Rex T. Stout

“ He indicated a figure group, a boy sitting on a man's knee, half finished. Mr. Chidden displayed a diplomatic interest, eying the group with the air of a man who understands more than he is willing to admit. He had to pay for the pretense. From that figure they passed to another, and another. The room was full of them—just begun, half finished, and completed. The Italian dragged them from all sorts of places—a leaping frog in bronze from under a heap of sketches, a boy with a flute from a soiled laundry bag; a girl poring over a book from a drawer of the wardrobe. ”

“ And then suddenly came another sound, as the voice halted—the sound of a smacking kiss!
Mr. Chidden gasped with profound amazement. And before he could close his mouth again, he heard the sound of swift footsteps, the door was flung open from within, and a man rushed from the room, dashed to the stairs, and descended, two steps at a time. But, despite the rapidity of his flight, Mr. Chidden recognized him. It was Comicci, the Italian sculptor, who occupied a bedroom studio in the third-floor front. ”

“ Chidden retreated to the floor above, having been instructed by Maria to keep out of the way. By three the parlor was full, and Mr. Chidden could hear the confused hum of their voices through the closed door. He could imagine them—old ladies, middle-aged ladies, fat ladies, lean ladies, amiable ladies, sour ladies, sitting in two or three circles, with both their tongues and needles running at the rate of two hundred strokes a second. ”

“ Comicci is no dago. He's a gentleman. Dago, indeed! A worthless little thing like you to call him names! And you stand right up and insinuate your own sister! Yes, you did! And if ever I—— Robert! Robert, come back here!”
But the call went unheeded. With his revenge, Mr. Chidden had swiftly flown—into the hall and down three flights of stairs to the cellar. There he halted and seated himself on an old box behind the coal pile. Almost immediately he jumped up again, ran to the cellar door, and bolted it. ”

“ Perhaps there is men who can wear a pair of pants three years, Maria Chidden, but I'm not one of 'em. It's unwholesome. Give me three dollars.”
For reply, Miss Maria closed and locked the drawer, returned to her chair, inserted the edge of a sheet under the hemmer, and started the machine. Her only audible comment was a grunt as she hitched the chair up closer.
Mr. Chidden choked with the helpless rage of the timid and oppressed.
“That's right!” he yelled. “Shut your mouth and look mad. You can't scare me. I need a pair of pants, and you know it. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. ”

“ Chidden arrived at the painful conclusion that not only had Mr. Comicci given Maria the kiss, but also that she had been glad to get it.
But he knew his sister Maria. She was a prude if ever there was one. No man—not Don Juan himself—could ever have succeeded in planting the salute of love on her chaste cheek without having first declared the most honorable intentions. By Polly! There could be no doubt of it! The little dago was trying to marry Maria!
Mr. Chidden was thinking fast, but it was some time later, back in the cellar, that he arrived at this startling conclusion. ”

“ Comicci. He seemed so harmless and amiable, and, poor devil that he was, what did it matter if he beat Maria out of some rent? Mr. Chidden was only too glad to see his sister done for once. He began to doubt if the kiss had really been delivered; and, looking at Maria's face, he strongly doubted if any man, in any extremity, would have the temerity to kiss her. ”

“ They looked at Maria Chidden and back again at the statue, and they were dangerously near explosion from the supreme awfulness of the thing. It was an excellent instance of the lack of reason in the feminine mind. To any reasonable eye, even one totally unskilled in the perception of form, it must have been patently manifest that the proportions of the lady in marble were certainly not the proportions of Miss Maria Chidden ”

“ Handy man in a rooming house is not a position either of honor or of ease, and his sister Maria had taken all the profits. But still the work was not really hard, he never had to worry about anything, he usually got clothes when he had to have them, and he could always squeeze a little spending money out of Maria when his need was urgent. ”

“ The ladies gathered around the table in a close group as the sculptor approached and laid his hands on the cloth. They would seem to have foreseen in some mysterious way what was to follow. From his corner, Mr. Chidden watched them, and noted, with satisfaction, that Maria, with Mrs. Rankin and the Misses Bipp, were together in the front rank, up against the table.
“Eet is the true beauty,” the Italian was saying. ”

“ Mr. Chidden witnessed his departure from the dining-room window. He waited five minutes, then went to the cellar for his paint and brush. As he came back up, he threw a hasty glance into the kitchen, where his sister Maria and Minnie were busied in the preparation of dainties for the expected guests. Then he passed swiftly upstairs to the third floor and entered Mr. Comicci's room,
Straight to the table in the corner he went, and drew off the dark cloth. He had no time to be embarrassed by the nudity of the marble lady; he had work to do. He took his brush and paint and went at it. ”

“ His brain whirled.
True, he had told himself daily for the past twenty years that he was living the life of a slave, and he had made spasmodic and energetic, but fruitless, attempts to get out of it. ”

“ After all, perhaps the good ladies saw only what they expected to see, as far as the sculpture was concerned. But the effect of nudity that came from that statue suddenly uncovered in their midst was startling. ”