Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1919-06-29

NOW look mere. Eu hedic!' SCI w
at $40. but | can't see joke before
10. II you're trying to be funny
Funny Why. say. listen. Mrs.
Foote. | may be night clerk. but
I'm not so low as to get you out at
$50 to spring a thing like that in
fun. mean II. so did she"
But "A kind Of moaning. And then
dull raps,"
Those are her words. A kind OF
HI
Lets not make chant OF IL.
think get you. I'll be down there in
ten minutes. Telephone her, will
you"'
Cant you make il fve?"
Not without skipping something
vital"
Still. it couldn't have been second
over ten. including shoes, hair and
hooks a nd eyes. And a fresh white
blouse. 1t was Martha Foote's theory
that "A hotel housekeeper. dressed for
work, ought to be as inconspicuous as
a steel engraving. She would have
been, too if it hadn't been for her
eyes.
She paused a moment before the
door of eighteen and took deep
breath. At the first rattat of her
knuckles on the door there had
sounded shrill Come i'm But be
fore she could turn the knob the door
was flung open by kimonoed mulatto
girl, her eyes all white. The girl
began to jabber. incoherently. but
Martha Foote passed on through the
little hall to the door OF the bedroom.
Six-eighteen was in bed. At sight of
her Martha Foote knew that she had
to deal with an overweight woman.
Her hair was pushed back wildly from
her forehead. Her arms were clasped
about her knees. At the left her night
gown had slipped down so that one
plump white shoulder CLEANED against
the background of her streaming hair.
The room was in almost comic dis
order. 1t was room in which
struggle has taken place between it's
occupants and that burning eyed hag,
sleeplessness. The bag. it was plain.
had won. A half-emptied glass Of
milk was on the table by the bed
Warmed, and slipped slowly. it had
evidently failed to soothe. A tray Of
dishes Uttered another table. Yester-
days dishes. their contents concealed
Books and magazines. their covers
spread wide as If they had been flung.
sprawled where they lay. A little
heap of gray-black cigarette stubs.
The window curtain awry where she
had stood there during a feverish mo-
mont of the sleepless night, looking
down upon the lights of Grant Park
and the somber black void beyond
that was Lake Michigan. A tiny
satin bedroom slipper. on a chair.
its mate. sole up, peeping out
from under the bed. A pair of satin
slippers alone. distributed thus, would
make a nuns cell look disreputable.
over all this disorder the ceiling
lights, the wall lights and the light
from two rosy lamps, beat merciless-
ly down: and upon the white-faced
woman in the bed.
She stared hollow eyed, and Martha
Foote. in the doorway, gazed serenely
back upon her. And Geisha McCoy's
quick intelligence and drama sense
responded to the picture Of this calm
and capable figure in the midst Of the
feverish. overheated room. In that
moment the nervous pucker between
her eyes ironed out ever so little. and
something resembling a wan smile
crept into her face. And what She
said was:
II wouldn't have believed it,"
believed what?" inquired Martha
Foote. pleasantly.
''That there was anybody left in the
world who could look like that in a
white shirtwaist at $50 am. Is that
all your own hair?"
strictly"
Some people have all the luck"
sighed Gesha Mccoy. and dropped
lstlessly back on her pillows. Martha
Foote came forward into the room At
that instant the woman in bed sat
up again, tense, every nerve strained
in an attitude of listening. The mu-
latto girl had come swiftly to the foot
Of the bed and was clutching the
footboard. her knuckles showing
white.
Listen" A kissing whisper from
the haggard woman in the bed.
"What's that"
VIVA dat" breathed the colored
girl. all her elegance gone. her every
look and motion hundred-year
throwback to her voodoo- haunted an
cestors.