Hannah, traversing the blistering length of Main Street, had arrived at the gloomy brick building labelled Hotel, and had inquired for Mrs. Tracy of whom her prescription told her this much: “Travelling man’s wife, convalescent after long severe illness.”
Mrs. Tracy would receive her in her room, and Hannah followed the proprietor, who was also bell-boy and head waiter, up the shabby stairs, feeling decidedly foolish, but determined not to give up.
Once inside the room, she forgot her own feelings. It was a most doleful place, with ugly walls, cheap stained furniture and huge figured curtains; but she was met by a sweet-faced young woman in a soft blue négligée.
“Dr. Helen telephoned me that you were coming,” she said, taking Hannah’s hand and looking into her eyes with a bright look that made Hannah feel interested at once.
“Will you take the place of honor?” She indicated a stiff little settee, upholstered in magenta cotton velvet.
“It must be what the Courier advertisement meant, when it spoke of furniture, ‘warranted upholstered,’” said Hannah seating herself, and 230 smiling her most merry smile at her attractive little hostess.
The thin face almost dimpled with pleasure.
“So you read the Courier, too! Mr. Tracy bought back numbers of it to amuse me, and I’ve collected the most delightful clippings. You see, I’m alone so much. The nurse wasn’t very entertaining, and my husband has to be away all the week, and I have to have some one to laugh with, or at least, something to laugh at!”
“What fun!” said Hannah. “Do show me your clippings.”
“I was just pasting in a birth notice when you came,” said Mrs. Tracy, lifting a small scrap-book from a table. “It’s about as good as anything. ‘Mr. and Mrs. Ezra Kling are the proud parents of a fine baby girl. Present indications are that the lovely lump intends to stay.’”