It was a hot August afternoon in New York, especially hot in the
downtown districts, where it was damp and muggy, for it had been
drizzling all the morning. The sun blazing behind the thin vapour-like
clouds had converted the rain into steam, and the almost complete
absence of a breeze had added to the personal discomfort of those who
were compelled to be out of doors. Altogether it was a most
uncomfortable afternoon; and the task of running up and down stairs and
answering the front door-bell increased the misery of the maid of all
work in Miss Husted's furnished-room establishment on Houston Street,
near Second Avenue.

"Phew, ain't it a scorcher?" muttered the young woman as she mounted
the kitchen stairs in answer to some visitor's second tug at the bell.
She walked across the hall that led to the front door.

"Don't the dratted bell keep goin'," she went on as she tugged open the
door, which the damp weather had caused to swell and stick to the
door-jamb.

"Forgot your key?" she said as she recognised Signor Tagliafico, better
known as Fico, the third-floor, hall-bedroom "guest," as Miss Husted
insisted on calling her lodgers.

"Forgot your key?" repeated the girl, as the gentleman from Italy
shrugged his shoulders and otherwise disported himself in an endeavour
to convey to her the news that he had lost his key and felt extremely
sorry to trouble her.

"Keys is made to open doors, not to forget," continued the girl,
banging the door shut.

The noise brought Miss Husted out into the hall in less time than it
takes to state the fact.

"What is it, Thurza?" she asked, showing evidence of being startled out
of a doze by the noise.

"Third floor front forgot his key, Miss Houston," said the girl
sulkily, as Fico trudged upstairs to his room.

"I wouldn't mind if he wasn't behind three weeks," said Miss Husted,
who usually answered to the name of Miss Houston, chiefly because she
lived in Houston Street.

"Well, _I_ mind it," muttered the girl to herself, "whether he's behind
or whether he isn't. It makes work for me, and there ain't enough time
for regular, let alone extras," she went on, as she turned to go down
stairs to the kitchen.

"Quite right," said Miss Husted, as she closed the door and returned to
her room. Experience had taught her that it was useless to argue with
Thurza. The girl was open to impression, but not to explanation; once
an idea found lodgment in her brain it stayed there,