CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Situations Auspicious and Anxious

Adam carefully adjusted his crimson silk cravat in the small mirror above the bureau in his room in French’s Hotel.  He couldn’t afford to wear his best suit to work, for then he’d have nothing for more formal occasions, but he wanted to look sharp on his first day, so he had chosen his best tie.  Satisfied that his grooming, at least, was impeccable, he went downstairs to breakfast, although he could stomach only a roll and coffee.  Eager to make a good first impression, he left in time to arrive at the office early.  He smiled as he approached the exit, however, in realization that, with Mr. Bracebridge at least, he’d already made that first impression and it had been a good one.

The smile faded as he moved onto the sidewalk, for facing him, in the open ground across the street, was the sobering sight of an Army encampment.  He’d seen it when he arrived the previous afternoon, of course, and it had sobered him then, too.  Three years was too much disruption of his education to devote to serving in the Army; he’d said it to himself over and over again.  Yet those men across the street were no older than he and they were doing it.  Surely, they had plans as important to them as his were to him, yet they were delaying them—and in some cases sacrificing them—to do their duty to their country.  Could he do less and call himself a citizen?  He had absolutely no doubt how his father would answer that question, and his own heart said the same, but his mind continued to accuse him.  He hesitated for a moment; then, turning sharply to the left, he began walking downtown with brisk strides.  His duty, at least for the next ten weeks, lay in the offices of Bracebridge, Harwood and Associates, and it wouldn’t do to be late the first day.

When he arrived, he did spare a moment to gaze admiringly at the tall brownstone trimmed with creamy marble.  Ignoring the other business names etched into the glass panels of the doors, he let his index finger slide across the letters of the architectural firm.  Somehow, the touch conveyed a sense of belonging to him, the way fingering the pine tree brand back home had always reminded him that he was part of the Ponderosa and the Ponderosa part of him.  He was part of Bracebridge, Harwood and Associates now, the most miniscule part of it, to be sure, but part nonetheless.  Then, reminding himself that he wouldn’t be part of it for long if he didn’t get through those doors and report for duty, he laughed and stepped into the main lobby.

He took the stairs to the fourth floor and soon found himself outside the walnut door he remembered from his previous visit.  Taking a deep breath, he went inside and, removing his hat, stopped at the maple desk closest to the entrance.

The man seated behind it looked up, gray eyes peering at him through round spectacles.  “May I be of assistance, sir?”

“Yes.  My name is Adam Cartwright,” Adam began.

The little man, for he was barely taller than Hop Sing, rose at once and extended a hand.  “Of course, Mr. Cartwright.  We’ve been expecting you, and I must say it’s a pleasure to finally put a face with the name that has so frequently crossed my desk.”  Seeing Adam’s quizzical look, he chuckled softly.  “I handle Mr. Bracebridge’s correspondence, you see.”

Adam smiled.  “Ah, yes.  I’m afraid I have added to your workload, Mr. . . ?”

“Perkins,” the man responded.  “Samuel Perkins, and it was no trouble at all, young man.  Just part of my job.  If you’ll just wait here, Mr. Cartwright, I’ll see whether Mr. Bracebridge is free to see you now.”

While he waited, Adam looked around the office.  Two areas at the back of the room were partitioned off, and in one he saw a well-dressed man, apparently a client, sitting across the desk from a man he couldn’t see.  One of the associates in the company name, perhaps?  In the large outer room a row of slanted drawing tables stood, although only one was occupied.  Would one of those be his?  Or would he be, as he had joked to Elizabeth, nothing but an errand boy for the firm?  Given his present level of inexperience, he doubted that he was useful for much else, but he hoped for more.

Mr. Perkins came out of the inner office and motioned to Adam, who joined him at once.  Perkins stepped aside to allow the younger man to enter and then closed the door after Adam.

Beaming, Mr. Bracebridge came around the desk.  “Adam, my boy!  I’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”  He shook Adam’s hand and gestured toward a nearby chair.

As Adam sat down, Bracebridge half-sat and half-stood against the corner of his large desk.  Smiling, he inclined his chin toward the portfolio resting in the younger man’s lap.  “More drawings for me to evaluate?” he queried.

“These have been evaluated . . . by Louis Bail,” Adam said.  “I brought them in case you’d like to see the improvement I’ve made over this final term.”

“I would, indeed,” Bracebridge said, “especially since you haven’t sent me many drawings in the last few months.  Seeing Adam’s apologetic expression, he quirked a quick smile.  “Lack of time, I’m sure, due to these extra assignments.”  He took the portfolio and opened it, nodding as he examined sheet after sheet.  “And the time was obviously put to good use.  Definite improvement,” he said as he closed the portfolio.  “I see that my instincts about your potential have been justified.”

Adam flushed with pleasure at the compliment.  “I hope you will find some use for it,” he murmured.

“We will, we will,” Mr. Bracebridge assured him.  “However, first things first.”  He put his head out the door and called out, “Mr. Morganstern, could you come here, please?”

The young man standing at a drawing table immediately set aside his pencil and came across the room.  As he entered, Adam stood to meet him.  “Mr. Adam Cartwright, I would like to introduce you to Mr. B. L. Morganstern, newly apprenticed to our firm.”

“Very pleased to meet you,” Adam said, shaking hands with the other man, who he judged to be two or possibly three years older than he.

“The pleasure is mine, sir,” Morganstern responded politely.

“I’ve asked Mr. Morganstern to help you settle in,” Mr. Bracebridge explained.  “He’ll show you around the office and acquaint you with the local environment, as well as offer assistance with obtaining lodgings . . . unless you’ve already made arrangements?”

“I’m at a hotel,” Adam said tentatively.

“I presumed as much,” Bracebridge said.  He added with his easy smile.  “You’ll find a boardinghouse much more economical, and having recently sought such accommodations for himself, Mr. Morganstern can advise you.”

“I’d be very appreciative,” Adam said.

“I’ll leave you in his capable hands, then,” Mr. Bracebridge said.  With an encouraging tap on Adam’s shoulder he returned to his office.

Morganstern drew himself up to his full height, though he still fell half a head below Adam.  “Well, shall we begin the tour?”

Adam nodded.

Morganstern gestured toward a hallway that led deeper into the building.  “Storage.  Associates’ offices.  Haven’t had much call to go down there myself.”

“How long have you been with the firm, Mr. Morganstern?” Adam asked as they began to move around the perimeter of the room.

“What?”  The other man looked flustered for a moment.  “Oh, well . . . about a month now.”

Adam pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.  Despite the dignity with which his guide conducted him, Morganstern was apparently as green, almost, as he himself.  Still, even a month’s experience made him a superior, and Adam had a feeling his new companion took considerable stock in that.

“This is Mr. Harwood’s office,” Morganstern whispered as they approached the office Adam had noticed before.  “He’s with a client now or I’d introduce you.”  His face reddened.  “Although, to be honest, I scarcely know him.  He isn’t in often.  Only handles a few old clients.”  He lowered his voice and whispered confidentially, “Thank goodness.”

Adam arched an inquiring eyebrow, but his coworker shook his head and moved on to the next cubicle, which was filled with wide filing cabinets.  Morganstern pulled open a drawer and showed Adam one of the large drawings stored inside.  “We file our plans here.  I’ll show you our system later, as that’s probably where you’ll start, assisting Mr. Perkins.”

“Good,” Adam said.  He expected to start at the bottom, but even handling those architects’ plans, to him, was a step in the right direction, especially if he was given time to study them as he filed.

Morganstern showed him to one of the drawing tables and proudly said, “This is mine.  Would you care to see what I’m working on?”

“Very much,” Adam said.  For the next half hour Mr. Morganstern showed him a set of architectural renderings, some details of which he had been requested to copy.  That was work that Adam thought he himself was capable of, thanks to Louis Bail’s instruction in drawing, and he hoped that he’d soon be elevated from file clerk to a position resembling that of the man exhibiting the work to him now.  He watched Morganstern carefully as he began his copy work on a fresh sheet of drawing paper.

When the drawing was completed, Morganstern showed it to an apprentice more senior than he, who approved it and took it to submit to Mr. Bracebridge.  “Glad it’s for him,” Morganstern whispered to Adam.  “His partner”—his gaze fell on Harwood’s office—“tends to be more critical.”

“Your renderings looked excellent to me,” Adam assured him.

Morganstern’s chest expanded.  “Yes, well, while we’re waiting on that, why don’t I show you that filing system?”

“Please do,” Adam said.

They were interrupted some twenty minutes later, when Morganstern was called into Mr. Bracebridge’s office.  He looked visibly relieved when he returned to the file room, located next to Mr. Harwood’s office.  “One small correction to be made,” he said, “and as soon as I’ve completed that, we’re free for the day.”

Adam’s jaw dropped.  “But I haven’t done anything,” he protested.

Morganstern laughed.  “Never look a free afternoon in the mouth, my friend.”  He laid a companionable hand on Adam’s shoulder.  “It’s almost time for lunch, anyway.  Mr. Bracebridge has asked me to give you the general layout of the city, the parts you’re likely to be sent to, that is, and to help you find lodgings and get your belongings transferred.  That’s the reason for the afternoon off.”

“Oh, yes, he mentioned that earlier,” Adam remarked.  “I just hadn’t realized he intended me to do that during working hours.”

“He’s a generous man,” Morganstern observed.

Adam smiled in recollection of how kindly Mr. Bracebridge had treated him on his first visit and all the help he’d given by mail over the last six months.  “Yes, I’ve more reason than most to know that.”

“Indeed?  Well, you must tell me about it sometime, but now I must complete that drawing.”  He waved at the file drawers.  “Take a look at some of the plans if you like.  Just be sure to put everything back where you find it.”

Adam eagerly took advantage of the opportunity to pore over the architectural plans, and he found them so interesting that it seemed no time at all before the young apprentice rejoined him and said that they could be on their way.  “Your correction was approved, then, Mr. Morganstern?” Adam inquired as soon as they were in the hallway.

“Approved and complimented,” Morganstern replied, as they started down the stairs, “but no need to be so formal.  You may call me Bert.”

Adam nodded.  “And I’m Adam.  I wondered what B. L. stood for.”

Bert’s nose wrinkled.  “Bertram,” he said.  “Dreadful name, but it’s come down in the family.”

“And the L.?”

“A dark secret, sir, never to be mentioned,” Bert said with a shiver.  “I’ll only say that Bertram was sufficiently ridiculous already without pairing it with that.”

“You realize, of course,” Adam teased, “that you’ve aroused my curiosity to a pitch that will never be satisfied until I learn your secret.”

Bert threw his head back and guffawed, grasping the handrail to hold himself steady.  “I did rather put my foot in that, didn’t I?  You mustn’t hound me about it, though, or I shall deposit you in a boarding house with the vilest victuals in town.  I know just the one.”

“Yours?” Adam inquired, cocking his head.

Bert nodded morosely.  “For a full week when I first arrived, but I’ve landed in a much better place now.”

“I rejoice for you,” Adam said with a chuckle.

“And possibly for yourself,” Bert said.  “There is another room available, and I spoke to the landlady on your behalf.  She’s agreed to interview you and see if you’re acceptable.”

“I hope I can pass muster,” Adam said as they reached the ground floor.

“No worries there,” Bert assured him.  “She’s already taken with the notion that you’re a college man.”

“And the cost?” Adam asked.

Bert gave him an understanding look.  “Reasonable.  My salary is small, too, Adam, so I have to watch such things.  The landlady does offer the option of taking only two meals a day with her. We normally wouldn’t have time to return there for the noon meal anyway, so breakfast and supper at the house is sufficient.  Plenty of places close to the office where a fellow can catch a quick bite for a pittance.”

“Sounds like just what I need,” Adam said, slowing his steps to match those of the other man.  “Is that where we’re headed now?”

“Well, no,” Bert admitted.  “With the afternoon free, I thought we might range further abroad, over to Washington Street, across from the Market.”

Adam shrugged, for the address was meaningless to him.

Guessing that, Bert laughed.  “Best get started acquainting you with the city, hadn’t I?  We’re headed toward the North River on the west side of the island.”  From that time on, he began to tell the name of each street they crossed and what businesses might be found on it, especially those to which a young apprentice architect might be sent from time to time.  Adam couldn’t help but notice that his new friend took special care to point out every eating establishment they passed with detailed commentary on the worth of its cuisine.  He had a feeling that with Bert as his guide, he’d never starve.

That feeling landed on firm foundation when they arrived at Smith and McNell’s and found seats in the downstairs dining room.  “Fancier food upstairs,” Bert confided, “but you get a great plate of food for a nickel or dime down here.  Order whatever you like, Adam: steak, chops, ham and eggs.  My treat.”

“Thank you kindly,” Adam said, resolving to return the favor soon.  He selected the chops and, at Bert’s urging, added an order of mashed potatoes to them.  “These are excellent,” he said after his first bite of the hot meat.

Bert waved a fork holding a bite of steak at him.  “You can always trust me in areas of cuisine,” he chuckled.

Amused to have his surmise so quickly confirmed, Adam grinned.  “And in areas of office relationships?” he asked.  “I gather that Mr. Harwood, for instance, is rather harder to please than Mr. Bracebridge.”

Bert leaned in closer, as if even here he were afraid of being overheard.  “That’s my impression.  Thankfully, I haven’t worked under him directly, but I’ve heard him rake some of the younger associates over the coals for what he termed ‘shoddy workmanship.’  I’d advise you to steer clear of him.”

“He might have much to teach me,” Adam said, “and I am here to learn.”

Bert’s brow furrowed.  “Yes, I suppose.  I must admit I don’t understand this notion of a summer apprenticeship.  You’ll barely begin to be useful here before you head back to the books, for whatever use they may be.”

“I find them useful,” Adam said quietly.

Fearing that he’d given offense, Bert backtracked quickly.  “Oh, I don’t underestimate the value of learning,” he said.  “Not at all.  It’s just . . . well . . .”

“Unconventional?” Adam suggested with a smile.  “Don’t worry.  I’ve heard it before . . . from all the architects I visited before Mr. Bracebridge.  I couldn’t believe he even agreed to see me, much less offer me this summer position.”

Bert’s eyes shone with warmth.  “He is splendid, isn’t he?  Perkins is a brick, too.  Knows more about the company than most of the associates and willingly answers any question put to him, no matter how busy he is.”  Over the rest of the meal, Bert described the other associates with the company and even shared an anecdote about a particularly demanding client that soon had Adam almost rolling with laughter.

When they’d cleaned their plates, even sopping up the gravy with bread, Bert suggested, “We could have pie here, if you like, but I think a dish of ice cream sounds better on this hot day.  And it would give you a chance to see the Washington Market.”

“Ice cream does sound refreshing,” Adam admitted, “but do we have time?  I wouldn’t want to make a poor impression on my future landlady by arriving late.”

Bert laughed.  “She won’t be expecting us this early, and I can assure you you’ll make a fine impression on her.  On to the Market, then.”  He pushed back his chair.

“If you’ll let me treat you this time,” Adam said.

Bert pursed his lips.  “Do you have the funds?  I don’t mean to pry into your personal circumstances, of course, but I thought . . . since you haven’t had your first paycheck . . .”

“Very thoughtful of you,” Adam said quickly to assuage his friend’s discomfort, “but I do have some funds available to me, certainly enough for two dishes of ice cream.”

Bert grinned broadly.  “I accept with pleasure, then.”

Once they’d finished their ice cream, they headed east until they reached City Hall Park and then turned north until they crossed Canal Street.  “Not far now,” Bert said, wiping perspiration from his brow.  “The house is on Orchard.”  They walked a few more blocks before Bert paused in front of a three-story home of plain brick, which had obviously seen better days.  Its trim, in fact, was in decided need of a fresh coat of paint.  “There it is,” Bert said.  “Nothing special architecturally, of course, but it’s clean, and the landlady doesn’t scrimp on the victuals.”

“Both important qualities,” Adam said with a smile.  He remembered some of the boardinghouses that he and Pa had stayed in before meeting Inger.  There’d been times, when Pa’s pocketbook was nearly empty, that they’d been forced to stay in places with dust thick enough to make him cough or in others where the pittance they could pay bought only a meager meal.  Realizing that, without Bert’s guidance, he might well have ended up in just such a place, he felt a sudden surge of gratitude.

They entered and placed their hats on a rack standing beside the front door.  Then Bert ushered him into the parlor.  A slightly rotund lady, probably in her late forties, set aside her crochet work and rose to meet them.  “Mrs. Whitney,” Bert said, “may I present to you Mr. Adam Cartwright, the gentleman of whom we spoke earlier?  Adam, Mrs. Ophelia Whitney.”

Mrs. Whitney extended her hand in a manner that indicated her expectation of being greeted in the European style.  Adam took the hand and, bowing, kissed it lightly.  “My pleasure, Mrs. Whitney,” he said.

She blushed prettily, clearly pleased by his suave manners.  “Won’t you be seated, Mr. Cartwright?”  She motioned toward an armchair upholstered in flowered brocade.  Like the house’s exterior, its furnishings had seen better days, but the fabric, while faded, was not threadbare, and the room exuded an air of quiet gentility, as did its hostess.

“Thank you,” Adam said, taking the chair.  Bert moved to a side table near the room’s entrance and began to riffle through a pile of letters there.

“So, Mr. Cartwright,” the landlady said, “I understand that you are recently arrived in the city and in need of a place of lodging.”

“That’s correct,” Adam said.  “Mr. Morganstern has spoken highly of your establishment, ma’am, so I am in hopes that you will have room for me here.”

The lady’s lips tightened for a moment.  “It is not entirely a matter of whether I have room, Mr. Cartwright.”  She smiled demurely.  “I am, after all, a woman bereft of male protection, and I have three young daughters, so I must be certain that the young gentlemen who board here are of unquestioned character.”

“Certainly,” Adam said at once.  “I could arrange for references, if you like, although the only local one, which I could obtain on short notice, would be my employer, Mr. Addison Bracebridge.”

“A point in your favor,” Mrs. Whitney said.  She nodded toward Bert, who had taken a seat across the parlor to read his mail.  “Mr. Morganstern, of that same firm, has certainly proven to be a congenial guest.”

Bert looked up to smile at her and returned to his letter.

“However, Mr. Bracebridge can scarcely have had time to know you well,” the lady observed.

“In person, no,” Adam agreed, “although we have been corresponding for several months.  I could, given time, have some of my professors at Yale assure you that my character is acceptable.”  He was confident that Professor Hadley, at the very least, would willingly offer such a reference.

Mrs. Whitney nodded.  “It would have been helpful, of course, if you had thought to bring such a reference with you.”

Adam resisted the urge to bite his lower lip.  “I suppose it would have.”  His mind raced to calculate his chances of finding lodging anywhere in New York City, if all the landladies proved as demanding.  “I regret my lack of forethought, ma’am,” he said as he started to stand, “but I suppose it would be best for me to apply elsewhere.”

Mrs. Whitney fluttered her hands with alarm.  “Now, don’t be so hasty, young man.”  She tittered like a young girl.  “Sit down, sit down.  Dear me, you’d think an old woman with three young ones of her own would understand a young person’s lack of forethought.”

Adam recognized a fishing expedition when he saw one.  As he took his seat again, he said, “I would scarcely describe you as an old woman, ma’am.”

The tittering rose in pitch.  “There now, you see what pretty manners you have.  That speaks well of your upbringing, and that means more to me than references.  Why don’t we begin again, Mr. Cartwright, and you tell me about your family.”

Adam relaxed.  Talking about his family was easy and always a pleasure.  “Certainly.  I have a wonderful father, who is almost entirely responsible for my upbringing.”

A look of shock crossed the landlady’s face.  “You give no credit to your mother, young man?”

Adam’s eyes veiled, as his thoughts ran first to Marie, from whom he had gained whatever suavity and gentility his manners possessed, and then further back to Inger, who had laid the foundation of good manners in her loving concern for others.  “I do, of course,” he said, “but since she passed away, my father has seen to my upbringing.  That’s what I meant.”  He declined further explanation of the family history, the complexity of which he was usually reluctant to explain to strangers.

Her face softened with sympathy for a motherless boy.  “I’m sure he’s done the best he could, and you do well to appreciate his efforts.”  Interest sparked in her gray eyes.  “Will he be visiting you here by chance?”

Adam fought hard to keep at bay the smirk twitching at his lips.  He had seen that look in other ladies’ eyes back home, when Marie’s death turned Ben Cartwright, almost overnight, into the most eligible man around, and was certain he could read the mind of the widow facing him now.  “I think that unlikely,” he said.  “It is a long journey from Nevada.”

“Nevada!” the widow squealed and then quickly composed herself.  “Pardon me, Mr. Cartwright, but you took me quite by surprise with that revelation.  I had assumed you were a New England boy.”

Adam laughed softly.  “Well, I was born there.  Then we emigrated west.”

Mrs. Whitney sank back in her chair.  “Dear me, your father wasn’t one of those fools who chased west after gold, I hope.”

“Not at all,” Adam assured her.  “His dream was to build a home and help to build a community.  He’s been quite successful at that.”

The widow’s interest peaked again.  “Oh?”

Though normally not given to braggadocio, Adam decided that he’d better make his background sound as solid as possible, if he hoped to obtain a room here.  “Yes.  Our ranch, the Ponderosa, is well established, and most men consider Ben Cartwright a leader in the community.  In fact, Governor Nye has, on occasion, consulted him about—um—certain local problems.”  He left those “local problems” undefined, judging that any mention of Indians would only paint a picture of his home territory as a wild and woolly place, from which young men of character were unlikely to emerge.

Mrs. Whitney was obviously impressed.  “Do you refer to James Nye, formerly president of our metropolitan police commission?”

“Why, yes,” Adam said, certain his stock was rising by the moment.

He wasn’t wrong.  Mrs. Whitney drew herself up in her chair.  “I’m quite certain, then, that you would make a fine addition to our little home, Mr. Cartwright.  No one from a family esteemed by Mr. Nye could fail to be of high character.”

“I greatly appreciate the opportunity to join your household,” Adam said.  “Would it be convenient for me to move my belongings in this afternoon or would you like a day to prepare the room?”

“How thoughtful you are,” the landlady cooed.  “Since I strive always to maintain my rooms in readiness for the next guest, however, I hope you will join us this very evening.  Will you return by suppertime?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Adam said, rising.  “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll return to my hotel at once and make the necessary arrangements.”

She rose, as well, extending her hand for a farewell kiss.  “We shall await your arrival with anticipation, Mr. Cartwright.”

“Need some help?” Bert, who had remained on the periphery of the conversation, asked.

“I’d appreciate it,” Adam said, “although I can manage on my own, if it’s any imposition.”

“Not at all,” Bert assured him, coming forward to take his leave of their landlady in the same manner that Adam had.  As soon as they were outside, he chuckled.  “You handled her just right, my friend.  Was that really true about the governor?”

“Would a young gentleman of character lie?” Adam teased as they turned onto the street.  “Yes, it’s true, although the occasions when Governor Nye requests my father’s help aren’t frequent.”

“Very impressive,” Bert observed.  Then he chuckled.  “Not that you were ever in danger of being refused.  No handsome young man of reasonable means need ever fear rejection from a household with three marriageable daughters.”

“Marriageable!” Adam squawked.  “But she said they were young; I assumed they were children.”

Bert guffawed.  “The eldest is about five years your senior, the second approximately your age, and the third—well, she is younger, but don’t let your guard down with that one, Adam, if you value your bachelorhood.”

“I’m taken,” Adam announced firmly, thinking of Elizabeth, “or attached, at least unofficially.”

“For mercy’s sake, don’t mention that!” Bert advised.  “Mrs. Whitney’s esteem for your character would plummet drastically.”

“I’ll try to keep it under my hat,” Adam said dryly.  “I see now why you were so anxious for me to lodge here—to take the pressure off you!”

Grinning, Bert shook his head.  “I had no such ulterior motive, I assure you, but I do have the feeling that once our three budding belles get a look at you, their interest in me will evaporate.”  He stroked his chin thoughtfully.  “I may regret that.  The attention can be quite stimulating—in moderation.”

“I came here for architectural stimulation,” Adam grunted.

“Ah, but what more graceful architecture could one study than the female form?” Bert suggested, his hands tracing feminine curves in the air.

Adam rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help grinning at the nonsense.  “I fear that you, sir, are going to be a bad influence on my studious character.”

“To the best of my ability,” Bert assured him with a naughty wink.

“Then it behooves me to learn more about your background, young man,” Adam declared with his best imitation of Mrs. Whitney.  “Do you, perchance, have a widowed father nearby?”  He clasped his breast dramatically.  “Oh, surely not as far as the wilds of New Jersey?”

“My mother is hale and hearty and comfortably settled in Philadelphia, along with my father and my older brother and his family,” Bert snorted.  As they walked along, he described his home for Adam and how he had come to develop an interest in architecture.   Before long they reached Adam’s hotel and went up to his room.  “For someone so far from home,” Bert observed as Adam gathered the few belongings he had taken from his carpetbag the night before, “your kit is remarkably sparse, my friend.”

Adam shrugged.  “I sent most of my ‘kit’ to Springfield with my college roommate—and aren’t you glad?”

“That I am!” Bert agreed, hefting the bag of books.

“No, let me take that,” Adam urged.  “It’s heavy.”

“I’ve got it,” Bert insisted.  He eyed with interest the guitar that Adam was slipping across his back by its strap.  “I say, do you play that?”

“Now, why would I tote something as bulky as this around if I didn’t?” Adam asked with a shake of his head.

“Foolish question, I suppose,” Bert admitted, looking chagrinned.

“No,” Adam said quickly.  “Just the way one would ask it of a new acquaintance.  I should have simply said, ‘Yes, I do,’ instead of making a smart remark.  My apologies.”  He picked up his carpetbag.

His expression relaxing, Bert shrugged it off.  “What I was really wondering—and I’m assuming the answer is yes—was whether you were fond of music—concerts, for instance,” he said as they left the room and walked toward the stairs.

“Very much,” Adam said.  “We—my friends and I—enjoyed a number of theatrical and musical presentations when we visited here at Christmas, and I hope to have that opportunity this summer, as well.”

“I know just the thing,” Bert said with enthusiasm, following Adam down the stairs.  “Tell you about it as soon as you’ve checked out.”

“So,” Bert said, once that minor detail had been taken care of, “Would a band concert appeal to you?   There’s one in Central Park on Saturday, every Saturday, in fact.  Some popular works, some classical.”

Adam’s lips pursed thoughtfully.  “I’d like that, except for the timing.  I hadn’t planned to spend money on entertainment until I’d earned some . . . more than just the couple of days I’ll work this week, I mean.”

Bert laughed.  “But the Central Park concerts are free!  Our only cost will be the streetcar fare, and if you’re worried about that, I can loan you that much.”

“I think I can manage five cents,” Adam said with a chuckle.

“Let’s go straight there from work, then,” Bert suggested.  “We get off at two on Saturdays, and the concert begins at 4:30, so we’ll have time to walk about the park a bit.  Have you seen it before?”

“Briefly,” Adam said.  “As the weather was freezing in December, we really didn’t care to stay out in the open long.”

“Ah!  Much better now in its full greenery.”

Much better, Adam thought, and he wasn’t only referring to Central Park.  This entire day had gone much better than he’d had reason to hope.  He’d made a new friend, found appropriate lodgings and even had prospects for an enjoyable weekend to look forward to after a very short first week at work.

* * * * *

With a push of satisfaction, Adam closed the top drawer of the narrow chest in his room.  The room was small; in fact, he was certain that the original bed chamber had been split in half when this house was fitted out for boarders.  Still, he’d found adequate storage for his few belongings, and since he didn’t expect to spend much time here, the size didn’t matter.  Nor did the sparseness of its furnishings: a narrow bed, the chest of drawers, a small writing table and a straight-backed chair, all of the plainest pine.  The lacy white curtains at the window were unconscionably frilly for a gentleman’s room, but other than that, he had no cause for complaint.

Consulting his watch, he noticed that he still had half an hour before the time which Bert had told him lodgers were expected to gather in the parlor before dinner.  Time enough to begin, at least, a letter to Elizabeth.  He felt a twinge of guilt as he sat down at the writing table with pen and stationery.  He owed his family letters, too, of course.  He owed everyone he knew letters, for that matter, but surely one more day wouldn’t matter to those back home.  It would matter to Elizabeth, and he should post his new address to the Edwards, too, since they’d receive it quickly and he could soon hear from them.  He winced, realizing that the greater distance to be covered was reason enough to put his family and friends in Nevada first.  Given the slowness—in fact, the frequent disruption—of the mails, it would take at least six weeks for them to receive his first letter and send one back, so he wasn’t likely to hear from home more than once or twice this summer.  Well, he’d write them tomorrow, for sure, but tonight he just had to write to Elizabeth.  He’d promised her to write faithfully, and it was important that he begin to fulfill that promise tonight.  He couldn’t disappoint her as he had during his vacation in Springfield.

He’d filled two pages with details of his first day in New York City when he realized it was time to go downstairs.  Mrs. Whitney had emphasized that she expected all her boarders to be punctual for meals.  Punctuality was a trait Adam had been schooled in from childhood and one which Hop Sing was adamant about where meals were concerned.  Besides, Adam thought with a nostalgic grin as he descended the stairs, punctuality at the table was practically a matter of survival when one shared that table with Hoss.

He entered the parlor, where he found Bert and another male boarder already waiting.  “Adam, allow me to introduce our fellow resident, Mr. Gerald McCrory,” Bert said.

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Adam said, extending his hand.

Gerald McCrory was a man who appeared to be in his early forties.  His light brown hair was already sprinkled with gray, and his round spectacles persisted in sliding down his narrow nose, despite his frequent attempts to push them back into place.  He described himself as “a financial man,” which Adam soon learned meant that he worked in one of the banking firms downtown.

Adam had just mentioned that he was in need of a good bank when Mrs. Whitney appeared in the doorway and asked them all to come to dinner.  “I shall be pleased to advise you,” Mr. McCrory said as he brushed past Adam to bow his appreciation to the lady before moving into the dining room.

Adam followed, copying the gesture, and took a seat next to Bert after receiving a nod in answer to the inquiring arch of his eyebrow.  His eyes scanned the table, already set with the main dishes for dinner.  The fare was plain, but seemed sufficient for the number of people around the table, which included an elderly couple, in addition to the three single men.

“Are the young ladies not joining us this evening?” the elderly man asked.

“Oh, certainly,” Mrs. Whitney replied, tittering a bit as she added, “Just spending a little extra time on their toilette tonight.”

That remark bothered Adam on more than one count.  His landlady had been quite adamant that her boarders be punctual, but apparently did not hold her own children to the same standard.  That notion was all but anathema to a young man raised by Ben Cartwright, who tended to expect better behavior from his sons than from any guest or stranger.  What concerned him more, however, was the coy smile the lady had directed specifically toward him when she made her remark.  He had a feeling that he was the motivation for that extra time the young ladies were spending on their “toilette,” and he had no desire to be.

“Ah, here is my jewel now,” the landlady cooed as a tall woman with an angular face and a prominent hook nose, much like her mother’s, entered.  “My daughter Pearl, Mr. Cartwright.  The rest already know her, of course.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Pearl,” Adam said politely, rising to hold her chair when she moved toward the one next to him.

“And I you, Mr. Cartwright,” Pearl said, settling her skirts daintily.  “I understand we have much in common.”

“Oh?” Adam asked warily as he took his seat.

“A love of fine literature,” she said, gazing soulfully into his eyes.  “Perhaps I presume too much, but as you are a student at Yale . . .”

“You are correct,” Adam responded to the pregnant pause.  “I enjoy fine literature very much.”

“Pearl reads constantly, don’t you, my jewel?” Mrs. Whitney inserted.

“Constantly,” Pearl agreed with a bat of her eyelashes in Adam’s direction.  “Perhaps we could discuss what we are currently reading sometime, Mr. Cartwright.”

Adam fought down his rising sense of panic and responded with cool courtesy, “Yes . . . perhaps.”

Before Pearl could begin to recite her current reading list, however, a young sprite bounced in, fixing the other young woman with a baleful eye.  Painting a pretty pout on her face, she said, “Oh, fie, Pearl.  Isn’t that just like you to snare the seat next to our handsome new boarder?”

Adam flushed crimson, a sight which only made the new competitor for his attentions giggle like the schoolgirl she obviously was.

“Now, now, my blossom, you mustn’t treat Mr. Cartwright as if he were a slice of fresh meat in the butcher’s window, to be haggled over.”  Mrs. Whitney demonstrated her hereditary link to the newcomer by echoing the same girlish giggle.  “Come and sit down, else he’ll think we serve all our meals cold.”

The pout protruded still further.  “You haven’t introduced me, Mother.  Honestly, I don’t see how you can reprimand me for my manners when your own are très gauche.”

“Oh, dear, I haven’t, have I?” the mother babbled.  “Please pardon me, Mr. Cartwright.  My youngest daughter, Rose.”

Rose spread her rustling skirts and dipped a quick, playful curtsey toward Adam.  “Parlez-vous français, monsieur?”

Adam almost instinctively winced at her butchery of Marie’s beautiful language, and to cover that, he rose and bowed elegantly from the waist.  “Oui, mademoiselle, je le parle un peu.”

Rose clapped her hands in delight.  “Oh, how wonderful!  You can help me with my dreadful lessons.”

“I’m sure Mr. Cartwright has better things to do, Rose,” a grave voice said from the doorway.

“There, now, we’re all here,” Mrs. Whitney announced, with a flutter of her hands.  “This is my dear Grace, Mr. Cartwright.”

Adam smiled, bemused.  “And what is your name?”

The girl’s cool gray eyes blinked once.  “Why, we’ve just been introduced, Mr. Cartwright.”

Bemusement turned to befuddlement, as Adam quickly sorted through what he knew about this family.  “My jewel” had been Opal; “my blossom” turned out to be Rose, so he had naturally assumed that “my grace” was another pet name, not the middle daughter’s actual name.  Apparently, a misconception.  “Miss . . . Grace?” he asked tentatively.

“Yes, of course,” she said, looking at him as if she wondered how someone so slow could possibly have passed the entrance exams to Yale.

Someone down the table cleared his throat loudly.  “If the introductions are complete, perhaps we might begin,” Gerald McCrory suggested pointedly, “or it will not only be Mr. Cartwright who thinks that meals are served cold in this establishment.”

“Well, really,” Mrs. Whitney said huffily.  “Still, by all means, let us begin.  Mr. Randolph, would you?”

“Certainly, dear lady,” the older man said and bowed his head to say grace.

As the dishes were passed, Adam took a discrete survey of the fare on offer.  It was plain food and not quite as plentiful as he’d first calculated, but the amount he was able to put on his plate was adequate, especially in light of the full meal he’d consumed at noon.  The first taste was a disappointment, but a small one.  Nothing, after all, could be expected to compare with Hop Sing’s delicious cooking, and the Vultures’ cook, Mrs. Swanson, had set almost as high a standard.  Still, he’d only be here a few weeks, and if the food didn’t remind him of home (or even his home away from home) it was edible.  He’d survive.

“I understand you’re from Nevada, young man,” the elderly man ventured.

“Yes, I am, sir,” Adam said.  “You are Mr. Randolph, I believe?”

The man smiled genially, his eyes lighting to have even so slight an interest shown in him.  “Jedediah Randolph,” he said, “and this is my good wife, Jochebed.”

Mrs. Randolph raised her white-capped head and nodded shyly at the newcomer.

“Good Bible names,” Adam commented pleasantly.

“Oh?  Are you interested in the Bible, Mr. Cartwright?” Grace inquired, her interest in him evidently renewed.

“Not particularly.”  Seeing the shocked look on her face and that of the couple with the “good Bible names,” Adam blathered out a fast explanation.  “I mean, I’m well acquainted with the Good Book, of course; Pa saw to that, and so does Yale.  I just don’t consider myself a Biblical scholar, as my roommate at school is.”

“Oh?”  The spark of interest in Grace’s gray eyes burst into flame.  “Will he be visiting you here in New York?”

Adam chose to deliberately misunderstand.  “Pa?  Oh, no, it’s much too far from Nevada for him to pay a visit, and he does have a ranch to run, as well as two younger sons to care for.”

“No, I meant—”

“How old are they?” Rose interrupted to ask, leaning forward eagerly.

Adam chuckled.  “Eleven and five, perfect playmates for you, Miss Rose.”

Rose wagged a finger in his direction.  “You’re a dreadful tease, Mr. Cartwright.  I’m quite perturbed with you.”

Mrs. Randolph had raised her head again at the mention of children.  “Could you tell us about the little boys, Mr. Cartwright?” she whispered wistfully.

“Much rather hear about that ranch,” McCrory grumbled.

“That would be of more general interest, my dear,” Mr. Randolph said with a consoling pat on his wife’s arm.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” she said quietly, dropping her face toward her plate again.

Though the entire table turned toward Adam in expectation, he sat silent for a moment, gazing at the downcast face of the elderly woman.  “Mrs. Randolph?” he said softly.  When she looked up at him, he smiled and suggested gently, “Why don’t you and I meet in the parlor before dinner tomorrow, and I’ll tell you all about my little brothers?”

The sad eyes came to life, and the wrinkled hands clasped one another.  “Oh, yes.  Thank you, dear boy.”

“Now, what is it you’d like to hear about the ranch, Mr. McCrory?” Adam asked as he sliced off a bite of meat.

* * * * *

Nibbling the end of his pen, Adam sat at his desk upstairs.  He had pleaded the need to finish a letter as his means of escape after the meal, but now he wasn’t sure what to tell Elizabeth about those with whom he was sharing his new residence.  She would scarcely be pleased to hear that there were three apparently man-hungry young women under the same roof!  Finally, he decided that he could save any such revelations for the next letter, so he added a few endearments and signed his name.

He sealed the envelope and addressed it and then pulled out a fresh sheet of stationery for a letter to Jamie.  With him, Adam had nothing to hide, so he quickly described every member of his new household and recounted his struggles to fend off the darling daughters of his landlady.  Both Jamie and Josiah would get a good laugh out of that dilemma, and Adam was happy to supply it to them.  In fact, he could feel his own discomfort with the situation dissipate as he wrote.  Adding his address to the end of the page, he closed the letter and prepared it for mailing the next morning.

As he lay in bed a short time afterwards, he tried to figure out which member of his family at home was due the next letter.  It was either Hoss or Joe, he was pretty sure, but his father would certainly want to hear of his new situation.  Yawning, he concluded to play it safe and include notes to everyone when he wrote tomorrow evening.  He could hardly wait for the dawn to come, his first full day of work as a hopeful architect.