Mrs. Sauer’s boarders, being of that kind which interests itself in others’ affairs and discusses them, were intrigued at these frequent missives from the Antipodes.
Finally Trent invented an Uncle Samuel who had, so he affirmed, left his native land when an adventurous child of nine and made a great fortune among the Calgoorlie gold fields. Possessing a nimble wit he related to his fellow boarders amazing accounts of his uncle’s activities. The boarders often discussed this uncle, his strange dislike of women, the beard which fell to his knees, the team of racing kangaroos which drew his buggy, and so forth.
At the breakfast table on the morning when Anthony Trent faced his world no longer an honest man, it was observed that he was disinclined to talk. As a matter of fact he wanted a reasonable excuse for leaving the Sauer establishment. The woman had been kind and considerate to him and he had few grievances.
The mail brought him an enticing letter from Melbourne offering him all that the tennis player needs, at special prices.
“I trust your uncle is well,” Mrs. Clarke observed.
It was in that moment Trent got his inspiration.
“I’m afraid he is very ill,” he said sadly, “at his age--he must be almost ninety----”
“Only eighty-four,” Mrs. Clarke reminded him. She remembered the year of his emigration.
“Eighty-four is a great age to attain,” he declared, “and he has lived not wisely but well. I feel I should go out and see if there’s anything I can do.”
“You are going to leave us?” gasped Mrs. Sauer. His going would deprive her of a most satisfactory lodger.
“I’m afraid my duty is plain,” he returned gravely.
Thus he left Mrs. Sauer’s establishment. Years later he wondered whether if he had enjoyed better cooking he would have fallen from grace, and if he could not with justice blame a New England boiled dinner for his lapse.
For a few days he stayed at a quiet hotel. He wanted a small apartment on Central Park. There were reasons for this. First, he must live alone in a house where no officious elevator boys observed his going and his coming. Central Park West offered many such houses. And if it should happen that he ever had to flee from the pursuit of those who guarded the mansions that faced him on the park’s eastern side, there was no safer way home than across the silent grass. He was one of those New Yorkers who know their Central Park. There had been a season when a friend gave him the use of a saddle horse and there was no bridle path that he did not know.