There was another queer quirk to her too. Work up as much sympathy as you wanted to, you couldn't do anything for her. Sadie ain't slow at that, you know. She got int'rested in her right off, and when she discovers how Lindy lives in a couple of cheap rooms down in the Bronx all by herself, and never goes anywhere or has any fun, she proceeds to spring her usual uplift methods. Wouldn't Lindy like a ticket to a nice concert? No, thanks, Lindy didn't care much about music. Or the theater? No, Lindy says she's afraid to go trapesin' around town after dark. Wouldn't she quit work for an hour or so and come for a spin in the car, just to get the air? Lindy puts her hand over her mouth and shakes her head. Automobiles made her nervous. She tried one once, and was so scared she couldn't work for two hours after. The subway trains were bad enough, goodness knows!
I couldn't begin to tell you all the things Lindy was afraid of,—crowds, the dark, of getting lost, of meetin' strangers, of tryin' anything new. I remember seein' her once, comin' out on the train. She's squeezed into the end seat behind the door, and was huddled up there, grippin' a little black travelin' bag in one hand and a rusty umbrella in the other, and keepin' her eyes on the floor, for all the world like she'd run away from somewhere and was stealin' a ride. Get it, do you?
But wait! There was one point where Lindy had it on most of us. She knew where she was goin'. Didn't seem to have any past worth speakin' about, except that she'd been born in England,—father used to keep a little store on some side street in Dover,—and she'd come over here alone when she was quite a girl. As for the present—well, I've been tryin' to give you a bird's-eye view of that.
But when it comes to the future Lindy was right there with the goods. Had it all mapped out for twenty years to come. Uh-huh! She told Sadie about it, ownin' up to bein' near forty, and said that when she was sixty she was goin' to get into an Old Ladies' Home. Some prospect—what? She'd even picked out the joint and had 'em put her name down. It would cost her three hundred and fifty dollars, which she had salted away in the savings bank already, and now she was just driftin' along until she could qualify in the age limit. Livin' just for that!
"Ah, can the gloom stuff, Sadie!" says I as she whispers this latest bulletin. "You give me the willies, you and your Lindy! Why, that old horse chestnut out there in the yard leads a more excitin' existence than that! It's preparin' to leaf out again next spring. But Lindy! Bah! Say, just havin' her in the house makes the air seem moldy. I'm goin' out and tramp around the grounds a bit before dinner."
That was a good hunch. It's a clear, crisp evenin' outside, with the last red of the sun just showin' in the northwest and a thin new moon hangin' over Long Island Sound off in the east, and in a couple of turns I shook off the whole business. I'd taken one circle and was roundin' the back of the garage, when I sees something dark slip into a tree shadow up near the house.
"That you, Dominick?" I sings out.
There's no answer to that, and, knowin' that if there's one failin' Dominick don't possess it's bein' tonguetied, I gets suspicious. Besides, a couple of porch-climbin' jobs had been pulled off in the neighborhood recent, and, even though I do carry a burglar policy, I ain't crazy about havin' strangers messin' through the bureau drawers while I'm tryin' to sleep. So I sneaks along the hedge for a ways, and then does the sleuthy approach across the lawn on the right flank. Another minute and I've made a quick spring and has my man pinned against the tree with both his wrists fast and my knee in his chest.
"Woof!" says he, deep and guttural.
"Excuse the warm welcome," says I, "but that's only a sample of what we pass out to stray visitors like you. Sizin' up the premises, were you, and gettin' ready to collect a few souvenirs?"