day. However, today Elgar’s rage, usually his trusty ally in every situation but one, had deserted him.
“Your hour is up for today, Elgar. I suggest you go back to your property and attempt to collect your rents. If you meet with resistance, take out your aggressions on your tenants. That will be good for you. And it will be appropriate.”
Smiling bravely if wanly, the bandaged old warrior saluted his commander-in-chief, tottered out of command headquarters, and made for the front lines once more. To faintly fluting strains of “Yankee Doodle.”
An hour later he was back in his barracks, staring distrustfully at a small, gaily printed white card. It had been far too easy. His instincts smelled a trap. Yet there it was in his hand, frisky and friendly as an innocent lamb.
This time Marge had come to the door to announce that she was the duly elected president of the newly formed Corner Poplar Street Tenants’ Association, and therefore authorized to speak for everyone in the house. The C.P.S.T.A. had held its first meeting today, she said. In addition to the election of officers, they had aired their grievances and come to an important decision.
“What goddamned grievances?” he’d asked in disbelief.
“We’ll get to those later, Landlord. But I can tell you one complaint was about foulmouthed language on the premises. Yours. So just be quiet and read this. Here.”
The card she handed him said:
Does your blood feel tired, does your back feel bent?
Help us raise the roof while we raise the rent!
There’ll be Fountains of Youth * and lots of eats
At the corner of Jackson and Poplar Streets!
| FRIDAY EVENING, | *(ALCOHOLIC CONTENT) |
| SEPTEMBER 4TH | ADMISSION TWO DOLLARS |
8:30 P.M. ’til ???
“We used to have these lots in the old days,” Marge explained proudly. “The rent comes due every week in Harlem.”
“Well,” Elgar said, smiling all over himself, even under the bandage. Pleased and shaken. “Well. What do you know? A party. Well. Am I invited?”
“Well of course, Landlord,” Marge said, with indignant hands on her wall-to-wall hips. “You’re the reason for the party. There wouldn’t be any party except for you.”
“Yeehoo!” he howled, ripping off the bandage like an imaginary ten-gallon hat and doing three rapid battements élevés between the top step and the sidewalk. “Whee! Yoohee!”
“There will be no rowdy conduct allowed,” Marge said severely. “And you got to pay your way in the door, just like everybody else. After all, this is a rent party, Landlord.”
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