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Updated: June 15, 2025
In the third floor of Number One, on the side next the cathedral, dwelt the Snawdor family, a social unit of somewhat complex character. The complication came about by the paterfamilias having missed his calling. Mr. Snawdor was by instinct and inclination a bachelor.
But nobody knew where she was; the note to Mrs. Snawdor still lay on the corner of the dresser. She heard a step on the stairs, then three light taps on the door. She scrambled to her feet before she remembered Birdie's caution, then stood motionless, listening. Again the taps and, "I say, Bird!" came in a vibrant whisper from without.
They'll be havin' me down with smallpox next. How long you goin' to be here?" Nance, taking off her hat and coat, announced that she had come to stay. Mrs. Snawdor heaved a sigh of relief. "Well, if you'll sorter keep a eye on him, I believe I'll step down an' set with Mis' Smelts fer a spell. I ain't been off the place fer two days." "But wait a minute! Where's Uncle Jed? And Mr. Demry?"
It was a Sunday morning institution with them, and served quite the same purpose that church-going does for certain ladies in a more exalted sphere. "I hope the Bible's true," said Mrs. Smelts, with a sigh. "Where it says there ain't no marryin' nor givin' in marriage." "Oh, husbands ain't so worse if you pick 'em right," Mrs. Snawdor said with the conviction of experience.
But I want to tell you right now, Dan Lewis, if ever another chance comes to get out of that alley, I'm going to take it, and there can't anybody in the world stop me!" "I don't take no stock in heaven havin' streets of gold," said Mrs. Snawdor. "It'll be just my luck to have to polish 'em.
Once having tasted the joys of invalidism he was loathe to forego them, and insisted upon being regarded as a chronic convalescent. Nance might have managed Mr. Snawdor, however, had it not been for the grave problem of Fidy Yager. "Ike Lavinski says she ought to be in a hospital some place," she urged Mrs. Snawdor. "He says she never is going to be any better. He says it's epilepsy."
She spent the morning washing and ironing her best shirt-waist and turning the ribbon on her tam-o'-shanter. Every detail of her toilet received scrupulous attention. It was raining dismally when she and Mrs. Snawdor picked their way across the factory yard that afternoon. The conglomerate mass of buildings known as "Clarke's" loomed somberly against the dull sky.
Snawdor's demise he had been canonized, becoming the third member of the ghostly firm of Molloy, Yager, and Snawdor. "What about Uncle Jed?" asked Nance. "Where's he going?" Mrs. Snawdor laughed consciously and, in doing so, exhibited to full advantage the dazzling new teeth that were the pride of her life. "Oh, Mr. Burks is goin' with us," she said.
Back and forth from factory to boarding home she trudged day by day, and on Sunday she divided her wages with Mrs. Snawdor, on the condition that she should have a vote in the management of family affairs. By this plan Lobelia and the twins were kept at school, and Mr. Snawdor's feeble efforts at decent living were staunchly upheld. When the epidemic broke out in Calvary Alley, and Mrs.
Lewis ain't a bad looker," Mr. Snawdor roused himself to observe dejectedly. His wife turned upon him indignantly. "Well, it's a pity she ain't as good as her looks then. Fer my part I can't see it's to any woman's credit to look nice when she's got the right kind of a switch and a good set of false teeth.
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