liam C. Olafson, 218 Riverside Drive. . . . I wonder if it is all right to put the address on our visiting cards." She took his hand and led him through the empty cleanswept rooms that no one had ever lived in. He was a big shambling man with eyes of a washed out blue deepset in a white infantile head.
"It's a lot of money Bertha."
"We can afford it now, of course we can. We must live up to our income. . . . Your position demands it. . . . And think how happy we'll be."
The house agent came back down the hall rubbing his hands. "Well, well, well . . . Ah I see that we've come to a favorable decision. . . . You are very wise too, not a finer location in the city of New York and in a few months you wont be able to get anything out this way for love or money. . . ."
"Yes we'll take it from the first of the month."
"Very good. . . . You wont regret your decision, Mr. Olafson."
"I'll send you a check for the amount in the morning."
"At your own convenience. . . . And what is your present address please. . . ." The houseagent took out a notebook and moistened a stub of pencil with his tongue.
"You had better put Hotel Astor." She stepped in front of her husband.
"Our things are stored just at the moment."
Mr. Olafson turned red.
"And . . . er . . . we'd like the names of two references please in the city of New York."
"I'm with Keating and Bradley, Sanitary Engineers, 43 Park Avenue. . ."
"He's just been made assistant general manager," added Mrs. Olafson.
When they got out on the Drive walking downtown against a tussling wind she cried out: "Darling I'm so happy. . . . It's really going to be worth living now."
"But why did you tell him we lived at the Astor?"
