IX
ON FLAT-HUNTING
"Aha!" cried the Poet, briskly rubbing his hands together, and drawing adeep breath of satisfaction, "these be great days for people who arefond of the chase, who love the open, and who would commune with Naturein her most lovely mood. Just look out of that window, Mr. Idiot, anddrink in the joyous sunshine. Egad! sir, even the asphalted pavement andthe brick-and-mortar facade of the houses opposite, bathed in thatgolden light, seem glorified."
"Thanks," said the Idiot, wearily, "but I guess I won't. I'm afraid thatwhile I was drinking in those glorified flats opposite and digesting thegolden-mellow asphalt, you would fasten that poetic grip of yours uponmy share of the blossoming buckwheats. Furthermore, I've been enjoyingthe chase for two weeks now, and, to tell you the honest truth, I amlong on it. There is such a thing as chasing too much, so if you don'tmind I'll sublet my part of the contract for gazing out of the window atgilt-edged Nature as she appears in the city to you. Mary, move Mr.Poet's chair over to the window so that he may drink in the sunshinecomfortably, and pass his share of the sausages to me."
"What have you been chasing, Mr. Idiot?" asked the Doctor. "Birds or thefast-flitting dollar?"
"Flats," said the Idiot.
"I didn't know you Wall Street people needed to hunt flats," said theBibliomaniac. "I thought they just walked into your offices andpresented themselves for skinning."
"I don't mean the flats we live on," explained the Idiot. "It's theflats we live in that I have been after."
The landlady looked up inquiringly. Mr. Idiot's announcement soundedominous.
"To my mind, flat-hunting," the Idiot continued, "is one of the mostinteresting branches of sport. It involves quite as much uncertainty asthe pursuit of the whirring partridge; your game is quite as difficultto lure as the speckled trout darting hither and yon in the grassy pool;it involves no shedding of innocent blood, as in the case of a rideacross-country with a pack in full pursuit of the fox; and strikes meas possessing greater dignity than running forty miles through thecabbage-patches of Long Island in search of a bag of ainse seed.When the sporting instinct arises in my soul and reaches that full-tidewhere nothing short of action will hold it in control, I never think ofstarting for Maine to shoot the festive moose, nor do I squander mylimited resources on a foggy hunt for the elusive canvasback in theMaryland marshes. I just go to the nearest cab-stand, strike a bargainwith Mr. Jehu for an afternoon's use of his hansom, and go around thetown hunting flats. It requires very little previous preparation; itinvolves no prolonged absences from home; you do not need rubber bootsunless you propose to investigate the cellars or intend to go farafield into the suburban boroughs of this great city; and is in allways pleasant, interesting, and, I may say, educational."
"Educational, eh?" laughed the Bibliomaniac. "Some people have queerideas of what is educational. I must say I fail to see anythingparticularly instructive in flat-hunting."
"That's because you never approached it in a proper spirit," said theIdiot. "Anybody who is at all interested in sociology, however, cannothelp but find instruction in a contemplation of how people are housed.You can't get any idea of how the other halves live by reading thesociety news in the Sunday newspapers or peeping in at the second storyof the tenement-houses as you go down-town on the elevated railroads.You've got to go out and investigate for yourself, and that's whereflat-hunting comes in as an educational diversion. Of course, all menare not interested in the same line of investigation. You, as abibliomaniac, prefer to go hunting rare first editions; Dr. Pellet,armed to the teeth with capsules, lies in wait for a pot-shot at somenew kind of human ailment, and rejoices as loudly over the discovery ofa new disease as you do over finding a copy of the rare first edition ofthe _Telephone Book for 1899_; another man goes to Africa to investigatethe condition of our gorillan cousin of the jungle; Lieutenant Pearygoes and hides behind a snow-ball up North, so that his fellows of theArctic Exploration Society may have something to look for every othersummer; and I--I go hunting for flats. I don't sneer at you and theothers for liking the things you do. You shouldn't sneer at me forliking the things I do. It is, after all, the diversity of our tastesthat makes our human race interesting."
"But the rest of us generally bag something," said the Lawyer. "What thedickens do you get beyond sheer physical weariness for your pains?"
"The best of all the prizes of the hunt," said the Idiot; "the spiritof content with my lot as a boarder. I've been through twenty-eightflats in the last three weeks, and I know whereof I speak. I have seenthe gorgeous apartments of the Redmere, where you can get a Louis Quinzedrawing-room, a Renaissance library, a superb Grecian dining-room, and acold-storage box to keep your high-balls in for four thousand dollarsper annum."
"Weren't there any bedrooms?" asked Mr. Whitechoker.
"Oh yes," said the Idiot. "Three, automatically ventilated from holes inthe ceiling leading to an air-shaft, size six by nine, and brilliantlylighted by electricity. There was also a small pigeon-hole in acorrugated iron shack on the roof for the cook; a laundry next to thecoal-bin in the cellar; and a kitchen about four feet square connectingwith the library."
"Mercy!" cried Mrs. Pedagog. "Do they expect children to live in such aplace as that?"
"No," said the Idiot. "You have to give bonds as security againstchildren of any kind at the Redmere. If you happen to have any, you arerequired by the terms of your lease to send them to boarding-school; andif you haven't any, the lease requires that you shall promise to havenone during your tenancy. The owners of such properties have a lot ofheart about them, and they take good care to protect the childrenagainst the apartments they put up."
"And what kind of people, pray, live in such places as that?" demandedthe Bibliomaniac.
"Very nice people," said the Idiot. "People, for the most part, whospend their winters at Palm Beach, their springs in London, theirsummers at Newport or on the Continent, and their autumns in theBerkshires."
"I don't see why they need a home at all if that's the way they do,"said Mrs. Pedagog.
"It's very simple," said the Idiot. "You've got to have an address toget your name in the _Social Register_."
"Four thousand dollars is pretty steep for an address," commented theBibliomaniac.
"It would be for me," said the Idiot. "But it is cheap for them.Moreover, in the case of the Redmere it's the swellest address in town.Three of the most important divorces of the last social season tookplace at the Redmere. Social position comes high, Mr. Bib, but there arepeople who must have it. It is to them what baked beans are to theBostonian's Sunday breakfast--a _sine qua non_."
"May I ask whatever induced you to look for a four-thousand-dollarapartment?" asked Mr. Pedagog. "You have frequently stated that yourincome barely equalled twenty-four hundred dollars a year."
"Why shouldn't I?" asked the Idiot. "It doesn't cost any more to lookfor a four-thousand-dollar apartment than it does to go chasing after atwo-dollar-a-week hall-bedroom, and it impresses the cab-driver with asense of responsibility. But bagging these gorgeous apartments does notconstitute the real joy of flat-hunting. For solid satisfaction andreal sport the chase for a fifteen-hundred-dollar apartment in a decentneighborhood bears away the palm. You can get plenty of roomy suites inthe neighborhood of a boiler-factory, or next door to a distillery, orback of a fire-engine house, at reasonable rents, and along the elevatedrailway lines much that is impressive is to be found by those who cansleep with trains running alongside of their pillows all night; but whenyou get away from these, the real thing at that figure is elusive. Overby the Park you can get two pigeon-holes and a bath, with a southernexposure, for nineteen hundred dollars a year; if you are willing todispense with the southern exposure you can get three Black Holes ofCalcutta and a butler's pantry, in the same neighborhood, for sixteenhundred dollars, but you have to provide your own air. Farther down-townyou will occasionally find the thing you want with a few extras in theshape of cornet-players, pianola-bangers, and peroxide sop
ranos oneither side of you, and an osteopathic veterinary surgeon on the groundfloor thrown in. Then there are paper flats that can be had for twelvehundred dollars, but you can't have any pictures in them, because thewalls won't stand the weight, and any nail of reasonable length wouldstick through into the next apartment. A friend of mine lived in one ofthese affairs once, and when he inadvertently leaned against the wallone night he fell through into his neighbor's bath-tub. Of course, thatsort of thing promotes sociability; but for a home most people want justa little privacy. And so the list runs on. You would really beastonished at the great variety of discomfortable dwelling-places thatpeople build. Such high-art decorations as you encounter--purple friezessurmounting yellow dadoes; dragons peeping out of fruit-baskets;idealized tomatoes in full bloom chasing one another all around thebedroom walls. Then the architectural inconveniences they present withtheir best bedrooms opening into the kitchen; their parlors with marblewash-stands with running water in the corner; their libraries fitted upwith marvellous steam-radiators and china-closets, and their kitchensso small that the fire in the range scorches the wall opposite, and overwhich nothing but an asbestos cook, with a figure like a third rail,could preside. And, best of all, there are the janitors! Why, Mr. Bib,the study of the janitor and his habits alone is worthy of the life-longattention of the best entomologist that ever lived--and yet you saythere is nothing educational in flat-hunting."
"Oh, well," said the Bibliomaniac, "I meant for me. There are a lot ofthings that would be educational to you that I should regard assymptomatic of profound ignorance. Everything is relative in thisworld."
"That is true," said the Idiot; "and that is why every April 1st I goout and gloat over the miseries of the flat-dwellers. As long as I cando that I am happy in my little cubby-hole under Mrs. Pedagog'shospitable roof."
"Ah! I am glad to hear you say that," said Mrs. Pedagog. "I was a bitfearful, Mr. Idiot, that you had it in mind to move away from us."
"No indeed, Mrs. Pedagog," replied the Idiot, rising from the table."You need have no fear of that. You couldn't get me out of here with acrow-bar. If I did not have entire confidence in your lovely house andyourself, you don't suppose I would permit myself to get three monthsbehind in my board, do you?"