Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1925-03-15


the plutocratic studios of West
Fifty seventh street, there stand, side
by side, three brownStonc houses as
nearly alike as may be. The curtains
in the front windows are of white
dotted Swiss, the bell-pulls are of sill
Yer and the doors are of maho gany
Within there are parquet floors and
elaborate holdings and white marble
manteIs with deep CRATES. They be
long TO the seventies. these houses,
and they are innocent of steam heat.
The little hot-air furnace in each
basement was meant to warm the
halls above. Perhaps it did when it
was new.
The first house as YOU leave Lex
ington avenue carries a small brass
plate:
MISS PLUAIA GOGG
Studios to Let
Twenty or thirty commercial artists.
designers and illustrators live in the
three houses. The place is known to
every art editor in New York. And
many is the story that begins once
at Puma Gogg' s-
At the moment Arthur Folsom had
the third floor back in the house
the house that Puma Gogg lives in
herself. 1t was noon. Arthur was
still in bed. He was not i'll; he was
lazy, and he had not been up late the
night before. He was staying in bed
on a theory; indeed. on two theories.
The first theory was that he could
keep warm in bed; the second theory
was that as long as he stayed in bed
he did not need to eat.
Near the head of Arthur'S couch
st was couch and not a regular bed
with headboard and footboard-
stood a kitchen chair. His trousers,
neatly folded, lay over the back of
the chair, as on a coat-hanger. and
on the seat of the chair rested the
small belongings that Mr.. Folsom had
taken out of his pockets, following an
old habit, before he folded the trou-
Gers. There was a watch of that sort
that used to cost a dollar, and dime
and seven pennies, and a paper of
matches, and a single cigarette,
slightly bent, and a large clasp knife
of the kind that sailors carry.
The chair thus laden held not only
all Arthur Folsom's cash, but nearly
all his negotiable property.
The large room, with its high cell
ing, its elaborate holdings, its long
windows, its patterned floor in oak
bordered with walnut, had the ele-
gance of an older day. And it was
comfortably furnished. The trouble
was that so few of the things in the
room were of any Immediate practical
use to Arthur Folsom.
The gas-fired hot-water radiator
between the windows would have
heated the room, but there was a
paddock on the meter in the closet,
which the gas company would not
remove until the old bill was paid
and SO deposited against the future.
The drawing table was a good one
and an iron standard, with a 250-watt
bulb, such as commercial artists use,
stood beside it, but there wasn't a
single sheet of drawing paper in the
place. The chest of drawers was a
handsome piece, but it was empty
Mr.. Folsom's other shirt was at the
laundry and bound to remain there
until he had 90 cents with which to
get it out.
There were, however. two table
spoonfuls of pulverized coffee in the
tin on the mantel, and three thin,
round biscuits, soda crackers of a
slightly sWeetened variety remained
in the pastebo package beside the
tin, and the copper teakettle con-
tained a pint of water, and the lamp
underneath perhaps enough fuel to
bring it to boil.
x < x x
1T was of these last-these happier
Il things-that Arthur thought when
he sighed and awoke for the fifth or
sixth time and looked at the watch
on the chair seat. 1t was no use. He
couldn't put off the crackers and
coffee any longer. Furthermore, it
was no use trying to keep warm in
bed.
Arthur stretched himself and leaped
out on the cold floor. He struck a
match and lit the lamp under the tea
Kettle. Then he remembered.
In spite of himself, he glanced to-
ward the crack at the bottom of the
door He turned his head quickly,
but not quickly enough to prevent
himself from seeing that there was a
letter, or at least slip of paper, I'M
der the door.
Wedgmore had warned him that If
he didn't pay his rent on the first of
the month Miss Gogg would say
nothing. But on the morning of the
10th there would be a large square
envelope under his door. In the en-
velope there would be a card from
Miss Gogg warning him that his rent
was overdue. IF he did not then pay
his rent, Miss Gogg would say moth
ing. But on the morning of the 18th
there would be another large square
envelope under his door. The second
envelope would contain a peremptory
demand that he pay up or leave be-
fore night
What's more Wedgmore had fin
ished, "she means exactly what she
says-she never gives more than Is
days grace"
So far it had been exactly as
Wedgmore had promised. There had
been large square envelope under
his door when he awoke on the morn
ing of the 10th. And today was the
18th.
Arthur Folsom dressed, made his
coffee, and ate the three crackers
while he drank the first cup. He oc-
Cupfed himself with making a story
out of this, his last breakfast in Miss
Gogg's third-f1oor back, and telling
it in fantasy as he would tell it in
years to come-when he was well
known and successful and had many
friends.
For the hundredth time he went
round the circle of his situation. He
had no friends in New York, no
friends nearer than Chicago, and no
friends anywhere who had money to
spare. He might have made friends
in the six weeks he had been in New
York, but he hadn't. Nobody knew
who he was or anything about him
except Miss Gogg. She knew that he
owed her $40.
He had "A speaking acquaintance
with two of the other tenants in the
house-with Joe Dorrance, the illus
traitor, who had the floor below, and
with the girl who had the front room
on his floor. Her name was Ann
Brown. She was a fashion artist
She always smiled pleasantly and
said How do you do, Mr.. Folsom"
when they met in the hall.
He could undoubtedly borrow a
dollar from Dorrance. Indeed, if he
told Dorrance his story, Dorrance
might go farther. But he didn't in
tend to tell Dnrrance q hard luz u