“We do, young man,” she answered, in a voice that made our hero far from comfortable.
“I expect to stay in New York a week or two, and I—”
“We don’t take transients,” she snapped. “Only regular boarders with first-class references,” and she shut the door in Jerry’s face.
He was glad enough to escape to the pavement, feeling satisfied that he would not have cared to have boarded there, even had she been willing to take him in.
A block further on was another place, a modest brick residence, set back behind a small plot of green. Thinking this looked inviting, and not reasoning that the spot of green was as valuable as a brown-stone building would have been, Jerry entered the garden and made known his wants to the servant who was dusting the piazza chairs.
She called the lady of the house, who on hearing what Jerry had to say, smiled in a motherly way.
“I hardly think I can take you in, my boy,” she said. “Do you know how much I charge a week?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Twelve to fifteen dollars for a single room and not less than ten otherwise.”
Jerry almost gasped for breath.