Capital journal. (Salem, Or.) 1893-1895, 1894-07-21
MY NEIGHBOR.

A fatiguing journey up six long,
winding flights of stairs carried me to
the door of the room l occupied in -
street; but, no matter for the name of
the street, no one, am confident, will
visit London for tho express purpose of
satisfying himself that | am to be de
pended upon, and that there is house
of so many stories in Lambert street
Here lived in enjoyment of no end of
fresh air especially i'll winter, and a
brilliant prospect up aud down the
street and over the roofs Of the houses
across the way.
was studying painting at that time,
learning to paint the landscapes and
figure pieces which produce with so
much ease and dispose of with so much
difficulty.
At the head of the last flight of stairs
in my lodging house was a narrow pas
sage way, in which was obliged to stop
and recover my breath after finish
ing, much weariCd, the 1879 steps
that led to my paradise, before could
get my key into it's lock, and into this
passage way opened two doors, one Of
which, of course, belonged to my room,
and the other to some one else's But
who this some one else was | was un
able to find out. Was it man or wom
an? l was persuaded it must be wom
all, and as woman | always used to
think of her and speak of her to myself,
and | thought and spoke of her often
enough.
OF course l could have settled the
question at once by knocking at her door
and asking for match or by inquir
ing of my landlord, who occasionally
honored me with a friendly call, but
scorned resorting to such methods.
Every time heard the door shut l
resolved she should not go out again
without my seeing her, and l nearly fell
into the street as frantically attempt
ed to reach far enough out of my wiz
dow to see her as she came out at the
street door.
Was she young and pretty and good?
What did she do, and what was her
name? My thoughts were perpetually
running up those six flights and stop
ping baffied at her close shut door.
l drew ideal portraits of her in my
idle moments, introduced them into all
my pictures and would often finish out
an accidental face i'll study OF rocks,
much to my instructors surprise and
my fellow students amusement.
The only communication l ever had
with people in the house was an occa-
sional conversation with the dust color
ed old woman who cleaned the windows
and swept the halls.
A day came for cleaning my windows
when it rained heavily, and l could not
give the old woman clear stage by 60
ing out for couple Of hours, but told
her to clean away and be as lively as
she could, while sat'there and painted
Lodgers, she told me as she polished
up the panes, came and went so fast
that she forgot one when another came
and never knew any of their names
ShJ had an eye for character, though,
and told me the peculiaritles of some OF
them in quaint way, mailing her SEN
tences now and then with odd, hard
words, independently of the general
text.
Gentleman who's under you keeps
'imself quite to 'imself," she said.
"Plants out queer sasses in boxes all the
time an some of 'em on the balcony it
self. P'r'aps makes kinder tea OF 'em,
or root drink. Decoctities.
"And who is in the room below that?''
| inquired, more to make her talk than
to satisfy any curiosity had on the
subject
Empty now. Two dark little gentle
men 'ad it for fortnight-Jews, fan
CYAN as like one another as two spots
o. dirt ON this ere pane O. glass. Spoke
hard billed kind o. tongue an was fur
riners, most likely Polyanders, "
| might have asked her about my
next door neighbor, but refrained for
fear my pretty romance would be de-
stroyed by description of a middle aged
spinster who Wore glasses and wrought
green roses in crewel work.
When she had finished the windows
and gathered up her brushes and pals,
she paused an instant to give back
ward glance at her completed task. The
sun had broken through the clouds and
rested tenderly ON the STOPPING figure OF
the old woman in her faded rags.
what picturep' i thought invol
unfairly Then aloud l said, "Will yor
come some time and let me paint you,
Maggie?'
ME-" she cried, startled.
res Just as you are now, scrubbinI
brushes and all Viii. you come?''
cried, my enthusiasm rising
Law Why d'ye want IN naint n,
old woman like me- Mr.. Carroll. witt
face wrinkled like a peach pit? VIII,
don't you paint pretty girlY Old wo
men are painted though sometimes. bu
only to make 'emselves look young agen
Ha, hav'
Il was useless to argue the point witt
her. so only saidl