avoni.

It is a deep humiliation to relate my first experience in Cincinnati, but
for reasons I set it down.

A friend of mine, who hailed from Cincinnati and who wished to serve me,
had said: "One thing I think I can do for you, friend Clara, I can save
you the weariness and annoyance of a long search in a strange city for
board. My wife and I were never so comfortable in our lives before as we
were at the house of a Mrs. Scott. She is a gentlewoman, therefore she
never pries, never gossips, never 'just runs in a moment,' when you want
to study a 'part.' Her charges are reasonable, the table a little close,
perhaps, but the cooking perfect. You and your mother would suit her
demands as to regularity of habits, quiet conduct, etc., completely, and
going there so early in September you will stand a good chance of
securing a room. Try for 'ours'--it was so sunny and bright." And I,
delighted at such a prospect, looked upon my letter of introduction as a
very valuable document--a sort of character from my last place, and early
on Monday morning went forth from my temporarily sheltering hotel to find
Mrs. Scott and beg her to take me in on the word of her boarders of a
year ago.

I found the house easily, but, modest as was its exterior, its rich
interior sent my heart down rapidly--it was going to be away beyond my
salary I decided. Yet after a, to me, most bewildering interview, I found
myself inspecting the big sunny room, and shrinking at the thought of my
rough trunks coming in contact with such a handsome carpet. Mrs. Scott
had remarked, casually, that she had put her earnings back on the house,
as a pure matter of business, and I was radiant when she named her price
for the room, and hastily engaging it, I started out at once to order my
trunks taken there and to telegraph mother to come.

As I descended the steps I could not help humming a little tune. A
policeman strolled across the street toward me, and I had a hazy notion
that he had been there when I went in. As I reached the pavement he
stepped up, and holding out to me a handkerchief, palpably his own,
asked, while looking at me closely, if it was mine.

I was indignant, and I answered, sharply: "It is not mine--as you very
well know!"

He laughed rather sheepishly, and said: "Well, you are not stupid, if you
are innocent," then asked: "Are you a stranger here?"

I turned back toward the house I had just left, then paused as I said,
angrily: "I have