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Updated: May 3, 2025
There was a family hotel called the Glenham on the Avenue between Twenty-first and Twenty-second Streets, and at the north-east corner of Twenty-second, where part of the base of the "Flatiron Building" now is, was the old Cumberland. There was one man, at least, who appreciated the Cumberland.
They were not to be had in the Pension Murphy; but their equivalent was at hand. Triumphantly he sent the granite-ware wash basin at the head of his matrimonial adversary. Mrs. McCaskey dodged in time. She reached for a flatiron, with which, as a sort of cordial, she hoped to bring the gastronomical duel to a close. But a loud, wailing scream downstairs caused both her and Mr.
"Yes, ma'am; but you " Miss Polly evidently read the pause aright, for she frowned and said crisply: "No, I shall not go. It is not necessary that I should, I think. That is all." And she turned away Miss Polly's arrangements for the comfort of her niece, Pollyanna, were complete. In the kitchen, Nancy sent her flatiron with a vicious dig across the dish-towel she was ironing.
She seated herself by the side window next Mrs. Connelly's, and gave herself to her thoughts. The sound of the flatiron had stopped when the traveler came to the gate, and it had not begun again. Mrs. Connelly had gone to her front door; the hem of her calico dress could be plainly seen, and the bulge of her apron, and she was watching the stranger quite out of sight.
Not many days ago my old friend from the tropics, J. P. Bridger, United States consul on the island of Ratona, was in the city. We had wassail and jubilee and saw the Flatiron building, and missed seeing the Bronxless menagerie by about a couple of nights. And then, at the ebb tide, we were walking up a street that parallels and parodies Broadway.
The engine and the express car were sent back to join the rest of the train and as soon as they were out of sight the robbers set out across country toward the Flatiron ranch. Curly guessed their intentions. They would rustle horses there and head for the border. It was the only chance still left them. After they had gone Curly and his prisoner returned to the road and set out toward Tin Cup.
The street down which Warwick had come intersected Front Street at a sharp angle in front of the old hotel, forming a sort of flatiron block at the junction, known as Liberty Point, perhaps because slave auctions were sometimes held there in the good old days. Just before Warwick reached Liberty Point, a young woman came down Front Street from the direction of the market-house.
Not that I was scared, exactly: but now and then, when the Agnes sidled downhill and buried the whole front end of her in a wave that looked like a side elevation of the Flatiron Building, I'd have a panicky thought as to whether some time she wouldn't forget to come up again. She never did, though.
An' when I'd said all there was to say, I picked up my heaviest flatiron, as happened to be handy, an' ordered him out; and Mr. Geoffrey, Bud M'Ginnis went!" "Under the circumstances," said Ravenslee, "I'm not surprised that he did." "Ah, but he'll come back again, Mr. Geoffrey; he'll find Arthur alone next time, an' Arthur'll go along with him, and then good night!
What a simple yet amazing hiding place; and but for the need of a flatiron the wallet would have stayed there until she moved. Left it there, with the premonition that he was heading into trouble. But what if they had killed him? How would she have explained the wallet's presence in her apartment? Good gracious, what an escape! Without direct consciousness she raised the flap.
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