The Stories of John Cheever

“Oh, no, thank you kindly,” Alice said. “It was very nice of you to ask, though.”

“You people just come to New York for the first time?” the bellboy asked. He closed the door behind him and sat on the arm of a chair.

“Yes,” Evarts said. “We left Wentworth—that’s in Indiana—yesterday on the nine-fifteen for South Bend. Then we went to Chicago. We had dinner in Chicago.”

“I had the chicken pie,” Alice said. “It was delicious.” She slipped Mildred-Rose’s nightgown over her head.

“Then we came to New York,” Evarts said.

“What are you doing here?” the bellboy asked. “Anniversary?” He helped himself to a cigarette from a package on the bureau and slipped down into the chair.

“Oh, no,” Evarts said. “We hit the jackpot.”

“Our ship’s come in,” Alice said.

“A contest?” the bellboy asked. “Something like that?”

“No,” Evarts said.

“You tell him, Evarts,” Alice said.

“Yes,” the bellboy said. “Tell me, Evarts.”

“Well, you see,” Evarts said, “it began like this.” He sat down on the bed and lighted a cigarette. “I was in the Army, you see, and then when I got out of the Army, I went back to Wentworth…” He repeated to the bellboy the story he had told the conductor.

“Oh, you lucky, lucky kids!” the bellboy exclaimed when Evarts had finished. “Tracey Murchison! Madge Beatty! You lucky, lucky kids.” He looked at the poorly furnished room. Alice was arranging Mildred-Rose on the sofa, where she would sleep. Evarts was sitting on the edge of the bed swinging his legs. “What you need now is a good agent,” the bellboy said. He wrote a name and address on a piece of paper and gave it to Evarts. “The Hauser Agency is the biggest agency in the world,” he said, “and Charlie Leavitt is the best man in the Hauser Agency. I want you to feel free to take your problems to Charlie, and if he asks who sent you, tell him Bitsey sent you.” He went toward the door. “Good night, you lucky, lucky kids,” he said. “Good night. Sweet dreams. Sweet dreams.”