save the seven cents’ street-car fare. On the second day, halfway to Canal Street, he didn’t know why, some little spark of curiosity or sense of purpose overtook him at Lee Circle and he changed direction toward the river, wondering what he was doing as he walked into the smell of burning coal and roasting coffee. From the foot of Canal he could see a big Stewart Line excursion boat riding high in a dry dock across the river, its paddle wheel dismantled, its rusty stacks laid out on the deck. He caught the Algiers ferry, which cost him seven cents, and from the landing walked down a dirt lane to the shipyard. A watchman told him that most of the boat’s crew and performers had been put up in the Gardenia Hotel. He counted out five Indian-head pennies and two Lincolns, took the next boat across, and walked through the French Quarter to the hotel, a place he knew was frequented by vaudevillians and traveling salesmen. He arrived tired and thirsty, the bottoms of his feet burning in his shiny floorwalker’s shoes, and he paused on the sidewalk across from the Gardenia, examining the pressed-tin roof frieze that pretended to be stone, the copper-sheeted bay windows that hung over the street like ingots, showing a thinly deceptive elegance.
The desk clerk rang the Wellers’ room, and the wife said her husband was out but she would come right down, so Sam waited in the illusory lobby with its puddled curtains and genteel walnut settees and side tables. He knew what the rooms were like, small and hot and plain as toast. He heard Elsie on the stairs before he saw her, and her steps were slow. She joined him on a green plush sofa, sitting down quickly, perhaps pretending not to notice a polite scattering of dust rising from the cushions.
“Do you have any news?” she asked. She was composed and did not smile at him.
He shook his head, once. “I’ve been going around town trying to find a job that won’t maim me or drive me crazy or get me arrested.” He watched her face, but she seemed unconcerned about what he’d said. He knew what she wanted to hear. “While I was out and about, I did what I could. Checked with the porters at the stations. Visited some hotels and the one criminal I know.”
She still did not smile. Out in the street the vegetable man’s wagon passed by, his falsetto rising about the glories of tomatoes and plums, “Ahh gotta da bannannnn…,” but her gaze didn’t stray toward the window. “We’ve paid a private policeman to investigate Lily’s disappearance, but he’s turned up nothing. I don’t think he really cares about her, just our money.” She didn’t say this in a bitter voice, and he was glad of it. His uncle had taught him that bitterness solved nothing. “I don’t suppose you have children,” she continued. “I didn’t see any sign of them at your house.”
He looked over at the bald desk clerk, who was watching them. “I had a son. But we lost him to a fever.”
“How old?”
“Nearly two. I know a little of what you’re feeling.”
“A little,” she said. “At least you know where your son is.”
He reddened at her presumption, bordering on meanness, and had opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure what, when a big hand came down on his shoulder. He looked up and saw a large, white-haired gentleman dressed in a bluewater uniform, a soft cap pulled down at an angle with the legend “Captain” in gold braid above the patent-leather bill.
“Pardon me,” he said, “but I’ve got to put a quick question to this lady.” He was about sixty-five years old, the type of blustery fellow used to taking over anyone’s conversation. “Elsie, I need you and Ted to come down to the Industrial Canal out by the cracker works. We’ve just closed on the Ambassador and we’ve got to get her in shape fast.”
“Is there a piano on board?” She seemed confused.
The big man cocked his head. “Now, Elsie?”
“Oh, I see. You want us to clean and
The desk clerk rang the Wellers’ room, and the wife said her husband was out but she would come right down, so Sam waited in the illusory lobby with its puddled curtains and genteel walnut settees and side tables. He knew what the rooms were like, small and hot and plain as toast. He heard Elsie on the stairs before he saw her, and her steps were slow. She joined him on a green plush sofa, sitting down quickly, perhaps pretending not to notice a polite scattering of dust rising from the cushions.
“Do you have any news?” she asked. She was composed and did not smile at him.
He shook his head, once. “I’ve been going around town trying to find a job that won’t maim me or drive me crazy or get me arrested.” He watched her face, but she seemed unconcerned about what he’d said. He knew what she wanted to hear. “While I was out and about, I did what I could. Checked with the porters at the stations. Visited some hotels and the one criminal I know.”
She still did not smile. Out in the street the vegetable man’s wagon passed by, his falsetto rising about the glories of tomatoes and plums, “Ahh gotta da bannannnn…,” but her gaze didn’t stray toward the window. “We’ve paid a private policeman to investigate Lily’s disappearance, but he’s turned up nothing. I don’t think he really cares about her, just our money.” She didn’t say this in a bitter voice, and he was glad of it. His uncle had taught him that bitterness solved nothing. “I don’t suppose you have children,” she continued. “I didn’t see any sign of them at your house.”
He looked over at the bald desk clerk, who was watching them. “I had a son. But we lost him to a fever.”
“How old?”
“Nearly two. I know a little of what you’re feeling.”
“A little,” she said. “At least you know where your son is.”
He reddened at her presumption, bordering on meanness, and had opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure what, when a big hand came down on his shoulder. He looked up and saw a large, white-haired gentleman dressed in a bluewater uniform, a soft cap pulled down at an angle with the legend “Captain” in gold braid above the patent-leather bill.
“Pardon me,” he said, “but I’ve got to put a quick question to this lady.” He was about sixty-five years old, the type of blustery fellow used to taking over anyone’s conversation. “Elsie, I need you and Ted to come down to the Industrial Canal out by the cracker works. We’ve just closed on the Ambassador and we’ve got to get her in shape fast.”
“Is there a piano on board?” She seemed confused.
The big man cocked his head. “Now, Elsie?”
“Oh, I see. You want us to clean and
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