to her that Mr. Fishblate was a widower, and might it not be that Miss Kling contemplated the possibility of his becoming that other self not yet attained?
Fortunately Miss Kling did not observe her lodger's looks, so intent was she in admiration of Mr. Fishblate's fine points, and soon took her leave.
After her departure, Nattie changed her inky dress, and put on her hat to go out for something forgotten until now. As she stepped into the hall, a tall young man, with extremely long arms and legs, and mouth, that, although shaded by a faint outline of a mustache, invariably suggested an alligator, opened the door of Mrs. Simonson's rooms, opposite, and seeing Nattie, started back in a sort of nervous bashfulness. Recovering himself, he then darted out with such impetuosity that his foot caught in a rug, he fell, and went headlong down stairs, dragging with him a fire-bucket, at which he clutched in a vain effort to save himself, the two jointly making a noise that echoed through the silent halls, and brought out the inhabitants of the rooms in alarm.
"What is it? Is any one killed?" shrieked from above, a voice, recognizable as that of Celeste
8
