References

Experience taught me to beware of people who were glib with references. I never asked a reference. I found that only villains offered them.

There was a certain Mrs. Panquist. The woman had a position in a very reputable office. Her husband was employed in another. Her relatives were people of position, respected citizens. She gave me this voluntary information when she came to look at the flat.

“It suits me,” she said. “I will bring my husband to see it before deciding.”

Later she rang up to say he was not coming to see it. They had decided to take the flat and would move in early the next morning. She would bring her things before business hours. Furthermore she asked that I prepare an extra room I had below for her maid. To do this I had to buy some new furniture.

She did not come or send her things next morning; all day there was no word of her. I had the new furniture bought and everything ready.

Late in the evening she arrived very tired and sour.

She snatched the key out of my hand.

“It is usual to exchange the rent for the key,” I said knowing this was war-time and that there were some very shady fly-by-nights going from one apartment house to another.

“I am too tired to bother about rent tonight!” she snapped. “I will come up with it in the morning before I go to work.”

Again she failed to keep her promise. I asked her for the rent several times but she always put me off. Finally she said rudely, “I am not going to pay; my husband can.”

I went to the man, who was most insolent, saying, “My wife took the flat; let her pay.”

“Come,” I said. “Time is going on, one or the other of you must pay.” I pointed to the notice on the kitchen door “RENTS IN ADVANCE.” He laughed in my face. “Bosh!” he said. “We don’t pay till we are ready.”

I began to make enquiries about the couple, not from those people whose names they had given as reference, but from their former landlady. Their record was shocking. They had rented from a war widow, destroyed her place, and gone off owing her a lot of money.

Both of the Panquists had jobs; they could pay and I was not going to get caught as the war widow had been.

I consulted the law–was turned over to the Sheriff. “Any furniture of their own?”

“Only a couple of suitcases.”

“Not enough value to cover the rental they owe?”

“No.”

“This is what you are to do. Watch–when you see them go out take a pass key, go in and fasten up the flat so that they cannot get in until the rental is paid.”

“Oh, I’m scared; the man is such a big powerful bully!”

“You asked me for advice. Take it. If there is any trouble call the police.”

I carried out the Sheriff’s orders, trembling.

The Panquists had a baby and a most objectionable nursemaid. She was the first to come home, bringing the child.

I was in my garden. She screamed, “The door is locked. I can’t get in!”

“Take the child to the room I prepared for you.” (The woman had decided she did not want it after I had bought furniture and prepared the room.) I took down milk and biscuits for the child. “When your mistress has paid the rent the door will be opened,” I said. The maid bounced off and shortly returned with the woman, who stood over me in a furious passion.

“Open that door! You hear–open that door!”

“When the rent is paid. You refuse, your husband refuses. The flat is not yours till you pay. I am acting under police orders.”

“I’ll teach you,” she said, livid with fury, and turned, rushing headlong; she had seen her husband coming.

He was a huge man and had a cruel face. His mouth was square and aggressive; out of it came foul oaths. He looked a fiend glowering at me and clenching his fists.

“You–(he called me a vile name)! Open or I will break the door in!” He braced his shoulder against it and raised his great fists. I was just another woman to be bullied, got the better of, frightened.

I ran to the ‘phone. The police came. The man stood back, his hands dropping to his sides.

“What do you want me to do?” said the officer.

“Get them out. I won’t house such people. They got away with it in their last place, not here.”

I was brave now though I shook.

“The town is full of such,” said the officer. “House owners are having a bad time. Scum of the earth squeezing into the shoes of honest men gone overseas. How much do they owe?”

I told him.

He went to the man and the woman who were snarling angrily at one another.

“Pay what you owe and get out.”

“No money on me,” said the man, “my wife took the flat.”

“One of you must,” said the officer.

“Shell out,” the man told the woman brutally.

She gave him a look black with hatred, took money from her purse and flung it at me. My faith in proffered references was dead.