Gilded Affluence. 153

XIII. A Home at Last. 177

XIV. Closing Remarks. 183

I.

_The First Home in the Metropolis._

We had never lived in New York. This fact will develop anyway, as I
proceed, but somehow it seems fairer to everybody to state it in the
first sentence and have it over with.

Still, we had heard of flats in a vague way, and as we drew near the
Metropolis the Little Woman bought papers of the train boy and began to
read advertisements under the head of "Flats and Apartments to Let."

I remember that we wondered then what was the difference. Now, having
tried both, we are wiser. The difference ranges from three hundred
dollars a year up. There are also minor details, such as palms in the
vestibule, exposed plumbing, and uniformed hall service--perhaps an
elevator, but these things are immaterial. The price is the difference.

We bought papers, as I have said. It was the beginning of our downfall,
and the first step was easy--even alluring. We compared prices and
descriptions and put down addresses. The descriptions were all that
could be desired and the prices absurdly modest. We had heard that
living in the city was expensive; now we put down the street and number
of "four large light rooms and improvements, $18.00," and were properly
indignant at those who had libeled the landlords of Gotham.

Next morning we stumbled up four dim flights of stairs, groped through a
black passage-way and sidled out into a succession of gloomy closets,
wondering what they were for. Our conductor stopped and turned.

"This is it," he announced. "All nice light rooms, and improvements."

It was our first meeting with a flat. Also, with a janitor. The Little
Woman was first to speak.

"Ah, yes, would you mind telling us--we're from the West, you know--just
which are the--the improvements, and which the rooms?"

This was lost on the janitor. He merely thought us stupid and regarded
us with pitying disgust as he indicated a rusty little range, and
disheartening water arrangements in one corner. There may have been
stationary tubs, too, bells, and a dumb waiter, but without the
knowledge of these things which we acquired later they escaped notice.
What we _could_ see was that there was no provision for heat that we
could discover, and no sunshine.

We referred to these things, also to the fact that the only entrance to
our parlor would be