr. Deane. 
 
 "It will be hard to do," I said, "but 
 171
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 I fear it's necessary. I think you ought 
 to resign from the Elks." 
 
 "I will," promised Mr. Deane. "I 
 pledge you my word, I will. ' ' Unfasten- 
 ing the Elk emblem from the lapel of his 
 coat, he extended it solemnly, and I took 
 it and handed it to his wife, who looked 
 mighty tickled to get it. 
 
 "Oh, Henry!" said Mrs. Deane, quite 
 overcome. 
 
 "It is nothing," said Mr. Deane. "I 
 would do far more than that for you, 
 Josie dear." 
 
 "Then get out of that basket, and take 
 me home. ' ' 
 
 "I'm sorry, my love, but I As a 
 matter of fact, I I haven't any shoes." 
 
 "They are in my bedroom," said 
 Henry "with your wallet. Come with 
 me. " And Mr. Deane climbed out of the 
 laundry basket, and he and Mrs. Deane 
 followed Henry out of the room. 
 172
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "Well," said the policeman, "I don't 
 see as you need me any longer." 
 
 "No," I said. "You can go now, if 
 you like. Just let yourself out the front 
 door. Good-morning." 
 
 "As for myself," said the fat man, 
 when the policeman had gone, "I must 
 ask your permission to make my exit 
 through your kitchen window. Other- 
 wise, I can't get into my flat, for I came 
 off without my keys." 
 
 ' ' Certainly, ' ' I said. ' ' And thank you 
 very much for coming to our assistance 
 last night. ' ' 
 
 "Don't mention it," said the fat man, 
 with a polite bow. "Good-morning, 
 ladies." 
 
 All this while Ma had been looking on 
 kind of dazed. But after the fat man 
 had disappeared through the kitchen 
 window, she wanted to know what it was 
 all about. 
 
 173
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "What did you let the burglar escape 
 for?" she demanded, meaning the fat 
 man. 
 
 "Oh, pshaw, Ma!" I replied. "He 
 wasn't a burglar! He's a neighbor of 
 ours who lives in the flat directly under- 
 neath. You see, there was a burglar in 
 the flat, and he chased him up the fire- 
 escape. He thought the burglar came 
 in our window, but he probably went up 
 on the roof." 
 
 "But if there's a burglar on the roof, 
 why didn't you tell the policeman about 
 his being up there ! ' ' 
 
 "I was going to, Ma, only the man who 
 came in to measure the laundry basket 
 told us that the burglar on the roof had 
 already been captured by another police- 
 man." 
 
 "Great grief!" said Ma. "These 
 New York policemen are certainly 
 wonders. Did you notice that man in the 
 174
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 laundry basket didn 't have any shoes on 
 when he got out ? ' ' 
 
 "As if I'd let a man get into my 
 laundry basket with his shoes on," I 
 said. " You'd better look after the 
 breakfast, Ma. Here's Henry, and he's 
 starved to death." 
 
 " Thank Heaven, that's over!" said 
 Henry, dropping into a chair. 
 * 'Blanche, why in the world did you make 
 such a point of having Mr. Deane resign 
 from the Elks?" 
 
 "Because last night he told me he 
 didn't really belong to 'em, and only 
 wore that Elk button for his wife's bene- 
 fit, so he'd have an excuse to go out 
 Saturday nights." 
 
 1 1 Oh ! " said Henry. * ' Has it occurred 
 to you what a lucky man Mr. Deane is ? " 
 
 "How do you mean lucky?" 
 
 "Why, his stumbling into our flat the 
 way he did, and his getting into my bed." 
 175
 
 TWIN BEDS 
 
 "I don't see anything so lucky about 
 that, "I said. 
 
 "Well, I do," said Henry. 
 
 "Oh!" I said. "Youmean ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Henry. "I mean it was 
 lucky for Mr. Deane mighty lucky ! that 
 you bought those twin beds." 
 
 176

 
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