Cautiously the door was opened a few inches, and a chocolate-colored negress put her head in. Seeing that Laura was alone, she pushed the door open wider and came in, letter in hand.
"Hello, Annie!" said Laura amiably.
"Heah's yo' mail, Miss Laura," said the slavey, with a significant leer.
"Thank you," said the young actress, taking the proffered missive.
She merely glanced at the familiar, beloved superscription, making no attempt to open the envelope in the presence of the maid. But Annie, the slovenly type of negress one encounters in cheap theatrical boarding-houses, showed no disposition to withdraw. Like most servants, she was inquisitive, and never neglected an opportunity to spy and gossip, considering it a part of her duties to learn everything possible of the private affairs of the lodgers. Quite unlike the traditional, smiling, good-natured "mammy" of the South, she was one of those cunning, crafty, heartless, surly Northern negresses, who, to the number of thousands, seek employment as maids with women of easy morals, and, infesting a certain district of New York where white and black people of the lower classes mingle indiscriminately, make it one of the most criminal and dangerous sections of the city. Innately and brutally selfish, such women prey on those they profess to serve, and are honest and faithful only so long as it serves their purpose.
Annie kept one eye on the letter, while she pretended to tidy things about the room. Presently she said:
"One like dat comes every mornin', don't it? Used to all be postmahked Denver. Must 'a' moved."
As she spoke, she tried to get a glimpse of the letter over Laura's shoulder, but as the actress turned, she quickly looked away, and added:
"Where is dat place called Goldfield, Miss Laura?"
"In Nevada."