THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
iHI^l 
 
 [Page 201 
 
 GREETINGS FROM THE PROMENADE 
 
BY 
 
 BRAXDER MATTHEWS 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 BY W. T. SMEDLEY 
 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 1 898 
 
BY BRANDER MATTHEWS. 
 
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 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS. 
 
 Copyright, 1897, by HARPER & BROTHERS. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
"When I came to my chamber I writ doicn these minutes; but 
 tvas at a loss what instruction I should propose to my readers 
 from the enumeration of so many insignificant matters and 
 occurrences; and I thought it of great use, if they could learn 
 icith me to keep their minds open to gratification, and ready to 
 receive it from anytldng it meets with." 1 
 
 STEELE, in "The Spectator, 1 August 11, 1715. 
 
 352 
 
CONTEXTS 
 
 I. Ax INTERVIEW WITH Miss MARLENSPUYK . 3 
 II. A LETTER OF FAREWELL 19 
 
 III. A GLIMPSE OF THE UNDER WORLD ... 35 
 
 IV. A WALL STREET WOOING 53 
 
 V. A SPRING FLOOD IN BROADWAY 75 
 
 VI. THE VIGIL OF MCDOWELL SUTRO .... 93 
 
 VII. AN IRREPRESSIBLE CONFLICT 11? 
 
 VIII. THE SOLO ORCHESTRA 133 
 
 IX. THE REHEARSAL OF THE XEW PLAY . . . 153 
 
 X. A CANDLE IN THE PLATE 183 
 
 XI. MEN AND WOMEN AND HORSES 199 
 
 XII. IN THE WATCHES OF THE XIGHT 221 
 
ILLFSTKATIOXS 
 
 GREETINGS FROM THE PROMENADE .... Frontispiece 
 
 AN AFTERNOON AT HOME Facing p. 6 
 
 AT THE BATTERY " 64 
 
 IN TRINITY CHURCH-YARD " 70 
 
 " WINIFRED: HE CRIED" " 84 
 
 "SHE SAID NOTHING MORE. BUT CLOSED HER 
 
 EYES " "108 
 
 "THE PEOPLE STRUCK HIM AS HAPPIER" . " 112 
 
 "THE AIR WAS THICK AND HEAVY" ... " 134 
 
 EXPLANATIONS " 202 
 
 BETWEEN TWO EVENTS . " 206 
 
 A PRIZE-WINNER " 216 
 
 "SHE ALMOST SHIVERED, THE PLACE SEEMED 
 
 TO HER so CHEERLESS" " 224 
 
. II! I E I I II M M Nl * HI S III 9 I" . 
 
 I 
 
 fi QJntezview with, 
 
 (9/6 M j (9/Oc7 zlendpuyk 
 
T was a chill day early in January, 
 and at four in the afternoon a gray 
 sky shut in the city, like the cylin 
 drical background of a cyclorama. 
 Xow and then a wreath of steam 
 chalked itself on the slate-colored horizon ; and 
 across the river, far over to the westward, there 
 was a splash of pink, sole evidence of the exist 
 ence of the sun, which no one had seen for 
 twenty-four hours. 
 
 As Miss Marlenspuyk turned the corner of the 
 side street she stood still for a moment, looking 
 down on the long Eiverside Drive and on the 
 mighty Hudson below, flowing sluggishly be 
 neath its shield of ice. She had long passed 
 the limit of threescore years and ten, and she 
 had been an indefatigable traveller ; and as she 
 gazed, absorbing the noble beauty of the splen 
 did scene, unsurpassable in any other city she 
 had ever visited, she was glad that she was a 
 Xew- Yorker born and bred, and that it was her 
 privilege to dwell where a vision like this was to 
 be had for the asking. But while she looked 
 lovingly up and down the solemn stream the 
 wind sprang up again, and fluttered her gray 
 curls and blew her wrappings about her. 
 
4 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 Two doors above the corner where Miss Mar- 
 lensjmyk was standing a. striped awning stretched 
 its cbzWolutioprs 3iV3i p$s ;the sidewalk and np the 
 HTe.gular,, stone, steps/ and thrust itself into the 
 J&ji J W{i> T * Jt Jt,he;tpp pf-Mhe .stoop. A pretty young 
 girl, with a pleasantly plump figure and with a 
 dash of gold in her fair hair, passed through 
 this twisting canvas tunnel just ahead of Miss 
 Marlenspuyk; and when the door of the house 
 was opened to admit them they entered together, 
 the old maid and the young girl. 
 
 The house was illuminated as though it were 
 already night ; the curtains were drawn, and the 
 lamps, with their fantastically extravagant shades 
 of fringed silk, were all alight. The atmosphere 
 was heavy with the perfume of flowers, which 
 were banked up high on the mantel-pieces and 
 the tables, while thick festoons of smilax were 
 pendent from all the gas-fixtures and over all 
 the mirrors. Palms stood in the corners and in 
 the fireplaces ; and at one end of the hall they 
 were massed as a screen, through which glimpses 
 could be caught of the bright uniforms of the 
 Hungarian band. 
 
 In the front parlor, before a broad table on 
 which there were a dozen or more beautiful bou 
 quets tied with bows of ribbon, and under a bow 
 er of solid ropes of smilax, stood the lady of the 
 house with the daughter she was that afternoon 
 introducing to society. The hostess was a hand 
 some, kindly woman, with scarce a gray hair in 
 
AX INTERVIEW WITH MISS MARLEXSPUYK 5 
 
 her thick dark braids. The daughter was. like 
 her mother, kindly also, and also handsome ; she 
 was better looking, really, than any of the six or 
 seven pretty girls she had asked to aid her in re 
 ceiving her mother s friends and acquaintances. 
 
 The young woman who had preceded Miss 
 Marlenspuyk into the house happened also to 
 precede her in entering the parlor. The host 
 ess, holding her bunch of orchids in the left 
 hand, greeted the girl pleasantly, but perhaps 
 with a vague hint of condescension. 
 
 "Miss Peters, isn t it? said the lady of the 
 house, pitching her voice low. but with an effort, 
 as though the habit had been acquired late in 
 life. "So good of you to come on such a nasty 
 day. Mildred, you know Miss Peters ?" 
 
 Then the daughter stepped forward and smiled 
 and shook hands with Miss Peters, thus leaving 
 the mother at liberty to greet Miss Marlenspuyk ; 
 and this time there was no trace of condescen 
 sion in her manner, but rather a faint suggestion 
 of satisfaction. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Marlenspuyk, " she said, cordially, 
 " this is a pleasure. So good of you to come on 
 such a nasty day." 
 
 It did blow as I came to the top of your hill 
 here/" Miss Marleuspuyk returned, " and I m not 
 as strong as I was once upon a time. I suppose 
 that few of us are as frisky at seventy-five as we 
 were at seventeen. 
 
 "I protest, said the hostess; "you don t 
 
6 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 look a day older now than when I first met 
 you." 
 
 "That s not so very long ago," the old maid 
 answered. " I don t think Fve known you more 
 than five or ten years, have I ? And five or ten 
 years are nothing to me now. I don t feel any 
 older than I did half a century ago; but as for my 
 looks well, the least said about them is soonest 
 mended. I never was a good-looker,, you know." 
 
 " How can you say so ?" responded the host 
 ess, absently noting a group of new-comers gath 
 ering in the door-way. "Mildred, you know 
 Miss Marlenspuyk ?" 
 
 "Oh yes, indeed I do," the girl said, heartily, 
 shaking hands with the vivacious old maid. 
 
 The young woman with the touch of gold in 
 her light hair was still standing by Mildred s 
 side. Noting this, and seeing the group of new 
 comers breaking from the door-way and coming 
 towards her, the hostess spoke hastily again. 
 
 " Do you know Miss Peters, Miss Marlen 
 spuyk ?" she asked. " Well, at all events, Miss 
 Peters ought to know you." 
 
 Then she had just time to greet the group of 
 new-comers and to lower her voice again, and to 
 tell them it was so good of them to come on such 
 a nasty day. 
 
 The daughter was left talking to Miss Marlen 
 spuyk and Miss Peters, but within a minute her 
 mother called her "Mildred, you know Mrs. 
 Hitchcock ?" 
 
AN AFTERNOON AT HOME 
 
AX INTERVIEW WITH MISS MABLENSPUYK 7 
 
 As the group of new-comers pressed forward 
 the old maid with the bright blue eyes, and the 
 young woman with the pleasantly plump figure, 
 fell back a little. 
 
 "I ve heard so much of you, Miss Marlen- 
 spuyk, from my grandfather/ began the younger 
 woman. 
 
 Your grandfather!" echoed the elder lady. 
 " Then your father must be a son of Bishop 
 Peters ?" 
 
 Little Miss Peters nodded. 
 
 " Then your grandfather was a great friend of 
 my younger brother s/" Miss Marlenspuyk con 
 tinued. "They went to school together. I re 
 member the first time I saw the Bishop it must 
 be sixty years ago it was the day he was put 
 into trousers for the first time ! And wasn t he 
 proud of them ! 
 
 Miss Peters joined Miss Marlenspuyk in laugh 
 ing at this amusing memory. 
 
 Then the old maid asked, " Your father married 
 in the South after the war, didn t he ? Wasn t 
 your mother from Atlanta ?" 
 
 "He lived there till mother died ; I was bo n 
 there," said the girl. "I ve been Xo th only 
 two years now this Christmas." 
 
 " I don t suppose you found many of your 
 grandfather s friends left. Xowadays people die 
 so absurdly young," the old maid remarked. 
 " Is your father here this afternoon ?" 
 
 " Oh dear no, responded Miss Peters; "he 
 
8 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 has to live in Southern California for his health. 
 I m in New Yo k all alone/ 
 
 " I m sorry for you, my child/ said the elder 
 woman, taking the girl s hand. " I ve been alone 
 myself a great deal, and I know what it means. 
 But you must do as I did make friends with 
 yourself, and cultivate a liking for your own so 
 ciety." 
 
 The younger woman laughed lightly, and an 
 swered, " But I haven t as cha ming a companion 
 as you had/ 
 
 Miss Marlenspuyk smiled back. "Yes, you 
 have, my child. I m not an ill-looking old wom 
 an now, I know, but I was a very plain girl ; and 
 I know it isn t good for any one s character to be 
 conscious that she s almost ugly. But I set out 
 to make the best of it, and I did. I thought it 
 likely I should have a good deal of my own soci 
 ety, and so I made friends with this forced ac 
 quaintance. Now, I m very good company for 
 myself. I m rarely dull, for I find myself an 
 amusing companion, and. we have lots of inter 
 ests in common. And if you choose you can 
 also cultivate a friendship for yourself. But it 
 won t be as necessary for you as for me, because 
 you are a pretty girl, you see. That glint of 
 gold in your fair hair is really very fetch 
 ing. And what are you doing here in New York 
 all alone ?" 
 
 "I m writing," Miss Peters replied. 
 
 "Writing?" echoed Miss Marlenspuyk. 
 
AX INTERVIEW WITH MISS MARLEXSPUYK 9 
 
 " My father s in ve y bad health, as I told 
 you," the younger woman explained, "and I 
 have to support myself. So I write." 
 
 But I don t think I ve seen anything signed 
 Peters in the magazines, have I ?" asked the old 
 maid. 
 
 (t Oh, the magazines !" Miss Peters returned 
 "the magazines ! I m not old enough to have 
 anything in the magazines yet. You have to 
 wait so long for them to publish an article, even 
 if they do accept it. But I get things into the 
 weeklies sometimes. The first time I have a 
 piece printed that I think you d like. I ll send it 
 to you, if I may." 
 
 "I will read it at once and with pleasure," 
 Miss Marlenspuyk declared, cordially. 
 
 " I don t sign my own name yet," continued 
 Miss Peters; " I use a pen-name. So perhaps 
 you have read something of mine without know 
 ing it." 
 
 " Perhaps I have, my child," said Miss Marleu- 
 spuyk. " I shall be on the lookout for you now. 
 It must be delightful to be able to put your 
 thoughts down in black and white, and send 
 them forth to help make the world brighter and 
 better." 
 
 Little Miss Peters laughed again, disclosing a 
 fascinating dimple. 
 
 " I don t believe I shall ever write anything 
 that will make the world better," she said ; " and 
 if I did, I don t believe the editor would take it. 
 
10 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 I don t think that is just what editors are after 
 nowadays do you ? They re on the lookout for 
 stuff that 11 sell the paper." 
 
 "Sad stuff it is, too,, most of it," the old maid 
 declared. "When I was a girl the newspapers 
 were violent enough, and the editors abused each 
 other like pickpockets, and sometimes they called 
 each other out, and sometimes somebody else 
 horsewhipped them. But the papers then weren t 
 as silly and as cheap and as trivial as the papers 
 are now. It seems as though the editors to-day 
 had a profound contempt for their readers, and 
 thought anything was good enough for them. 
 Why, I had a letter from a newspaper last week 
 a printed form it was, too stating that they 
 were desirous of obtaining full and correct in 
 formation on Society Matters, and would appre 
 ciate the kindness if Miss Marlenspuyk would 
 forward to the Society Editor any information 
 regarding entertainments she may purpose giv 
 ing during the coming winter, and the Society 
 Editor will also be happy to arrange for a full 
 report when desired/ Was there ever such im 
 pudence ? To ask me to describe my own din 
 ners, and to give a list of my guests ! As though 
 any lady would do a thing like that !" 
 
 " There are ladies who do," ventured Miss 
 Peters. 
 
 " Then they are not what you and I would call 
 ladies, my child," returned Miss Marlenspuyk. 
 
 The face of the Southern girl flushed suddenly, 
 
AX INTERVIEW WITH MISS MARLEXSPUYK 11 
 
 and she bit her lip in embarrassment. Then she 
 mustered up courage to ask, "I suppose you do 
 not read the Daily Dial, Miss Marlenspuyk ? 
 
 * I tried it for a fortnight once," the old maid 
 answered. They told me it had the most news, 
 and all that. But I had to give it up. Xobody 
 that I knew ever died in the Dial. My friends 
 all died in the Gotham Gazette" 
 
 " The Gazette has a larger family circulation, 
 admitted the younger woman. 
 
 Besides/ Miss Marlenspuyk continued, "I 
 could not stand the vulgarity of the Dial. I m 
 an old woman now, and I ve seen a great deal of 
 the world, but the Dial was too much for me. 
 It seemed to be written down to the taste of the 
 half-naked inhabitants of an African kraal. 
 
 * 0h," protested the other, "do you really 
 think it is as bad as that ?" 
 
 "Indeed I do," the old maid affirmed. "It s 
 worse than that, because the poor negroes wouldn t 
 know better. And what was most offensive, per 
 haps, in the Dial was the unwholesome knowing- 
 ness of it." 
 
 * I see what you mean," said Miss Peters, and 
 again the color rose in her cheeks. 
 
 There was that Lightfoot divorce case, " Miss 
 Marlenspuyk went on. " The way the Dial dwelt 
 on that was unspeakable. I m willing to allow 
 that Mrs. Lightfoot was not exactly a nice per 
 son ; I ll admit that she may have been divorced 
 more times than she had been married " 
 
12 OUTLINES IK LOCAL COLOIl 
 
 " That s admitting a good deal !" said the 
 young woman, as the elder paused. 
 
 " But it is going altogether too far to say that, 
 like Cleopatra, she had the manners of a kitten 
 and the morals of a cat isn t it ?" 
 
 Miss Peters made no response. Her eyes were 
 fixed on the carpet, and her face was redder than 
 ever. 
 
 "Of course it isn t likely you saw the article I 
 mean," the old maid continued. 
 
 "Yes," the younger responded, - I saw it." 
 
 "Fm sorry for that," said Miss Marlenspuyk. 
 "I may be old-fashioned I suppose I must be 
 at my age but I don t think that is the kind of 
 thing a nice girl like you should read." 
 
 Again Miss Peters made no response. 
 
 "I happen to remember that phrase," Miss 
 Marlenspuyk continued, "because the article 
 was signed Polly Perkins. Very likely it was 
 a man who wrote it, after all, but it may have 
 been a woman. And if it was I felt ashamed for 
 her as I read it. How could one woman write of 
 another in that way ?" 
 
 " Perhaps the writer was very poor," pleaded 
 Miss Peters. 
 
 " That would not be a good reason, and it is a 
 bad excuse," the old maid declared. " Of course 
 I don t know what I should do if I were desper 
 ately poor one never knows. But I think Fd live 
 on cold water and a dry crust sooner than earn 
 my bread and butter that way wouldn t you ?" 
 
AX INTERVIEW WITH MISS MABLENSPUYK 13 
 
 Miss Peters did not answer this direct ques 
 tion. For a moment she said nothing. Then 
 she raised her head, and there was a hint of 
 high resolve in the emphasis with which she 
 said, " It is a mean way to make a living." 
 
 Before Miss Marlenspuyk could continue the 
 conversation she was greeted by two ladies who 
 had just arrived. Miss Peters drew back and 
 stood by herself in a corner for a few minutes as 
 the throng in front of her thickened. She was 
 gazing straight before her, but she was not con 
 scious of the people who encompassed her about. 
 Then she aroused herself, and went into the din 
 ing-room and had a cup of tea and a thin slice 
 of buttered bread, rolled up and tied with a tiny 
 ribbon. And perhaps fifteen minutes later she 
 found herself in front of the hostess. 
 
 She told the hostess that she had had such a 
 very good time, that she didn t know when she 
 had met such very agreeable people, and that she 
 was specially delighted with an old friend of 
 her grandfather s, Miss Marlenspuyk. Such a 
 very delightful old maid, with none of the flavor 
 of desiccated spinsterhood. She does her own 
 thinking, too. She gave me some of her ideas 
 about modern journalism." 
 
 " She is a brilliant conversationalist," said 
 the hostess. "You might have interviewed 
 her." 
 
 " Oh, she talked freely enough," Miss Peters 
 responded. " But I could never write her up 
 
14 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 properly. Besides, Fm thinking of giving up 
 newspaper wo k." 
 
 Three ladies here came towards the hostess, 
 who stepped forward with extended hand, say 
 ing, " So good of you to come on such a nasty 
 day." Miss Peters availed herself of the oppor 
 tunity, and made her escape. 
 
 It might be half an hour afterwards when Miss 
 Marlenspuyk, having had her cup of tea and her 
 roll of bread-and-butter., returned to the front 
 parlor in time to overhear a bashful young man 
 take leave of the hostess, arid wish the hostess s 
 daughter "many happy returns of the day." 
 
 As it happened, there was a momentary Stagna 
 tion of the flood of guests when Miss Marlen 
 spuyk went up to say farewell, and she had a 
 chance to congratulate the daughter of the house 
 on the success of her coming-out tea. 
 
 <f Then I must tell you, Miss Marlenspuyk," 
 said the hostess, "that you completely fasci 
 nated little Miss Peters." 
 
 " She s a pretty little thing," the old maid re 
 turned, "with excellent manners. That comes 
 with the blood, I suppose ; she told me she was 
 a granddaughter of the Bishop, you know. She 
 isn t like so many of the girls here, who take 
 what manners they have out of a book. They 
 get them up overnight, but she was born with 
 them. And she has the final sign of breeding, 
 which is so rare nowadays she listens when her 
 elders are talking." 
 
AX INTERVIEW WITH MISS MARLEXSPUYK 15 
 
 " Yes/ 7 the hostess replied, " Pauline Peters 
 has pleasant manners, for all she is working on 
 a newspaper now. 
 
 " On a newspaper ?" repeated Miss Marlen- 
 spuyk. " She told me she was writing for her 
 living, but she didn t say she was on a news 
 paper. " 
 
 " She said something about giving it up as 
 she went out," the hostess remarked; "but I 
 shouldn t think she would, for she has been do 
 ing very well. Some of her articles have made 
 quite a hit. You know she is the e Polly Per 
 kins of the Daily Dial?" 
 
 "Xo," said Miss Marlenspuyk "no, I didn t 
 know that." 
 
 (1895) 
 
; .: ; " ; : . - .- ...-::? in in 8 m 
 
 ub J^cttcz of cFavewell 
 
 1 
 
 , ,-. - = == ^^ c ^^g~^ s ^^ = ^^^f 
 
 Ju&v ffl^^Si ^-J-H* J*+ 
 
 VMM^? %^- ^ Iw^t %^.^ t 
 
lITERE had been a hesitating fall of 
 snow in the morning, but before 
 noon it had turned to a mild and 
 fitful rain that had finally modified 
 itself into a clinging mist as even 
 ing drew near. The heavy snow-storm of the 
 last week in January had left the streets high on 
 both sides with banks that thawed swiftly when 
 ever the sun came out again, the water running 
 from them into the broad gutters, and then freez 
 ing hard at night, when the cold wind swept 
 across the city. Xow, at nightfall, after a mug 
 gy day, a sickening slush had spread itself treach 
 erously over all the crossings. The shop-girls 
 going home had to pick their way cautiously 
 from corner to corner under the iron pillars 
 supporting the station of the elevated railroad. 
 Train followed train overhead, each close on the 
 other s heels ; and clouds of steam swirled down 
 as the engines came to a full stop with a shrill 
 grinding of the brakes. From the skeleton spans 
 of the elevated road moisture dripped on the 
 cable-cars below, as they rumbled along with 
 their bells clanging sharply when they neared 
 the crossings. The atmosphere was thick with a 
 damp haze ; and there was a halo about every 
 
20 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 yellow globe in the windows of the bar-rooms at 
 the four corners of the avenue. More frequent, 
 as the dismal day Avore to an end, was the hoarse 
 and lugubrious tooting of the ferryboats in the 
 East Kiver. 
 
 Under the steps of the stairs leading up to 
 the aerial station of the railroad overhead, an 
 Italian street vender had wheeled the barrow 
 whereon he proffered for sale bananas and ap 
 ples and nuts. At one end of this stand was the 
 cylinder in which he was roasting peanuts, and 
 which he ground as conscientiously as though 
 he were turning a hand-organ. A scant quarter 
 past six o clock it might have been, when he 
 opened his fire-box to throw in a stick or two 
 more of fuel and to warm his stiffened fingers 
 in the flame. The sudden red glare, glowing 
 through the drizzle, caught the eye of a middle- 
 aged man who was crossing the avenue. So in 
 secure was his footing that this momentary re 
 laxation of his attention was sufficient cause for 
 a false step. His feet slipped from under him 
 and he fell flat on his back, striking just below 
 the right shoulder-blade upon a compact mass 
 of snow, hardened by the chilly breeze, and yet 
 softer than the stone pavement. 
 
 The concussion knocked the breath out of 
 him ; and he lay there for a minute almost, 
 gasping again and again, wholly unable to raise 
 himself. As he struggled to get to his feet and 
 to refill his lungs with air, he heard a shop-girl 
 
A LETTER OF FAREWELL 21 
 
 cry, "Oh, Liz, did you see him fall? Wasn t 
 it awful ?" And then he heard her companion 
 respond, " I say, Maine, you ask him if he s hurt 
 bad." Then two men stepped from the sidewalk 
 and lifted him to his feet, while a boy picked up 
 his hat and handed it to him. 
 
 " That s all right/" said one of the men; fi there 
 ain t no bones broke, is there ?" 
 
 The man who had fallen was getting his breath 
 back slowly. " No," he panted, " there s noth 
 ing broke" and he cautiously moved his lirnbs 
 to make sure. 
 
 " Ye ve knocked the wind out of ye," the 
 other man returned, " but ye ll get it again in 
 a jiffy. Come into Pat M Cann s here and have 
 a drink : that *11 put the life into ye again." 
 
 "That s it," agreed the man who had been 
 helped to his feet "that s it; get me into Pat 
 M Cann s they know me there I can rest a bit 
 then I ll be all right again in a little." He 
 broke his sentences short, but even thus he was 
 able to speak only with effort. 
 
 Taking him each by one arm, the two men 
 helped him into the saloon almost at the door of 
 which he had slipped. They led him straight 
 up to the bar. 
 
 " Goocl-evenin , Mr. Maloue," was the barkeep 
 er s greeting. " The boss was after askiif for 
 ye." Then seeing the ashen face of the new 
 comer, he added, "It s not well ye re lookin . 
 What can I give ye ?" 
 
22 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 The man addressed as Malone was plainly at 
 tired ; his clothes were tidy but shiny ; his over 
 coat was thin, and it was now thickly stained 
 down the back by the slush into which he had 
 fallen. The bronze button of the Grand Army 
 was in the buttonhole of his threadbare coat. 
 
 He steadied himself by the railing before the 
 bar. " Ye may give me a little whiskey, Tom," 
 he said, still gasping, "and ask these gentlemen 
 -what they ll take." 
 
 These gentlemen joined him in taking whis 
 key. Then they again assured him he would be 
 all right in a jiffy ; and with that they left him 
 standing before the bar, and went their several 
 ways. 
 
 There was nobody else in the saloon, for the 
 moment, as it chanced ; and Tom, the barkeep 
 er, was able to give undivided attention to Mr. 
 Malone. 
 
 " It s sorry the boss 11 be to hear of yer fallin 
 here at his door, an he not there to pick ye up," 
 he remarked. "But ye d better bide till he 
 comes in again. Ye ll not get your breath back 
 so easy either I ve been knocked out myself, 
 an I know though it wa n t no ice that downed 
 me." 
 
 <f So Pat M Cann wanted to see me, did he ?" 
 asked Malone, trying to draw a long breath and 
 finding it impossible, as the bruised muscles of 
 his back refused to yield. <e Oh well, then I ll 
 sit me down here and wait." 
 
A LETTER OF FAREWELL 23 
 
 "There s yer old place in the corner," Tom 
 responded. 
 
 "Fll smoke a pipe," said Malone, moving 
 away, "if I haven t broke it in my fall. Xo ; 
 I ve got it right enough," he added, taking the 
 brier-wood from the breast-pocket of his coat. 
 
 As Malone was shuffling slowly forward tow 
 ards a table in a corner of the saloon, the street- 
 door was pushed open and the owner of the bar 
 room entered a tall man, with a high hat and a 
 fur-trimmed overcoat. M Cann went straight to 
 the bar. 
 
 "Tom," he asked, " how many of those labor- 
 tickets have I now in the glass there ? 
 
 Tom looked in a tumbler on the top shelf of a 
 rack against the wall behind him. "There s 
 five of em left," he answered. 
 
 "Barry M Cormack will be in before we close 
 and he ll ask ye for them, and ye ll give him 
 three of them/ said the owner of the saloon, 
 " Tell him it s all I have. An if Jerry O Con 
 nor is here again wantin me to go bail for his 
 brother in the Tombs, ye must stand him off. I 
 don t want to do it, ye see, an I don t want nei 
 ther to tell him I don t want to." 
 
 "An what will I tell him, then?" asked the 
 barkeeper. " Hadn t I better say ye ve gone to 
 Washington to see the Sinator ?" 
 
 " Tell him what you please," responded 
 M Cann, "but be easy with him." 
 
 "I ll do what I can," Tom promised. " Ye 
 
24 OUTLINES IX LOCAL COLOR 
 
 was askin for Danny Malone before ye went out. 
 That s him now in the corner. It s a bad fall he 
 had out there on the ice. The drop knocked 
 him out but there s no bones broken." 
 
 " What I ve got to tell him won t make him 
 feel easier," returned M Cann. " But I ll get it 
 over as soon as I can." And with that he crossed 
 the saloon to the farther corner,, where Malone 
 had taken his seat before a little table. 
 
 Looking up as M Cann came towards him, 
 Malone recognized the owner of the saloon and 
 tried to rise to his feet; but the suddenness of his 
 movement was swiftly resented by the strained 
 muscles of his back, and he dropped sharply on 
 the seat, his face wincing with the pain, which 
 also took his breath away again. 
 
 " Well, Dan, old man," said M Cann, " so ye ve 
 had a bad fall, sure. I m sorry for that. Don t 
 get up ! rest ycrself there, and brace up." 
 
 The tall frame of the saloon-keeper towered 
 stiffly beside the bent figure of the man who had 
 had the fall, and who now looked up in the face 
 of the other in the hope of seeing good news 
 written there. 
 
 "Well, Pat," he began, getting his breath 
 again, "I ve had a fall but it s nothin I ll be 
 over it in an hour or two. I rn strong enough 
 yet for any place ye can get me 
 
 He had fixed his gaze hungrily on the eyes of 
 the other, and he was waiting eagerly for a word 
 of hope. 
 
A LETTER OF FAREWELL 23 
 
 The saloon-keeper lowered his glance and then 
 cleared his throat. lie had unbuttoned his over 
 coat and the large diamond in his shirt-front was 
 now exposed. 
 
 Before he made answer to this appeal the elder 
 man spoke again, overmastered by anxiety. 
 
 "Did ye see him ?" he asked. 
 
 Yes/" was the response, " I saw him." 
 
 An* will he do it for ye ?" was the next pass 
 ing question. 
 
 " He d do it for me if he could, but he can t," 
 returned M Canu. 
 
 "He can t?" asked Malone. "An* why 
 not ?" 
 
 " Because the appointment isn t his. he says," 
 the saloon-keeper explained. * He d be glad to 
 give the place to a friend of mine if he could, 
 he told me but there s the civil-service. He s 
 got to follow that, he says, more by token that 
 they raised such a row the last time he tried to 
 beat the law." 
 
 But I m a veteran," pleaded the other, " I 
 served my three years. The civil-service has got 
 to count that, hasn t it ?" 
 
 Ye might be on the list this very minute, 
 and it wouldn t do any good," the saloon-keeper 
 responded ; there s veterans to burn on the list 
 now !" 
 
 " My post will recommend me, if I ask em 
 won t that help ?" 
 
 Nothing will help, he says," M Cann ex- 
 
26 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 plained. " It isn t a pull that 11 do ye any good, 
 or I could get ye the job myself, couldn t I ?" 
 
 " There ain t no influence that 11 help me, 
 then ?" was the elder man s next question. 
 
 " As I m tellin ye, I done what I could, and I 
 don t believe any man in the district couldn t do 
 more," the saloon-keeper answered. " He says 
 he d rather give ye the job than not, but he 
 can t. He s got to take the civil-service man." 
 
 " Then there ain t no thin else you can do ?" 
 asked Malone, hopelessly. 
 
 "I d do anythin I could," M Cann replied. 
 " But I don t see nothin more- to be done. That 
 dog won t fight, that s all. The jig s up, there 
 ain t no two ways about it. Of course, if I hear 
 of anythin else I ll tell ye and I ll get it for ye, 
 if I can. But it s been a pretty cold winter for 
 the boys, so far ; you know that well enough." 
 
 The other said nothing ; his head had fallen, 
 and his eyes were staring vacantly at a box of 
 sand across the saloon. 
 
 The saloon-keeper drew a breath of relief that 
 the interview was over. 
 
 " Well," he said, turning away, " I must be 
 goin now. I ve got to see the new man Avho s 
 got that contract for fillin in up on the Har 
 lem." 
 
 "Don t think I ain t beholden to you, Pat," 
 Malone declared, raising his head again. "Ye 
 knoAV I am that, and I know ye ve done yer best 
 for me." 
 
A LETTER OF FAREWELL 27 
 
 "I did that," M Cann admitted, taking the 
 hand the other held out ; "an it s better I hope 
 I can do some other time, maybe." 
 
 With that he shook Malone s hand gently and 
 left the saloon, calling to the barkeeper as he 
 passed, "Til be back in an hour, if there s any 
 body wants me. An make Danny Malone as com 
 fortable as ye can. It s a bad shock lie s had." 
 
 As the owner of the saloon left it three cus 
 tomers came in, and were served, and tossed off 
 their drinks standing, and went out again ; and 
 the dank night-air was blown in as they swung 
 open the outer door. 
 
 Then the barkeeper went down to the corner 
 where Malone was sitting, with his pipe in his 
 fingers, unlighted and unfilled, gazing fixedly at 
 vacancy. 
 
 Mr. Malone," he said, "is it better ye re 
 feelin now ? Have ye got yer breath again ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," answered Malone, rousing him 
 self, I m better now." And he tried to rise 
 again ; and again he sat down suddenly, seized 
 with muscular pangs. I m better but I d best 
 stay here a while yet I m thinking." 
 
 That s it," responded Tom, cheerfully, "get 
 a rest here. Let me fill yer pipe for ye. There 
 ain t nothm so soothiir as a pipe, I don t think. 
 An I don t believe a drop of old ale would hurt 
 ye, would it now ?" 
 
 Five minutes later Dan Malone had his pipe 
 alight in his mouth and a glass of ale before him 
 
28 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 on the table. He drank the liquid slowly, barely 
 a mouthful at a time ; and he smoked irregularly 
 also, scarcely keeping the pipe alight. He sat 
 there by himself, limp on the seat, with his last 
 hope washed out of him. 
 
 Half an hour afterwards the saloon happened 
 again to be empty, and seeing the barkeeper at 
 liberty, Malone asked for the loan of an inkstand 
 and a pen, and for a sheet of paper and an en 
 velope. When the table had been wiped off, and 
 these things were placed on it before him, he or 
 dered another glass of ale, and he filled his pipe 
 again. 
 
 After he had taken a sip or two of the ale and 
 pulled four or five times at the pipe, he squared 
 himself painfully to the task of writing. 
 
 First, he addressed the envelope to " Hon. 
 Terence O Donnell, Assembly, Albany 77 ; then he 
 thrust this on one side to dry, and began on the 
 letter itself. His handwriting was more irregu 
 lar than usual ; it had always been cramped and 
 straggling, but now it was shaky also. 
 
 " FRIEND TERRY, Ime writing you thisatPatM Canns, 
 and its the last letter you will ever have from me. I slipped 
 at the corner here and I fell flat on my shoulders and I 
 knocked all the wind out of me like I was a shut bellows. I 
 aint got it back yet. I will never have any strength again. 
 Ime only fifty, but I had three years in the Army of the 
 Potomac ; and fighting and sleeping in the swamp and lay 
 ing out all day and all night with a wound in your leg 
 thats fun you got to pay for sooner or later, line paying 
 
A LETTER OF FAREWELL 29 
 
 for mine now. Imc feeling very old to-night and old 
 men ain t no good. If Ide been younger I doubt Mary 
 would have shook me for Jack. Your young yet Terry 
 and you got a good wife, God Bless her, and youll thrive, 
 for your square and a good friend. But you wont never 
 know what it is to have the woman you loved shake you. 
 That hurts and it hurts just as hard even if it is your 
 brother she marries. Jacks only my half brother you 
 know but it hurt all the same. Mary married him and 
 lies never forgive me for the wrong he did me then. And 
 Mary she sides with him. Tliats natural enough I sup- 
 p 0se _l jes the father of her children but that hurts too. 
 Hes been doing me dirt all this winter. 1 know it but I 
 aint never let on. Now I caught him setting the kids 
 against me too. And theyve been friendly, both of Marys 
 kids have. The one named for me is a good boy and, 
 Terry, if you can give him a helping hand any day do it 
 for my sake. line going to pawn my watch when 1 leave 
 here to buy a pistol with. But 111 put the ticket in the 
 envelope with this, and some day when your feeling flush 
 I wish you would take it out and give it to little Danny. 
 I always meant him to have it. 
 
 "I ask you now for this is the last letter I will wrile 
 you and I wont never see you again. Ime smoking the 
 last pipe I will ever smoke and Ive drunk half of my last 
 glass of beer. I shall think of you when I finish it, and 
 it will be drinking your health and Maggies and the baby 
 boy your expecting. 
 
 " Ime going to quit. Ime tired, and I aint never felt so 
 old as I do since I had that fall an hour ago. It knocked 
 more out of me than wind. I was thinking Pat M Can 
 here could get me a job, but he cant for fear of the civil 
 service. So its time I quit for good and all. Ime going 
 to put up my watch and get a gun. Then Ime going up 
 to Jacks. Mary cant refuse me a bite. Its little enough 
 to give me Ime thinking and its the last time lie ask it 
 
30 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 too. The kids are going out to a party a Sunday school 
 party it is. He see them all once more, and He say goocl- 
 by to them. After supper when the kids are gone I will 
 get out the pistol and I will put the bullet where it will 
 do most good. May be Jack will be sorry when its too 
 late may be Mary will too. I dont know. If they had 
 treated me white first off, I woodent need to buy no gun 
 now. 
 
 " Good-by now, Terry, and God Bless you all. Its time 
 I was going along to Marys if I want to see the kids again. 
 " Your old friend 
 
 " DAN MALONE." 
 
 When he had made an end of the letter he 
 had a pull or two at his pipe, and then he fin 
 ished his beer. He took up what he had written 
 and read it over carefully to see if he had said 
 all that needed to be said. Satisfied, he folded 
 it and tucked it inside the envelope. After four 
 or five whiffs more his pipe was smoked out. 
 He emptied it on the table with a sharp rap, and 
 methodically put it back in the breast-pocket of 
 his coat. 
 
 Then he raised himself to his feet slowly and 
 carefully, not knowing just what bruised muscle 
 he might chance to stretch by an inadvertent 
 gesture. He shuffled across to the bar and paid 
 for his drinks, and asked the barkeeper if there 
 was a stamp to be had. As it happened, To;a 
 was able to give him one, which he stuck on the 
 corner of the envelope. 
 
 " Say, Mr. Malone," asked the barkeeper, " ye 
 don t Avant no tickets for the Lady Dazzlers Co- 
 
A LETTER OF FAREWELL 31 
 
 terie Mask and Civic Ball, to-night, do ye ? It s 
 goin to be the most high-toned blow-out they 
 ever had/ 
 
 " I m not goin to balls any more," Malone an 
 swered, I m too old now. " 
 
 Buttoning his thin overcoat tightly across the 
 chest, he held out his hand to Tom, to the bar 
 keeper s great surprise. 
 
 " Good-bye, * he said. " Good-bye. Maybe I 
 won t see you again, Tom. 
 
 " Good-bye, Mr. Malone," Tom answered. 
 " But ye ll be better in the mornin, I m thinkin ." 
 
 Yes," the elder man repeated, I ll be better 
 in the mornin . Yes : I m goin to make sure of 
 that, to-night." 
 
 When he opened the outer door of the saloon 
 the damp moisture suddenly filled his lungs and 
 he choked, but he dared not cough, as the strained 
 muscles of his side warned him. 
 
 Two doors above the saloon was a pawnbro 
 ker s office, with the three golden balls hanging 
 over the door, and with the unredeemed pledges 
 offered for sale in the broad window. Into this 
 store Malone made his way, glad to get out of 
 the dank air, if only for a moment. 
 
 In perhaps five minutes he came forth holding 
 in his hand the envelope addressed to the Hon 
 orable Terence O Donnell. He paused on the 
 threshold of the pawnshop and, by the light of 
 the gas-jets in its window, he put the pawn- 
 ticket into the letter and then closed it. In the 
 
32 OUTLINES IN- LOCAL COLOR 
 
 large right-hand pocket of his thin overcoat 
 there was something that had not been there 
 when he entered the pawnbroker s something 
 irregular in shape : it was the revolver he had 
 bought with the money advanced on his watch. 
 
 He turned down the avenue again, for there 
 was a letter-box on the lamp-post at the corner 
 occupied by M Cann s saloon. The store be 
 tween the pawnbroker s and the barroom was 
 an undertaker s ; and Malone, walking slowly 
 past, saw in the window a little coffin, lined 
 with white satin. 
 
 " It 11 take a bigger one than that for me/" he 
 said. " To-night s Friday they ll be havin the 
 funeral on Sunday." 
 
 At the corner he dropped the letter into the 
 box on the lamp-post, just as there came a weird 
 shriek from an impatient tug in the river far be 
 hind him. While he was waiting for a cable-car 
 a lame newsboy limped up to him and proffered 
 the evening papers with a beseeching look. Ma- 
 lone felt in his pocket and found only two coins, 
 a nickel and a quarter. He gave the quarter to 
 the newsboy. Then he lifted himself painfully 
 on the rear platform of a cable-car, and handed 
 the nickel to the impatient conductor. The car 
 clanged forward again ; and soon the halo about 
 its colored lamp faded away in the murky dis 
 tance. 
 
 (1895) 
 
inI@iffl@BH@SlSllli III 111 8 Hi 3 
 
 (57? ylimpde of t/ie 
 %ndct World 
 
was a little dinner indeed, a dinner 
 for eight only ; and it was given one 
 evening in March, in a spacious and 
 handsome dwelling in Madison Ave 
 nue, high up on the slope of Murray 
 Hill. The wide dining-room was at the rear of 
 the house, and it had a broad butlerVpantry ex 
 tending into the yard behind. The large kitchen 
 was under the dining-room ; and under the but 
 lers-pantry was a room of the same size which 
 the servants used as a parlor. In one corner of 
 this sitting-room for the domestics was the dumb 
 waiter which connected with the pantry above, 
 and in another corner was a spiral staircase 
 which allowed the butler to descend swiftly to 
 the kitchen in case of emergency. There was a 
 table near the window of this servants parlor, 
 with a battered student-lamp on it ; and around 
 the table were grouped three or four chairs. 
 
 A whistle sounded gently in the kitchen, and 
 the Swedish cook walked leisurely to the speak 
 ing-tube and whistled back. Then she listened, 
 and heard the butler say, They re all here now ; 
 I ve got the oysters on the table, and I m a-goiir 
 in now to announce dinner to the madam. So 
 you get that soup ready do you hear ?" 
 
36 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 The cook did not deign to make any direct 
 reply, but, as she left the speaking -tube and 
 went back to the range, she said, loud enough 
 to be heard by the servants in the sitting-room 
 adjoining, "As though I did not know any 
 thing ! I will never have another place if a 
 black man is butler." 
 
 In the room under the pantry a sharp, wiry boy 
 was grinning. " They re allus havin spats, ain t 
 they, them two ? If I was Oato I wouldn t let 
 no Dutch cook sass me, even if I was a nigger, 
 would you ?" 
 
 " Who is this young cub, when he s at ome ?" 
 asked the clean-shaven, trim-looking young Brit 
 ish valet. 
 
 "He s Tim," answered the Irish laundress. 
 
 "I m Tim," said the boy, indignantly, "that s 
 who I am, and I m as good as you are, too, for 
 all you belong to a lord ! And you needn t put 
 on no frills with me, neither, for when I m a 
 year or two older I can lick ye ! see ?" 
 
 "Don t ye mind the boy, Mr. Parsons," the 
 Irish girl intervened. " He s no call here at all, 
 at all. He d run of an errand belike in the morn- 
 iii and does be sthrivin to make himself useful. 
 That s why they kept him here the night." 
 
 " I ve got just as good a right here as he has," 
 the boy declared, "and he doesn t come here 
 after you either, Maggie you re not his steady. 
 It s that French Elise he is sparkin ." 
 
 " An greatly I care if he is ! Sparkin , in 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE UXDER WORLD 37 
 
 truth ! Bad cess to yer impidence," said the 
 pleasant - faced laundress, drawing herself up. 
 " A man, is it ? It s lashins and lavins of men I 
 could have if I d a mind." 
 
 Fortunately the cook called Tim at this junc 
 ture and gave him a chore to do ; and so left the 
 Irish girl and the young Englishman alone. 
 
 The valet had heen standing until then with 
 his hat and cane in his hand and his overcoat 
 across his arm. Xow he laid these things on the 
 table and took his seat by the side of the comely 
 Irishwoman. 
 
 " Mam zelle," he began, "is a French girl, of 
 course, and I never could abide a foreign lingo. 
 Xow it s a pleasure for me to hear you talk, Miss 
 Maggie." 
 
 "Ah, do be aisy, now, Mr. Parsons. she re 
 turned, coquettishly. 
 
 "It s gospel truth." he rejoined. " I enjoy 
 talkhr to you. You keep your eyes wide open 
 and can always tell me what s goin on !" 
 
 "Troth, can I? replied the laundress. " I 
 know which ind of the egg the chicken - 11 be 
 after chippin every time. 
 
 " Then tell me who s dinin ere to-night." the 
 valet asked. 
 
 Before she could answer the whistle sounded 
 faintly again, and the cook immediately brought 
 in the green-turtle soup in the handsome silver 
 tureen, and sent it up on the dumb-waiter. 
 Then she returned at once to the kitchen. 
 
OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 
 It s not a big dinner/ the Irishwoman ex 
 plained. " There s only eight of them. There s 
 us three, isn t there ? Mr. and Mrs. Van Allen 
 and Miss Ethel. Then there s your lord and 
 Fll go bail it s Miss Ethel he s after now ? He ll 
 be the lucky man if he gets her, too ; it s a sweet 
 angel she is." 
 
 " She won t be so unlucky to ave im neither," 
 the Englishman returned, "mark that ! She ll 
 be Lady Stanyhurst, won t she ? And my lord 
 is a fine figure of a man, too 1" 
 
 " Sure it isn t under the skin of any man that 
 ever stepped to be worthy the likes of Miss 
 Ethel !" said Maggie, looking at Parsons out of 
 the corner of her eye. 
 
 " There ain t any girl in the States ere that 
 wouldn t be proud to ave my lord," the valet 
 retorted. " There s lots of em settin their caps 
 for im now. He can ave is pick, e can." 
 
 " The sorra cap Miss Ethel 11 set for him or 
 any man," the laundress declared. " The boy 
 that wants her 11 have to court her." 
 
 " I ave reason to believe that the marriage is 
 arranged/ Parsons asserted. " I ope " then 
 he paused, and with an effort he went on again : 
 " I hope that er father is a warm man ? He s 
 good to give the girl a plum at least, I ope ? 
 We couldn t throw ourselves away on a girl who 
 adii t a plum, you know." 
 
 "An what might a plum be ?" asked Maggie. 
 
 "A plum," the young Englishman explained, 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE UXDER WORLD 39 
 
 " is a undred thousand pounds alf a million 
 dollars, isn t it ?" 
 
 " It s a whole million Mr. Van Allen can give 
 Miss Ethel/ Maggie said, " and more, too, if 
 he wanted to. By the same token, they do be 
 after tellin me he has one big building down 
 town somewhere I don t know where the 
 tenants pay him a hundred thousand dollars a 
 year ; an they pay it, too, regular, an nivver an 
 eviction from one year s end to the other." 
 
 The whistle shrilled out again, and the cook 
 made haste to place on the dumb-waiter the dish 
 containing the fillets of sea-bass. 
 
 A few minutes later Mile. Elise, the French 
 maid of Miss Van Allen, entered the servants 
 sitting-room, and was cordially greeted bv Mr. 
 Parsons. It appeared that the Frenchwoman 
 had been detained in Mrs. Van Allen s room re 
 lieving the guests of their wraps. 
 
 " Zat ole maid, Miss Marlenspuyk what devil 
 of name it is " said Elise, " she is a true grande 
 dame ; but that Mistress Playfair oh ! I can 
 not suffer her ! She is how you say made 
 up ? stuck up ?" 
 
 fe It s both stuck up and med up she is," the 
 Irish laundress declared. " She s that painted 
 her own mother wouldn t know her. An as for 
 stuck up, her manners is that bad there isn t 
 none of her girls will stay in her house the 
 second month ; they gets their bit of money 
 and they goes. Sure my brother is coach- 
 
40 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 man there, and it s seven years he s had the 
 place." 
 
 " How can he rest zere," asked the French 
 maid, " if she is so stuck up ?" 
 
 "Ah, my brother is a steady lad, and they get 
 on very well," Maggie returned. " He knows 
 his place, and she knows her place, too. She 
 never says nothin to him, and he never says 
 nothin to her. An it s a good job he has, an 
 he don t mean to let go of it. He keeps a still 
 tongue in his head, Danny does ; but there s 
 months when, with his wages and with his 
 board-wages and with what he makes on the 
 feed, the place is worth more than a hundred 
 dollars to him." 
 
 "It s as much as a man s place is worth some 
 times to accept the commission you re entitled 
 to," the valet remarked. 
 
 "Ah, but Danny s the boy !" the laundress re 
 sponded, shrewdly. "It s too much he knows 
 about Mrs. Playfair for him to lose the job ; 
 trust him for that ! As long as he wants that 
 place he can have it an welcome ; she won t 
 never say nothin to him." 
 
 "Is she a widow or is she divorced, zis Mis 
 tress Playfair ?" asked the French maid. 
 
 " She s the wan an the other," said the laun 
 dress, with a laugh. " Mr. Playfair, he took and 
 died a week after the trial, barrin a day." 
 
 " What s this I ear about your Mr. Van 
 Allen and Mrs. Playfair ?" Parsons inquired. 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE UNDER WORLD 41 
 
 "Is there anything between them, do you 
 think ?" 
 
 The whistle was heard again, and the cook 
 passed before them with a saddle of mutton : 
 and for the moment the valet s question re 
 mained unanswered. 
 
 Who is it they have to dinner, after all ?" the 
 laundress inquired. "There s our three and 
 your lord and Miss Marlenspuyk and Mrs. Play- 
 f air_but that s sure only six. There was to be 
 eight all out, I m thinkin . It s two more men 
 they must have/ 
 
 "I heard his lordship say that he expected to 
 meet the Lord Bishop of Tuxedo/ the English 
 man remarked. 
 
 And madame say zat ze judge would be 
 here." said the French maid. 
 
 "Judge Gillespie?" asked the valet, with a 
 certain interest. 
 
 "Yes." the Frenchwoman answered, " the 
 Judge Gillespie. What does that make to you 
 zat you jump like zat ?" 
 
 "*0h, nothin , nothiiv at all," returned Par 
 sons, settling himself back in his chair with a 
 snigger. 
 
 "Out with it !" cried the Irish girl. - Don t 
 be grinnin all night there like a stuck pig ! 
 Out with it I see it s on the end of your 
 tongue." 
 
 "But yes but yes," urged the maid, "what 
 is it you have to laugh ?" 
 
42 OUTLINES IK LOCAL COLOR 
 
 " Keally," the valet began, " I don t know that 
 I ought to say anything ere in this ouse, you 
 know house, I mean. But I ave been told 
 that this ere Judge Gillespie is a very great 
 friend of Mrs. Van Allen s. Mind, I don t say 
 there s anything wrong in it, you know. I only 
 tell you what I ave eard tell myself in society 
 ere and there. You see this ain t the only ouse 
 I visit in New York, not by a long shot it ain t. 
 And knowin I visit ere, why, naturally, you see, 
 my other friends tell me the news, you know 
 the news about the goin s on ere, you know." 
 
 The Irish laundress and the French maid 
 looked at each other for a moment, and then 
 both laughed. 
 
 "It s not outside they get the first news, is 
 it ?" the laundress inquired. 
 
 Apparently the maid was also going to make a 
 remark, but she changed her mind as the cook 
 again came to the dumb-waiter with the dish of 
 little silver saucepans containing terrapin. 
 
 The valet was somewhat puzzled by the failure 
 of his two attempts to open the family cupboard 
 of the host and hostess for an inspection of the 
 skeletons it might contain. 
 
 " I don t know how she has them seated at the 
 table," Maggie declared. 
 
 "Of course, his lordship took her in," the 
 Englishman declared. "A earl as precedence 
 of a judge or a bishop." 
 
 "I d like to have a look at that lordship of 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE UNDER WORLD 43 
 
 yours," the Irishwoman said, as she rose to her 
 feet. " I ll slip up the stairs there, and maybe I 
 can get a glimpse of "em through the door an 
 no one a ha p orth the wiser. Is it a young man 
 your lordship is ?" 
 
 His lordship is a young man yet/ 7 the valet 
 replied. 
 
 "I know what that means/ the laundress an 
 swered. " If he s a young man yet, I ll go bail he 
 hasn t a hair between him an heaven. An to 
 think that our Miss Ethel here is to take up 
 with a poor hairless cratur like that. Well, 
 well, there s no accounthv for tastes ! Maybe I ll 
 marry a Dutchman myself one of these days." 
 
 And with that she began to climb the spiral 
 staircase in the corner of the room. 
 
 What sort of a man is he. your milord? 
 asked the Frenchwoman. 
 
 He is not a bad sort at all," the Englishman 
 answered. ^ Your young lady might do worse 
 than ave ? im, you know have him. I mean. I 
 won t say but that Vs been a bit fast in is time, 
 you know ; but that s nothin to her now. is it ? 
 E s sowed his wild oats long ago, and Vs ready 
 to marry now and settle down." 
 
 "He is zen defrcucJii how you say worn? 
 your milord ?" the Frenchwoman went on. 
 "And mademoiselle is an angel of candor. Zey 
 would give her le bon Dieu wizout confession." 
 
 Angel or no angel," returned Mr. Parsons, 
 " there isn t any better catch in the three king- 
 
44 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 cloms than is lordship to-day. E s a earl, isn t 
 c ? And then there s the castle ! Your young 
 lady wouldn t be in a urry to let im go if she d 
 only seen the castle, now !" 
 
 "Mademoiselle has seen ze castle/ was the 
 answer. 
 
 " Well, I ll he damned !" said the valet. 
 
 " But yes/ the French maid explained. "Last 
 summer, in London, your milord was presented to 
 mademoiselle, and he began to make his court. 
 Fifteen days after, when we were at Leamington, 
 mademoiselle and I, we go see your castle." 
 
 "It s a tip-topper now, ain t it?" he asked. 
 " There s sometimes twenty and thirty of us in 
 the servants"all, and there s goin s on, and larks, 
 and all manner of sport. If this match comes 
 off, now, between is lordship and your young 
 lady, will you come with her or stay here with 
 her mother ?" 
 
 "Never of the life do I quit mademoiselle," 
 the Frenchwoman responded. 
 
 " Then I ll ope to ave the honor of introducin 
 you into the best society at the castle whenever 
 you come over/ urged Mr. Parsons. 
 
 The Irish laundress now began to descend the 
 spiral stairs. The cook also came into the room 
 and went towards the dumb-waiter, carrying a 
 silver platter, on which shook and shone a dozen 
 little jellied cones. 
 
 "An what might that be in thrimbles like 
 that ?" asked the Irishwoman, with curiosity. 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE UXDEH WORLD 45 
 
 " Pdtede foie yras en aspic/ the cook respond 
 ed, curtly, sending up the dish and then return 
 ing silently to the kitchen. 
 
 " Patti s photograph ?" repeated the laundress. 
 " Do ye mind the impidence of her, telliir me a 
 lie like that ?" 
 
 The English valet looked at the French maid 
 
 and laughed. Then he explained, patronizingly : 
 
 Patty de four grass, as we call it in French 
 
 not Patti s photograph. It s a delicacy, and it s 
 
 made of goose livers. 
 
 "Then why couldn t that Dutch cook have 
 said so ?" tlie laundress asked, indignantly. 
 " I ve as good a right to know about a goose as 
 ever she "has. I misdoubt she was that poor 
 where she came from they had never the grass 
 of a goose to their cabin." 
 
 "Did you see is lordship ?" asked the valet. 
 " I did that," the Irish girl replied, " an 7 what 
 did I tell you about him ? His head has grown 
 through his hair ! There s been good and bad 
 harvests since he was young. I m thinkin and 
 it s mighty quare lie looks about his eyes, too. 
 It 11 be a poor day for Miss Ethel when she mar 
 ries a bald-headed ould runt like that, for all he s 
 a lord ." 
 
 " Oh, I say. Miss Maggie ; you must not speak 
 so disrespectful of his lordship, " Parsons insist 
 ed; " really, now, you mustn t. " 
 
 " It s that Mrs. Playfair ud be the match for 
 him, I m thinkin ," said Maggie. "It s a bold- 
 
46 OUTLINES IK LOCAL COLOR 
 
 faced creature she is, an no more clothes on her 
 than ain t decent anyway. And then, how she 
 looked at Mr. Van Allen and then at the bishop ; 
 and how she talked I d no patience with her. 
 Do ye mind what it was I heard her say now ?" 
 
 " How could we know what you card her 
 say ?" the valet responded, impatiently. 
 
 "Sure, amn t I tellin ye ?" the Irish girl re 
 turned. "She was talkin to the bishop, and 
 she says, says she. The judge is a better man 
 than you, bishop, she says, leastwise he makes 
 more people happy, she says, How so ? says 
 the bishop, says he. This way, she says ; when 
 you marry a couple you make two people happy, 
 she says, an when the judge divorces a couple 
 he makes four people happy, she says. Miss 
 Ethel and the old lady with the white hair, they 
 said nothin , but the rest of them laughed." 
 
 What further fragments of the conversation 
 at the dinner-table up-stairs Maggie had been 
 able to gather during her brief visit to the but- 
 ler s-pantry could not then be made known to 
 the other domestics, for Tim came slouching 
 into the sitting-room. 
 
 "Say, Maggie," he began, "didn t you hear 
 that ring at the bell ? That s your feller I seen 
 him. He s out at the gate now." 
 
 "Is it the letter -man you mean?" asked 
 Maggie, adjusting her hair as she passed tfre 
 looking-glass. 
 
 "Ah, go .on," returned Tim, impatiently, 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE L KDER WORLD 47 
 
 " what fell are you givin us ? How many 
 fellers do you want, say ?" 
 
 After Maggie had chased Tim out of the room, 
 the Swedish cook went to the dumb-waiter once 
 more to send up the four smoking canvas-backs 
 that lay luxuriously on their cushions of fried 
 hominy. 
 
 The French maid and the English valet con 
 tinued to chat, discussing chiefly the personal 
 peculiarities of the members of the households 
 in which they had served. His former masters 
 Parsons was willing enough to find fault with, 
 but Lord Stanyhurst he seemed to think it a 
 point of honor to defend. Mrs. Van Allen the 
 Frenchwoman had no high opinion of, nor of 
 Mr. Kortright Van Allen ; but of their daughter, 
 Miss Ethel Van Allen, she could not say too 
 much in praise. 
 
 " I told that wild Irish girl that the marriage 
 was arranged/ said Parsons, "and I m sure I 
 ope so with all my heart, for is lordship needs 
 money badly I don t mind tellin you, mam - 
 zelle, e asu t paid me my wages this six months, 
 not that I d demean myself by askin for them. 
 But is it really settled, after all ? that s what 
 I d like to know." 
 
 "I zink so," the Frenchwoman responded; 
 "you see, mademoiselle is not happy here. Mon 
 sieur and madame are at drawn knives. Zey 
 have not spoken since two years." 
 
 " Mr. and Mrs. Van Allen don t speak to each 
 
48 OUTLINES IK LOCAL COLOK 
 
 other ?" asked Parsons, with great interest. " But 
 they must be speaking to each other there at 
 dinner now. " 
 
 " Oh, at dinner, yes," the French maid ex 
 plained; "in the world, yes, zey talk zemselves. 
 But at ze house, never a word. Zat is so sad for 
 mademoiselle, is it not ? It is not remarkable 
 zat she marry herself with anybody to get out of 
 ze house." 
 
 " Oh, ho !" rejoined the valet, "I see, I see ! 
 But if that s the way she s been brought up, 
 you know, I don t believe she will it it off with 
 is lordship." 
 
 "If he makes her not happy, your milord 
 began the maid, forcibly, "but he must. He 
 must render her happy, for she will have nobody 
 to go to after ze marriage except her husband." 
 
 "Whatever do you mean by that?" asked 
 Parsons, a little suspiciously. 
 
 "I know what I mean," she responded. 
 " Monsieur and madame only attend till made 
 moiselle is married, and zen zey are divorced. 
 Zey don t tell me zat, no but I know." 
 
 "Yes," the valet admitted, "it ain t so very 
 ard to find out a thing like that." 
 
 " And I know more yet," added the French 
 maid. "I am not blind, am I ? I can see that 
 two and two make four, is it not ? Zen, I tell 
 you zat after ze marriage of mademoiselle, 
 monsieur and madame are divorced, zat is one 
 zing. Zen madame will marry zat Judge Gil- 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE UNDER WORLD 49 
 
 lespie, and monsieur will marry zat Madame 
 Playfair you see ! 
 
 " That would be a rum start, now, wouldn t 
 it ?" was the only comment of Parsons. 
 
 At this moment the portly form of Cato, the 
 black butler, was seen descending the staircase 
 in the corner of the room. 
 
 As soon as the aged negro s white head was 
 visible he paused, and leaning over the light 
 iron railing he addressed himself to the young 
 Englishman. 
 
 "Misto Parsons," he said, solemnly, "yo lord 
 knows a good thing when he gets it, sail ! He 
 tasted my celery salad, and he said to Mrs. Van 
 Allen that he hadn t never eaten no better salad 
 than that, sah, and I don t believe he never did, 
 neither !" 
 
 So saying he slowly withdrew lip-stairs again, 
 as the cook advanced to the dumb-waiter carry 
 ing the Xesselrode pudding. 
 
 (1S96) 
 
l/K^X^^i 
 
 .in & .1 B e a: a g i: -f- ^ m in 8 in s in e IIL 
 
 Cl Wall 
 
 Qn 
 
 Wooing 
 
T had poured all the night before, 
 and even now, at three o clock in the 
 afternoon, the air had the washed 
 clearness that follows a warm rain. 
 Fortunately the sun had shone forth 
 before the church bells summoned the worship 
 pers to kneel in front of the marble altars, banked 
 high with scentless white flowers. It was Easter, 
 and the first of April also ; and, furthermore, the 
 first warm Sunday of the spring. So the young 
 men and maidens who clustered about the doors 
 of the churches that afternoon were decked out 
 in fresh apparel the young men in light over 
 coats, and the maidens in all the bravery of their 
 new bonnets. 
 
 ILL the corner of one of the cable-cars which 
 were sliding along under the skeleton of the 
 elevated railroad there sat a young man looking 
 at his neighbors with begrudging interest, and 
 pulling at the ends of an aggressive black mus 
 tache. Filson Shelby was not yet at home in 
 the great city, and he knew it. and he silently 
 protested against it. He was forever on the 
 watch for a chance to resent the complacent 
 attitude of city folks towards country people. 
 Yet the metropolis had so far conquered him 
 
54 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 that his hat and his shoes and his clothes were 
 city made. 
 
 It was six months now since the young South- 
 westerner had left his native village, and already 
 he thought that he knew New York pretty well, 
 from Harlem where he boarded to Wall Street 
 where he worked. He was sure that he was well 
 informed as to the customs of New-Yorkers, al 
 though the New-Yorkers changed their customs 
 so rapidly that it was not so easy to be certain 
 about this. 
 
 There were white flowers blossoming in the 
 parlor windows of many of the houses in Fifty- 
 third Street, through which the cable -car was 
 passing, and as the car clanged around the curve 
 and started on its way down Seventh Avenue it 
 grazed the tail of a florist s wagon, the box of 
 which was piled high with palms. Filson Shelby 
 was aware that it was now a practice of New-York 
 ers to give one another potted plants at Easter. 
 
 He had been told also that the habit no longer 
 obtained of paying calls on Sunday afternoon ; 
 and none the less was he on his way down to 
 Wall Street to take out for a walk the one girl 
 in New York who seemed to him to have the un 
 pretending simplicity of the girls of the South 
 west. What did he care, he asked himself, wheth 
 er or not it was fashionable to call on girls Sunday 
 afternoon ? What right had the New-Yorkers, 
 anyhow, to assume that their way of doing things 
 was the only right and proper way ? 
 
A WALL STREET WOOING 55 
 
 Having propounded these questions to him 
 self, he answered them with a smile, for he had 
 a saving sense of humor, and even a tendency 
 towards self-analysis, and he had long ago de 
 tected his own pride in living in Xew York. In 
 his earliest letters home he had expressed his 
 delight in that he was now at the headquarters 
 of the whole country; and he had written these 
 letters on broad sheets of paper bought in the Ger 
 man quarter, and adorned with outline views of 
 the sights of the city, picked out in the primary 
 colors. He had sent missives thus decorated 
 not only to his family and to his old friends, but 
 even to mere acquaintances of his boyhood, for 
 whom he cared little or nothing, except that 
 they should know him to be settled in the me 
 tropolis. He could not but suspect that if he 
 were now to go back to the village of his birth, 
 he would seem as stuck-up to the natives as the 
 Xew-Yorkers had seemed to him the first few 
 weeks he was in the city. 
 
 The car slipped down Seventh Avenue, and 
 stumbled into Broadway, and sped along some 
 times with a smooth swiftness and again with a 
 jerky hesitation. Gayly dressed family groups 
 got on and got off. and the car had almost emp 
 tied itself by the time it came to Madison Square. 
 Filson Shelby was greatl} interested in the man 
 ners of two handsomely gowned girls who sat 
 opposite to him, and who did not know each 
 other very well. It struck him that one of them 
 
56 OUTLINES Itf LOCAL COLOR 
 
 the prettier of the two, as it happened was 
 a little uneasy in the other s company, and yet 
 pleased to be seen with her. To his regret, hoth 
 of them alighted at Grace Church, leaving only 
 half a dozen people in the long car as it started 
 again on its journey down-town. 
 
 He set down the plainer of the two as a mem 
 ber of the strange society known as the "Four 
 Hundred/ about which he had heard so much 
 since he had been reading the Sunday papers. 
 If he were right in this ascription, and if he 
 were to judge by this sample, the girls of the 
 Four Hundred were not a very good-looking lot, 
 for all they were so stylishly dressed. It struck 
 him, too, that this girl s manners were somehow 
 offensive, although he could not state precisely 
 where the offence lay. 
 
 He was glad that the one girl in New York 
 whom he knew at all well had the easy good man 
 ners which spring from a naturally good heart. 
 She was as well educated as the two girls who 
 had just left the car ; perhaps better, for she was 
 going to graduate from the Normal College in 
 two or three months ; and yet she was unaffected 
 and unassuming. As he phrased it in his mind, 
 "she didn t put on any frills/ He could chat 
 with her just as easily as he used to talk to the 
 girls who had gone to school with him at home. 
 And yet when he considered how unlike she was 
 really to these friends of his childhood he won 
 dered why it was he and she had got along so 
 
A WALL STREET WOOING 57 
 
 well, and his thoughts went back to the occasion 
 of his first meeting with her. 
 
 The car was now speeding swiftly down Broad 
 way, obstructed by no carriages, no carts, no 
 trucks, no wagons, and no drays. Below Astor 
 Place the sidewalks were as bare as the street it 
 self was empty. The shades were down in the 
 windows of the many-storied buildings which 
 towered above the deserted thoroughfare, and 
 the flamboyant signs made their incessant ap 
 peals in vain. For a mile or more it was almost 
 as though he were being carried through the 
 avenues of an abandoned city. The one evidence 
 of life, other than the cars themselves, was an 
 infrequent bicyclist - riding the cable slot " up 
 from the South Ferry. If only he had first ar 
 rived in Xew York in the restful quiet of a Sun 
 day, so the young Southwesterner found himself 
 thinking,, perhaps the metropolis might not have 
 seemed to him so overwhelming. As it was. it 
 had been a shock to him to be plunged suddenly 
 into the vortex of the immense city. 
 
 A telegrapher in the little town near which 
 he was born, Filson Shelby had gone beyond his 
 duty to oblige a Xew-Yorker who had chanced 
 to be detained there for a fortnight, and the 
 Xew-Yorker had repaid his courtesy by the 
 proffer of a position as private operator in the 
 office of a Wall Street friend. The young man 
 had accepted eagerly, having no ties to bind him 
 to his home : and yet he had felt desperately 
 
58 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 homesick more than once during his first three 
 months in New York. Indeed, it was not until 
 he had come to know Edna Leisler that he had 
 reconciled himself to the great town, which was 
 so crowded, and in which he was so alone. He 
 was slow to form friendships, but he had made 
 a few acquaintances. 
 
 It was one of these casual acquaintances who 
 had taken him one day to the top of an old office 
 building not far from the Stock Exchange. Here 
 the janitor lived, and was allowed to use one of 
 the rooms allotted to him as a lunch-room. The 
 janitor s wife was a good cook, and Filson Shelby 
 returned there again and again. One Saturday, 
 when the room happened to be more crowded 
 than usual, the rawboned and ruddy Irish girl 
 was unable to serve everybody, and some time 
 after he had given his order Filson Shelby was 
 waited upon by a young lady in a neat brown 
 dress. He was observant, and he saw a red spot 
 burning on each cheek, and he noted that the 
 lips were tightly set. It seemed to him that she 
 was acting as waitress unwillingly, and yet at 
 the same time that she was doing it of her own 
 accord. He did not like to stare at her, and yet 
 lie could hardly take his eyes from her while she 
 was in the room. She was not beautiful exactly, 
 for she was but a slim slip of a girl, and she had 
 coppery hair ; and he had always been taught 
 that red hair was ugly. Yet something about 
 her took his fancy ; perhaps it was her hide- 
 
A WALL STREET WOOIXG 59 
 
 pendent manner, perhaps it was rather her perky 
 self-possession ; perhaps, after all, it was the hu 
 morous expression which lurked in her eyes and 
 at the corner of her mouth. 
 
 He had lingered over his luncheon that noon 
 as long as he could, and then he was reward 
 ed. The man who had first brought him there 
 entered and took a seat beside him. AVhen the 
 young lady in brown came for his order the new 
 comer shook hands with her cordially, and called 
 her "Miss Edna," 
 
 " She used to go to school with my sister," he 
 explained to the young Southwesterner. <e She s 
 up at the Xormal College now, and I ve never 
 seen her. here in the dining-room before. But 
 she has a holiday, and I suppose she thought she 
 ought to help her mother out. It s her mother 
 who cooks, you know and boss cooking it is, 
 too, isn t it ? real home sort of flavor about it." 
 
 Filson Shelby had still delayed his departure ; 
 and as Edna Leisler brought bread and butter, 
 and went back again to the kitchen, his friend s 
 chatter had streamed along. 
 
 lied - hot hair, hasn t she ?" was the next 
 remark. If there was half a dozen more of 
 her you d think it was a torchlight procession, 
 wouldn t you ? But it suits her style, don t it ? 
 Fact is, she s the only red-haired girl I ever saw 
 I didn t hate at sight/ 
 
 It seemed as though he had expected Filson 
 to respond to this, and so the young Southwest- 
 
GO OUTLINES IK LOCAL COLOR 
 
 erner hesitated, and cleared his throat, and ad 
 mitted that her hair was red. 
 
 "Well, it is just," the other returned. "I 
 guess her barber has to wear asbestos gloves, eh ? 
 But she s a good girl, Edna is, if she is a brand 
 from the burning. My sister used to be very 
 fond of her, and I like her myself, though she 
 isn t in our set exactly. I ll introduce you, if 
 you like ?" 
 
 The cable-car now came to a halt sharply to 
 set down passengers for Brooklyn by way of the 
 bridge, but Filson Shelby was wholly unconscious 
 of this. He was busy with the recollection of 
 that winter day when he had stood up with bash 
 ful awkwardness and had heard Edna Leisler say 
 that she was pleased to meet him. lie had the 
 memory also of the next Saturday, when he had 
 gone back to the little low eating-room under 
 the roof in the hope of seeing her again, and of 
 the unaffected frankness of her manner towards 
 him when he met her on the stairway. 
 
 He remembered how simply she had accepted 
 his invitation to go to Central Park to lunch on 
 Washington s Birthday, the first holiday when 
 they were both free, and he remembered, too, 
 what a good time they had up there. It was on 
 that Washington s Birthday that he had first 
 found out that in the eyes of some people red 
 hair was not a blemish, but a beauty. The omni 
 bus in which they came down-town had been so 
 crowded that they were separated, and he heard 
 
A WALL STREET WOOING 61 
 
 one well - dressed man say to his companion : 
 "Did yon ever see such stunning hair as that 
 girl has ? It is like burnished copper except 
 when the sun glints on it, and then it s like spun 
 gold." 
 
 Hitherto he had been willing to overlook her 
 aggressive locks in consideration of her good 
 qualities, but thereafter he came rapidly to ac 
 cept the view of the well-dressed man in the om 
 nibus, and to look upon her red hair as a crown 
 of glory. She did not seem any more attractive 
 to him than she did at first meeting, but he 
 knew now that other men might be attracted 
 also. He wondered whether there were any other 
 men whom she knew as well as she knew him. 
 It seemed to him that they had taken to each 
 other at the start, and they were now very good 
 friends indeed. But there was no reason why 
 she should not have other friends also. 
 
 The current of his retrospection was not so 
 sweeping that he could not follow the course of 
 the cable-car in which he was seated, and just 
 then he saw the brown spire of Trinity Church 
 and heard the clock strike three. He signalled 
 to the conductor, and the car stopped before the 
 church door and at the head of Wall Street. 
 
 As he stood looking down the crooked street, 
 washed white by the rain and looking clean in 
 the April sunshine, he asked himself why he was 
 going to meet Edna Leisler and especially why 
 it was his heart had slowed up at the suggestion 
 
62 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 that perhaps other men were as attentive to her 
 as he was. He was not in love with her, was he ? 
 That she had made New York tolerable to him 
 he was ready to admit, and also that he liked her 
 better than any girl he had ever met. Bat if he 
 was jealous of her, did not that prove that he 
 loved her ? 
 
 These were the questions he propounded as 
 he walked from Broadway to the old building 
 on the top floor of which the Leislers lived. 
 When Edna Leisler came down-stairs to meet 
 him, with her new Easter hat, he knew the an 
 swers to these questions ; he knew that he would 
 be miserable if he were to lose the privilege of 
 her society ; he knew furthermore that he had 
 loved her since the first day he had seen her, 
 even though he had not hitherto suspected it. 
 He knew also that he would never have a better 
 chance to tell her that he loved her than he 
 would have that afternoon ; and while they were 
 shaking hands he made up his mind that before 
 he took her back to her mother s he would get 
 her promise to marry him. 
 
 With this resolve fixed, he took refuge in the 
 commonplace. 
 
 "Am I late ?" he asked. 
 
 "Five minutes/ she answered. "I didn t 
 know but what you were going to April - fool 
 me." 
 
 "Oh, Miss Edna," he cried, "you know I 
 wouldn t do that I" 
 
A WALL STREET WOOING 63 
 
 I didn t think you would really, she laughed 
 back. And I felt sure I could get even with 
 you if you did. 
 
 Thus lightly chatting, they came to the corner 
 of Broad Street. 
 
 " Shall we go down to the Battery ?" he sug 
 gested, thinking that he might find a chance 
 there to say what was in his heart. 
 
 Yes," she assented: - it 11 be first-rate to 
 get a whiff of the salt breeze. It s as warm as 
 spring to-day, isn t it ?" 
 
 In front of the Stock Exchange, and for two 
 or three blocks below, Broad Street was abso 
 lutely bare, except for a little knot of men work 
 ing over a man-hole of the electrical conduit. 
 The ten-story buildings lifted themselves aloft 
 on both sides of the street, without any evidence 
 of life from window or doorway : they were as 
 silent and seemingly empty as though they be 
 longed to a deserted city of the plains. Bar 
 rooms in cellars had bock-beer placards before 
 their closed portals. On the glass panel of the 
 swing-door which admitted the week-day passer 
 by to the Business Men s Quick Lunch there was 
 wafered the bill of fare of the day before, but 
 the door itself was closed tight. So were the en 
 trances to more pretentious restaurants. 
 
 But as Filson Shelby and Edna Leisler went 
 on farther down - town. Broad Street slowly 
 changed its character. There were not so many 
 office buildings and more retail shops ; there 
 
64 OUTLINES IK LOCAL COLOK 
 
 were a few wholesale warehouses ; there were 
 even cheap flat - houses ; and there were more 
 signs of life. Children began to fill the road 
 way and the sidewalks. There were boys on tri 
 cycles, and there were Little Mothers pushing 
 perambulators in which babies lay asleep. There 
 were girls on roller-skates ; and one of these, a 
 tall, lanky child, had a frolicsome black poodle, 
 which pulled her quickly along the sidewalk. 
 
 Seeing some of these things, and not seeing 
 others, and being taken up wholly by their own 
 talk, the young Southwesterner and the New 
 York girl passed through Whitehall Street and 
 came out on the Battery. They walked to the 
 edge of the water, and looked across the waves 
 to the Statue of Liberty holding her torch aloft. 
 An Italian steamer full of immigrants was just 
 coming up from Quarantine. The afternoon was 
 clear, after the rain of the night before, and yet 
 there was a haze on the horizon. The huge 
 grain - elevators over on the Jersey shore stood 
 out against the sky defiantly. 
 
 A fringe of men and women sat on the seats 
 around the grass-plots and along the sea-wall. 
 Many of the women had children in their arms 
 or at their skirts. Most of the men were read 
 ing the gaudily illustrated Sunday newspapers ; 
 some of them were smoking. The sea-breeze 
 blew mildly, with a foretaste of warm weather. 
 The grass-plots were brownish-gray, with but the 
 barest touch of green at the edges, and there was 
 
A WALL STREET WOOING 65 
 
 never a bud yet on any of the skeleton trees. 
 None the less did every one know that the winter 
 was gone for good, and that any day almost the 
 spring might come in with a rush. 
 
 As Filson Shelby looked about him he saw 
 more than one young couple sitting side by side 
 on the benches or sauntering languidly along the 
 winding walks, and he knew that he was not the 
 only young fellow Avho felt the stirring of the 
 season. Xo one of the other girls was as good- 
 looking as Edna, nor as stylish ; he saw this at 
 half a glance. With every minute his desire 
 grew to tell her how dear she was to him. and 
 still he put it off and put it off. Once or twice 
 when she spoke to him he left her remark unan 
 swered, and then hastily begged her pardon -for 
 his rudeness. He did not quite know what he 
 was saying, and he feared that she must think 
 him a fool. He was restless, too, and it seemed 
 to him quite impossible to ask her to marry him 
 in such an exposed place as the Battery. 
 
 " Suppose we go up to Trinity Church ? " he 
 suggested. ei It s always quiet enough in the 
 graveyard there." 
 
 * Isn t it quiet enough here ?" she asked, as 
 they turned their footsteps away from Castle 
 Garden. 
 
 It isn t really noisy, I ll admit," he respond 
 ed : " but I get mighty tired of those elevated 
 trains snorting along over the back of my head, 
 don t you ?" 
 
 5 
 
66 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 She gave him a queer little look out of the 
 corner of her eye, and then she laughed lightly. 
 
 "Oh, well/ she replied, "if you think Trini 
 ty Church Yard is a better place, I don t mind." 
 
 Then her cheeks suddenly flamed crimson, and 
 she turned away her head. 
 
 They were now crossing the barren space un 
 der the elevated railroad, and, as it happened, 
 the young man did not see her swift blush. 
 
 As they skirted the oval of Bowling Green the 
 girl nodded to a gray-coated policeman on guard 
 over the little park. 
 
 "Who s that ?" asked the young man, acutely 
 jealous, although he saw that the officer was not 
 less than fifty years old. 
 
 " That s Mr. O Eourke/ she explained. " lie s 
 Hose O Rourke s father. She was graduated from 
 the Normal College only two years ago, and then 
 she went on the stage. She s getting on splen 
 didly, too. She played Queen Elizabeth last year 
 and didn t she look it ? I m sure she s a great 
 deal handsomer than that old Queen was." 
 
 "But that old Queen," he returned, "wasn t 
 the daughter of a sparrow-cop that s what you 
 call them, don t you ?" 
 
 "/don t call them so," she responded, "for I 
 think it s vulgar to talk slang." 
 
 " But the boys do call a park policeman a spar 
 row-cop, don t they ?" he persisted. 
 
 " The little boys do," she answered, " but I 
 know Mr. O Rourke doesn t like it." 
 
A WALL STREET WOOING 6? 
 
 "I can understand that," he replied. "If I 
 had Queen Elizabeth for a daughter, I think I 
 should want to be a king myself. * 
 
 " Well." the girl went on to explain, " Rose 
 did want him to give up his appointment. She 
 said she was earning enough for her father not 
 to work. But he wouldn t, for all she urged 
 him. She s a kind girl, is Rose, and not a bit 
 stuck-up. She came up to the college last year 
 and recited for us. You should have heard her 
 do "Curfew shall not ring to-night ; I tell you 
 she was splendid." 
 
 " I don t believe she did it any better than you 
 could." he declared. 
 
 " Oh, don t you ?" she returned, heartily ; 
 "that s only because you didn t hear her. And 
 she was very nice to me, too. She complimented 
 me on my piece." 
 
 "What did you speak ?" he asked. 
 
 " Oh, I always choose something fiery and pa 
 triotic. I spoke Sheridan s Ride first, and then, 
 when the girls encored me, I spoke Old Iron 
 sides * but I like f Sheridan s Ride best; and 
 Rose O Rourke said I got more out of it than 
 anybody she had ever heard. But then she al 
 ways was so complimentary." 
 
 " I reckon she knows it s lucky for her you 
 don t go on the stage," the lover asserted. " It 
 would be a cold day for her if you did. I haven t 
 seen her, but I m sure she isn t such a good look 
 er as you are !" 
 
68 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 " Thank you for the compliment/ the girl an 
 swered. " If we weren t here in Broadway, in 
 front of Trinity Church, I d drop you a courtesy. 
 But you wouldn t say that if you had seen her, 
 for she s as pretty as a picture." 
 
 "Do you mean that she is as fresh as paint ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "That s real mean of you/ she retorted, "for 
 Rose doesn t need to paint at all, even on the 
 stage ; she has just the loveliest complexion." 
 
 " She s not the only girl in New York who has 
 a lovely complexion," he declared ; and again 
 the color rose swiftly on her cheek, and then as 
 swiftly faded. 
 
 They had now come to the gates of Trinity 
 Church, and they saw a little stream of men and 
 women pouring in to attend the afternoon ser 
 vice. 
 
 "You must not be down 011 Rose," the girl 
 said, as they turned away from Broadway and 
 began to ramble slowly amid the tombstones. 
 " She s a good friend of mine. She said she d 
 get me an engagement if I d go on the stage 
 
 "But you are not going to?" he broke in, 
 earnestly. 
 
 "I d love to," she answered, calmly. "But 
 I m too big a coward. I d never dare stand up 
 before the people in a great big theatre and feel 
 they were all looking at me." 
 
 " I m glad you re not going to," he declared. 
 
 " It would be too delightful for anything !" 
 
A WALL STREET WOOIXG 69 
 
 she asserted ; "but I d never have the courage. 
 I know I wouldn t, so I ve given up the idea. 
 I ll finish my course at the college, and get my 
 diploma, and then I ll be a teacher that is, if I 
 can get an appointment. But it isn t easy if 
 you haven t any influence ; and father doesn t 
 take any interest in politics, and he doesn t 
 know any of the trustees of this district, and I 
 can t see how I m ever to get into a school. 
 Now Mr. O Kourke could help me if he want 
 ed" 
 
 " The sparrow-cop ?" interrupted the young 
 Southwesterner. "Why, what has he got to do 
 with the public schools ?" 
 
 Mr. O Rourke has a great deal of influence 
 in this ward, I can tell you that." she returned. 
 "He has a pull on more than one of the trus 
 tees. If he were to back me, I d get my position 
 sure ! And maybe I had better go to Rose and 
 ask her for her father s influence. 
 
 They were now almost in the centre of that 
 part of the church-yard which lies above the 
 church, and behind the monument to the Ameri 
 can prisoners who died during the British oc 
 cupancy of New York. The afternoon service 
 was about to begin, and the solemn tones of the 
 organ were audible where they stood. 
 
 It seemed to Filson Shelby that the time had 
 come for him to speak. 
 
 He swallowed a lump in bis throat, and be 
 gan. 
 
70 OUTLINES IIST LOCAL COLOR 
 
 " Miss Edna/ 7 he said, hesitatingly, " why do 
 you want to be a school-teacher ?" 
 
 " To earn my living, to be sure !" she an 
 swered, calmly enough, although the color was 
 rising again on her cheeks. 
 
 "But you don t need ever so many scholars to 
 earn your living, do you ?" he asked, gaining 
 courage slowly. 
 
 "What do you mean ?" she returned, forcing 
 herself to look him in the face. 
 
 " I mean/ he responded, " that I don t see 
 why you couldn t earn your living just as well 
 by having only one scholar 
 
 " Only one scholar ?" she echoed. 
 
 " Yes only one scholar," he declared ; " but 
 you could take him for life. And you could 
 teach him everything that was good and true 
 and beautiful and he would work hard for you, 
 and try and make you happy." 
 
 The color ebbed from her cheeks, but she 
 said nothing. The low notes of the organ were 
 dying away, and on the elevated railroad just 
 behind the young couple a train came hissing 
 along wreathed in swirling steam. 
 
 " I m not worthy of you, Edna ; I know that 
 only too well ; but you can make me ever so 
 much better if you ll only try," he urged. " I 
 love you with my whole heart that s what I ve 
 been trying to say. Will you marry me ?" 
 
 She raised her eyes to his and simply answered, 
 "Yes." 
 
IN TRINITY CHURCH YARD 
 
A WALL STREET WOOING 71 
 
 All hour later, as they were going through the 
 dropping twilight down Wall Street to the old 
 office building, on the top floor of which she 
 lived with her parents, they were still talking of 
 each other, of their united future, and of their 
 separate past. 
 
 When they came to the door and stood at the 
 foot of the five flights of stairs that led up to the 
 janitor s apartment, they had still many things 
 to say to each other. 
 
 What seemed to Filson Shelby most astonish 
 ing was that he should now be engaged to be 
 married, when that very morning he was not 
 even aware of his love for her. And being a 
 very young fellow, and, moreover, being very 
 much in love, he could not keep this astonish 
 ing thing to himself, but must needs tell her. 
 
 Do you know, Edna/ he began, that I 
 must have been in love with you a long while 
 without knowing it ? Isn t that most extraordi 
 nary ? And it was only this morning that I 
 found it out \" 
 
 Standing on the stairs above him, and just 
 out of his reach, she broke into a merry little 
 laugh, and the tendrils of red hair quivered 
 around her broad brow. 
 
 " What are you laughing at ?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, nothing, she answered, and then she 
 laughed again. " At least, not much. It is only 
 because men are so much slower to see things 
 than women are." 
 
72 OUTLINES IN" LOCAL COLOR 
 
 " What do you mean ?" he asked again. 
 
 "Well," she returned, laughing once more, 
 and retreating two or three steps higher up the 
 stairs, " I mean that you say you only found out 
 this morning that you were in love with me 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "Well," she continued, making ready for 
 flight, "I found it out more than two months 
 ago." 
 
 (1895) 
 
i "-***^ 
 
 ; y^gQ^s^ : *^" 
 
 r= 
 
 !! ^ in ~ ills l S Hi a Hi 
 
 crtood in 
 
 cJozoadwau 
 
 u 
 
 V 
 
he came down the steps of his sis 
 ter s little house, that first Saturday 
 in May, he saw before him the fresh 
 greenery of the grass in Stuyvesant 
 Square and the delicate blossoms 
 on its sparse bushes and the young leaves on its 
 trees : and he felt in himself also the subtle in 
 fluences of the spring-tide. The sky was cloud 
 less, serene, and unfathomably blue. The sun 
 shone clearly, and the shadows it cast were al 
 ready lengthening along the street. The gen 
 tle breeze blew hesitatingly. He heard the in 
 articulate shriek of the hawker bearing a tray 
 containing a dozen square boxes of strawberries 
 and walking near a cart piled high with crates. 
 When he crossed Third Avenue he noticed that a 
 white umbrella had flowered out over the raised 
 chair of the Italian boot-black at the corner. A 
 butcher-boy, with basket on arm, was lingering 
 at a basement door in lively banter with a good- 
 looking Irish cook. A country wagon, full of 
 growing plants, crawled down the street while 
 the vender bawled forth the cheapness of his 
 wares. 
 
 There were other signs of the season at Union 
 Square the clingy landaus with their tops half 
 
76 OUTLINES IX LOCAL COLOR 
 
 open, the flowers bedded out in bright profusion,, 
 the aquatic plants adorning the broad basin of 
 the fountain, the pigeons wooing and cooing lan 
 guidly, the sparrows energetically flirting and 
 fighting, the young men and maidens walking 
 slowly along the curving paths and smiling in 
 each other s faces. To Harry Grant, just home 
 from a long winter in the bleak Northwest, it 
 seemed as though man and nature were alike 
 rejoicing in the rising of the sap and the bour 
 geoning of spring. It was as though the pulse 
 of the strong city were beating more swiftly and 
 with renewed youth. Harry Grant felt his own 
 heart rejoice that he was back again amid the 
 sights he loved, within a stone s -throw of the 
 house where he was born, within pistol-shot of 
 the residence of the girl he was now going at 
 last to ask to marry him. 
 
 It was nearly a year since he had last seen her, 
 but he knew she would greet him as cordially 
 as she had always done. That Winifred was a 
 good friend of his he knew well enough ; what 
 he did not know at all Avas whether or not the 
 friendship had changed to love on her part also. 
 He could hardly recall the time when he had 
 not known her. He could distinctly remember 
 the occasion when he had first told her that he 
 intended to marry her when he was grown up 
 that was on a spring day like this, and he was 
 seven and she was five, and they were playing 
 together in Gramercy Park while their nurses fol- 
 
A SPRING FLOOD IX BROADWAY 77 
 
 lowed them slowly around the enclosure. Xow 
 he was twenty-three and she was twenty-one ; 
 and in all these sixteen years there had been no 
 day when he had not looked forward to their 
 marriage. Of course, when he had grown to be 
 a big boy and had been sent away to boarding- 
 school, he had been ashamed to talk about such 
 things. But when he went to college he had 
 gazed ahead four years and almost fixed on the 
 day he intended to propose. 
 
 Then his father had died, and the family af 
 fairs were left in inexplicable confusion. His 
 uncle had offered to pay Harry s way through 
 Columbia, but he was in a haste to be indepen 
 dent, to make his own path, to have a position 
 which he could ask Winifred to share. He found 
 a place at once in the office of a great dry-goods 
 house : and he had been so successful there that 
 one of their customers had offered him induce 
 ments to go out to a swiftly growing city in the 
 new Northwest. Two years had Harry Grant 
 spent out there two years of hard work amid 
 men who were all toiling mightily and who were 
 capable of appreciating his youthful energy. 
 Xow he was back again in Xew York to act as 
 the Eastern representative of the chief capitalist 
 of the Northwestern city, an old man. who liked 
 Harry, and who saw how useful his address and 
 his character might be. The position was oner 
 ous for a man so young ; but it was honorable 
 also, and the salary was liberal even from a Xew 
 
78 OUTLIKES IK LOCAL COLOR 
 
 York standpoint. At last he was again able to 
 look at life from the point of view of a New- 
 Yorker. At last he was ready to ask her to share 
 his life. 
 
 He was in no hurry for the moment,, as he 
 could not make sure of rinding her at home un 
 til nearly five o clock, and it was now barely four 
 by the transparent dial which Atlas bore on his 
 back in the jeweller s upper window on the op 
 posite side of the square. He crossed Broadway 
 at Fourteenth Street, and there he was caught up 
 at once and swept along by the spring-flood roll 
 ing up from down-town that beautiful afternoon 
 in May. The windows of the florists were lovely 
 with Easter lilies and fragrant with branches of 
 lilac. The windows of the confectioners were 
 gay with gaudy Easter eggs and with elaborate 
 chocolate rabbits. Young girls pressed giggling 
 through the doors to stand packed beside the 
 soda-water fountains. Elderly men lingered at 
 the street corners to stare at the young women. 
 
 Within an hour or two at the most Harry 
 Grant intended to ask Winifred to be his wife, 
 and as he saw the dread question so close before 
 him he could not but wonder what the answer 
 would be. Winifred liked him that much he 
 felt sure about. Whether she loved him, even a 
 little, that he could not venture to guess. She 
 had sturdy common-sense and she was self- 
 reliant, he knew well, and yet he could not help 
 fearing that perhaps the influence of her grand- 
 
A SPRIXG FLOOD IX BROADWAY 79 
 
 mother had been more powerful than he wished. 
 It was possible, of course, that the restless and 
 ambitious old lady had inoculated her young 
 granddaughter with some of her own dissatisfac 
 tion. 
 
 As Harry s circumstances had changed since 
 they were boy and girl together, so had Wini 
 fred s. Her father had died also, and then her 
 grandfather, leaving a very large fortune to his 
 widow, and Winifred had gone to live with her 
 grandmother, Mrs. Winston-Smith. (It was her 
 grandmother who had put the hyphen into the 
 name, and who had insisted on its adoption by 
 the son and the granddaughter.) That Mrs. 
 Winston-Smith did not like him. Harry Grant 
 kne\v only too well, or, at least, that she did not 
 approve of him as a possible suitor for the hand 
 of Miss Winston-Smith. She thought that her 
 granddaughter ought to make a brilliant mar 
 riage. She had been heard to say that in Eng 
 land Winifred would have no difficulty in marry 
 ing a title. She had taken her granddaughter 
 to London the season before, and they had been 
 presented at court, to go afterwards on a round 
 of country-house visits, returning late to finish 
 the summer at Lenox. 
 
 All this Harry knew from the newspapers ; 
 but what Winifred had thought of it all he did 
 not know, for he had not seen her since the day 
 before her departure for England. And that 
 interview itself had been in the presence of the 
 
80 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 grandmother and of two or three casual callers. 
 Really he had not had chance of speech with the 
 woman he had loved for three years ever since 
 Mrs. Winston -Smith had asked him to dinner 
 one night, only to take him into the library and 
 to tell him that she saw that he was attracted 
 by Winifred, and no wonder, but that he must 
 give up the hope of winning her. Mrs. Winston- 
 Smith was some sixty -years old at the time of 
 this talk with Harry Grant, and she was a very 
 stately dame, with no lack of manner, but she 
 could, if she chose, express herself with absolute 
 frankness and directness. On that occasion she 
 had seen fit to be perfectly plain-spoken. She 
 had told him that Winifred had been used to 
 luxury and could not do without it, and that if 
 Winifred married against her wishes she would 
 give all her money to the new cathedral, cutting 
 the girl off without a cent. She asked Harry if 
 he did not think it would be very selfish of him 
 to press his suit when its success would mean 
 the misery of the woman he pretended to love. 
 She reminded him that his own income was 
 meagre, and that he had no prospects. If, then, 
 Winifred had no money, how could she as his 
 wife have all the luxuries to which she was ac 
 customed, and which had now become necessi 
 ties ? Of course she did not admit that Wini 
 fred was in any way interested in him. In fact, 
 she hoped and trusted that the girl s affections 
 were in no way engaged ; and she relied on Mr. 
 
A SPRIXG FLOOD IX BROADWAY 81 
 
 Grant s good sense and on his unwillingness to 
 be so brutally selfish. After all, Winifred was a 
 mere child, and had seen nothing of the world 
 as yet. 
 
 Harry Grant had made no promises to Mrs. 
 Winston -Smith, but he had felt the force of 
 some of her arguments. Plainly he had no right 
 to ask the woman he loved to give up everything 
 for his sake ; and as plainly he had no wish to 
 live on any money her grandmother might give 
 her. He meant, more than ever, to win her for 
 his wife : but he saw clearly that he must make 
 himself independent first. To be able to give 
 her a home not unworthy of her he had worked 
 hard all these years. At last he had succeeded, 
 and he was in a position to ask her to marry him 
 without at the same time asking her to surrender 
 the most of the little comforts which made her 
 life easy. With the salary he had now he could 
 make her comfortable, even if her grandmother 
 chose to take offence and cut her off without a 
 cent. There was no false pride about the young 
 fellow, and he did not pretend to himself that 
 he did not care whether or not the grandmother 
 carried out her threat. He was well aware that 
 life would be very much pleasanter if Mrs. Win 
 ston-Smith should accept the situation and make 
 the best of it, and give her granddaughter an 
 adequate allowance. 
 
 Then, as these thoughts ran through his head, 
 he smiled at his own fatuity in taking Winifred s 
 
82 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 consent for granted in this summary fashion. 
 What Mrs. Winston-Smith said or did mattered 
 little. What was of vital importance was Wini 
 fred s own answer to his question. He could not 
 but recognize that to call on a young lady after 
 a year s separation and to ask her in marriage, 
 suddenly, without warning, was an unusual pro 
 ceeding. And yet that was just what he was 
 going to do ; and he found himself musing over 
 schemes for getting her away from her grand 
 mother and from any chance visitors. He tried 
 to devise a means of luring her into the library 
 or of coaxing her into the conservatory. He 
 cared not how soon they might be interrupted ; 
 he knew what he had to say, and he was prepared 
 to say it briefly. Five minutes would be time 
 enough five minutes, if he could but have 
 them clear. When a man has been wanting for 
 years to be able to put a simple question, it ought 
 not to take him long to say the needful words ; 
 and he knew that Winifred would not keep him 
 waiting for his answer. Whether it was to be 
 yes or no, she would know her own mind, and 
 be ready and willing to accept him at once or to 
 reject him with as little hesitation. 
 
 He had been keeping pace with the throng 
 that was sweeping massively up-town, but as the 
 fear seized him that, after all, he had little rigbt 
 to think she might love him, he lengthened his 
 stride in futile impatience to get his answer 
 sooner. He glanced up at Tiffany s clock, then 
 
A SPRIXG FLOOD IX BROADWAY 83 
 
 almost over his head, and he slackened his speed 
 as he saw that it was not vet five minutes past 
 four, lie had at least half an hour to wait be 
 fore he could hope to find her at home. 
 
 Then, most unexpectedly, he was favored with 
 fortune. The foremost of the carriages drawn 
 up in Fifteenth Street alongside the jeweller s 
 was a handsome coupe, in which a young lady 
 was sitting alone. As Harry Grant drew near 
 to the corner his glance fell on this coupe, and 
 at that moment the young lady looked up. He 
 saw that it was Winifred. As their eyes met a 
 swift blush bloomed in her face, and faded as 
 speedily. She smiled and held out her hand and 
 laughed happily as he sprang to the door of the 
 carriage. 
 
 Winifred !" he cried. 
 
 " Harry !" she answered. 
 
 " I didn t expect to see you here !" he de 
 clared. 
 
 " Is that the reason you are here, then ?" she 
 returned. 
 
 He made no reply. He could not take his 
 eyes from her. In his delight at seeing her again 
 he had nothing to say. 
 
 Well ?" she asked, when she thought he had 
 stared enough. 
 
 Well," he answered. ! couldn t help it. 
 You are prettier than ever." 
 
 Again a flush flitted across her face, fainter 
 this time, and fleeting sooner. 
 
84 OUTLIKES IK LOCAL COLOR 
 
 "That s a very direct compliment, don t you 
 think ?" she retorted, withdrawing her hand, 
 which he had kept clasped in his own. "And 
 yon are looking well, too. Your life out West 
 there is good for you. I don t wonder you pre 
 fer it to this noisy old New York of ours." 
 
 " But I don t prefer it," he declared, hotly. 
 "A week of New York is worth a year of the 
 whole wide West put together. And I ve done 
 with all that now. I ve come back here for good 
 now 
 
 " Have you really ?" she responded, as he hesi 
 tated, having so much to say that he did not 
 know where to begin. 
 
 "I got back this morning," he explained, 
 "and I was coming to see you this afternoon. 
 I ve I ve so many things to tell you." 
 
 She looked at him for a second, and then she 
 glanced away, as she said : " You will have to 
 talk very fast, then, if you have so many things 
 to tell me. We are going to sail on Tuesday 
 morning, and this afternoon we are off to Tuxedo 
 for over Sunday." 
 
 "You sail on Tuesday ?" he cried, despairing 
 ly. " Just when I have come back on purpose 
 to see you again !" 
 
 " You didn t telegraph grandma that you were 
 coming, or she might have made other arrange 
 ments," the young woman retorted, with a little 
 la ugh . 
 
 "And if you are going to Tuxedo to-night," 
 
WINIFRED ! HE CRIED " 
 
A SPRIXG FLOOD IX BROADWAY 85 
 
 he continued, paying no heed to this ironic sug 
 gestion, -then you won t be at home this after 
 noon ?" 
 
 "Xo," she answered; "we shall be back just 
 in time to dress and get away to the train. 
 Grandma has two or three errands to do first- 
 she s inside there arranging about some silver 
 things she wants to take over with us." 
 
 " But I must see you to-day," he pleaded. 
 
 "Aren t you seeing me now?" she returned, 
 as the blush rose again and fell. 
 
 " But I ve got something I want to say to 
 you !" he urged. 
 
 (i Won t it keep till Monday afternoon ?" she 
 asked, with another light laugh ; but beneath the 
 levity there was more than a hint of feeling. 
 
 "Xo,"he declared; "it won t keep an hour 
 longer, for it s been kept too many years already. 
 Fve come here on purpose to tell you something 
 and I must do it to-day !" 
 
 " If it s something you want to tell grand 
 ma " she began, as if to gain time. 
 
 " But it isn t," he returned, leaning his head 
 almost inside the open window of the carriage. 
 " It s you I want to talk to not to your grand 
 mother." 
 
 "Then," said she, with a subtle change of 
 manner, " if it is something you don t want 
 grandma to hear, don t try to say it now, for 
 here she comes." 
 
 Harry Grant gave a hasty glance behind him, 
 
86 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 and he recognized the stately figure of Mrs. 
 Winston-Smith in conversation with one of the 
 salesmen just inside the door of the great store. 
 
 "Winifred," he said, pleadingly, taking her 
 hand again, " where can I see you again, if only 
 for a minute only a minute ? That s enough 
 for what I want !" 
 
 Winifred looked at him and then down at her 
 ringers. She hesitated, and finally she answered : 
 
 "I think I heard grandma say she was going 
 to the florist s before she went home that florist 
 in Broadway near Daly s, you know. She has a 
 lot of things to order there, and I shall sit in 
 the carriage." 
 
 "Til take the cable-car and be there waiting 
 for you," he responded. 
 
 " Don t let grandma see you," she cried; 
 "that is well " 
 
 Then she sank back on the cushions of the 
 carriage, for Mrs. Winston-Smith was about to 
 leave the store. 
 
 Harry Grant had caught sight of the old lady 
 in time. He stepped away from the carriage, and, 
 passing behind it, crossed to the other side of 
 the street without giving Winifred s grandmoth 
 er a chance to recognize him. 
 
 He waited on the opposite corner until Mrs. 
 Winston-Smith took her place in the coupe beside 
 her granddaughter, and until the carriage was 
 turned and had started towards Fifth Avenue. 
 
 Then he crossed the broad space nearly to the 
 
A SPRING FLOOD IX BROADWAY 8? 
 
 edge of the park and jumped on the first car that 
 came rushing around the curve. The platform 
 was crowded, but he took no heed of the men 
 who were pressed against him. 
 
 His thoughts were elsewhere and his heart was 
 full of hope ; it was attuned to the gladness of 
 the spring-time. He did not see the young men 
 and maidens who flocked thickly up Broadway ; 
 he saw Winifred only ; he saw her face, her eyes, 
 her smile of welcome. He was to see her again, 
 at once almost, and he could tell her then how he 
 loved her, and he could ask her if she would not 
 try to love him. What if the only chance he 
 should have was in the street itself ? Only the 
 proposal itself was of importance, the place mat 
 tered nothing. Perhaps the imconventionality of 
 the proceeding even added zest to it. There was 
 unconventionality in the frankness with which 
 she had made the appointment. It was this 
 frankness partly which made his heart leap with 
 hope, and partly if was the welcome he thought 
 he had read in her eyes when their glances met 
 first. 
 
 The car sped on its way, stopping at almost 
 every corner to take on and to let off men and 
 women, who brushed against Harry Grant and 
 whom he did not see, so absorbed was he in 
 going over every word of his brief dialogue with 
 the girl he loved. On the sidewalks were thick 
 throngs of brightly dressed women looking into 
 the windows of the shops, where were displayed 
 
88 OUTLINES IK LOCAL COLOR 
 
 brilliant parasols and trim yachting costumes 
 and summer stuffs in lightsome colors. 
 
 As the car crossed Fifth Avenue he saw the 
 carriage of Mrs. Winston - Smith only a block 
 away. He recognized the coachman upright 
 on the box, and then all at once he wondered 
 what the coachman must have thought of his 
 talk through the open window, and of his abrupt 
 appearance. He smiled indeed he laughed 
 gently for what did he care what the coachman 
 might think, or anybody else ? It was what she 
 thought which was of importance, and nothing 
 else mattered at all. And again he was seized 
 with impatience to see her once and to tell her 
 that he loved her, and to get her answer. The 
 car was going swiftly, but it seemed to him to 
 crawl. The coachman on the avenue was driv 
 ing briskly, but Harry Grant was ready to re 
 buke the man for his sluggishness. 
 
 At last the car passed the door of the florist s 
 Winifred had described. Its window was filled 
 with azaleas massed with an artistic instinct al 
 most Japanese. Harry Grant rode to the corner 
 above and walked back very slowly, loitering 
 before a shop window, but wholly unconscious 
 of the spring neck-wear therein displayed. Two 
 minutes later he saw Mrs. Winston - Smith s 
 carriage coming down Twenty-ninth Street. It 
 turned into Broadway and stopped before the flo 
 rist s wide window. Mrs. Winston-Smith got out 
 and ordered the coachman to wait at the corner. 
 
A SPRING FLOOD IX BROADWAY 89 
 
 She had disappeared inside the florist s before 
 the coupe drew up in the side street. 
 
 As the coachman reined in his horses Harry 
 Grant stepped up to the open window. 
 
 " Winifred * he began. 
 
 "Oh!" she cried, "you are here already?" 
 and again the blush crossed her face. 
 
 "Winifred," he repeated, leaning his head in 
 side the carriage, "I may have only a minute to 
 say what I have to say, and I know this isn t the 
 right place to say it, either, but I have no choice, 
 for I may not have another chance. I have 
 waited so long that I simply must speak now." 
 
 He paused for a moment. She said nothing, 
 but she rubbed the back of her glove as though 
 to wear away a speck of dirt. 
 
 Winnie," he went on, what I want to say 
 is simple enough. I love you. Surely you must 
 know that ?" 
 
 " Yes," she answered, raising her eyes to his, 
 "I know that." 
 
 Then it s easier forme to go on. You know 
 me ; you know all about me ; you know all my 
 faults, or most of them anyway ; you know I 
 love you. Do you think you could ever love me 
 a little in return ? I will try so hard to deserve 
 it. I ve been working ever since I was seven 
 teen to make money enough to be able to ask 
 you to marry me. I ve got a good position now, 
 one that I m not ashamed to ask you to share. 
 Will you ? Will you marry me, Winnie ?" 
 
90 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 Before she con Id make any answer, Harry 
 Grant heard the voice of Mrs. Winston-Smith 
 behind him saying to the coachman, "Home !" 
 
 He stepped hack and found himself face to 
 face with her. 
 
 " It s Mr. Grant, isn t it ?" she said, with a 
 haughty inclination of her head. "It s very 
 good of you to amuse Winifred while I was in 
 the shop. I d ask you to come and have a cup 
 of tea with us, but we are off to Tuxedo. And 
 we sail on Tuesday; perhaps Winifred told 
 you." 
 
 She stood there, expecting him to open the 
 carriage door for her. It was the least he could 
 do, and he did it. But he could find no words 
 to respond to her conventional conversation. 
 He looked at Winifred, and -he saw that the 
 color was deepening on her cheeks, and that her 
 eyes were very bright. 
 
 " Grandma," she said, when at last Mrs. Win 
 ston-Smith was seated beside her " Grandma," 
 she repeated, loud enough for the young man 
 to hear as he stood by the open window, " Harry 
 has asked me to marry him and you came out 
 just before I had time to tell him that I would !" 
 
 (1895) 
 
SlbcZDewelt gfutzo 
 
the third time that afternoon the 
 young man stood before the window 
 of the post - office to ask the same 
 question and to receive the same 
 answer : 
 
 " Has any letter come for McDowell Sutro ? v 
 
 "No." 
 
 This time he persisted, for he could not take 
 no for an answer at that late hour of the day. 
 
 Are you sure ?" he asked, urgently. 
 
 "Certain sure." was the answer that came 
 through the window. 
 
 .Will there be another mail from California 
 to-night ?" he inquired, clutching a last hope. 
 
 Xot to-night/ responded the clerk. 
 
 The young man stood there for a second, star 
 ing unconsciously into the window, and not see 
 ing anybody or anything. Then he turned slow 
 ly to go. 
 
 The clerk knew that look on the face of men 
 who asked for letters, and he had a movement of 
 kindness. 
 
 Say, young feller ! v he called, brusquely. 
 
 McDowell Stitro faced about instantly, with a 
 swift flash of hope. 
 
 If you re expecting money in that letter, 
 
94 OUTLINES IK LOCAL COLOR 
 
 maybe it s registered," suggested the clerk. 
 "Ask over there in the corner." 
 
 " Thank you/ the young man answered, grate 
 fully ; and he walked to the window in the cor 
 ner with expectation again lighting his face. 
 
 But there was no registered letter for McDow 
 ell Sutro, and there could none arrive before 
 the next morning. And as the handsome young 
 Californian left the post-office he knew that he 
 had hardly a right even to hope that the letter 
 he was asking for should ever arrive. 
 
 He stepped out on Fifth Avenue ; and though 
 a warm June wind blew balmily up from Wash 
 ington Square, his heart was chill within him. 
 He shivered as he wondered what he was to do 
 now. He knew no one in New York, and he 
 had not a cent in his pocket. 
 
 In his youth he had expected to inherit a fort 
 une, and so he learned no trade and studied no 
 profession. He had taught himself how to be 
 idle elegantly ; he had never planned how to earn 
 his own living. Perhaps this was the reason why 
 he had failed to find any work to do during the 
 two gliding weeks since he had suddenly been 
 brought face to face with his final ten-dollar bill. 
 
 He had 110 more resources than he had friends. 
 His trunk, with the little clothing he owned, was 
 still at the boarding-house he had left ten days be 
 fore ; it was held by the landlady till he paid her 
 what he owed. His modest jewelry had been 
 pawned, bit by bit. 
 
THE VIGIL OF McDOWELL SUTRO 95 
 
 It was now about seven in the evening, and 
 he had had no food since the coffee and cakes 
 taken perhaps twelve hours earlier, and bought 
 with the last dime left him after he had paid 
 for his night s lodging. Having walked all day, 
 he was weary and hungry, and he had no idea 
 how he could get a roof over his head once again 
 or fill his stomach once more. He had heard of 
 men and women starving to death in the streets 
 of Xew York, and he found himself inquiring if 
 that were to be his fate. 
 
 Xot guiding his steps consciously, he went up 
 Fifth Avenue to the corner of Fourteenth Street, 
 and then turned towards Broadway. The long 
 June day was drawing to an end. Behind his 
 back the red sun was settling down slowly. The 
 street was crowded with cars and with carts ; and 
 people hurried along, eager to be with their fam 
 ilies, and giving no attention to the homeless 
 young man they brushed against. 
 
 When he came to Broadway it seemed to him as 
 though the rush and the tumult redoubled, and 
 as though the men and the women who passed 
 him were being tossed to and fro by invisible 
 breakers. The roar of the city rose all about 
 him ; it smote on his tired ears like the deafen 
 ing crash of the surf after a northeaster. He 
 likened himself to a spent swimmer about to have 
 the life beaten out of him by the pounding of the 
 waves, and certain sooner or later to be cast up 
 on the beach, a stripped and bruised corpse. 
 
96 OUTLINES IK LOCAL COLOR 
 
 So vividly did he picture this that involun 
 tarily he straightened himself and drew a long 
 breath. He was a good-looking young fellow, 
 with a graceful brown mustache curling over his 
 weak mouth. As he stood there, erect as though 
 ready to fight for his life, more than one woman 
 passing briskly along the street let his figure fill 
 her eye with pleasure. 
 
 The cable^cars whisked around the curves be 
 fore him, and beyond them he beheld the green 
 fairness of Union Square. The freshness of its 
 foliage as he saw it through the darksome twi 
 light attracted him. He crossed cautiousl}-, keep 
 ing a sharp lookout for the cars, and smiling as 
 he noted how careful he was of his life, now lie 
 did not know how he was to sustain it. 
 
 As he stood at last in the verdant oasis in the 
 centre of the square, suddenly the electric light 
 whitewashed the pavement, and his unexpected 
 shadow lay black and sprawling under his feet. 
 He looked up, startled, and he saw the infinite 
 arch of the sky curving over him clear, cloud 
 less, and illimitable. The faint sickle of the new 
 moon hung low on the horizon. A towering 
 building thrust its thin height into the air, and 
 the yellow lights in its upper windows seemed 
 like square panels inlaid in the deep blue of the 
 sky. The beauty of the moment lifted him out 
 of his present misery, and he was glad to be 
 alive. The plash of the fountain fell on his ears 
 and charmed them. The broad leaves of the 
 
THE VIGIL OF MCDOWELL SUTRO 97 
 
 aquatic plants swayed languidly as a gentle breeze 
 blew across the surface of the water. 
 
 With a sigh of relief. McDowell Sutro dropped 
 upon one of the park benches. Until he sat down 
 he did not know how tired he was. His feet 
 ached, and his stomach cried for food. And yet 
 he was stout of heart. If I ve got to spend a 
 night a la belle etoile" he said to himself, " I 
 could have no better luck. There are beautiful 
 stars a-plenty this evening. It s like that night 
 in Venice when Tom Pixley and I took the two 
 Morton girls out in our gondolas,, and their aunt 
 couldn t find us. I remember we had had a good 
 dinner at Florian s, with an immense dish of ri 
 sotto milanexe so big we had to leave some. I 
 wish I had the chance again. I could finish it 
 now if it was twice as much. * 
 
 Over on Fourth Avenue, behind the eques 
 trian statue of George Washington, there was a 
 Hungarian restaurant, and from his bench at the 
 edge of the grass McDowell Sutro could see the 
 table right in tho window at which an old man 
 and a young woman were having dinner. He 
 could follow every movement of their hands ; he 
 could count every mouthful they ate. At last 
 he could bear it no longer, and he changed his 
 seat to a bench nearer Broadway. Here he found 
 himself facing another eating-room, in the broad 
 windows of which, many kinds of food were al 
 luringly displayed. Men came out and lirlgered 
 in the door-way long enough to light a cigarette. 
 
98 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 When McDowell Sutro noted this, the crav 
 ing for tobacco seized him. A smoke would not 
 stay his stomach., but it would be a solace none 
 the less. lie rose to his feet and felt in all his 
 pockets, in the vain hope that his fingers might 
 touch some overlooked fragment of a cigar. 
 There was something at the bottom of one of the 
 pockets of his coat, but it mocked him by re 
 vealing itself as a match. He sank down on the 
 bench and turned his eyes away from the res 
 taurant, for he could not bear to gaze on the 
 cakes and pies piled up behind the plate-glass, 
 or to observe the smoke curling up from the lips 
 of men who had eaten and drunk abundantly. 
 
 There was a bar-room under the hotel on the 
 corner of Broadway, and every now and then two 
 or three men pushed inside the swinging doors, 
 to reappear five or ten minutes later. Farther 
 down Broadway stood a theatre, and there was 
 now a throng about its broad door-way. An 
 other theatre faced the square, gay with pris 
 matic signs and besprinkled with electric lights. 
 McDowell Sutro watched men and women step 
 up to the box-office of this place of amusement 
 and buy their tickets and disappear within. He 
 wondered why these men and women should 
 have money to spare on a show, when he had 
 not enough to pay for a meal and a night s 
 lodging. 
 
 Perhaps it was the fatigue of his useless day, 
 and perhaps it was the hypnotic influence of the 
 
THE VIGIL OF MCDOWELL SUTRO 99 
 
 revolving lights before the variety theatre, which 
 caused the lonely young man to fall asleep. How 
 long he slept he did not know, nor what waked 
 him at last. But he had a doubtful memory of 
 a human touch upon his body, and three of his 
 pockets were turned inside out. When he dis 
 covered this, he laughed outright. The attempt 
 to rob him then struck him as the funniest thing 
 that had ever happened. 
 
 He must have slept for two or three hours 
 at least, for the appearance of the square had 
 changed. It was no longer evening ; it was now 
 night. While he looked about him he saw the 
 doors of the theatre in Broadway pushed open, 
 and the audience began to pour forth. A few 
 moments later little knots of the play - goers 
 passe.d him, still laughing with remembrance of 
 the farce they had been witnessing. In another 
 quarter of an hour the people began to come out 
 of the other theatre, the variety show on the 
 square, and the lights that flared above the door 
 way went out, all at once. 
 
 It was nearly midnight when two men sat down 
 on the bench of which McDowell Sutro had been 
 the sole occupant hitherto. They were tall and 
 thin, both of them ; they were clean - shaven ; 
 their clothes were shabby ; and yet they carried 
 themselves with an indescribable air. as though 
 they were accustomed to brave the gaze of the 
 world. 
 
 Xo." said the elder of the two. continuing 
 
100 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 their conversation, "she s no good. She has a 
 figure like a flat-iron and a voice like a fog-horn, 
 hasn t she ? Well, there s no draft in that, is 
 there ? She s a Jonah, that s what she is, and 
 she d hoo-doo any show. Why, the last time I 
 was on the road she tried to queer my act. I 
 called her down right there and then, and when 
 the star hacked her up, I was going to give my 
 two weeks notice ; and I d have done it, too, 
 but I was playing cases then, and I didn t want 
 to come back here walking on my uppers. But 
 if I had quit, they d have closed in a month, I 
 tell you ! They didn t know who was drawing 
 the money to their old show ; but I did ! You 
 ought to have been in the one - night towns 
 on the oil circuit and heard me do Shamus 
 O Brien. That used to fetch em every night 
 I tell you it did ! And it used to make her 
 tired !" 
 
 "Did you ever see me play Laertes ?" asked 
 the younger. " I did it first in Frisco in 72, 
 when Larry Barrett came out there. Well, while 
 I was on the stage with him, Hamlet didn t get 
 a hand. I ve got a notice here now that said I 
 was the Greatest Living Laertes." 
 
 " I played lago once with Larry Barrett," said 
 the first speaker, "and I gave them such a real 
 istic impersonation they used to hiss me off the 
 stage almost." 
 
 " Have a cigarette ?" asked the other, holding 
 out a package. 
 
THE VIGIL OF MCDOWELL SUTRO 101 
 
 (( Don t care if I do," was the answer. " I ve 
 got a match. 7 
 
 That s lucky, for I haven t/" said the owner 
 of the cigarettes. ; ;\: 
 
 Well, I haven t, after all." the elder actor had 
 to confess, after a vain se3>ch ih hh.p^tfj^ts. / " 
 
 Let me provide the match," broke in McDow 
 ell Sutro. * I ve only one, but it s at your ser 
 vice. 
 
 Thank you/ was the response. "Can I not 
 offer you a cigarette ?" 
 
 " I don t care if I do." the young man answer 
 ed, involuntarily repeating the phrase he had 
 just heard, as he thrust out his hand eagerly. 
 
 The first whiff of the smoke was like meat 
 and drink to him ; and in the sensuous enjoy 
 ment of the luxury he almost neglected to re 
 spond to the remark addressed to him. But in 
 a minute he found himself chatting with the 
 two actors pleasantly. Although they had been 
 to California more than once, they knew none 
 of his friends ; but it cheered merely to hear 
 again the names of familiar landmarks. There 
 was more than a suggestion of haughtiness in the 
 way they both condescended to him ; but he did 
 not resent this, even if he remarked it. Human 
 companionship was sweet to him : and to drop 
 into a chat with casual strangers on a bench in 
 Union Square at midnight, even this diminished 
 the desolation of his loneliness. 
 
 The talk lasted perhaps a quarter of an hour, 
 
102 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 and then the two other men rose to go. Mc 
 Dowell Sutro stood up also, as though he were 
 at home and they were his guests. 
 
 "Ccme over -and. have a drink," said the elder 
 of the two-. .... . 
 
 Arid again the yptmg- man answered, " I don t 
 care if I do." 
 
 He would rather have had food than drink, 
 but he could not tell two strangers that he -was 
 hungry. 
 
 As they passed before the statue of Lafay 
 ette and crossed the car tracks, he wondered 
 whether the saloon where they were going to 
 was one of those which set out a free lunch. 
 
 When they entered the bar-room his eyes swept 
 it wolfishly, and then fixed themselves at the 
 end of the counter, where there were broad 
 dishes with cheese and crackers and sandwiches. 
 He could hardly control himself ; he wanted to 
 rush there and snatch the food and devour it. 
 But shame kept him standing near the door with 
 the two actors, though his gaze was fastened on 
 the dishes only a few feet from him. 
 
 The barkeeper set the bottle before them, and 
 they poured out the liquor. Then they looked 
 at each other and said, "How !" 
 
 The elder actor half finished his drink at a 
 single gulp. As he set down his glass he caught 
 McDowell Sutro staring at the free lunch. 
 
 "That s not a bad idea," he said, moving along 
 the bar "not half bad. I ll take a sandwich 
 
THE VIGIL OF MCDOWELL SUTRO 103 
 
 myself. I feel a bit hollow to-night. I got three 
 encores after I gaye them the Pride of Battery 
 B, and I need something to build me up. Have 
 a sandwich ?" 
 
 "I don t care if I do/" responded the hungry 
 man, as his fingers closed on the bread. Yet when 
 he took the first mouthful it almost choked him. 
 
 Five minutes later he had said good-night to 
 his two chance acquaintances and he Avas again 
 back in the square. The scant food he had been 
 able to take lay hard in his stomach, and the 
 liquor he had drunk, little as that was also, was 
 yet enough to make his head whirl. He did not 
 walk unsteadily, although he was conscious that 
 it took an effort for him to carry himself with 
 out swerving. 
 
 The bench on which he had been sitting was 
 now occupied by four very young men in even 
 ing dress, who were gravely smoking pipes, as 
 though they were trying to acquire a taste for 
 this novel pastime. So he went to the centre 
 of the square, where he stood for a while looking 
 at the aquatic plants and listening to the spurtle 
 of the fountain. 
 
 All the seats around the fountain were occu 
 pied by men and women, most of whom seemed to 
 have settled themselves for the night, as though 
 they were used to sleeping there. McDowell 
 Sutro found himself speculating whether he, too, 
 would soon be accustomed to spending his nights 
 in the open air, without a roof over him. 
 
104 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 One solid German had fallen into a slumber 
 so heavy that his snore became a lond snort. 
 Then a gray-coated policeman waked the sleeper 
 by smiting the soles of his feet with the club. 
 
 "This park ain t no bedroom/ said the police 
 man, " and I ain t goin to have you fellows 
 goin to sleep here either ! See ?" 
 
 After walking three or four times around on 
 the outer circle of the little park, the young man 
 found a vacant seat on a bench near the corner 
 of Broadway and Seventeenth Street. The brill 
 iantly lighted cable-cars still glided swiftly up 
 and down Broadway with their insistent gongs, 
 but they were now fewer and fewer ; and the 
 cross-town horse-cars passed only two or three 
 an hour. The long day of the city was nearly 
 over at last, and for the two or three hours be 
 fore dawn there would be peace and a cessation 
 of the struggle. 
 
 As he sat back on the bench, sick with weari 
 ness,, t]ie occupant of the seat next to him aroused 
 herself. She was an elderly woman, with grizzled 
 hair. 
 
 " I beg your pardon if I waked you up ?" 
 said the young man. 
 
 "You did wake me up," she answered, "but 
 I forgive you. It s only cat-naps I get anyway 
 nowadays. I haven t stretched my legs out be 
 tween the sheets and had my fill of sleep for a 
 month of Sundays. And I m a glutton for sleep 
 ing if I ve the chance. Bat I m getting used to 
 
THE VIGIL OF McDOWELL SUTRO 105 
 
 sitting up late," and she laughed without bit 
 terness. "What time is it now ;" she asked. 
 
 McDowell Sutro involuntarily lifted his hand 
 to the pocket of his waistcoat, and then he 
 dropped it quickly. Blushing, he answered, I 
 don t know I " 
 
 " Time s up, isn t it f f she returned, with a 
 lauorh of understand ins:. " I haven t sot mv 
 
 O - <_ fc 
 
 watch with me either : I left it in my other 
 clothes at my uncle s. But Mr. Tiffany is a kind- 
 hearted man. and lie keeps a clock all lighted 
 up for us to see. Your eyes are younger than 
 mine what time is it now ?" 
 
 McDowell Sutro looked intently for half a 
 minute before he could make out the hour. At 
 last he answered, "It s almost half-past one. I 
 think." 
 
 Then I ve a couple of hours for another nap 
 before the sparrows wake us all up." she return 
 ed. " Is it the first night you have come to this 
 hotel of ours ?" 
 
 Yes," he replied. 
 
 I thought so," she continued. " by your feel 
 ing for your watch. You ll get out of the way 
 of doing that soon." 
 
 His face blanched with fear that she might be 
 predicting the truth. Would the time ever come 
 when he should be used to sleeping in the open 
 air ? 
 
 The old woman turned a little, so that she 
 could look at him. 
 
106 OUTLINES 1^ LOCAL COLOU 
 
 " It s a handsome young fellow you are/ she 
 went on ; "there s more than one house in town 
 where they d take you in on your looks and 
 tuck you up in bed, too, and keep you warm." 
 
 " Perhaps I m better off here," he remarked, 
 feeling that he was expected to say something. 
 
 " This isn t a bad hotel of ours, this isn t," 
 she returned ; " it s well ventilated, for one 
 thing. Of course you can go to the station-house 
 if you want. I don t. I ve tried it, and I d 
 sooner sleep in the snow than in the station- 
 house, with the creatures you meet there. This 
 hotel of ours here keeps open all night ; and it s 
 on the European plan, I m thinking leastwise 
 you can have anything you can pay for. When 
 the owl-wagon is here, you can get a late sup 
 per if you have the price of it. I haven t." 
 
 " Neither have I," he answered. 
 
 " Then there s two of us ready for an invite 
 to breakfast," she responded, cheerily. " If any 
 one asks us, it s no previous engagement will 
 make us decline, I m thinking." 
 
 He made no answer, for his heart sank as he 
 looked into the future. 
 
 "Are you hungry now ?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes," he answered, simply. 
 
 " So am I," she replied, " and I can t get used 
 to it. Hunger is like pain, isn t it ? It don t 
 let go of you ; it don t get tired and let up on 
 you. It s a stayer, that s Avhat it is, and it keeps 
 right on attending strictly to business. Some- 
 
THE VIGIL OF McDOWELL SUTRO 107 
 
 times, when I m very hungry. I feel like commit 
 ting suicide, don t you ?" 
 
 "Xo." he responded at least, not yet; I 
 haven t had enough of life to he tired of it so 
 soon." 
 
 " Neither have I." was her answer. "Some 
 times I m ready to quit, but somehow I don t do 
 it. But it would be so easy ; you throw your 
 self in front of one of those cable-cars coming 
 down Broadway now and you ll get rapid tran 
 sit to kingdom come. But they don t sell ex 
 cursion tickets. Besides, being crunched by a 
 cable-car is a dreadful mussy way of dying, don t 
 you think? And to-day s Friday., too and I 
 don t believe Fd ever have any luck in the next 
 world if I was to commit suicide on a Fri 
 day." 
 
 " This isn t Friday any longer," he suggested ; 
 "it s Saturday morning." 
 
 " So it is now," she rejoined ; " then we d bet 
 ter be getting our beauty-sleep as soon as we can, 
 for the flower-market here will wake us up soon 
 enough, seeing it s Saturday. And so, good-night 
 to you !" 
 
 " Good-night !" he responded. 
 
 And may you dream you ve found a million 
 dollars in gold, and then wake up and find it 
 true !" she continued. 
 
 " Thank you," he replied, wondering what 
 manner of woman his neighbor might be. 
 
 She said nothing more, but settled herself 
 
108 OUTLINES IK LOCAL COLOR 
 
 again and closed her eyes. She was dressed in 
 rusty black, and she had a thin black shawl over 
 her head. She had been a very handsome wom 
 an so she impressed the young man by her side 
 and he was wholly at a loss to guess how she 
 came to be here, in the street, at night, without 
 money and alone. She seemed out of place there ; 
 for her manner, though independent, was not 
 defiant. There was no rasping harshness in her 
 tones ; indeed, her talk was dashed with jovial 
 ity. Her speech even puzzled him, although he 
 thought that showed her to be Irish. 
 
 Turning these things over in his mind, he fell 
 asleep. He dreamed the same dream again and 
 again a dream of a barbaric banquet, where 
 huge outlandish dishes were placed on the table 
 before him. The savor of them was strange to 
 
 O 
 
 his nostrils, but it brought the water to his 
 mouth. Then, when he made as though to help 
 himself and stay his appetite, the whole feast 
 slid away beyond his reach, and finally faded 
 into nothing. The dream differed in detail 
 every time he dreamed it ; and the last time the 
 only dish on the board before him was a gigantic 
 pasty, which he succeeded in cutting open, only 
 to behold four-and-twenty blackbirds fly forth. 
 The birds circled about his head, and then re 
 turned to the empty shell of the pasty, and 
 perched there, and sang derisively. 
 
 So loudly did they sing that McDowell Sutro 
 awoke, and he heard in the trees above him and 
 
THE VIGIL OF MCDOWELL SUTRO 109 
 
 behind him the chirping and twittering of count 
 less sparrows. 
 
 He recalled what the old woman had said- 
 that the birds would wake them up. Probably 
 they had aroused her first, for the place on the 
 bench next to him was empty. 
 
 He rose to his feet and looked about him. It 
 was almost daybreak, and already there were 
 rosy streaks in the eastern sky. A squirrel was 
 running up and down a large tree in the middle 
 of the grass-plot behind the bench on which he 
 had been sleeping. In the open space at the 
 northern end of the square there were a dozen 
 or more gardeners wagons, thick with growing 
 flowers in pots, and men were arranging these 
 plants in rows upon the pavement. Another 
 heavy wagon, loaded with roses only, rolled across 
 the car track and disturbed a flock of pigeons 
 that swirled aloft for a moment and then settled 
 down again. A moist breeze blew up from the 
 bay. and brought a warning of rain to come later 
 in the day. 
 
 The sleepers on the other benches here and 
 there throughout the square were waking, one 
 by one. McDowell Sutro saw one of them go to 
 the drinking-fountain and wash his hands and 
 face. He followed this example as best he could. 
 When he had made an end of this his eye fell 
 on Tiffany s clock, which told the hour of half- 
 past four/ A few minutes later the first rays of 
 the sun began to gild the cornices of the tall 
 
110 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 buildings which towered above the Lincoln 
 statue. 
 
 Within the next hour and a half the cable- 
 cars began to pass down -town more frequently, 
 and the cross-town cars from the ferries also 
 came closer together. The gardeners 7 wagons 
 and the plants taken from them filled the broad 
 space at the upper end of the square. Milk-carts 
 rattled across the car tracks that bounded the 
 square on all four sides. The signs of the com 
 ing day multiplied, and McDowell Sutro noted 
 them all, one after another, with unfailing in 
 terest, despite the gnawing pain in his stomach. 
 It was the first time he had ever seen the awaken 
 ing of a great city. 
 
 He walked away from Union Square as far as 
 Fifth Avenue and Twenty -third Street, and 
 again as far as Third Avenue and Fourteenth 
 Street ; but he found himself always returning 
 to the flower-market. At last a hope sprang up 
 within him. Among the purchasers were ladies 
 not strong enough to carry home the heavy pots, 
 and perhaps he might pick up a job. This was 
 not the way he wanted to earn his daily bread, 
 but never before had he felt the want of the daily 
 bread so keenly. 
 
 When he came back to the line of gardeners 
 wagons he found other men out of work also hang 
 ing about in the hope of making an honest penny ; 
 and more than once he saw one or another of 
 these others sent away, burdened with tall plants. 
 
THE VIGIL OF MCDOWELL SUTKO 111 
 
 At last he took his courage in his hand, and 
 went up to a little old lady whom he had seen 
 going from row to row. She had bright eyes 
 and a gentle manner and a kindly smile. He 
 asked her, if she bought anything, to let him 
 carry it home for her. She looked at the hand 
 some young fellow, and her glance was as shrewd 
 as it seemed to him sympathetic. 
 
 Yes/" she answered, I think I can trust 
 you." 
 
 A minute or two later she bargained with a 
 Scotch gardener for two azaleas in full bloom. 
 Then she turned to McDowell Sutro : 
 
 "Will you take those to the Post-Graduate 
 Hospital, corner of Second Avenue and Twen 
 tieth Street, for half a dollar ?" 
 
 * Yes," he answered, eagerly. 
 
 Very well." she responded. "They are for 
 the Babies Wards. Say that they are from Miss 
 Van Dyne. The Babies Wards, you understand? 
 And here is your money. I ve got to trust you; 
 but you have an honest face, and I don t believe 
 that you would rob sick children of the sight 
 and smell of the flowers they love." 
 
 "Xo/ said McDowell Sutro. "I wouldn t. 
 He picked up the heavy pots, and held one in 
 the hollow of each arm. * The Babies Wards of 
 the Post - Graduate Hospital, from Miss Van 
 Dyne ? Is that it ?" 
 
 " That s it." she answered, with her illuminat 
 ing smile. 
 
112 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 He walked off with the plants. Having the 
 money in his pocket to break his fast, it seemed 
 as though he could not get to the hospital swiftly 
 enough. But when he had handed in the flowers, 
 and was on his way back again to the square, he 
 remembered suddenly the woman who had sat 
 by him on the bench, and who had been hungry 
 also. He had fifty cents in his pocket now, and 
 in the window of an eating-house on Fourth 
 Avenue he saw the sign, " Regular Breakfast, 25 
 cts/ He had money enough to buy two regular 
 breakfasts, one for himself and one for her. 
 
 He made the circle of the little park three 
 times, besides traversing it in every direction, 
 and then he had to confess that she was beyond 
 his reach. 
 
 So he went to the restaurant alone, and had a 
 regular breakfast all to himself. 
 
 When he came forth he felt refreshed, and the 
 people who were now hurrying along the streets 
 struck him as happier than those he had seen in 
 the gray dawn. The long sunbeams were light 
 ing the side streets. The workmen with their 
 
 O 
 
 dinner-pails were giving place to the shop-girls 
 with their luncheons tied up in paper. 
 
 The roar of the great city arose once more as 
 the mighty tide of humanity again swept through 
 its thoroughfares. 
 
 He went back to the gardeners wagons, believ 
 ing that he might earn another half-dollar. But 
 when he saw other men waiting there hungrily, 
 
i$i 
 
 "THE PEOPLE STRUCK HIM AS HAPPIER" 
 
THE VIGIL OF MCDOWELL SUTKO 113 
 
 he turned away, thinking it only fair to give 
 them a chance too. 
 
 He found a seat in the sun. and looked on 
 while the flower- market was stripped by later 
 purchasers. He wondered where the plants were 
 all going, and then he remembered that the same 
 flowers serve for the funeral and for the wed 
 ding. For the first time it struck him as strange 
 that the plant which dresses a dinner-table to 
 day may gladden a sick-room to-morrow, and be 
 bedded on a grave tbe day after. 
 
 At last he thought the hour had come when 
 the post-office would be open again, and he set 
 off for Fifth Avenue and Thirteenth .Street. 
 
 \Vhen he reached the station he checked his 
 walk. He did not dare go hi, although the 
 doors were open, and he could see other men 
 and women asking questions at the little square 
 windows. What if his questions should meet 
 with the same answer as yesterday ? What if 
 he should have to spend another night in Union 
 Square ? 
 
 He nerved himself at last and entered. As he 
 approached the window the clerk looked at him 
 with a glance of recognition. 
 
 " McDowell Sutro, isn t it ? Yes there is a 
 letter for you. Overweight, too there s four 
 cents extra postage to pay/ 
 
 The young man s hand trembled as he put 
 down the quarter left after paying for his regular 
 breakfast. He seized the envelope swiftly, and 
 
114 OUTLINES IN" LOCAL COLOR 
 
 almost forgot to pick up his change, till the clerk 
 reminded him of it. 
 
 He tore the letter open. It was from Tom 
 Pixley ; it contained a post-office order for fifty 
 dollars ; and it began : 
 
 "Mv DEAR MAC, Go and see Sam Sargent, 78 Broad 
 way, and he will get you a place on the surveyor s staff 
 for the new line of the Barataria Central. I m writing to 
 him by this mail, and 
 
 But for a minute McDowell Sutro could read 
 no further. His eyes had filled with tears. 
 
 (1895) 
 
8 H -S H II ID Iti 8 111 8 III S III 9 ill . 
 
 (oonflict 
 
summer sun had blazed down all 
 on t ^ le ^ ow wooden roof of the 
 old shed lately used as an ice-cream 
 saloon, and now hastily altered to ac 
 commodate a post of the Salvation 
 Army. Placards at the wide doorway proclaimed 
 that All were Welcome, and besought the stranger 
 to Come in and be Saved. The tall tenements that- 
 lined the side-streets east and west had emptied 
 their hundreds of inhabitants out into the avenue 
 that evening, and the sidewalks were thronged 
 with men and women languid from the heat of 
 the day, and longing for the lazy breeze that some 
 times creeps into the city with nightfall ; but 
 few of them cared to enter the stifling hall where 
 the song-service was about to begin, and that 
 night especially there were many counter-attrac 
 tions out-doors. Already were the rockets be 
 ginning to burst far above the square where the 
 fireworks were to be displayed ; and now and 
 again a boy (who had more than boyish self- 
 control) produced a reserve pack of fire-crackers, 
 and dropped them into a barrel, and capered 
 away with delight as the owner of the barrel was 
 called to his door by the rattle of their explosion. 
 A pale and thin young woman, in the uniform 
 
118 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 of the Salvation Army, stood wearily in the en 
 trance, proffering the War Cry to all those who 
 came near. She looked as though she had been 
 pretty when she was a girl. Now she was ob 
 viously worn and weak, like one recovering from 
 a long illness. High up over her head appeared 
 a shower of colored stars shot forth from a bomb ; 
 and then she remembered how she had seen the 
 fireworks on the last Fourth of July, only a year 
 before, lying on her bed which Jim had pulled to 
 the window before he went down to conduct the 
 meeting. She had lain there peacefully with her 
 two-weeks-old baby in her arms, and it had seem 
 ed to her as though the glowing wheels that re 
 volved in the air, and the curving lines of fire 
 that rose and fell again, were but a prefiguration 
 of a golden future where all would be splendor 
 and glory. How that vision had faded into 
 blackness in the months that followed! when 
 the baby sickened because they had not proper 
 food for him, and when Jim broke down also ; 
 and she had had to get up, feeble as she was, and 
 nurse them both until they died, one after an 
 other. When she let herself think of those days 
 of despair, she had always to make a resolute ef 
 fort if she did not wish to give way and go into 
 a fit of sobbing that left her exhausted for the 
 next twenty-four hours. 
 
 She mastered her rising emotion and turned 
 for relief to the duty of the moment. For five 
 minutes no one had bought a paper from her, and 
 
AN IRREPRESSIBLE CONFLICT 119 
 
 the time bad come to go into the hall to take part 
 in the service of song. 
 
 She pushed inside the swinging-door and found 
 that perhaps a score of visitors had gathered, 
 and that already half a dozen members of the 
 Salvation Army had taken their seats at the 
 edge of the low platform at the end of the shal 
 low hall. Captain Quigley was standing there, 
 with his shiny black hair carefully curled and his 
 pointed beard carefully combed. He was waiting, 
 ready to begin, with his accordion in his hands. 
 
 She wondered why it was that she was always 
 sorry to have Captain Quigley lead the service. 
 She would not deny that he led well, giving a 
 swing to the tunes he played that carried all the 
 people off their feet : he sang sweetly and he spoke 
 feelingly. But she did not altogether like his 
 manner, which was almost patronizing ; and then 
 he had a way of bringing her suddenly into his 
 remarks and of calling her forward needlessly. 
 Even after her two years service she shrank 
 from personalities and from self-exhibition. Yet 
 there was no doubt that he meant to be kind to 
 her, and she knew that he had allowed her spe 
 cial privileges more than once. With motherly 
 kindness Adjutant Willetts had asked her only 
 a week before if she really liked Captain Quig 
 ley, telling her that if she did not like him, she 
 ought to be careful not to encourage him, and 
 since that talk with the adjutant her distaste for 
 the captain had been intensified. 
 
120 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOft 
 
 It was as though Captain Quigley had been 
 waiting for her to appear, for he began to speak 
 as soon as he saw her. In a high nasal voice and 
 with an occasional elided aspirate, he welcomed 
 those present and told them he was glad that 
 they had come. He asked them all to take part 
 In singing the grand old hymn, " There Is a 
 Fountain Filled with Blood. " He set the tune 
 with his accordion, and lined out the first stanza 
 and led in the singing. Only three or four of the 
 chance visitors joined in the song, the burden 
 of which was borne by the members of the Salva 
 tion Army. 
 
 Then the captain told his hearers that there- 
 was a new War Cry published that very morn 
 ing full of interesting things, and containing the 
 words of the songs they would all sing later, so 
 he wanted everybody in the hall to buy one, that 
 they could all follow the music. 
 
 The thin young woman with the saddened 
 face began to move down the aisles offering her 
 papers right and left. 
 
 "That s the way, Sister Miller/* called out the 
 captain, as though to encourage her ; but she 
 winced as she heard her name thus thrown to 
 the public. " I want you all to buy Sister Miller s 
 papers, so that she can come up here and join us 
 in the singing. You don^t know what a sweet 
 voice Sister Miller has but we know/ 
 
 He continued to talk thus familiarly as she 
 made the circuit of the seats. When she had 
 
AX IKREPEESSIBLE CONFLICT 121 
 
 taken her place on the platform by the side of 
 Adjutant Willetts, who smiled at her with mater 
 nal affection in her eye. then suddenly the cap 
 tain changed his tone. " Xow we will ask the 
 Lord to bless us to bless us all, to bless this 
 meeting. I don t know why any of you have 
 come here to-night, but I do know this : if you 
 have come here for God s blessing, you will get 
 it. If you have come here for something else. 
 I don t know whether you will get it : but if 
 you have come here for that you will surely get 
 it. God always gives His blessing to all who ask 
 for it. Brother Higginson, will you lead us in 
 prayer ?" 
 
 The men and women on the platform fell on 
 their knees, and the most of those scattered about 
 the hull bowed their heads reverently, while 
 Brother Higginson prayed that the blessing of 
 God might descend upon them that night. Sis 
 ter Miller had heard Brother Higginson lead in 
 prayer many times and she knew almost to a 
 word what he was likely to say. for the range of 
 his appeal was limited : but she always thrilled a 
 little at the simple fervor of the man. It an 
 noyed her. as usual, to have the captain punctu 
 ate the appeal of Brother Higginson with an oc 
 casional "Amen ! Amen T* or " Hallelujah l v 
 
 After the prayer there was another gospel 
 song, and then the captain laid aside his accor 
 dion and took up a Bible. He read a passage 
 from the Old Testament describing the advance 
 
122 OUTLINES IK LOCAL COLOR 
 
 of the Children of Israel into the desert, guided 
 by a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire 
 by night. He held the book in his hand while 
 he expounded his text. The Children of Israel 
 had their loins girded to fight the good fight, he 
 said. That is what every people has to do ; the 
 Israelites had to do it, the English had to do 
 it, the Americans had to do it. They all knew 
 what the Fourth of July stood for and how well 
 Americans fought then, more than a hundred 
 years ago; and so saying he seized the flag which 
 had been leaning against the wall behind him, 
 by the side of the blood-red banner of the Salva 
 tion Army. 
 
 As he was waving the Stars and Stripes Sister 
 Miller felt her dislike accentuated, for she knew 
 that the captain was an Englishman who had 
 been here but a few years, and it seemed to her 
 mean of him to be taking sides against his native 
 land. She wondered if he was really ignorant 
 enough to think that one of the great battles of 
 the Kevolution had been fought on the Fourth of 
 July. 
 
 Then her mind went back to her girlhood, and 
 she recalled the last celebration of the Fourth 
 that had taken place in the old school-house at 
 home the summer before she graduated. She 
 remembered how old Judge Standish read the 
 Declaration of Independence with a magnificent 
 air of proprietorship, as though he had just 
 dashed it off. Other incidents of that day came 
 
AX IRREPRESSIBLE CONFLICT 123 
 
 floating back to her memory as she sat there in 
 the thick air of the little hall, and she ceased to 
 hear Captain Quigley calling urgently on all those 
 present to be Soldiers of God. In her ears there 
 echoed, instead, the pleading words of young 
 Dexter Standish, telling her that he was going to 
 the Xaval Academy and that he wanted her to 
 wait for him till he should come back. She had 
 given her promise, and why had she not kept her 
 word ? Why had she been foolishly jealous when 
 she heard that he was the best dancer in his class 
 at Annapolis, and that all the Baltimore girls 
 were wild to dance with him. She had long ago 
 discovered that her reason for breaking off the 
 engagement was wholly inadequate ; and, in her 
 folly, she had not foreseen that Dexter could not 
 leave the Academy and come to her and explain. 
 If only he had presented himself and told her he 
 loved her she would have forgiven him. even if 
 he had really deserved punishment. But he was 
 a cadet, and he would not have a leave of absence 
 for another year. Before that year was out, she 
 had married James Miller, a theological student, 
 who soon threw up all his studies in hfs religious 
 zeal to join the Salvation Army, as though crav 
 ing martyrdom. Jim had loved her, and he had 
 thought she loved him. It was with a swift pang 
 of ^reproach that she found herself asking wheth 
 er it was not better for Jim that he had died 
 before he found out that his wife did not love 
 him as he loved her. 
 
124 OUTLINES IN" LOCAL COLOR 
 
 With the ingenuity that came of long experi 
 ence., Captain Quigley had ended his address with 
 a quotation from "Onward, Christian Soldiers," 
 and Sister Miller was roused from her reverie to 
 take part in the chorus. When they had sung 
 three stanzas the captain stopped abruptly and 
 turned to the gray-haired woman who sat beside 
 Sister Miller, and called on Adjutant Willetts to 
 say a few words of loving greeting to the souls 
 waiting to be saved. 
 
 To Sister Miller it was a constant delight to be 
 with the adjutant, to be comforted by her moth 
 erly smile and to be sustained by her cheerful 
 faith. There was a Quaker simplicity about Sis 
 ter Willetts, and a Quaker strength of character 
 that the wan and worn Sister Miller had found 
 she could always rely upon. And another char 
 acteristic of the elder woman s endeared her also 
 to the younger : her religious fervor was as fresh 
 as it Avas sincere, and she gave her testimony night 
 after night with the same force and the same 
 feeling that she had given it the first time. Too 
 many of the others had reduced what they had to 
 say to a mere formula, modified but little and 
 delivered at last in almost mechanical fashion. 
 But Sister Willetts stood forward on the platform 
 and bore witness to her possession of the peace of 
 God which passe th all understanding ; and she did 
 this most modestly, with neither shyness nor tim 
 idity, merely as though she were doing her duty 
 gladly in declaring what God had done for her. 
 
AX IRREPRESSIBLE CONFLICT 125 
 
 When the adjutant had made an end of speak 
 ing and had taken her seat by the side of the 
 pale young woman, who smiled back at her 
 again. Captain Quigley grasped his accordion 
 once more. 
 
 " Xow you shall have a solo," he said. " Sister 
 Miller will sing that splendid old hymn. Kock 
 of Ages/ Come., Sister Miller. * 
 
 Her voice had no great power, but it sufficed 
 for that little hall. She did not like to stand 
 forward conspicuously, but the singing itself 
 she always enjoyed. Sometimes she was almost 
 able to forget herself as she poured out her soul 
 in song. 
 
 On that Fourth of July evening she had not 
 more than begun when she became conscious 
 that somebody was staring at her with an in 
 tensity quite different from the ordinary gaze 
 of curiosity to which she was accustomed. She 
 obeyed the impulse, and looked down into the 
 eyes of Dexter Standish fixed upon her as though 
 he had come to claim possession of her at once. 
 
 So unexpected was this vision, and so enfeebled 
 was her self-control, that her voice faltered, and 
 she almost broke off in the middle of a line. But 
 she stiffened herself, and though she felt the blood 
 dyeing her face, she sang on sturdily. Her first 
 thought was to run away to run away at once 
 and hide herself, somewhere, anywhere, so that 
 she were only out of his sight. He had not seen 
 her for six years and more, and in those weary 
 
126 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 years she had lost her youth and her looks. She 
 knew that she was 110 longer the pretty girl he 
 had loved, and she shrank from his scrutiny of 
 her faded features and of her shrunken figure. 
 
 She could not run away and she could not 
 hide ; she had to stand there and let him gaze 
 at her and discover how old she looked and how 
 worn. She met his eyes again he never took 
 them from her and it seemed to her that they 
 were full of pity. She resented this. What right 
 had he to compassionate her ? She drew her thin 
 frame up and sang the louder in mere bravado. 
 Yet she was glad when she came to the end, and 
 was able to sink back into the seat by the side 
 of Sister Willetts. 
 
 The captain spoke up at once, and said that the 
 time had come to take up a collection. Let every 
 man give a little, in proportion to his means, 
 no more and no less. Would Sister Willetts and 
 Sister Miller go about among the people to col 
 lect the offerings ? 
 
 As she picked up her tambourine she turned 
 impulsively to the elder woman. 
 
 " Let me go to those near the platform, 
 please/ she begged. " Won t you take the out 
 side rows ?" 
 
 The adjutant looked down on her a little sur 
 prised, but agreed at once. 
 
 The younger woman went only a few steps 
 down the aisles, keeping as far away from him 
 as possible. Whenever she glanced towards him 
 
AX IRREPRESSIBLE CONFLICT 127 
 
 she found his eyes fixed upon her, following her 
 everywhere ; and now it was not pity she thought 
 she saw in his look, but love the same love she 
 had seen in those eyes the last time they two had 
 stood face to face. 
 
 When the tambourines had been extended tow 
 ards everybody in the hall, the two women went 
 back to the platform and the adjutant counted 
 up the money coppers and nickels, most of it, 
 and not two dollars in all. 
 
 The captain kept on steadfastly. He gave out 
 another hymn. When that had been sung, he 
 turned to a portly man who had come in late and 
 who was sitting on the platform behind Brother 
 Higginson. 
 
 "Brother Jackinan,* he asked, with unction, 
 "how is your soul to-night ? Can t you tell us 
 about it ?" 
 
 While the portly man, standing uneasily with 
 his hands on the chair before him, was briskly 
 setting forth the circumstances of his assured 
 salvation, Sister Miller was silent on the plat 
 form. 
 
 She could not help seeing Dexter Standish, 
 who was straight in front of her. She noted how 
 erect he was, and how resolutely his shoulders 
 were squared. She saw that he was older, too ; 
 and she observed that his face had a master 
 ful look, wanting there the last time she had 
 seen him. 
 
 He had always been a fine-looking fellow, and 
 
128 OUTLINES I!* LOCAL COLOR 
 
 the training at Annapolis had done him good, lie 
 was no mere youth now, hut a man, bronzed and 
 bearded, and hearing himself like one who knew 
 what he wanted and meant to get it. She real 
 ized that the woman he chose to guard from the 
 world would be well shielded. A weary woman 
 might find rest under the shelter of his stalwart 
 protection. Involuntarily she contrasted the 
 man she had promised to marry with the man 
 she had married the manly strength of the one 
 with the gentle weakness of the other. Then she 
 blushed again, for this seemed to her disloyalty to 
 the dead. Jim had been very good to her always ; 
 he was the father of her child ; he never did any 
 wrong. But the thought returned again per 
 haps if he had had more force of character the 
 child need not have died as it did. 
 
 Brother Jackman was rattling along glibly, but 
 Sister Mille lid not heed him. She did not hear 
 him even. She did not hear anything distinctly 
 during the rest of the service. She rose to her 
 feet with the rest of them, and she sat down 
 again automatically, and she knelt like one in 
 n trance. When the meeting was over and the 
 people began to disperse she saw that he did not 
 move, lie stood there silently, waiting 1 for her 
 to come to him, ready to bear her away. With 
 out a word Sister Miller knew what it was her 
 old lover wanted ; he wanted to pick up their 
 love-story where it had been broken off four years 
 before. 
 
AX IRREPRESSIBLE CONFLICT 129 
 
 When the hall was nearly empty he started 
 towards her. 
 
 She turned to the gray-haired woman by her 
 side. 
 
 Tell me what to do," she cried. He is 
 coming to take me away with him. 7 
 
 Sister Willetts saw the young man advanc 
 ing slowly, as those last to go made a path for 
 him. 
 
 "Is he in love with you, too ?" she asked. 
 
 " Yes," the younger woman answered. 
 
 "And do you love him ?" 
 
 " Yes at least, I think so. Oh yes !" 
 
 " And is he a good man ?" was the last question. 
 
 "Yes, indeed. " came the prompt reply, " the 
 best man I ever knew !" 
 
 The sturdy figure was drawing nearer and the 
 elder woman rose. 
 
 If you love him better than j u love your 
 work with us, go to him, in God s name," she 
 said. " We seek no unwilling workers here. If 
 you cannot give yourself to the service J03 fullv, 
 putting all else behind you, go in peace and 
 may the blessing of God be with you !" 
 
 She bent forward and kissed the younger wom 
 an and left her, as Dexter Standish came and 
 stood before her. 
 
 "Margaret," he said, firmly, I have come for 
 you." 
 
 Without a word she stepped down from the 
 platform and went with him. 
 
130 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 When they came to the door a hansorn hap 
 pened to pass and he called it. 
 
 " Where are you taking me ?" she asked, glad 
 to be under the shelter of his devotion and ready 
 to relinquish all right to decide upon her future 
 for herself. 
 
 "To my mother," he answered, as he lifted 
 her into the vehicle. "She s at a hotel here. 
 She ll be glad to see you/ 
 
 "Will she ?" the girl asked, doubtfully. 
 
 "Yes/ was the authoritative answer, "she 
 knows thai I have always loved you/ 
 
 (1897) 
 
J1E air was thick arid heavy, as it 
 sometimes is in the great city tow 
 ards nightfall after a hot spell has 
 lasted for ten days. There were 
 sponges tied to the foreheads of the 
 horses that wearily tugged at the overladen cross- 
 town cars. The shop-girls going home fanned 
 themselves limply. The men released from work 
 walked languidly, often with their coats over 
 their arms. The setting sun burned fiery red 
 as it sank behind the hills on the other side of 
 the Hudson. But the night seemed likely to be 
 as hot as the day had been, for the leaves on the 
 trees were motionless now, as they had been all 
 the afternoon. 
 
 \Ve had been kept in town all through July 
 by the slow convalescence of our invalid, and 
 with even the coming of August we could not 
 hope to get away for another ten days yet. The 
 excessive heat had retarded the recovery of our 
 patient by making it almost impossible for her 
 to sleep. That evening, as it happened, she had 
 dropped off into an uneasy slumber a little after 
 six o clock, and we had left her room gently in 
 the doubtful hope that her rest might be pro 
 longed for at least an hour. 
 
134 OUTLINES IX LOCAL COLOR 
 
 I had slipped down -stairs and was standing 
 on the stoop, with the door open behind me, 
 when I heard the shrill notes of the Pan-pipes, 
 accompanied by the jingling of a set of bells 
 and the dull thumping of a drum. I understood 
 at once that some sort of wandering musician 
 was about to perform, and I knew that with the 
 first few bars the needful slumber of our invalid 
 would be interrupted violently. 
 
 I closed the door behind me softly and sprang 
 down the steps, and sped swiftly to the corner 
 around which the sounds seemed to proceed. If 
 the fellow is a foreigner, I thought, I must give 
 him a quarter and so bribe him to go away, and 
 then he will return every evening to be bought 
 off again, and I shall become a subscriber by 
 the week to the concerts I do not wish to hear. 
 But if the itinerant musician is an American, 
 of course I can appeal to him, as one gentleman 
 to another, and we shall not be troubled with him 
 again. 
 
 When I turned the corner I saw a strange 
 figure only a few yards distant a strange fig 
 ure most strangely accoutred a tall, thin, loose- 
 jointed mans who had made himself appear taller 
 still by wearing a high -peaked hat, the pinna 
 cle of which was surmounted by a wire frame 
 work, in which half a dozen bells were suspended, 
 ringing with every motion of the head. He had 
 on a long linen duster, which flapped about his 
 gaunt shanks encased in tight, black trousers. 
 
THE AIR WAS THICK AND HEAVY 
 
THE SOLO ORCHESTRA 135 
 
 Between his legs he had a pair of cymbals, fast 
 ened one to each knee. Upon his back was 
 strapped a small bass-drum, on which there was 
 painted the announcement that the performer 
 was " Prof. Theophilus Briggs, the Solo Orches 
 tra. " A drumstick was attached to each side 
 of the drum and connected with a cord that ran 
 down his legs to his feet, so that by beating time 
 with his toes he could make the drum take part 
 in his concert. The Pan-pipes that I had heard 
 were fastened to his breast just at the height of 
 his chin, so that he could easily blow into them 
 by the slightest inclination of his head. In his 
 left hand he held a fiddle, and in his right hand 
 he had a fiddle-bow. Just as I came in sight, 
 he tapped the fiddle with the bow, as though to 
 call the attention of the orchestra. Then ho 
 raised the fiddle ; not to his chin, for the Pan 
 pipes made this impossible, but to the other po^ 
 sition, not infrequent among street musicians, 
 just below the shoulder. Evidently I had just 
 arrived in time. 
 
 He was not a foreigner, obviously enough. It 
 needed only one glance at the elongated visage, 
 with its good-natured eyes and its gentle mouth, 
 to show that here was a native American whose 
 parents and grandparents also had been born on 
 this side of the Atlantic. 
 
 "I beg your pardon for interrupting you be 
 fore you begin," I said, hastily, " but I shall be 
 very much obliged indeed if you would kindly 
 
136 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 consent to give your performance a little farther 
 down this street a little farther away from this 
 corner." 
 
 I saw at once that I had not chosen my words 
 adroitly, for the kindly smile faded from his lips, 
 and there was more than a hint of stiffness in 
 his manner as he responded, slowly : 
 
 et I don t know as I quite catch your mean 
 ing," he began. " I ain t 
 
 " I m sorry to have to ask you to go away," I 
 interrupted, wishing to explain ; " Fd like to 
 hear your concert myself ; but the fact is, there s 
 a member of my family slowly recovering from 
 a long sickness, and she s only just fallen asleep 
 now for the first time since midnight." 
 
 " Why didn t you say so at first ?" was Profess 
 or Briggs s immediate response, and the genial 
 smile returned to his thin face. " Of course, I 
 don t want to worry no one with my music. And 
 I d just as lief as not go over the other side of 
 the city if it will be any more agreeable to a sick 
 person. I know myself what it is to have sick 
 ness in the house ; there ain t no one knows what 
 that is better than I do no one don t." 
 
 " It is very kind of you, I m sure," I said, as 
 he walked back with me to the corner. 
 
 " Oh, that s all right," he returned. " It don t 
 make any differ to me. Now you just show me 
 which house it is, so I can keep away from it." 
 
 I pointed out the door to him. 
 
 " The third one from the corner, is it ?" he re- 
 
THE SOLO ORCHESTRA 137 
 
 peated. " Well, that s all right. And I am much 
 obliged to you for telling me about it, for I should 
 have hated to wake up a sick person ; and these 
 pipes and this drum ain t exactly soothing to the 
 sick, are they ?" 
 
 Then the smile ripened to a laugh, and after I 
 had thanked him once more and shaken hands, 
 he turned back and walked away, accompanied 
 by the bevy of children who had encircled us ex 
 pectantly ever since I had first spoken to him. 
 
 Before daybreak the next morning a storm 
 broke over the city, and the heavy rain kept up 
 all day, cooling the streets at last and washing 
 the atmosphere. With the passing of the hot 
 wave sleep became easier for us all. Men walked 
 to their offices in the morning with a brisker 
 step, and the shop - girls were no longer listless 
 as they went to their work. Our invalid im 
 proved rapidly, and we could count the days 
 before we should be able to take her out of the 
 city. 
 
 The rain-storm had brought this relief on a 
 Thursday, and the skies did not clear till Friday 
 evening. The air kept its freshness over Satur 
 day and Sunday. 
 
 On the latter day, towards nightfall, I had 
 taken my seat on the stoop, as is the custom of 
 Xew-Yorkers kept in town during the summer 
 months. I had brought out a cushion or two, 
 and I was smoking my second after-supper cigar. 
 
138 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 I felt at peace with the world, and for. the mo 
 ment I had even dispensed with the necessity of 
 thinking. It satisfied me to watch the rings of 
 tobacco-smoke as they curled softly above my 
 head. 
 
 Although I was thus detached from earth, I 
 became at last vaguely conscious that a man had 
 passed before the house for two or three times, 
 and that as he passed he had stared at me as 
 though he expected recognition. With his next 
 return my attention was aroused. I saw that he 
 was a tall, thin man, of perhaps fifty years of age, 
 with a lean face clean-shaven, plainly dressed in 
 black, and in what was obviously a Sunday suit, 
 BO revealing itself by its odd wrinkles and creases. 
 As he came abreast of rne, he slackened his gait 
 and looked up. When he caught my eye he 
 smiled. And then I recognized him at once. It 
 was Professor Theophilus Briggs, the Solo Or 
 chestra. 
 
 When he discovered that I knew him again he 
 stood still. I rose to my feet and greeted him. 
 
 "I thought this was the house," he began, 
 "but I wasn t sure for certain. You see, my 
 memory ain t any longer than a toad s tail. Still, 
 I allowed I hadn t ought to disremember anything 
 as big as a house now had I ?" and he laughed 
 pleasantly. "And I thought that was you, too, 
 setting up there on the porch/ 7 he went on, 
 cheerfully. " And I m glad it is, because I 
 wanted to see you again to ask after the lady s 
 
THE SOLO ORCHESTRA 139 
 
 health. Bid she have her sleep out that even 
 ing ? And ho\v is she getting- on now ? 
 
 I thanked him again for his considerate action 
 the first time we had met, as well as for his kind 
 ly inquiries now, and I was glad to give him good 
 news of o u r pat i en t . Th en I r ec ogn i ze d t h e d u t i es 
 of hospitality, and I asked my visitor if he would 
 not "take something/ 
 
 Xo, thank you/ he returned "that is. if 
 there ain t no offence. Fact is. I ve quit. I 
 don t look on the wine when it is red now. for 
 it biteth like an adder and it stingeth like a ser 
 pent, and I don t want any more snakes in mine. 
 I ve had enough of them. I have. Croton extra 
 dry is good enough for me now. I guess ; and I 
 ain t no use now for a happy family of blue mice 
 and green rats and yellow monkeys. I ve had 
 whole menageries of them, too, in my time 
 regular Greatest Show on Earth, you know, and 
 me with a season ticket. But it s like all these 
 continuous performances, you get tired of it 
 pretty soon leastways. I did, and so I quit, and 
 I don t touch a drop now." 
 
 " Sworn off ?" I suggested, as I made room for 
 him on the cushion by my side. 
 
 " Oh no/ he said, simply, as he sat down : "I 
 hadn t no need to swear off. I just quit ; that s 
 all there was to it." 
 
 " Some men do not find it so very easy to give 
 up drinking." I remarked. 
 
 That s so. too," he answered, "and I didn t 
 
140 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 either, for a fact. But I just had to do it, that s 
 all. You see,, I d given drinking a fair show,, 
 and Fd found it didn t pay. Well, I don t like 
 no trade where you re bound to lose in the long- 
 run seems a pretty poor way to do business, 
 don t it ? So I quit." 
 
 This seemed to call for a commonplace from 
 me, and I was equal to the occasion. "It s easier 
 to get into the way of taking a drop now and then 
 than it is to get out of it." 
 
 "I got into it easy enough, I know that," he 
 returned, smiling genially. It was when I was 
 in the army. After a man has been laying out in 
 the swamp for a week or so, a little rum ain t 
 such, a bad thing to have in the house." 
 
 Then it was that for the first time I noticed the 
 bronze button in his coat. 
 
 "So you were in the army ?" I said, with the 
 ever-rising envy felt by so many of my genera 
 tion who lived through the long years of the 
 Civil War mere boys, too young to take part in 
 the struggle. 
 
 "I was a drummer-boy at Gettysburg," he an 
 swered ; " and it warn t mighty easy for me, 
 either." 
 
 "How so ?" I asked. 
 
 "Well, it was this way," he explained. "Fa 
 ther, he was a Maine man, and he was a sea-cap- 
 taiii. And when mother died, after a spell father 
 he up and married again. Now that second wife 
 of father s she didn t like me ; and I didn t like 
 
THE SOLO ORCHESTRA 141 
 
 her either, not overmuch. I guess there warn t 
 no love lost between us. She liked to make a 
 voyage with father now and then, and so did 
 I. We was both with him on a voyage he 
 made about the time the war broke out. We 
 cleared for Cowes and a market, and along in 
 the summer of "62 we was in the Mediterranean. 
 It was towards the end of that summer we 
 come into Genoa, and there we got a chance at 
 the papers, all filled chock-full^ of battles. And 
 it didn t seem as though things was going any too 
 well over here, either, and so I felt I d like to 
 come home and lend a hand in putting down the 
 rebellion. You see, I was past fourteen then, 
 and I was tall for my age most as tall as I am 
 now, I guess. I was doing a man s work on the 
 ship, and I didn t see why I couldn t do a man s 
 work in helping Uncle Sam. seeing he seemed to 
 be having a hard time of it. And I don t mind 
 telling you. too. that she had been making me 
 have considerable of a hard time of it. too : and 
 there warn t no way of contenting her, she was 
 so all-fired pernicketty. There was another ship 
 in the harbor near us, and the captain was a sort 
 of a kind of a cousin of mother s, and so I 
 shipped with him and we come straight home 
 from Genoa to Portsmouth. And when I wanted 
 to enlist they wouldn t have me. saying I was too 
 young, which was all foolishness. So I went for 
 a drummer-boy, and I was in the Army of the 
 Potomac from Gettysburg to Appomattox." 
 
142 OUTLINES Ilf LOCAL COLOR 
 
 " You were only a boy even when the war was 
 over/ I commented. 
 
 "Well, I was seventeen, and I felt old enough 
 to be seventy," he returned, as a smile wrinkled 
 his lean features. " At any rate, I was old enough 
 to get married the year after Lee surrendered, 
 and my daughter was born the year after that 
 she d be nearly thirty now if she was living to 
 day." 
 
 "Did you stay in one of the bands of the reg 
 ulars after the war ?" I asked, wondering how the 
 sailor-lad who had become a drummer-boy had 
 finally developed into a solo orchestra. 
 
 "No, "he answered. "Not but what I did 
 think of it some. But after being at sea so long 
 and in the army, camping here and there and 
 always moving on, I was restless, and I didn t 
 want to settle down nowhere for long. So I went 
 into the show business. I d always been fond of 
 music, and I could play on most anything, from 
 a fine -tooth comb to a church -organ with all 
 the stops you please, 80 I went out with the 
 side-show of a circus, playing on the tumbler- 
 onicon." 
 
 "The tunibleromcon ?" I repeated, in doubt. 
 
 " It s a tray with a lot of wineglasses on it and 
 goblets and tumblers, partly filled with water, you 
 know, so as to give different notes. Why, I ve had 
 one tumbleroiiicon of seven octaves that I used 
 to play the ( Anvil Chorus on, and always got a 
 double encore for it. I believe it s what they used 
 
THE SOLO ORCHESTRA 143 
 
 to call the -musical glasses but tumbleronicon 
 is what it s called now in the profession." 
 
 I admitted that I had heard of the musical 
 glasses. 
 
 " It was while I was playing the tumbleroni 
 con in that side-show that I met the lady I mar 
 ried," he went on. " She was a Circassian girl 
 then. Most Circassian girls are Irish, you know, 
 but she wasn t. She was from the White Moun 
 tains. Well. I made up to her from the start, 
 and when the circus went into winter-quarters 
 we had a lot of money saved up and we got 
 married. My wife hadn t a bad ear for music, 
 so that winter we worked up a double act, and 
 in the spring we went on the road as Swiss Bell- 
 ringers. We dressed up just as I had seen the 
 I-talians dress in Xaples. 
 
 Again I asked for an explanation. 
 
 Oh. you must have seen that act ?" he urged, 
 " though it has somehow gone out of style late 
 ly. It s to have a fine set of bells, three or four 
 octaves, laying out on a table before you, and 
 then you play tunes on them, just as you do on 
 the tumbleronicon. There s some tunes go better 
 on the bells than on anything else Yankee 
 Doodle and Pop Goes the Weasel. It s quick 
 tunes like them that folks like to have you pick 
 out on the bells. Why. Mrs. Briggs and I used 
 to do a patriotic medley, ending up with Rally 
 Round the Flag, that just made the soldiers 
 widows cry. If we could only have gone on, we d 
 
144 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOll 
 
 have been sure of our everlasting fortunes. But 
 Mrs. Briggs went and lost her health after our 
 daughter was born the next summer. We kept 
 thinking all the time she d get better soon, and 
 so I took, an engagement here in New York, at 
 Barnum s old museum in Broadway, to play the 
 drum in the orchestra. You remember Bar 
 num s old museum, don t you ?" 
 
 I was able to say that I did remember Bar 
 num s old museum in Broadway. 
 
 " I didn t really like it there ; for the animals 
 were smelly, you know, and the work was very 
 confining, what with two and three performances 
 a day. But I had to stay here in New York some 
 how, for my wife wa n t able to get away. The 
 long and short of it is, she was sick a-bed nigh 
 on to thirty years not suffering really all the 
 time, of course, but puny and ailing, and get 
 ting no comfort from her food. There was times 
 I thought she never would get well or any 
 thing. But two years ago she up and died sud 
 denly, just when I d most got used to her being 
 sick. Women s dreadful uncertain, ain t they ?" 
 
 I had to confess that the course of the female 
 of our species was more or less incalculable. 
 
 "My daughter, she died the year before her 
 mother ; and she d never been sick a day in her 
 life took after me, she did," Professor Briggs 
 went on. "She and her husband used to do 
 Yankee Girl and Irish Boy duets in the vaude 
 villes, as they call them now." 
 
THE SOLO ORCHESTRA 145 
 
 I remarked that variety show, the old name 
 for entertainments of that type, seemed to me 
 more appropriate. 
 
 "That s what I think myself/ he returned, 
 " and that s what Fin always telling them. But 
 they say vaudeville is more up to date and that s 
 what they want now. everything up to date. 
 Xow I think there s lots of the old-fashioned 
 things that s heaps better than some of these 
 new-fangled things they re so proud of. Take a 
 three-ringed circus, for instance what good is a 
 three-ringed circus to anybody, except the boss 
 of it ? The public has only two eyes apiece, that s 
 all and even a man who squints can t see more 
 than two rings at once, can he ? And three rings 
 don t give a real artist a show ; they discourage 
 him by distracting folk s attention away from 
 him. How is he to do his best if he can t never 
 be certain sure that the public is looking at him?" 
 
 Here again I was able to express my full agree 
 ment with the professor. 
 
 " I d never do in a three-ring show, no matter 
 what they was to give me," he continued. " And 
 I ve got an act nearly ready now that there s lots 
 of these shows will be wanting just as soon as 
 they hear of it. I " here he interrupted him 
 self and looked up and down the street, as though 
 to make sure that there were no concealed listen 
 ers lying in wait to overhear what he was about 
 to say "I don t mind telling you about it. if 
 you d like to know." 
 10 
 
146 OUTLINES IX LOCAL COLOR 
 
 I declared that I was much interested, and 
 that I desired above all things to learn all about 
 this new act of his. 
 
 "Well," he began, " I think I told you awhile 
 ago that my granddaughter s all the family I 
 got left now ? She s nearly eight years old, and 
 as cunning a little thing as ever you see any 
 where and healthy, too, like her mother. She 
 favors me, just as her mother did. And she 
 takes to music naturally can t keep her hands 
 off my instruments when I put them down 
 plays Jerusalem the Golden on the pipes now 
 so it would draw tears from a graven image. 
 And she sings too just as if she couldn t help 
 it. She s a voice like an angel oh, she ll be a 
 primy donny one of these days. And it was her 
 singing gave me the idea of this new act of mine. 
 It s Uncle Tom s Cabin arranged just for her and 
 me. I do Uncle Tom and play the fiddle, and 
 she doubles Little Eva and Topsy with a light 
 ning change. As Little Eva, of course, she ll 
 sing a hymn Wait Till the Clouds Roll By, 
 or the ( Sweet By-and-By, or something of 
 that sort ; and as Topsy she ll do a banjo solo 
 first, and then for the encore she ll do a song 
 and dance, while I play the fiddle for her. It s 
 a great scheme, isn t it ? It s bound to be a go !" 
 
 I expressed the opinion that it seemed to me 
 a most attractive suggestion. 
 
 "But I ve made up my mind," he went on, 
 "not to bring her out at all until I can get the 
 
THE SOLO ORCHESTRA 147 
 
 right opening. I don t care about terms first off, 
 because when we make our hit we can get onr 
 own term? quick enough. But there s every 
 thing in opening right. So I shall wait till fall, 
 or maybe even till Xew Year s, before I begin 
 to worry about it. And in the meantime my 
 own act in the street goes. The Solo Orchestra 
 is safe for pretty good money all summer. You 
 didn t hear me the other evening, and I m sorry 
 but there s no doubt it s a go. I don t suppose 
 it s as legitimate as the tunibleromcon, maybe, 
 or as the Swiss bells I don t know for sure. But 
 it isn t bad. either ; and in summer, wherever 
 there s children around, it s a certain winner. 
 Sometimes when I do the * Turkish Patrol, or 
 things like that, there s a hundred or more all 
 round me." 
 
 " From the way the little ones looked at me 
 the other evening, when I asked you to move 
 on," I said, " it was obvious enough that they 
 were very anxious to hear you. And I regret 
 that I was forced to deprive myself also of the 
 pleasure." 
 
 He rose to his feet slowly, his loose- jointed 
 frame seeming to unfold itself link by link. 
 
 * I tell you what I ll do," he responded, cord 
 ially ; isn t your lady getting better T" 1 
 
 I was able to say that our invalid was improv 
 ing steadily. 
 
 Well, then/ 7 he suggested, "what do you 
 sa-v to my coining round here some evening next 
 
148 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 week ? I ll give a concert for her and you,, and 
 any of your friends yon like to invite ? And you 
 can tell her there isn t any of the new songs 
 or waltzes or marches or selections from operas 
 she wants I can t do. She s only got to give it 
 a name and the Solo Orchestra will play it." 
 
 Of course I accepted this proffered entertain 
 ment ; and with that Professor Briggs took his 
 leave, bidding me farewell with a slightly con 
 scious air as though he were accustomed to have 
 the eyes of a multitude centred upon him. 
 
 And one evening, in the middle of the week, 
 the Solo Orchestra appeared on the sidewalk in 
 front of our house and gave a concert for our 
 special benefit. 
 
 Our invalid had so far regained her strength 
 that she was able to sit at the window to watch 
 the performance of Professor Briggs. But her 
 attention was soon distracted from the Solo Or 
 chestra itself to the swarm of children which 
 encompassed him about, and which took the 
 sharpest interest in his strange performance. 
 
 " Just look at that lovely little girl on the stoop 
 opposite, sitting all alone by herself, as though 
 she didn t know any of the others," cried our 
 convalescent. "She s the most elfinlike little 
 beauty I ve ever seen. And she is as llasee 
 about this Solo Orchestra of yours as though it 
 was Tannhauser we were listening to, and she 
 was the owner of a box at the Metropolitan." 
 
 When the concert came to an end at last, as 
 
THE SOLO ORCHESTRA 149 
 
 the brief twilight was waning, when the Solo 
 Orchestra had played the "Anvil Chorus* as a 
 final encore after the Turkish Patrol," when 
 Professor Theophilus Briggs, after taking up the 
 collection himself, had shaken hands with me 
 when I went down to convey to him our thanks, 
 when it was so plainly evident that the perform 
 ance was over at last that even the children ac 
 cepted the inevitable and began to scatter then 
 the self-possessed little girl on the opposite side 
 of the way rose to her feet with dignity. When 
 the tall musician, with the bells jingling in his 
 peaked hat, crossed the street, she took his hand 
 as though he belonged to her. As he walked 
 away she trotted along by his side, smiling up 
 at him. 
 
 I see now." I said ; - that must be his grand 
 daughter, the future impersonator of the great 
 dual character, Little Eva and Topsy." 
 
 (1896) 
 
oekeazdal of the 
 
 Slay 
 
:HEX Wilson Carpenter came to the 
 junction of the two great thorough 
 fares, he stood still for a moment 
 and looked at his watch, not wish 
 ing to arrive at the rehearsal too 
 early. He found that it was then almost eight 
 o clock, and he began at once to pick his way 
 across the car-tracks that were here twisted in ev 
 ery direction. A cloud of steam swirled down as a 
 train on the elevated railroad clattered along over 
 his head ; the Cyclops eye of a cable- car glared 
 at him as it came rushing down -town; from 
 the steeple of a church on the corner, around 
 which the mellow harvest - moon peered down 
 on the noisy streets, there came the melodious 
 call to the evening service ; over the entrance to 
 a variety show a block above a gaudy cluster of 
 electric lights illuminated the posters which pro 
 claimed for that evening a Grand Sacred Concert, 
 at which Queenie Dougherty, the Irish Empress, 
 would sing her new song, " He s an Illigant Man 
 in a Scrap, My Boys/ As the young dramatist 
 sped along he noted that people were still strag 
 gling by twos and threes into the house of wor 
 ship and into the place of entertainment: and 
 he could not but contrast swiftly this Sunday 
 
154 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 evening in a great city with the Sunday evenings 
 of his boyhood in the little village of his birth. 
 
 He wondered what his quiet parents would 
 think of him now were they alive, and did they 
 know that he was then going to the final re 
 hearsal of a play of which he Avas half author. 
 It was not his first piece,, for he had been lucky 
 enough the winter before to win a prize offered 
 by an enterprising newspaper for the best one-act 
 comedy ; but it was the first play of his to be pro 
 duced at an important New York house. When 
 he came to the closed but brilliantly lighted en 
 trance of this theatre, he stood still again to read 
 with keen pleasure the three - sheet posters on 
 each side of the doorway. These parti-colored 
 advertisements announced the first appearance 
 at that theatre of the young American actress, 
 Miss Daisy Fostelle,, in a new American comedy, 
 " Touch and Go/ written expressly for her by 
 Harry Brackett and Wilson Carpenter,, and pro 
 duced under the immediate direction of Z. Kil- 
 burn. 
 
 When the author of the new American comedy 
 had read this poster twice, he took out his watch 
 again and saw that it was just eight. He threw 
 away his cigarette and walked swiftly around the 
 corner. Entering a small door, he went down a 
 long, ill-lighted passage. At the end of this was 
 a small square hall, which might almost be called 
 the landing-stage of a flight of stairs leading to 
 the dressing-rooms above and to the property- 
 
THE REHEARSAL OF THE XEW PLAY 155 
 
 room below. This hall was cut off from the 
 stage by a large swinging-door. 
 
 As Carpenter entered the room this door swung 
 open and a nervous young man rushed in. Catch 
 ing sight of the dramatist, he checked his speed, 
 held out his hand, and smiled wearily, saying, 
 " That s you. is it ? I m so glad you ve come ! ?> 
 
 " The rehearsal hasn t begun, has it ?" Carpen 
 ter asked, eagerly. 
 
 f Star isn t here yet/" answered the actor, "and 
 she s never in a hurry, you know. She takes her 
 own time always. Daisy does. I know all her 
 little tricks. I ve told you already that I never 
 would have accepted this engagement at all if I 
 hadn t been out since January. I don t see my 
 self in this part of yours. I ll do my best with 
 it. of course, and it isn t such a bad part, maybe ; 
 but I don t see myself in it." 
 
 Carpenter tapped the other on the back heart 
 ily and cried : " Don t you be afraid. Dresser; 
 you will be all right ! Why. I shouldn t wonder 
 if you made the hit of the whole piece !" 
 
 And with that he started to open the door that 
 led to the stage. 
 
 But Dresser made a sudden appeal: Don t 
 go away just as I ve found you. I ve been want 
 ing to see you all day. I ve got to have your 
 advice, and it s important." 
 
 " Well ?" the dramatist responded. 
 
 "Well." repeated the young actor, "you know 
 that bit of mine in the third act, where I have 
 
156 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 the scene with Jimmy Stark ? He has to say to 
 me., ( I think my wife s mind is breaking/ and I 
 say, Are you afraid she is going to give you a 
 piece of it T Now, how would you read that ?" 
 
 After the author had explained to the actor 
 what seemed to him the obvious distribution of 
 the emphasis in this speech, he was able to escape 
 and at last to make his way upon the stage. 
 
 The scene of the first act of " Touch and 
 Go " was set, and the stage itself was brilliantly 
 lighted, while the auditorium was in absolute 
 darkness. It was at least a minute before Car 
 penter was able to discern the circle of the bal 
 cony, shrouded in the linen draperies that pro 
 tected its velvet and its gilding from the dust. 
 Here and there in the orchestra chairs were little 
 knots of three or four persons, perhaps twenty 
 or thirty in all. The proscenium boxes yawned 
 blackly. Although it was a warm evening in the 
 early fall, the house struck Carpenter as chill 
 and forbidding. He peered into the darkness 
 to discover the face he was longing to see again. 
 
 Two men were talking earnestly, seated at a 
 table in the centre of the stage near the foot 
 lights. One of these was a short man, with 
 grizzled hair and a masterful manner. This was 
 Sherrington, the stage -manager who had been 
 engaged to produce the play. The other was 
 Harry Brackett, Carpenter s collaborator in its 
 authorship. 
 
 Just as the new-comer had made out in the 
 
THE REHEARSAL OF THE XEW PLAY 157 
 
 dark house the group lie was seeking and had 
 bowed to the two ladies comprising it, Harry 
 Brackett caught sight of him. 
 
 " Well, Will." he cried, " the Stellar Attrac 
 tion is late, as usual and we ve got lots of work 
 before us to-night, too. Sherrington isn t at all 
 satisfied with the way they do either of the big 
 scenes in the second act ; and we ve got to look 
 out and keep them all up to their work if we 
 want this to be anything more than a mere ar 
 tistic success/ 
 
 Artistic success! " said Sherrington, em 
 phatically ; " why, there s money in this thing 
 of yours big money, too. if we can get all the 
 laughs out of those two scenes of Daisy s in the 
 second act. But it will take good work to get 
 out all the laughs there ought to be, legitimate 
 ly and we ve got to do it ! Every laugh is 
 worth a dollar and a half : that s what I say." 
 
 " The two scenes in the second act ?" inquired 
 Carpenter. " The one with Stark and the one 
 with Miss Marvin, you mean ?" 
 
 The one with Marvin will be all right. I 
 think," said the stage-manager. 
 
 I m not so sure of that," Harry Brackett 
 interjected : " you insisted on her being engaged, 
 Will, but she is very inexperienced, and I don t 
 know how she ll get through that long scene. " 
 
 " Miss Marvin is very clever," Carpenter de 
 clared, eager to defend the girl he was in love 
 with : and she will look the part to perfection !" 
 
158 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 "Looking is all very well," Brackett respond 
 ed, " but it is acting she will have to do in that 
 scene in the second act." 
 
 " And she will do it too," asserted the stage- 
 manager. "You see, she s got her mother here 
 to-night, and there isn t a sharper old stager any 
 where than Kate Shannon Loraine." 
 
 "That s so," Harry Brackett admitted; "I 
 suppose Loraine can show her daughter how to 
 get out of that scene all there is in it." 
 
 "Shannon 11 see the whole play to-night," 
 said Sherrington, "and she ll be able to give 
 Marvin lots of pointers to-morrow. The little 
 girl will be all right ; it s Daisy I m more afraid 
 of in that scene. It ought to be played high 
 comedy, ( Lady Teazle, way up in G and high 
 comedy isn t altogether in Daisy s line." 
 
 "That can t be helped now," Brackett re 
 plied ; "and if the Stellar Attraction can t reach 
 that scene it s the Stellar Attraction s own fault, 
 isn t it ? You remember, Will, how she kept tell 
 ing us all the time Ave were writing the play that 
 she wanted as high-toned a part as we could give 
 her. We gave it to her, and now she s just got 
 to stretch up to it, if she can." 
 
 "I am not afraid of that scene," Carpenter 
 declared, "for I ve always doubted whether she 
 could really do high comedy, and that scene is 
 written so that it will go almost as well if it s 
 played broadly. You know there are two ways 
 of doing Lady Teazle." 
 
THE REHEARSAL OF THE XEW PLAY 159 
 
 " There are no two ways about Daisy s being a 
 great favorite," said the stage-manager. " She s 
 accepted, and that s enough. After all, I don t 
 suppose it matters much how she takes that 
 scene ; high or broad, the public will accept her. 
 The part tits her like a glove, and all we ve got 
 to do is to keep everybody up to concert-pitch 
 and get all the laughs we can. You took my 
 advice and cut that talky scene in the third act, 
 and now the whole act will go off like hot cakes 
 see if it don t. I tell you what it is, I ll teach 
 you two boys how to write a real farce before 
 I ve done with you !" 
 
 Harry Brackett was standing almost behind 
 Sherringtoii as the stage - manager made this 
 speech. He winked at Carpenter. 
 
 Yes," he said, a moment later, " I think it is 
 a pretty good piece of the kind, and I hope it 
 will fetch them. At any rate. I don t believe 
 even our worst enemies will praise it for its 
 literary merit, 
 
 Carpenter laughed a little bitterly. Xo," he 
 assented, - we ve got it into shape now, and I 
 doubt if anybody insults us by saying that Touch 
 and Go is well written. * 
 
 Do you remember our joke while we were 
 working on it last winter, Will ?" asked Harry 
 Brackett. Then turning to Sherringtoii he ex 
 plained : \Ve used to say that the managers 
 wouldn t * touch it, so the people couldn t e go. 
 
 It s harder to touch the manager than it is 
 
160 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 to make the public go," added Carpenter. " I 
 believe that any fool can write a play, but that 
 only a man of great genius ever succeeds in get 
 ting his play produced/ 
 
 A handsome young woman with snapping black 
 eyes walked on the stage briskly. 
 
 "Here s the Stellar Attraction at last/ said 
 Harry Brackett; " now we can get down to busi 
 ness." 
 
 "Am I late?" the handsome young woman 
 asked, as she came forward. "Everybody wait 
 ing for me ?" 
 
 " You are just twenty minutes late, my dear/ 
 said the stage - manager, looking at his watch, 
 "and we are all waiting for you." 
 
 ". That s all right, then," she replied, laughing 
 lightly; "we ve got all night before us, haven t 
 we ?" 
 
 The prompter clapped his hands and called out 
 "First act!" Two clean-shaven men of indef 
 inite age who had been sitting in the wings rose 
 and came forward. Mr. Dresser joined them, and 
 his manner suggested a certain increase of his 
 ordinary nervous tension. A well-preserved el 
 derly lady left her seat on one side of the aisles 
 under the proscenium box and came through 
 the door which led from the auditorium to the 
 stage. She was followed by a slight, graceful 
 girl, a blonde with clear gray eyes. 
 
 "Mrs. Castleman Miss Marvin," said the 
 prompter, seeing them ; "now we are all ready." 
 
THE REHEARSAL OF THE XEW PLAY 161 
 
 And then the serious business of the rehearsal 
 began. Mrs. Castleman came clown to the centre 
 of the stage and took up a newspaper and read 
 the date of it aloud, and remarked that it was 
 just five years since master and mistress had 
 parted in anger, adding that neither of them 
 had put foot inside the old house in all the five 
 years, and yet it was not an hour from Xew York. 
 Then one of the minor actors, an awkward 
 young fellow, one of the two who had been stand 
 ing in the wings, entered with a telegram, which 
 he gave to Mrs. Castleman. She tore it open 
 and read it aloud : the master would arrive early 
 that evening. Then Miss Marvin, the girl with 
 the clear blue eyes, came forward with an open 
 letter in her hand and told Mrs. Castleman that 
 the mistress of the house would be home again 
 at last late that afternoon. And thus the re 
 hearsal went on gravely, every one intent upon 
 the business in hand. The speeches of the actors 
 were interrupted now and then by the stage- 
 manager. * Take the last scene over again, " 
 he might command, whereupon the performers 
 would resume their places as before and begin 
 again. Don t cross till he takes the stage, my 
 dear. And when he says, What is the meaning 
 of this ? don t be in a hurry. Wait, and then 
 say your aside. Can he suspect ? in a hoarse 
 whisper. See ?" 
 
 Finally there was a jingle of sleigh-bells, and 
 the orchestra, beginning faintly and slowly, soon 
 
162 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 worked up to a swift forte, and then Miss Daisy 
 Fostelle made her first appearance through the 
 broad door at the back of the stage. Finding 
 that she had taken everybody by surprise, she 
 smiled sweetly, and said, " You didn t expect 
 me, I see but I hope you are all glad to see me 
 once more." 
 
 A thin, cadaverous man with a heavy, black 
 mustache here stepped forward to face the wife 
 he had not seen for five years. " We are all glad 
 to see you once more, "he had to say, "very glad 
 indeed, and we are gladder still to see that you 
 seem to be in such excellent health and such 
 high spirits ! The separation has not dimmed the 
 brightness of your eyes, nor Here the tall, 
 gaunt actor stopped and hesitated. "I don t 
 know what s the matter with that speech," he 
 said, impatiently, "but I can t get it into my 
 head. I never had such tricky lines I" 
 
 The prompter gave him the word he needed, 
 and no one else paid any attention to this out 
 break. 
 
 The two authors were seated at the table in the 
 centre of the footlights, and Harry Brackett 
 whispered to Carpenter : " Stark is getting the 
 big head, isn t he ? The idea of a mere cuff- 
 shooter like that taking himself seriously !" 
 
 Then there followed an important scene in 
 which the wife gave her husband a witty and 
 vivacious account of all her doings during the 
 five years of their separation, ending with the 
 
THE REHEARSAL OF THE XEW PLAY 163 
 
 startling announcement that she had spent six 
 weeks in South Dakota and had there procured 
 a divorce from him ! But there is no need to 
 disclose here in detail the plot of " Touch and 
 Go," as the new American comedy unfolded itself 
 scene by scene. As the end of the act approach 
 ed Sherrington pressed the actors to play more 
 briskly so as to bring the curtain down swiftly on 
 an unexpected but carefully prepared tableau. 
 
 When the act was over the stage manager had 
 the final passages repeated twice, to make sure 
 of its going smoothly at the first performance; 
 and then the stage was cleared so that the scene 
 might be set for the second act. 
 
 Carpenter watched the graceful, gray-eyed girl 
 go back into the dim auditorium and take a seat 
 beside her mother : and his heart thumped sud 
 denly as he found himself wondering when he 
 would dare to tell her that lie loved her and to 
 ask her to be his wife. Then he also left the 
 stage and dropped into the chair behind mother 
 and daughter. 
 
 " It was very good of you to come this even 
 ing. Mrs. Loraine." he began. " I feel as if 
 having your daughter act in this play of mine 
 will bring me luck somehow." 
 
 The idea !" said Miss Marvin, smilingly. 
 
 " Mary had told me how clever the piece was/ 
 the elder actress responded, "but it is really 
 better than she said. The dialogue is very bril 
 liant at times, and the characters are excellent- 
 
164 OUTLINES IK LOCAL COLOR 
 
 ly contrasted and, what is more important,, the 
 whole thing will act ! The parts carry the act 
 ors ; they ve got something to do which is worth 
 while doing. It will go all right to-morrow 
 night !" 
 
 " It s a beautiful piece/ Mary Marvin de 
 clared., "and I think my part is just lovely I" 
 
 And before he could say anything in fit ac 
 knowledgment,, Mrs. Loraine went on: "Yes, 
 Mary s part is charming. And I think she will 
 play it very well, too !" 
 
 " I m sure of it !" he cried, unhesitatingly. 
 
 "I think there is more in it than I thought 
 at first," said Mary s mother, " now I ve seen 
 the play, and I ll go over Mary s part with her 
 to-night and show her what can be done with it. 
 I m waiting for that scene in the second act with 
 Fostelle. I think that Mary ought to share the 
 call after that. In fact, I m not sure that she 
 can t take the scene away from Fostelle." 
 
 "Oh, mother," the daughter broke in, "that 
 would never do ! I should get my two weeks 
 notice the next morning, shouldn t I ? And I 
 don t want to be out of an engagement just at 
 the beginning of the season when all the com 
 panies are made up." 
 
 "Are you sure that the ghost will walk every 
 week with this Fostelle company, if you strike 
 bad business for a month or so ?" asked Mrs. 
 Loraine, with a suggestion of anxiety in her 
 voice. 
 
THE REHEARSAL OF THE XEW PLAY 165 
 
 " I think Zeke Kilbnrn is all right," the dram 
 atic author responded ; " he made a pile of mon 
 ey last year on that imported melodrama, the 
 Doctor s Daughter ; and. besides, he has a 
 backer." 
 
 Mrs. Loraine laughed gently, showing her beau 
 tifully regular teeth. She was still a handsome 
 woman, with a fine figure and a crown of silver 
 hair. 
 
 A backer?" she rejoined: but who backs 
 the backer ? I ve heard your friend. Mr. Brack- 
 ett. there, say that a jay and his money are soon 
 parted." 
 
 Carpenter answered her earnestly. ! really 
 think Kilburn is pretty solid, but I suppose that 
 a great deal does depend on the way that the 
 play draws. They ve got open time here in Xew 
 York, and if Touch and Go catches on they 
 can stay here till Christinas. So it comes down 
 to this, that if our piece is a go the ghost will 
 walk regularly." 
 
 I hope it will make a hit," Mrs. Loraine an 
 swered, -for your sake, too. You haven t sold 
 it outright, have you ?" 
 
 " Xo, indeed," the young dramatist replied. 
 " Harry Brackett is too old in the business for 
 that. We ve got a nightly royalty, with a per 
 centage on the gross whenever it plays to more 
 than four thousand dollars a week. We stand 
 to make a lot of money if it makes a hit. What 
 do you think of its chances, Mrs. Loraine ?" 
 
166 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 " The first act is all right/ 7 she responded. 
 " That s the most I can say now. But come 
 and ask me after I ve seen the third act and 
 I ll tell you what I think, and I believe I can 
 then prophesy its fate pretty well." 
 
 By this time the scene of the second act had 
 been set. It represented a stone summer-house 
 on the top of a hill overlooking the Hudson just 
 below West Point. It was picturesque in itself, 
 and it was ingeniously arranged to provide op 
 portunities for effective stage business. 
 
 Carpenter accompanied Miss Marvin back to 
 the stage when the time drew nigh for the sec 
 ond act to begin. 
 
 As he was passing through the door between 
 the auditorium and the stage, he found himself 
 face to face with Dresser, who was fidgeting to 
 and fro. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Carpenter/ he cried, " I m so glad 
 to see you ! I want to ask your opinion about 
 this. After all, you know, you wrote the play, 
 and you ought to be able to decide. In my 
 scene with Marvin in this act, am I really in 
 love with her then, or ain t I ? Sherrington 
 says I am, but I think it s a great deal funnier 
 if I m not in love with her then it helps to 
 work up the last act better. Now what do you 
 think ? Sherrington insists that his way of play 
 ing it is more dramatic. Well, I don t say it 
 ain t, but it isn t half as funny, is it ?" 
 
 After Carpenter had given his opinion upon 
 
THE REHEARSAL OF THE NEW PLAY 167 
 
 this question, Dresser allowed him to escape. 
 But he had not advanced ten yards before he 
 was claimed by Mrs. Castleman. 
 
 " Mr. Carpenter,* the elderly actress began, 
 in her usual haughtily dignified manner, "how 
 do you think I ought to dress this part in the 
 first act ? She s a house-keeper, isn t she ? So 
 I suppose I ought to wear an apron." 
 
 The young dramatist expressed his belief that 
 perhaps an apron would be a proper thing for 
 the house-keeper to wear in the first act. 
 
 But not a cap, I hope ?" urged Mrs. Castleman. 
 
 Carpenter doubted if a cap would be necessary. 
 
 "Thank you," said Mrs. Castleman. "You 
 see, I have always hitherto been associated with 
 the legitimate, and I really don t quite know 
 what to do with this sort of thing. Then she 
 suddenly paused, only to break out again impetu 
 ously : Oh, I beg your pardon. Mr. Carpen 
 ter, really I did not mean to imply that this 
 charming play of yours is not legitimate " 
 
 The dramatic author laughed. You needn t 
 apologize, he declared; I m inclined to think 
 that Touch and Go is so illegitimate now that 
 its own parents can t recognize it !" 
 
 At last the rehearsal of the second act began, 
 the two authors sitting at the little table with the 
 stage-manager. 
 
 Sherrington consulted them once or twice in 
 regard to the omission of a line here and there. 
 
 * Cut it down to the bone when YOU can 
 
168 OUTLINES IK LOCAL COLOR 
 
 that s what I say/ he explained; "what you cut 
 out can t make people yawn." 
 
 But once he stopped the rehearsal to sug 
 gest that a speech be written in. "You ve got 
 to make that complication mighty clear/ he de 
 clared, "and this is the place to do it, I think. 
 If you want them to understand that Dresser 
 here is going to mistake Marvin for Fostelle in 
 the next scene, you had better give him another 
 line now to lead up to it." 
 
 The two authors consulted hastily, and Car 
 penter, drawing out a note -book and a pencil, 
 hurriedly wrote a sentence, which he showed to 
 Brackett. 
 
 " That 11 do it," said Sherrington; and he read 
 it aloud to Dresser, who borrowed Carpenter s 
 pencil and wrote in the line on the manuscript 
 of his part, wondering aloud whether he should 
 ever remember it on the first night. 
 
 A few minutes later Sherrington again inter 
 rupted the actors to insist that the sunset effect 
 should be adjusted carefully to accompany the 
 spoken dialogue. 
 
 "I want a soft, rosy tinge on Fostelle in this 
 scene," he explained. 
 
 "Quite right/ laughed the black -eyed star; 
 " that ought to be becoming to my style of 
 beauty." 
 
 " And I want it to contrast with the blue moon 
 light in the scene with Marvin/ said the stage- 
 
THE REHEARSAL OF THE XEW PLAY 169 
 
 " Quite right again," Miss Daisy Fostelle com 
 mented. "I ll take the centre of the stage, and 
 you will order calciums for one !" 
 
 "We had better go back to your entrance, I 
 think," Sherringtoii decided, "and take the 
 whole scene over." 
 
 The actors and actresses obediently resumed 
 the positions they had occupied when Miss Daisy 
 Fostelle made her first appearance in that act. 
 The cue for her entrance was given, and she 
 came forward with a burst of artificial laughter. 
 
 "That laugh was very good," Sherringtoii de 
 clared " better than it was last-time: but you 
 must make it as hollow as you can. Remember 
 the situation : your best young man has gone 
 back on you and you are trying to keep a stiff 
 tipper-lip but your heart is breaking all the 
 same. See ?" 
 
 The star repeated the laugh, and it was more 
 obviously artificial. 
 
 "That s it, my dear." said the stage-manager. 
 "Xow keep it up till you cross, and then drop 
 into that chair there, and then you let the laugh 
 die away into a sob. 
 
 The star went back to the rustic gate by which 
 she had entered, laughed again, and came for 
 ward : then she crossed the stage, sank upon a 
 seat, and choked with a sob. 
 
 Carpenter stepped forward and whispered into 
 Sherrington s ear, whereupon Miss Fostelle sat 
 upright instantly and very suspiciously asked. 
 
170 OUTLIKES IK LOCAL COLOR 
 
 "What s that ? Fd rather have you say it out 
 loud than whisper it !" 
 
 The young dramatist explained at once. 
 
 "I was only suggesting to Sherrington that 
 perhaps it would be better if that seat were 
 turned a little so that you were not so sideways : 
 then the audience would get a full view of your 
 face here." 
 
 "It would be a pity to deprive them of that, 
 Fll admit/ said the mollified actress, as she and 
 the stage - manager slightly turned the rustic 
 chair. 
 
 Then she dropped into the seat and repeated 
 her sob. 
 
 Miss Marvin stepped upon the stage, and re 
 marked to space, " What a lovely evening, and 
 how glorious the sunset I" Then she stood si 
 lently watching. 
 
 Miss Daisy Fostelle sobbed again, and, in tones 
 heavy-laden with tears, she said, "What have I to 
 live for now ?" Looking back at the other actress 
 she remarked, in her ordinary voice, "You will 
 give me time to pick myself up here, won t you ?" 
 Then she went on, in the former tear-stained ac 
 cents, " What have I left to live for now ? My 
 heart is broken ! My heart is broken !" Again 
 she resumed her every-day tones to ask the stage- 
 manager : "Is that all right ? Am I far enough 
 around now ?" 
 
 Thus they came to perhaps the most important 
 scene of the play that between the Stellar At- 
 
THE REHEARSAL OF THE XE\V PLAY 171 
 
 traction (as Brackett liked to call her) and the 
 girl Carpenter was in love with. Both actresses 
 were well fitted to the characters they had to per 
 form. Carpenter, who had no liking for Daisy 
 Fostelle. was a little surprised at the judgment 
 and skill with which she carried off the bra 
 vura passages of her part ; and he was not a lit 
 tle charmed with the delicate force the gentle 
 Mary Marvin revealed in the contrasting char 
 acter. 
 
 And so the rehearsal proceeded laboriously, 
 Sherrington directing it autocratically, ordering 
 certain scenes to be played more rapidly and see- 
 ins: that others were taken more slowly, so that 
 the spectators might have time to understand the 
 situation. Xow and then either Carpenter or 
 Brackett made a suggestion or a criticism, but 
 both yielded to Sherrington. if he was insistent. 
 The stage -manager kept the whole company of 
 actors up to their work, and imposed on them 
 his understanding of that work, much as the 
 conductor of an orchestra leads his musicians at 
 the performance of a symphony. 
 
 When the whole act had been rehearsed, and 
 the final scene was repeated three or four times 
 until it ran like well-oiled clockwork, the stage 
 was cleared so that the scenery of the third act 
 might be set. 
 
 Sherrington accompanied Miss Marvin through 
 the door behind the proscenium box into the dark 
 auditorium. 
 
172 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOE 
 
 "You will play that scene very well," he said, 
 "but you ve got to have confidence." 
 
 " It is a beautiful part, isn t it ?" she respond 
 ed, with enthusiasm. " I never had a part I could 
 enjoy playing so much." 
 
 Carpenter was about to leave the stage to tell 
 Mary what a delight it was to him to hear her 
 speak the words he had written, Avlien his collab 
 orator tapped him on the shoulder. As he turned 
 Harry Brackett whispered in his ear : 
 
 "Look out for the Stellar Attraction. I m 
 afraid she has just dropped on Marvin s part. 
 If she once suspects that the little girl may get 
 that scene away from her, she can make herself 
 mightily disagreeable all round. I guess we had 
 better go up and tell her she is a greater actress 
 than Charlotte Cushman." 
 
 Carpenter laughingly answered: "Take care 
 she doesn t drop on you ! It would be worse if 
 she thought you were guying her." 
 
 "There s no danger of that," Harry Brackett 
 returned. " That Stellar Attraction of ours is a 
 boa-constrictor for flattery there isn t anything 
 she won t swallow." 
 
 The two dramatic authors found Miss Daisy 
 Fostelle standing in the wings and discussing 
 with Dresser the personal peculiarities of another 
 member of the dramatic profession. 
 
 As Carpenter and Brackett came up the actress 
 was saying : " Why, she had the cheek actually 
 to tell me I was more amusing off the stage than 
 
THE REHEARSAL OF THE NEW PLAY 173 
 
 on the cat ! But I got even with her. I told 
 her I was sorry I couldn t return the compli 
 ment, for she was even less amusing on the 
 stage than off !" 
 
 The two dramatists joined in the laugh, and 
 then Harry Brackett began. 
 
 "Is it your hated rival you are having fun 
 with ?" he asked. " Well, if she comes to see 
 you in this play to-morrow they ll have to put 
 a waterproof carpet into the private box, for 
 she will weep bitter tears of despair while she s 
 watching you in this second act of ours. 
 
 Miss Daisy Fostelle snapped her big black eyes 
 at him and smiled with pleasure. 
 
 "Yes," she admitted. "I don t believe she 
 will really enjoy that scene and yet she ll have 
 to give me a hand at the end of the act. 
 
 " She ll go through the motions, perhaps." 
 Brackett returned, "but she won t burst a hole 
 in her gloves. " Then he slyly nudged his col 
 laborator. 
 
 "The fact is/" began Carpenter, thus admon 
 ished, "I was just going to tell Harry Brackett 
 here that maybe we have made a mistake in writ 
 ing you a high-comedy part like this " 
 
 The actress flashed a suspicious glance at him,, 
 but he went on as if unconscious of this. 
 
 "We can see now." he continued, " that you 
 are going to play this part so well that you will 
 make a great hit in it. and then the critics will 
 all be after you to play Lady Teazle and Rosalind. 
 
174 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOK 
 
 They ll tell you that yon are only wasting your 
 talents in modern plays arid that you ought to 
 devote yourself to the legitimate. 
 
 The suspicion faded from Miss Daisy Fostelle s 
 face and the smile of pleasure reappeared. 
 
 " That s so," Harry Brackett declared. " You 
 will make such a hit in this part, I m afraid,, that 
 Sheridan and Shakespeare will be good enough 
 for you next season. Now that would be taking 
 the bread out of our mouths !" 
 
 The actress laughed easily. " I don t think 
 you would starve/ she returned ; "and I might, 
 maybe if I took to the legitimate. Not that it 
 would be my first attempt, either, for I played 
 Ariel in the Tempest when I was a mere child. 
 And it wasn t easy, I can tell you. Ariel s a 
 real hard part, I think ; there s a certain swing 
 to the words, too, and you can t make up a line 
 of your own if you get stuck, as I could in this 
 piece of yours." 
 
 " No," Brackett confessed, solemnly, " the dia 
 logue of Touch and Go is not as rhythmic as 
 the dialogue of the Tempest/ 
 
 "And I ve played Francois in ( Richelieu, too," 
 continued Miss Fostelle. "But I don t think I 
 really like any of those Shakespearian parts." 
 
 " No/ Brackett confessed again, with fearless 
 gravity, " Franc, ois is not one of Shakespeare s 
 best parts. It wasn t worthy of you, no matter 
 how inexperienced you were. But Rosalind, 
 now, as Carpenter suggests, and Beatrice " 
 
THE REHEARSAL OF THE NEW PLAY 175 
 
 Carpenter here guessed from Dressers spas 
 modic manner that the actor was about to inter 
 vene in the conversation, and not knowing what 
 might be the result, the younger of the drama 
 tists dropped out of the group and managed to 
 draw Dresser away with him. 
 
 After they had exchanged a few words Car 
 penter looked into the auditorium to discover 
 where Mary Marvin might be. He saw that she 
 was by the side of her mother, and that Mrs. 
 Loraine and Sherrington were still engaged in 
 an earnest conversation. He made a movement 
 as if to leave Dresser, whereupon the comedian 
 begged him for a moment s interview. 
 
 "Its about that speech of mine in the third 
 act that I want to make a suggestion/ * said the 
 actor. " It s a very good speech, too. and I think 
 I can get three laughs out of it, easy. You know 
 the speech. I mean the one about the three old 
 maids : There were three old maids in our 
 town; one was as plain as a pikestaff, and the 
 other was as homely as a hedge fence, and the 
 third was as ugly as sin ; and whenever they all 
 three walked out together every clock in the place 
 stopped short. Their parents had christened 
 them Faith and Hope and Charity : but the boys 
 always called them Battle and Murder and Sud 
 den Death. Xow. don t you think it would help 
 to ring out the point more if the orchestra was 
 to play Grandfather s Clock very gently just 
 as I say that every clock in the place stopped 
 
176 OUTLINES IIS" LOCAL COLOR 
 
 short ? What do you think ? That s my own 
 idea I" 
 
 The dramatist said nothing for a second or 
 two, and then told the actor to consult the stage- 
 manager, who was just returning to begin the re 
 hearsal of the third act. 
 
 The new scene had been set swiftly and the 
 furniture was already in place. The first of the 
 actors to enter was the cadaverous and irritable 
 Stark. He began glibly enough, but soon hesi 
 tated for a word, and then broke out impatient 
 ly, regardless of the presence of the two authors : 
 " Oh, I can t get that line into my head ! And 
 I don t know what it means, either ! How can 
 you expect a man to speak such rubbish ?" 
 
 As before, nobody paid any attention to this 
 petulance, and the actor went on with his part 
 without further comment. 
 
 Dresser then entered, and the two men pro 
 ceeded to misunderstand eacli other in the most 
 elaborate fashion. The character which Stark 
 represented had reason to believe that the char 
 acter that Dresser represented was the uncle 
 of the character that Daisy Fostelle represented 
 and was also a soldier. In like manner Dresser 
 had reason to believe that Stark was the lady s 
 uncle and also a sailor. They addressed each 
 other, therefore, in sailor talk and in soldier 
 talk ; and the fun waxed fast and furious. At the 
 height of the misunderstanding Daisy Fostelle en 
 tered unexpectedly and found herself instant- 
 
THE REHEARSAL OF THE XEW PLAY 177 
 
 ly immeshed in the humorous complication, with 
 no possibility of plausible explanation. 
 
 Once the stage-manager reminded Dresser that 
 he had omitted a phrase. "You left out Con 
 found it. man !* " he said. 
 
 I know it," the actor explained, but I 
 wanted to save it to use in my next speech. It 
 goes better there you see if it does not." 
 
 And Sherrington decided that " Confound it, 
 man !" was more effective in the later speech : so 
 the transposition was authorized, to Dresser s sat 
 isfaction. 
 
 The stage -manager had this important scene 
 of mutual misunderstanding between Stark and 
 Dresser and Daisy Fostelle repeated twice, until 
 every word fell glibly and every gesture seemed 
 automatic. And so the rehearsal went to the 
 end, Sherrington applying the finishing touches, 
 and seeming at last to be fairly well satisfied with 
 the result of his labors. 
 
 The final lines of the comedy were, of course, 
 to be delivered by the star ; but when the cue was 
 given to her Miss Fostelle simply said " Tag !" 
 everybody being aware that it is very unlucky to 
 speak the last speech of a play at a rehearsal as 
 unlucky as it is to put up an umbrella on the 
 stage, or to quote from "Macbeth." 
 
 " That will do." said the stage-manager ; ft I 
 think it will be all right to-morrow night." 
 
 And with that the rehearsal concluded and 
 the company began to disperse. 
 
 12 
 
178 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 " I hope it is all right/ Harry Brackett re 
 marked to Carpenter, "and I think it is. But I 
 shall have a great deal more confidence after the 
 man in the box-office shakes hands with me cord 
 ially, say, next Wednesday or Thursday, and in 
 quires about my health. He ll know by that time 
 whether we ve got a good thing or not !" 
 
 Carpenter helped Miss Marvin to put on her 
 light cape. Then, after her mother had joined 
 them, they said good-night to the others and left 
 the theatre together. 
 
 When they came out into the warm night the 
 street was quieter than it had been when Carpen 
 ter entered the theatre. There were fewer cable- 
 cars passing the door, and the trains on the ele 
 vated road in the avenue were now infrequent. 
 The lights had been turned out in front of the 
 variety show across the way, and evidently the 
 grand sacred concert was over. The moon had 
 sunk, and before they had gone a block the bell 
 of the church tolled the hour of midnight. 
 
 The young man who was walking by the side 
 of Mrs. Loraine broke the silence at last. 
 
 "Well," he asked, "what do you think of the 
 play now ?" 
 
 "I think it is a good piece of its kind," the 
 elder actress answered "a very good piece of its 
 kind ; and it is well staged ; and it will be well 
 acted, too. Sherrington knows how to get his 
 best work out of everybody. Yes, it will be a 
 success." 
 
THE REHEARSAL OF THE XEW PLAY 179 
 
 Is it good for three months here now ?" the 
 young author asked, -and for the rest of the 
 season on the road ?" 
 
 Oh yes. indeed. "replied Mrs. Loraine : "yes, 
 indeed. It s safe for a hundred nights here at 
 least !" 
 
 They paused at the corner to wait for a cable- 
 car, and Sherrington joined them. 
 
 This gave Carpenter a chance to lead the 
 daughter away from the mother half a dozen 
 steps. 
 
 I m so glad mother thinks the play will go, v 
 the girl began. "And mother is a very good 
 judge, too. You ought to make a lot out of it/ 
 
 The young dramatist felt that he had his chance 
 at last. 
 
 * I ve wanted to make money mainly for one 
 reason." he returned ; I wanted to ask you to 
 take half of it." 
 
 Half of it ?" she echoed, as though she did 
 not understand. 
 
 " Oh. well all of it/" he responded, swiftly ; 
 and me with it." 
 
 Mr. Carpenter !" she cried, and her blushes 
 made her look even lovelier than before. 
 
 " Won t you marry me ?" he asked, ardently. 
 
 " Oh. I suppose I ve got to say yes." she an 
 swered, or else you ll go down on your knees 
 here in the street ! v 
 
 (1896) 
 
- r 
 
 ftt 
 
 . in @ 
 
 MI in e KI e IN g in 
 
 
 
 (5Z, ^r/h// t - in the Sl 
 
JTTLE Miss Peters had given a last 
 look to the dinner-table with its ef 
 fective decoration of autumn leaves, 
 and she had made sure that the cards 
 were in their proper places. She had 
 glanced at herself in the mirror of the music-room 
 as she passed through, and she had smiled to see 
 the little spot of color burning in her cheek. She 
 had taken her place modestly behind her employ 
 er, the portly hostess, and she had seen the guests 
 arrive one by one. She had remarked the cheer 
 ful eagerness of the young Irishman for whose 
 sake the company had gathered, and she had 
 frankly admired his good looks. Xow she was 
 sitting silently in her seat at the table, and she 
 was wondering what the stranger would think of 
 them all. 
 
 It would not be quite fair to the worthy widow 
 to say that Mrs. Canton s dinners were always 
 ponderous : but it might be admitted that, al 
 though the cooking was ever excellent and the 
 guests were selected from the innermost circle of 
 Society, the bill of fare was monotonous and the 
 conversation often lacked variety. That evening, 
 however, there were several present who had not 
 before been honored with invitations to dine in 
 
184 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 that exclusive mansion. Few people of fashion 
 were back in town so early in October, and it had 
 not been easy for Mrs. Canton to make up her 
 complement of guests when she found that she 
 had suddenly to honor a letter of introduction 
 Lord Mannington had given to the Honorable 
 Gilbert Barry, brother of Lord Punchestown. 
 She had heard that the handsome Irishman had 
 been a great success at Lenox,, and that all the 
 girls were wild about him. In Mannington s let 
 ter she was informed that the young man went 
 in for slumming and all that sort of thing, and 
 that he had been living in Toynbee Hall ; she 
 was besought, therefore, to make him acquainted 
 with the people in New York most interested in 
 the elevation of the lower classes. 
 
 This sentence of Lord Mannington s letter it 
 was that had caused Mrs. Canton to invite Ku- 
 pert de Ruyter, the novelist, for she happened to 
 have read one of his stories about the wretched 
 creatures living down in the Italian quarter, and 
 she was sure he would be able to tell Mr. Barry 
 all that the young Irishman might \vant to know 
 about the slums of New York. She had been 
 fortunate enough to get the Jimmy Suydams, 
 too ; and she knew that Mrs. Jimmy took such 
 an interest in the poor, acting as patroness so 
 often, and all that. Then when little Miss Peters 
 had come in to write the invitations and to bal 
 ance the check-book and to answer the accumu 
 lated notes, Mrs. Canton, having gone over the 
 
A CANDLE IX THE PLATE 185 
 
 list, looked at the pretty young secretary for a 
 minute without speaking, and then said, It 
 won t be easy to get just the people one wants. 
 AVhy shouldn t you come. Miss Peters ? You 
 belong to one of those things, you know, what 
 do you call them Working Girls Clubs cloirt 
 you ?" 
 
 I m a working girl myself, am I not ? Miss 
 Peters answered. " And I reckon I m very glad 
 I ve gotten the work to do." 
 
 Then you can tell him anything Mr. de 
 Ruyter doesn t know about these sort of people. 
 How absurd for the younger brother of a peer to 
 bother himself about such things over here, isn t 
 it ?" Mrs. Canton had returned. Then that s 
 settled." 
 
 Although the Southern girl had not relished 
 the way the invitation had been proffered, she 
 had not declined it. glad to get a glimpse again 
 of the life of luxury to which she had been a 
 stranger since she had been earning her own 
 living : and thus it was that she was sitting si 
 lently in her seat at the dinner-table that even 
 ing in October, with Gilbert Barry and Rupert 
 de Ruyter opposite to her. She did not seem to 
 notice how the young Irishman glanced across 
 the table at her more than once with obvious 
 admiration, or how he tried to lure her into the 
 conversation. 
 
 It irritated Miss Peters to have Rupert de Ruy 
 ter monopolize the talk. His rather rasping voice 
 
186 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 sawed her nerves, and she detested the way he 
 thrust forward his square chin. She listened 
 while he chattered along, not boasting exactly, 
 yet managing to convey the impression that he 
 knew more than any one else. Now and again he 
 did bring forth a picturesque fact, for which he 
 had the kodak eye of a reporter. He had the 
 happy-go-lucky facility of the newspaper man, 
 and he rattled away with more than one absurd 
 misapprehension of the reality, until he remind 
 ed her of a singer with a fine voice but unable to 
 avoid false notes. 
 
 "I don t pretend to know New York inside- 
 out and upsidedown," he was saying; "but it 
 is a most fascinating study, this polyglot city of 
 ours, and the more you push your investigations 
 the more likely you are to make surprising dis 
 coveries. You know we have an Italian quarter 
 here ?" 
 
 This was addressed, perhaps, to the British 
 guest, but it was Mrs. Jimmy Suydam who an 
 swered it. 
 
 " Of course we do," she said ; " haven t we all 
 read that thrilling story you wrote about it ? 
 the story with the startling title A Vision of 
 Black Despair." 
 
 The author flushed with pride that so hand 
 some a woman and so exclusive a leader of Soci 
 ety should thus praise one of his writings. 
 
 Mr. Jimmy Suydam leaned over to Mrs. Can 
 ton, at whose left he was sitting, and said, "I 
 
A CAXDLE IX THE PLATE 187 
 
 don t see how my wife does it, do you ? She 
 keeps tip with everything, you know reads all 
 the books and all that." 
 
 "I didn t mean to remind you of that little 
 thing of mine," continued De Euyter. with a 
 self-satisfied air that made little Miss Peters feel 
 as though she would like to stick a pin in him. 
 That s neither here nor there, though I spent 
 two days down in the Italian quarter getting up 
 the local color for it. But what you didn t know, 
 any of you. I am certain, is that part of the soil 
 of this city was imported from Italy." 
 
 Really, now," commented the British guest, 
 that is very interesting, indeed. It would be 
 from a religious motive. I suppose just as some 
 of the mediaeval cemeteries had earth brought 
 from the Holy Land ?" 
 
 * That would be a more romantic reason, no 
 doubt." the story-teller explained. But the real 
 one is very prosaic. I fear. The Italian soil here 
 in Xew York was brought over as ballast by the 
 ships that were going to take back our bread- 
 stuffs. There is lot after lot upon the Harlem 
 that has been filled in with this ballast stones 
 mostly, but some of it is earth." 
 
 Genoa the superb providing a foundation for 
 imperial Xew York." said the young Irishman, 
 with a little flourish and Miss Peters guessed 
 that De Euyter made a mental note of the figure 
 for future elaboration. "And has Xew York a 
 volcano under the city like Xaples. now ? like 
 
188 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 every great town in Europe for the matter of 
 that. Have yon a seething mass of want and 
 misery and discontent,, such as boiled over in 
 Paris under the Commune ? That s what Fm 
 wanting to find out." 
 
 "We have a devil s cauldron of our own, if 
 that s what you mean/ responded De Euyter ; 
 " and we have people from every corner of the 
 globe here now helping to keep the pot a-boiling. 
 We have Russian Jews by the thousand, living 
 just as they did in the Pale. We have Chinese 
 enough to support a Chinese theatre. We have 
 so many Syrians now that they are pre-empting 
 certain blocks for themselves. We have Irish 
 peasants so timid and suspicious that they won t 
 go to the hospital when they are almost dying, 
 because they believe the doctors keep a Black 
 Bottle to be administered to troublesome pa 
 tients." 
 
 "I should think they would be ever so much 
 more comfortable in a roomy hospital than in 
 their stuffy little tenement -house rooms/ said 
 Mrs. Jimmy ; " and they can t get decent nursing 
 in their own homes, can they ?" 
 
 "The poor are a most unreasonable lot and 
 ungrateful, too/ added Mr. Stiydam ; "that s 
 what I think." 
 
 " They are not so badly off in their tenement- 
 houses as you might think/ explained De Ruyter. 
 "They help each other with the children when 
 there s sickness." 
 
A CAXDLE IX THE PLATE 189 
 
 The universal freemasonry of motherhood," 
 commented Gilbert Barry ; and again Miss Peters 
 suspected the story-teller of making a mental 
 record of the phrase. 
 
 They are impossible to understand/ De 
 Ruyter declared. 
 
 Why ?" asked Miss Peters, suddenly, across 
 the table, to the surprise of everybody. The 
 youus Irishman smiled encouragingly, as though 
 he had been regretting that this pretty girl re 
 fused to talk. 
 
 -Why are they impossible to understand? 
 repeated the American story-teller. "I don t 
 know. I m sure. They are conundrums, all of 
 them, and I am ready to give them up/ 
 
 " Isn t it because you persist in approaching 
 them as though they were strange, wild beasts ?" 
 the young woman went on. You speak of them 
 just as if they were different from us. But they 
 are not, are they ? They have their feelings just 
 like we have : they fall in love and they get mar 
 ried and they quarrel and they die. just like we 
 do. There is not more crime in the tenement- 
 houses than there is in the rest of the city not 
 if you remember how many more people live in 
 the tenement-houses. There isn t less joy there, 
 or less sorrow either. There is quite as much 
 happiness. I reckon, and a good deal more fun. 
 They are not the lower animals ; and it just 
 makes me mad all over when I hear them spoken 
 of in that way. They are human beings, after 
 
190 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 all and if you can t understand them it s be 
 cause you re not ready to go to them as your 
 equals/ 7 
 
 " That s what I say/ the Irishman agreed ; 
 " we must approach them on the plane of hu 
 man sympathy that s the only way to get them 
 to open their hearts." 
 
 :< Why should we expect them to open their 
 hearts to us?" Miss Peters continued. "We 
 don t open ours to strangers, do we ?" 
 
 " That s quite true," admitted Barry. " Some 
 times I wonder if it isn t impertinent we are 
 when we thrust ourselves into a poor man s room. 
 I doubt we should like him to thrust himself 
 into ours." 
 
 " I think that is a most amusing suggestion of 
 yours/ Mrs. Jimmy declared. " I shall look 
 forward with delight to the day when the Five 
 Points send missionaries up to Fifth Avenue." 
 
 " What an absurd idea !" cried Mrs. Canton, 
 in disgust. 
 
 " Come now/ the Irishman returned, " I 
 deny that the suggestion is mine ; but it is not 
 so absurd really, it isn t. There s lots of things 
 they can teach us. I don t know but what we 
 have more to learn from them than they have 
 from us really I don t. Christianity, now- 
 practical Christianity inasmuch as ye did it 
 to one of the least of these/ and all that sort 
 of thing well, there s more of that among the 
 poor than there is among the rich, I m thinking." 
 
A CANDLE IX THE PLATE 191 
 
 " If you want to pick up picturesque bits of 
 low life in Xew York/" broke in De Ruyter, 
 you must get a chance to see a candle in the 
 
 plate." 
 
 "A candle in the plate ?" echoed Barry. "I ve 
 
 never heard of it." 
 
 " It sounds like the title of a tale of super 
 stition transplanted from Europe and surviving 
 here in America," said Mrs. Jimmy. 
 
 " It s not a superstition, it s only a custom," 
 De Ruyter explained ; and whether it s a trans 
 planted survival or not I can t say. You see 
 I ve never seen the thing myself, but I ve been 
 told about it. I hear that down in the tenement- 
 house region, when a family can t pay the rent 
 and the landlord puts their scant furniture out 
 on the sidewalk, and they don t know where to 
 lay their heads that night, then one of the neigh 
 bors takes a candle and lights it and sticks it up 
 on a plate, and takes his stand on the sidewalk ; 
 and this is a sign to everybody that there is a 
 family in sore distress, and so the passers-by drop 
 in a penny or two until there is enough to pay 
 the arrears of rent and let the poor mother and 
 children go back." 
 
 Mrs. Jimmy Suydam laughed a little bitterly. 
 " That sort of thing may be possible on Cherry 
 Hill." she said, but it would never do on Mur 
 ray Hill, would it ? Just imagine how absurd a 
 broken millionaire would look standing at a street 
 corner with a little electric light on a silver sal- 
 
192 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 ver, expecting the multi-millionaires going by to 
 drop in a check or two to pay his rent for him \" 
 
 "I thought I had a quaint little silhouette of 
 metropolitan life for you," De Ruyter respond 
 ed, smiling back ; "but you spoil the picture if 
 you guy it like that." 
 
 " Very curious it is/ said Barry "very curi 
 ous, indeed. How far a little candle throws its 
 beams/ I don t think that the custom was ex 
 ported from Ireland or from England at least, I 
 do not recall anything analogous." 
 
 "I ve heard an old Irishwoman complain that 
 the law was harder here on the tenant than it 
 was in the old country/ Miss Peters asserted ; 
 and then she appended an imitation of the old 
 Irishwoman s speech : " Sure, they d boycott the 
 landlord there, that s what they d do, or they d 
 shoot the agent, maybe ; but here ye can t 
 there s the police, bad cess to em ! " 
 
 " Have you ever seen the candle in the plate ?" 
 Barry asked her, across the table. 
 
 " Never," she answered. 
 
 " But you have heard of it ?" De Ruyter in 
 quired. 
 
 " Never before to-night," was her reply. 
 
 " You don t mean to say you don t believe 
 that there is any such custom ?" Mrs. Jimmy 
 asked. "Thus all our illusions are shattered 
 one by one." 
 
 " Of course, I don t know," the girl respond 
 ed ; "I haven t been working down there very 
 
A CAXDLE IX THE PLATE 193 
 
 long only since last February. But it sounds 
 like it was a fake, as we used to say in the news 
 paper office when I was a reporter. 7 
 
 Mrs. Jimmy Suydam had never met Miss 
 Peters before, and now she examined the girl 
 curiously, wondering what sort of being a wom 
 an was who had been a reporter and was now 
 living among the poor, and who happened also 
 to be dining at Mrs. Canton s. 
 
 The hostess was just then explaining to Mr. 
 Suydam in a whisper that Miss Peters was a 
 Southern girl of excellent family, who used to 
 write those " Polly Perkins " articles for the Dial 
 on Sunday, but who had given it up last winter, 
 and now acted as her secretary. 
 
 A fake?" repeated the Irishman, gleefully ; 
 "that s one of your Americanisms, isn t it? I 
 must remember that. A fake what does it 
 mean exactly ?" 
 
 "It means the thing that is not, 7 De Euyter 
 explained, with a trace of acerbity in his voice. 
 " Miss Peters disbelieves in the existence of the 
 candle in the plate, and she was too polite to 
 call my story a lie. so she said it was a fake." 
 
 " Oh. Mr. De Ruyteiy v was her retort, " and 
 you used to be a newspaper man yourself once I" 
 
 Your newspapers, now. " Barry broke in, " I 
 confess they puzzle me. They are so clever, you 
 know, and so up-to-date, and all that ; but you 
 never know what to believe in them, do you ? 
 And then they do such dreadful things." 
 
194 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 " I fear you will find few Americans prepared 
 to defend our newspapers," said the story-teller, 
 always a little ashamed that he had once been, a 
 reporter. "But what sort of a dreadful thing 
 have you in mind just now?" 
 
 " Things quite inconceivable, you know/ the 
 Irishman explained ; " a thing like this, for exam 
 ple. A year or two ago a man gave me a copy 
 of one of your New York papers the Dial, I 
 think it was. I read it with great interest, as one 
 would the writing of some strange tribe of sav 
 ages, don t you know ? It was so very extraor 
 dinary." 
 
 As the guest made this plain statement, little 
 Miss Peters happened to catch the eye of the 
 handsome Mrs. Jimmy Suydam, and they ex 
 changed an imperceptible smile. 
 
 "What shocked me the most," Barry contin 
 ued, " was a long article from some special com 
 missioner, with headings in huge letters 
 
 " Scare - heads they call them," explained De 
 Ruyter. 
 
 " Scare - heads ?" repeated the Irishman. 
 "That s the very name for them. Scare-heads 
 delicious ! This article, then, had scare-heads 
 galore, and it described how a suicide had been 
 identified. It seems some poor girl of the work 
 ing-class had got into trouble, and sooner than 
 bring disgrace on her family she had jumped 
 into the river here Hudson s River, isn t it ? 
 She had carefully arranged so that there was 110 
 
A CAXDLE IX THE PLATE 195 
 
 clew by which she could be traced. But she 
 had not counted on the devilish ingenuity of the 
 special commissioner, a woman, too at least I 
 suppose it was a woman, since the thing was 
 signed * Polly Perkins." 
 
 Mrs. Jimmy saw the blood rise in the cheeks 
 of Miss Peters, until the little Southern girl was 
 as red as any of the maple-leaves that decked the 
 cloth between the two women. She noticed that 
 Rupert De Ruyter was staring into his plate with 
 ill-concealed embarrassment, and that Mrs. Can 
 ton seemed a little uneasy. 
 
 It seems that the poor creature s body was 
 sent to the Morgue," Barry continued, and no 
 one claimed it, so it was buried at the cost of the 
 county. And there s where the diabolical cun 
 ning of this reporter was exercised. She guessed 
 that the girl s family would want to see the body 
 laid away in holy ground, and so she went to the 
 burying. And she hit it. for there were two 
 women there in deep black, the mother of the 
 poor wretch and the sister, not afraid to show 
 their bitter grief when they thought they were 
 unknown and unwatched. The spy tracked them 
 to their house and she found out their names, 
 and she put the whole story in the paper ! I sup 
 pose it broke the mother s heart, and the sister s, 
 to see the dead girl s shame brought home to her 
 and to them when they thought it was buried in 
 the grave with her body. I don t deny that the 
 female detective showed a deal of skill ; but what 
 
196 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 a pitiful thing ! To risk breaking two loving 
 hearts and for what purpose ?" 
 
 There was a moment s silence when the Irish 
 man asked this unanswerable question. Then 
 Miss Peters raised her head and looked him in 
 the eye. 
 
 " That was what is called a beat. No other 
 paper had the news," she said ; " and the re 
 porter who wrote that story got a raise of five 
 dollars a week." 
 
 " Faith, she deserved it/ Barry returned. "It 
 was blood-money she was taking, I m thinking." 
 
 " That s what I think now/ Miss Peters re 
 plied. " I wish I had thought so then. I wrote 
 that article, and that is one reason why I am liv 
 ing down there among the poor, to try and make 
 it up to them. Of course, I can t undo the wrong 
 I did ; but I mean to do my best." 
 
 Then there was another silence, broken by Mrs. 
 Jimmy, who turned to Mrs. Canton and asked if 
 she was going to take a box at the horse-show. 
 
 When the ladies left the dining-room Barry 
 took the chair by the side of Suydarn. 
 
 "What s the name of that pretty little girl ?" 
 he asked. " Peters, isn t it ? I say, it was aw 
 fully plucky of her to tell us that she was < Polly 
 Perkins, wasn t it, now ? I like her ; she s a 
 trump ! And that fair hair of hers is very fetch 
 ing, isn t it ?" 
 
 (1897) 
 
* ft (Hi in 6 in 8 HI 9 ill 8 in. 
 
 ;. 
 
 C/Joen and \ \ omen 
 and 
 
iERRYMOUXT MOBTOX walked 
 briskly down Madison Avenue that 
 warm November evening, when there 
 was never a foretaste of winter in the 
 intermittent breezes that blew gen 
 tly across the city from river to river ; and as he 
 crossed the side streets one after another he saw 
 the full moon in the east, low and large and mel 
 low. On the brow of Murray Hill he checked his 
 pace for a moment in frank enjoyment of the vista 
 before him, differing in so many ways from the 
 scenes which met his vision in the little college 
 town of Xew England where he earned his liv 
 ing, and where he had spent the most of his life. 
 The glow of the great town filled the air, and the 
 roar of the city arose all about him. It seemed 
 to him almost as though he could feel the heart 
 of the metropolis throbbing before him. He 
 caught himself wondering again whether he had 
 not erred in accepting the professorship he had 
 been so glad to get when he came back from Ger 
 many, and whether his life would not have been 
 fuller and far richer had he come to Xew York, 
 as once he thought of doing, and had he reso 
 lutely struck out for himself in the welter and 
 chaos of the commercial capital of the country. 
 
200 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 Down at the foot of the slope a cluster of 
 electric lights spelled out the name of a trivial 
 extravaganza then nearing its hundredth per 
 formance in the lovely Garden Theatre, and 
 the avenue hereabouts had a strange, unnatur 
 al brilliance. High up in the pure dark blue 
 the beautiful tower rose in air, its grace made 
 visible by many lights of its own. The ave 
 nue was clogged with carriages, and the arcade 
 before the theatre and under the tower was 
 thick with men who carried under their arms 
 folded card-board plans of the great amphithea 
 tre, and who vociferously proffered tickets for 
 the horse-show. So far remote from the current 
 of fashion was Merrymount Morton that he had 
 not been aware that the horse - show week was 
 about to come to a glorious end. But he was 
 familiar enough with New York to know that 
 the horse - show was also an exhibition of men 
 and women, and that the human entries were 
 quite as important as the equine, and rather 
 more interesting. He had never happened to 
 be in the city at this season of the year ; and al 
 though he had intended to spend the evening at 
 the College Club, he seized the occasion to see a 
 metropolitan spectacle which chanced to be novel 
 to him. 
 
 From one of the shouting and insistent vend 
 ers he bought a ticket, and he walked through 
 the broad entrance-hall, the floor of which slant 
 ed upwards. He passed the door of a restaurant 
 
MEN AXD WOMEX AND HORSES 201 
 
 on his right, and he glanced down a staircase 
 which led to the semi-subterranean stalls where 
 the horses were tethered. A pungent, acrid, 
 stable odor filled his nostrils. Then he found 
 himself inside the immense amphitheatre, under 
 the skeleton ribs of its roof picked out with long 
 lines of tiny electric bulbs. Morton had a first 
 impression of glittering hugeness, and a second 
 of restless bustle. From a gallery behind him 
 there came the blare and crash of a brass band 
 playing an Oriental march ; but eyen this did 
 not drown the buzz and murmur of many thou 
 sand yoices. The yast building seemed to Mor 
 ton to be filled with men and women, all of them 
 talking and many of them in motion. He found 
 himself swept along slowly in the dense crowd 
 that circled steadily around the high fence which 
 guarded the arena wherein the horses were ex- 
 
 o 
 
 hibited. This crowd was too compact for him 
 to approach the railing, and he could not dis- 
 coyer for himself whether or not anything was 
 to be seen. 
 
 A thin line of more or less horsy fellows fringed 
 the fence, and seemed to be interested in what 
 was going on. The most of the men and women 
 who filled the broad promenade between the rail 
 ing and the long tier of private boxes paid little 
 or no attention to the arena ; they gave them 
 selves up to staring at the very gayly dressed 
 ladies in the boxes. It struck the Xew England 
 college professor that the most of those present 
 
202 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 made no pretence of caring for the horses, as 
 though horses could be seen any day ; while they 
 frankly devoted themselves to gazing at the peo 
 ple of fashion penned side by side in the boxes, 
 and not often placing themselves so plainly on 
 exhibition. Some of those who were playing 
 their parts on this narrow and elevated stage 
 had the self -consciousness of the amateur, and 
 some had the ease that comes of long practice. 
 These latter looked as though they were accus 
 tomed to be stared at, as though they expected 
 it of right, as though they were there on purpose 
 to be seen. They seemed to know one another ; 
 and it struck Morton that they were apparently 
 all members of a secret fraternity of fashion, 
 with their own signs and passwords and their 
 own system of private grips ; and they wholly 
 ignored the people who had not been initiated 
 and who were not members of their society. 
 They nodded and smiled brightly to belated 
 arrivals of their own set. They kept up a con 
 tinual chatter among themselves, the women 
 leaning across to talk to acquaintances in the 
 adjoining compartments, and the men paying 
 visits to the boxes of their friends. Now and 
 again some one in a box would recognize some 
 one in the circling throng below ; but for the 
 most part there was no communication between 
 the two classes. 
 
 To Morton the spectacle had the attraction of 
 novelty ; it was so novel, indeed, that he did not 
 
EXPLANATIONS 
 
MEX AXD WOMEX AND HORSES 203 
 
 quite know what to make of it. It disconcerted 
 him not a little to see people, of position presum 
 ably, and obviously of wealth, willing thus to 
 show themselves off, dressed, many of them, as 
 though with special intent to attract attention. 
 As a student of sociology, he found this inspec 
 tion of Society in the narrowest sense of the 
 word almost as instructive as it was interest 
 ing. At times the vulgarity of the whole thing 
 shocked him, more especially once when he could 
 not but hear the loud voices of one over-dressed 
 group of women, who were discussing the char 
 acteristics of one " Willie." 
 
 He s a wretched little beast ! cried one of 
 these ladies. 
 
 You mustn t say that, rejoined another, a 
 tall woman with gray hair ; ** you know he s my 
 corespondent." And at this stroke of wit the 
 rest of the party laughed repeatedly. 
 
 But few of those on exhibition were as com 
 mon as the members of this group. Indeed, 
 Morton was struck with the fact that the most 
 of the men and women who were being stared 
 out of countenance were apparently people of 
 breeding, and he wondered that they were will 
 ing to place themselves in what seemed to him 
 so false a position. Many of the girls, for exam 
 ple, who wore striking costumes and extravagant 
 hats, were themselves refined in face and retiring 
 in bearing ; they were stylish, no doubt, but they 
 were well bred also. It seemed to Morton that 
 
204 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 style was perhaps the chief characteristic of these 
 New York girls style rather than beauty. 
 
 The average of good looks was high, and yet, 
 as it happened, he was able to walk half around 
 the huge building without seeing half a dozen 
 women whom he was prepared to declare hand 
 some. The girls appeared to be strong, healthy, 
 lively, quick - witted, and charming, but rarely 
 beautiful. They seemed to him, moreover, to be 
 emphatically superior to the men who accom 
 panied them, superior not only in looks, but in 
 manners and intelligence. 
 
 Morton noted, to his surprise, that some of 
 these men were quite as conscious of their clothes 
 as any of the women were ; and he caught also 
 more than one remark showing that the appreci 
 ation of the women s clothes was not confined to 
 the women, themselves. 
 
 As he was nearing the Fourth Avenue end of 
 the edifice he saw in a box just above him for 
 he found himself staring like the rest a lady 
 of striking beauty, with a look of sadness on her 
 face, that gave place to a factitious smile when 
 she spoke to one or another of the three or four 
 young men who stood on the steps at the side of 
 her chair. The face interested Morton, and it was 
 recognized by two young men just behind him. 
 
 " Hello !" said one of them, " there s Mrs. 
 Cyrus Poole. Smart gown, hasn t she ?" 
 
 "Always has," answered the other. "Best- 
 groomed woman in New York." 
 
MEX AXD AVOMEX AXD HORSES 205 
 
 "She is pretty well turned out generally, for 
 a fact," the first speaker responded. " But Cy 
 rus Poole s made money enough out of the widow 
 and the orphan this summer to pay for all the 
 gowns his wife can wear this winter, at any rate." 
 
 It was only when Merrymount Morton had 
 threaded his way half around the horse-show that 
 he first saw a horse there. As he came to the 
 Fourth Avenue end the crowd hefore him fell 
 away, and a gate in the railing swung back 
 across the promenade, while grooms led out of 
 the arena five or six beautiful stallions. The 
 Xew England college professor had a healthy lik 
 ing for a fine horse, and his eyes followed these 
 superb creatures till they were out of sight. 
 Then in the clear space at the far end of the 
 building he saw three coaches, one of them al 
 ready equipped with its four-in-hand, while the 
 horses were being harnessed to the others. 
 
 He stood there for a minute or two looking at 
 them with interest. Then he turned his back, 
 and once more began circling about the arena in 
 the thick of the crowd, with no chance of seeing 
 a horse again until he could get to the seat to 
 which his ticket entitled him. He took out the 
 bit of pasteboard and examined it again, and he 
 saw that his place was very near the entrance, 
 only he had gone to the right when he came in 
 instead of to the left. By this time the men and 
 women on exhibition in the boxes had begun to 
 lose the attraction of novelty : and Morton walked 
 
206 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 on as swiftly as lie could make his way through 
 the crowd, wishing to get his seat in time to see 
 the competition of the coaches. 
 
 He had come almost to the foot of the little 
 flight of steps by which lie could reach his seat 
 when he happened to look up, and he caught 
 sight of a familiar face. In a box only a score 
 of feet before him there sat a lady about whose 
 high-bred beauty there could hardly be two opin 
 ions. She was probably nearly thirty years old, 
 but she looked fresher than either of the girls by 
 her side. She wore a costume combining stud 
 ied simplicity and marked individuality ; and yet 
 no one who saw her took thought of her attire, 
 for her beauty subdued all things, and made any 
 adornment she might adopt seem as though it 
 were necessary and inevitable. 
 
 There was a suggestion of stiffness in her car 
 riage, and perhaps a hint of haughtiness ; but 
 when she smiled she was as charming as she was 
 handsome. 
 
 As his eyes first fell upon her Morton s heart 
 gave a sudden thump, and then beat swiftly for 
 a minute or two. Although he had not seen her 
 for nearly ten years, he recognized her instantly. 
 She had changed but little since they had met 
 for the last time. He would have known her 
 anywhere and at once. 
 
 And if he had been in any doubt as to her 
 identity, it would have been dispelled by the 
 conversation of the two young men who had 
 
BETWEEN" TWO EVENTS 
 
208 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 He wondered if he had courage to go up and 
 speak to her. He remembered her so sharply, 
 he recognized every turn of her head and every 
 dainty gesture of her hands, he recalled so dis 
 tinctly every word of their conversation the last 
 time they met that it did not seem possible to 
 him that she might have forgotten him. And 
 yet it was not impossible. Why should she re 
 member what he could not forget ? 
 
 While he was hesitating, the party in her box 
 broke up. One of the young ladies who were sit 
 ting with her arose and came down the steps, es 
 corted by two young men, and as they passed 
 Morton he caught from their conversation that 
 they were going to the stables below to see a cer 
 tain famous horse in his stall. The other young 
 lady had changed her seat to the back of the 
 box, where she was deep in conversation with a 
 young man who had taken the chair beside hers. 
 Mrs. Suydam was left alone in the front of the 
 box. 
 
 She sat there apparently not bored with her 
 own society, and obviously indifferent to the 
 frank staring of the men and women who passed 
 along the promenade a few feet below her. She 
 sat there calm in her cold beauty, unmoved and 
 uninterested, almost as though her thoughts were 
 far away. 
 
 Morton made up his mind, and pressed forward 
 again. 
 
 When he was within a yard or two of the steps 
 
MEX AXI) WOMEX AXD HORSES 209 
 
 leading to her box she happened to glance down,, 
 and she caught his eye fixed upon hers. She was 
 about to glance away, when she looked again, and 
 then a smile of recognition lighted her face, fol 
 lowed by the faintest of blushes. 
 
 She bowed as Morton raised his hat, and she 
 held out her hand cordially when he climbed the 
 steps to her box. 
 
 "I hardly dared to hope that you would re 
 member me, Mrs. Suydam," he said, as he shook 
 hands gently. It is so long since I saw you last. " 
 
 " How could you think I should ever forget the 
 pleasant month I spent in your mother s house ?" 
 she returned. "We do not have so many pleas 
 ant months in life, do we. that we can afford to 
 let any one of them slip out of memory? You 
 haven t forgotten me. have you ? Well, then, why 
 should I forget you and your mother and the 
 lovely little college town ?" 
 
 "That month I can t forget," he responded; 
 "but it was a long while ago. and my existence 
 is uneventful always, while yours is full and 
 then so many things have happened since. 
 
 " Yes," she admitted, "so many things have 
 happened. I m married, for one thing. But that 
 hasn t made me forget how kind you all were to 
 me. Can t you sit down here for a few minutes 
 and give me all the news of the college and the 
 town ?" 
 
 " I shall be only too glad," he said, taking the 
 chair by her side. " Where shall I begin ?" 
 
 14 
 
310 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 " Tell me about yourself/ she commanded. 
 
 " That won t take me long/ he returned. 
 6 ( Very little has happened to me. I was going 
 to Germany perhaps you remember that fall, 
 after you left us. Well, I went, and I stayed two 
 years, and I took my Ph.D. there, and I came 
 back to the old college, and they gave me a pro 
 fessorship and that s all." 
 
 " That s enough, I think," she answered, look 
 ing at him frankly witli her dark eyes. "You 
 have your work to do, and you do it. I don t 
 believe there is anything better in life than to 
 be sure what you ought to work at and to be 
 able to work at it." 
 
 "I suppose you are right," Morton acknowl 
 edged. " I find hard labor is often the best fun, 
 after all. But I can get solid enjoyment out of 
 loafing, too. I don t recall that we worked very 
 steadily that month that you were with us, and 
 we certainly had a very good time. At least I 
 did !" 
 
 "And so did I," she declared, unbending a 
 little, and with a laugh of pleasant recollection. 
 " I enjoyed every minute of my visit. I wish I 
 could have such good times now !" 
 
 "Don t you ?" he asked. 
 
 " Not often," she answered. " Perhaps never." 
 
 "You surprise me/ he replied. " I supposed 
 you were being entertained by day and by night, 
 week in and week out, from one year s end to 
 another." 
 
MEX AXD WOMEN AND HORSES 211 
 
 " So we are/ she explained. " But being en 
 tertained isn t always being interested, is it ?" 
 
 "That s the theory, isn t it ?"he rejoined. 
 
 "It may be the theory," she confessed, "but 
 I m sure it isn t the practice." 
 
 " I know that little college town of ours is re 
 mote from the path of progress," he went on. 
 " but sometimes we behold those messengers of 
 civilization, the Xew York Sunday newspapers. 
 And whenever I do get one I am certain to see 
 that you have been to a dinner-dance here, to a 
 bal poudrk there. I should judge that you lived 
 in an endless merry-go-round of gayety." 
 
 She smiled again, and there was no sadness 
 in her smile, only a vague, detached weariness. 
 " Dinner-dances are the fashion just now," she 
 said : " and if there is anything more absurd than 
 the fashion it s to waste one s strength struggling 
 against it." 
 
 " That is very end-of-the-century philosophy," 
 he commented. 
 
 It s philosophical not to want to be left out 
 of things, isn t it ?" she inquired. " Even if one 
 doesn t care to go, one doesn t like not to be 
 asked, and so one goes often when one would 
 rather stay at home." 
 
 "I should think that if many people had mo 
 tives like that, your parties here in Xew York 
 might be rather dull," he retorted, with a little 
 laugh. 
 
 " They are dull," she returned, calmly. " Some- 
 
212 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 times they are very dull. But, of course, it 
 doesn t do not to go." 
 
 " I suppose not," he agreed. 
 
 " But I find myself wondering sometimes," she 
 continued, " where all the dull people in society 
 were dug up. Sometimes after a long month of 
 dinners I get desperate and almost wish I could 
 renounce the world. Why, at the end of last 
 winter I told my husband that we had not spent 
 a single evening home since we got back from 
 Florida, and we hadn t had a single pleasant 
 evening, not one. He didn t think it was as bad 
 as that, and perhaps it wasn t for him either, for 
 I don t believe the women are as stupid as the 
 men. Of course now and then there was a din 
 ner I thought I should enjoy, but I never did. 
 I d see the clever man I d have liked to talk to ; 
 I d see him far down at the other end of the 
 table, and that was all I did see of him. Some 
 dreary old man would take me in, and then after 
 dinner I d have perhaps two or three little boys 
 come up and try to pay compliments, and suc 
 ceed in keeping away the men who might pos 
 sibly have had something to say." 
 
 " And yet yours is the set that so many peo 
 ple seem to be trying so hard to enter," he sug 
 gested ; " that is, if I understand aright what I 
 read in New York novels." 
 
 "Yes," she answered, "I suppose that s the 
 chief satisfaction we have we know we are 
 envied by the people who want to visit us, and 
 
MEX AXD WOMEN AXD HORSES 213 
 
 to have us visit them. I suppose the desire to get 
 into Society fills the emptiness in many a woman s 
 life : it gives her something to live for." 
 
 " They don t seem to have much of the stern 
 joy that foemen feel/ Morton commented. 
 "They take life desperately hard. Over there 
 in the other corner I saw a handsome woman, 
 and I overheard a man call her by name she s 
 the wife of Cyrus Poole, the Wall Street opera 
 tor. And when I saw the unsatisfied aspiration 
 in her face. I wondered whether she was one of 
 those social stragglers I had read about." 
 
 Mrs. Poole ?" echoed Mrs. Suydam. indif 
 ferently. "I don t know her : I ve met her, of 
 course one meets everybody but I don t know 
 her. She is good-looking, and she is in the thick 
 of the social struggle. Upward and outward is her 
 motto Excelsior! They used to say that all last 
 winter you could positively hear her climb. But 
 then they have said that of so many people ! She 
 is clever, they say. and she entertains lavishly, so 
 I shouldn t wonder if she succeeded sooner or 
 later : and then she will be so disappointed/" 
 
 Morton smiled. " From your account,* he said, 
 the social struggle is rather a tragedy than a 
 comedy ; and I confess it has hitherto struck me 
 as not without a suggestion of farce." 
 
 It is absurd, isn t it?" she returned, smil 
 ing back. - -And are we not a very snobbish 
 lot ? Jimmy declares that society in Xew York 
 is almost as snobbish as it is in London even." 
 
214 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 There was a moment of silence, and then Mor 
 ton asked, a little stiffly, " How is Mr. Suydam ? 
 You know I have never had the pleasure of meet 
 ing him." 
 
 " Haven t you ?" Mrs. Suydam responded. 
 " You can see him soon. He s to drive George 
 Western s coach. There they come now !" 
 
 A trumpet sounded ; a gate in the railing at 
 the Fourth Avenue end of the building was 
 opened ; and a coach was driven into the arena. 
 A very stout man sat on the box alone. 
 
 Mrs. Suydam raised her long -handled eye 
 glass and looked at the approaching coachman. 
 
 " Oh, that s not Jimmy," she said, quickly ; 
 " of course not. That s the man they call The 
 Adipose Deposit." 
 
 The trumpet sounded again, and a second 
 coach was turned into the arena. The four 
 horses were beautifully matched bays. The 
 driver was a tall, thin, youngish man, who sat 
 impassible on the box, and gave no sign of an 
 noyance when a wheel of the vehicle rasped the 
 gate-post. 
 
 " That s Mr. Suydam," said the lady to whom 
 Morton was talking, as the bays trotted briskly 
 past them, the man on the box holding himself 
 rigidly and handling the ribbons skilfully. 
 
 "He is quite a professional," Morton re 
 marked. 
 
 "Isn t he?" Mrs. Suydam replied. "You 
 know he drove the Brighton coach out of Lon- 
 
MEN AND WOMEN AND HORSES 215 
 
 don for three years. He really does it very well, 
 they all say. I ve told him that if we ever lost our 
 money he would make a very superior coachman." 
 
 "Those bays go together admirably," the col 
 lege professor declared, "and Mr. Suydam han 
 dles them superbly. But how pitiful it is to see 
 their tails docked !" 
 
 " Oh, they do that in England," she explained, 
 "so it s fashionable. But it is ugly, isn t it? 
 Do you remember what a lovely long tail that 
 Kentucky mare had, the one I rode that day- 
 Then Mrs. Suydam paused suddenly. 
 
 "Yes," answered Morton, not looking at her, 
 "I remember it." 
 
 Mrs. Suydam conquered her slight embarrass 
 ment and gave a light little laugh. 
 
 "How rude I have been !" she said. " Here 
 I ve been talking about myself and about my 
 husband, and I haven t asked about you. Are 
 you married yet ?" 
 
 "Xo," he answered, and now he looked at 
 her, and she blushed again ; " and I am not like 
 ly ever to marry. I think. There was only one 
 woman in the world for me, and I told her so, 
 but she didn t care for me at all, and she told me 
 50 and then she touched up that Kentucky 
 mare and rode away with my heart hanging at 
 her saddle-bow. v 
 
 " You can find a better woman than she is," 
 was her response ; "a woman who will make you 
 a better wife than she would ever have done." 
 
216 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 Before Morton could reply to this, the girl and 
 the two young men who had been in the box at 
 first returned from their visit to the stables. The 
 trumpet sounded again, and the judges made the 
 drivers of the four coaches for two more had 
 entered after Mr. Suydam s repeat their evolu 
 tions around the arena. And then, after pro 
 tracted consultation together, the awards were 
 made, and grooms ran to attach rosettes to the 
 leaders of the team driven by the stout gentleman, 
 who took the first prize, and then to the leaders 
 of the team driven by Suydam, who took the sec 
 ond prize. The numbers of the winning coaches 
 were displayed on the wide sign-boards at each 
 end of the hall. The coaches were driven around 
 again, and then out. The trumpets were silent 
 for a while : and the brass band crashed forth 
 again. 
 
 "Jimmy won t like not getting the first prize, 
 will he ?" asked the girl who had just returned 
 to the box. 
 
 "I don t think it will worry him/ answered 
 his wife, with a return of her haughty manner. 
 
 She had not introduced Morton to any of the 
 others in the box. 
 
 In the presence of so many it was impossible 
 to resume their conversation on the old friendly 
 basis. It seemed to Morton that since the girl 
 and the young men had come back there was a 
 difference in Mrs. Suydarn s manner towards 
 him ; he could not define it to himself, but he 
 
M.EX AND WOMEN AXD HORSES 217 
 
 felt it. Perhaps she was conscious of this her 
 self. 
 
 When he made a movement preparatory to 
 going, she said : "Must you go ? I wanted you 
 to meet my husband. Can t you drop in and 
 lunch with us to-morrow ? 
 
 Morton thanked her and regretted that he 
 might have to take a midnight .train, and ex 
 pressed his pleasure at having met her again. 
 Then she held out her hand once more : and a 
 minute later he was again in the thick of the 
 throng circling along the promenade. 
 
 Before he reached the entrance the music was 
 checked suddenly and the trumpet blared out. 
 and then the voice of a man in the centre of the 
 building was heard, intermittently, hopelessly 
 endeavoring to inform the thousands packed in 
 the splendid edifice that the fastest trotter in the 
 world would now be shown. The crowd which 
 was staring steadily at the men and women in the 
 boxes paid little attention to this proclamation ; 
 to it the men and women in the boxes were far 
 more interesting than any horses could be, even 
 if any one of these could trot a mile in two 
 minutes without a running mate. 
 
 (1695) 
 
;~M 
 
 
 
 tl fi! : : g HI 
 
 " 
 
 n Me "atcfied of 
 
 tkc 
 
>T was still snowing solidly as the car 
 riage swung out of the side street 
 and went heavily on its way up the 
 avenue ; the large flakes soon thick 
 ened again upon the huge fur col 
 lars of the two men who sat on the box bolt-up 
 right ; the flat crystals frosted the windows of 
 the landau so that the trained nurse could see 
 out only on one side. She sat back in the lux 
 urious vehicle. She had on the seat beside her 
 the bag containing her change of raiment ; and 
 she wondered, as she always did when she was 
 called unexpectedly to take charge of an un 
 known case, what manner of house it might be 
 that she was going to enter, and what kind of 
 people she would be forced to associate with in 
 the swift intimacy of the sick-room and for an 
 unknown period. That the patient was wealthy 
 and willing to spend his wealth was obvious 
 the carriage, the horses, the liveried servants, 
 were evidence enough of this. That his name 
 was Swank she also knew : and she thought that 
 perhaps she had heard about the marriage of a 
 rich old man named Swank to a pretty young 
 wife a year or two ago. That he had been taken 
 sick suddenly, and that the case miirht be seri- 
 
OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOIl 
 
 ous, she had gathered from the note which the 
 doctor had sent to summon her, and which had 
 been brought by the carriage that was now re 
 turning with her. 
 
 She had ample time for speculation as they 
 drove up the avenue in the early darkness of the 
 last day of the year. The Christmas wreaths 
 still decked the windows of the hotels, although 
 through the steady snow she could see little more 
 than a blur of reddish-yellow light as she sped 
 past. There were few people in the avenue, ex 
 cept as they crossed the broader side streets, now 
 beginning to be filled with the throng of work 
 ers returning home after the day s labor. They 
 passed St. Patrick s Cathedral, already encrusted 
 with snow whiter than its stone. They came to 
 Central Park, and they kept on, with its broad 
 meadows on their left gray in the descending 
 darkness. At last the carriage drew up before a 
 house on a corner a very large house it seemed 
 to the trained nurse ; and its marble front struck 
 her as cold, not to call it gloomy. AVorkmen 
 w r ere hastily erecting the frame of an awning 
 down the marble steps, and a path had been made 
 across the snowy sidewalk. 
 
 The footman carried her bag up the stoop and 
 rang the bell for her. 
 
 The door was opened promptly by a very Brit 
 ish butler. 
 
 " This is the nurse for Mr. Swank/ said the 
 footman. Is he anv better ?" 
 
IX THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT 223 
 
 " E s about the same, I m thinkinV the but 
 ler responded. " This way, please/ 7 he said to 
 the owner of the bag, which the footman depos 
 ited just inside the door. "Til take you up to 
 Mr. Swank s room, and I ll send your bag up to 
 you afterwards." 
 
 The trained nurse followed the butler up the 
 massive wooden stairs, heavy with dark carving. 
 She noticed that the house was now dimly light 
 ed, and that there was a going and a coming of 
 servants, as though in preparation for an enter 
 tainment of some sort. 
 
 "AVe ave a dinner on this evening, the but 
 ler explained ; *" only twenty-four ; but it s ard 
 Mr. Swank ain t goin to be able to come down. 
 We re keepin the ouse dark now, so it won t get 
 too *ot at dinner-time." 
 
 Whatever the reason for the absence of ade 
 quate illumination, it made the upper hall even 
 more dismal than the one below so the trained 
 nurse thought. 
 
 " That s Mr. Swank s room there ; and ere s 
 is dressin -room, that you re to ave so the doc 
 tor said," the butler declared, leading the stran 
 ger into a small room with a lofty ceiling, and 
 with one window overlooking Central Park. The 
 shades had not been drawn ; the single gas-jet 
 was burning dimly ; there was no fireplace ; and 
 a sofa on one side had had sheets and blankets 
 put on it to serve as her bed. 
 
 She almost shivered, the place seemed to her 
 
\ 
 
 224 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 so cheerless. But her training taught her not 
 to think of her own comfort. 
 
 "This will do very well," she asserted. 
 
 " I ll tell them to fetch up your bag/ the but 
 ler said, as he was about to withdraw. "Would 
 you be wantin any dinner later ?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered, "I would like some 
 thing to eat later whenever it is convenient/ 
 
 The butler left the room, only to reappear al 
 most immediately. 
 
 " Ere s the doctor now," he announced, hold 
 ing the door open. 
 
 A tall, handsome man, with a masterful mouth, 
 walked in with a soft, firm tread. 
 
 "So this is the nurse," he began. "Miss 
 Clement, isn t it ? I m glad you were able to 
 follow my note so quickly. If you will come 
 into the next room, where the patient is, as soon 
 as you have changed your dress, I ll tell you 
 what I wish you to do." 
 
 With that he left her; and in less than ten 
 minutes she followed him into the large bedroom 
 on the corner of the house. It was an unusually 
 spacious room, with a high ceiling and four tall 
 windows, 
 
 There was a dull-red fire, which seemed insuf 
 ficient to warm even the elaborate marble mantel. 
 Almost in one corner stood a large bed, with 
 thick curtains draped back from a canopy. 
 
 The doctor was sitting by the side of the bed 
 as the nurse came into the room. 
 
SHE ALM( 
 
 HIVERED, THE PLACE 
 
 so CHEERLESS" 
 
 EEMED TO HER 
 
IX THE WATCHES OF THE XIGHT 225 
 
 This is Miss Clement, Mr. Swank/ he said, 
 in a cheerful voice, to the old man. who lay in 
 the bed motionless. She will look after you 
 during the night." 
 
 Mr. Swank made no answer, but he opened his 
 eyes and looked at the woman who had come to 
 nurse him. She used to say afterwards that she 
 had never felt before so penetrating a gaze. 
 
 The doctor turned to her. and in the same pro 
 fessionally cheery tones he said: " I sent for you, 
 nurse, because Mrs. Swank has an important din 
 ner to-night, and it might therefore be difficult 
 for her to give Mr. Swank the attention he may 
 require. " 
 
 The physician was addressing the nurse, but it- 
 seemed to her that his words were really intend 
 ed for the patient, whose eyes were still fixed on 
 her. 
 
 All at once the sick man sat up in bed and 
 began to cough violently. When the paroxysm 
 had passed he sank back on the pillow again and 
 closed his eyes wearily. 
 
 "I think that was not as severe as the last 
 one," the doctor remarked ; I can leave 3*011 in 
 Miss Clement s hands now. Perhaps, if I hap 
 pen to be up this way about midnight. I may drop 
 in again just to see that you are getting on all 
 right. In the mean time, nurse, you will see that 
 he takes these capsules every two hours he had 
 the last at half-past five. And you will take his 
 temperature every hour if he is awake." 
 
226 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 He said good-night to Mr. Swank in the same 
 cheering tone, and then he went to the door. 
 The nurse knew that she was to follow him. 
 
 When they stood alone in the hall, the doctor 
 said to her : " If there is any change in the pulse 
 or the temperature,, send for me at once. King 
 for the butler, and tell him I am to be sent for ; 
 he will know what to do. Mr. Swank has influ 
 enza only, but his heart is weak, and he needs 
 careful attention. I shall be here again the last 
 thing to-night." 
 
 When the nurse returned to the corner room 
 the patient had fallen into a heavy doze, and she 
 took advantage of this to prepare for the long 
 vigil. She arranged her own belongings ready 
 to her hand in the dressing-room set aside for her 
 use. In that room she did not lower the shade, 
 and she even stood at the window for a minute, 
 trying to look out over Central Park, hidden 
 from her by a swaying veil of swirling snow. The 
 workmen had completed the canvas tunnel down 
 the stoop to the edge of the sidewalk, and the 
 lanterns hung inside the frame -work revealed 
 grotesquely its striped contortions. As the nurse 
 gazed down on it an old man without any over 
 coat sought a temporary shelter from the storm 
 in the mouth of the awning, only to be ordered 
 away almost immediately by the servant in charge. 
 
 The nurse went back into the larger room. 
 She looked at her patient asleep in the warm 
 bed. She wondered why life was so unequal ; why 
 
IX THE WATCHES OF THE XIGHT 227 
 
 the one man should spend the night in the snowy 
 street, while the other had all that money could 
 buy shelter, warmth, food, attendance. She 
 recalled how her father used to declare that the 
 inequalities we see all around us are superficial 
 only, and that there are compensations, did we 
 but know them, for all deprivations, and that all 
 apparent advantages are to be paid for, somehow, 
 sooner or later. More than ever to-night she 
 doubted the wisdom of her father s saying. How 
 could there be anything but inequality between 
 the old man in the street there below and the old 
 man here in the bed ? The thing seemed to her 
 impossible. 
 
 As she became accustomed to the dim light of 
 the room she was able to note that the furniture 
 was heavy and black, that the carpet was unusu 
 ally thick, that the walls had large paintings hang 
 ing on them, that the ceiling was frescoed in 
 sombre tints. On all sides of her she saw the 
 evidences of wealth and of the willingness to 
 spend it ; and yet the room and the house seemed 
 to her strangely uninviting, and almost repellent. 
 She asked herself why the sick man lying there 
 asleep in the huge bed had not used his money 
 to better advantage, and had not at least made 
 cheerful his own sick-room. Then she smiled at 
 her own foolishness. Of course the owner of the 
 room had not expected to be stricken down ; of 
 course he had no thought of illness when he had 
 furnished. 
 
228 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 She moved gently about the room and tried to 
 look at the pictures, but the illumination was in 
 sufficient. All that she could make out clearly 
 were the names of the artists carved on tiny tab 
 lets attached to the broad frames ; and although 
 she knew little about painting, she had read the 
 newspapers enough to be aware that pictures by 
 these artists must have cost a great deal of mon 
 ey thousands of dollars each, very likely. If 
 sire had thousands to spend, she believed that 
 she could lay them out to better advantage than 
 the owner of the house had done here. It struck 
 her again as though the sick man had more than 
 his share of the good things of life. She had 
 not yet heard him speak, and she had not really 
 had a good look at him ; but she could not 
 help thinking that a man who had so much, who 
 had the means of doing so much, who was ab 
 solutely his own master, and who could spend 
 a large fortune just as he pleased she could not 
 help thinking that he ought to be happy. It 
 was true that he was ill now, but the influenza 
 wears itself out at last ; and when he was well 
 he had so much money that he must be happier 
 than other men far happier than poor men, cer 
 tainly. 
 
 When she came to this conclusion she was 
 standing near the foot of the bed, looking at the 
 man lying there asleep. It was on the stroke of 
 half-past seven, and she had come to let him 
 have his medicine again. Then she noticed that 
 
IX THE WATCHES OF THE XIGHT 229 
 
 his eyelids were parted, and that he was looking 
 at her. 
 
 " It is time to take one of these capsules now/ 
 she said, gently moving to his side and offering 
 it to him. 
 
 He took it without a word, and gulped it down 
 with a swallow of water. Then he sank back on 
 the pillow, only to raise himself at once, as he 
 was again shaken by a severe fit of coughing. 
 
 At last he lay back on the bed once more, still 
 breathing heavily. 
 
 Afresh, young voice was heard at the door lead 
 ing to the hall, saying, "May I come in. John ?* 
 and then a graceful young figure floated into the 
 room with a birdlike motion. 
 
 The sick man opened his eyes wide as his wife 
 came near him, and a smile illumined his face. 
 
 " How beautiful you are !" he said, faintly, 
 but proudly. 
 
 " Am I ? v she answered, laughing a little. " I 
 tried to be to-night, because there will be the 
 smartest women in Xew York at Mrs. Jimmy 
 Suydam s dance, and I wanted to be as good as 
 any of them." 
 
 The nurse had withdrawn towards the window 
 as the wife came forward, and she did not believe 
 that any woman at Mrs. Jimmy Suydam s, wher 
 ever that might be. could well look more beauti 
 ful than the one who now stood smiling by the 
 side of the sick husband. 
 
 She was a blonde, this voung wife of an old 
 
230 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 man, a mere girl, and the vaporous blue dress 
 was cut low on a slender neck girt about by a 
 single strand of large pearls, while a diamond 
 tiara high on her shapely head flashed light into 
 every corner of the darkened sick-room. 
 
 "I thought I d just run in and see how you 
 were before anybody came," she said, lightly. 
 "Dinner is at quarter to eight, you know. I 
 do wish you could be down. AVe shall miss you 
 dreadfully. Of course I sent out at the last min 
 ute and got a man to fill your place, so we shall 
 sit down with twenty-four all right ; but then- 
 Here she broke off, having caught sight of the 
 third person in the room. 
 
 "So this is the nurse Dr. Cheever sent for ?" 
 she went on. " I m sure she ll take good care of 
 you, John the doctor is always so careful. And 
 if you hadn t had somebody with you I shouldn t 
 have liked to leave you all alone really I 
 shouldn t !" 
 
 With that she circled about the bed again, 
 turning towards the door. 
 
 " I must be off now," she explained. " I can t 
 be wasting my time on you in this way. I really 
 ought to be down in the drawing-room now ; 
 and first, I ve got to see if the flowers are all 
 right on the table." 
 
 Her husband s eyes had followed her wistfully 
 about the room, watching every one of her easy 
 and graceful movements ; and when at last she 
 slipped out of the door, it was a moment before 
 
IX THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT 231 
 
 he turned an inquiring glance on the nurse, as 
 though to discover what she thought of the bril 
 liant vision. 
 
 The nurse came to the side of the bed with 
 her clinical thermometer in her hand. 
 
 " You are awake now," she said, with a pleas 
 ant smile. " May I take your temperature ?" 
 
 Five minutes later, when she was entering in 
 her note -book the high degree shown by the 
 thermometer, and when the patient had again 
 dropped off to sleep, the first guests began to ar 
 rive for the wife s dinner party. 
 
 The thick snow made the wheels inaudible, 
 but the nurse heard the doors of the carriages 
 slam as those who had been invited passed 
 through the canvas tunnel one after another. 
 In the room next to the dressing-room assigned 
 to her for her own use there was a rustling of 
 silken stuffs, and there were fragments of con 
 versation now and again so loudly pitched as to 
 reach the ear of the young woman who sat silent 
 in the sick-chamber. Then, when all the guests 
 were come, the house sank again into silence, 
 and a tall clock in a corner of the stairs chimed 
 forth the hour of eight. 
 
 So long as her patient slept the nurse had 
 little or nothing to do : but though her body 
 was motionless, her thoughts were busy. She was 
 country - bred herself : she had left her home 
 in a little Xew England village by the sea to 
 make her wav in the world. She had now been a 
 
232 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 trained nurse for nearly two years ; and yet, as 
 it happened, her work had been either in hotels 
 or in families of only moderate means. This 
 was the first time she had been in so handsome 
 a house or with people of so much wealth. She 
 could not help being conscious of her surround 
 ings, and she caught herself wishing that she too 
 were rich. She confessed that she would like 
 to be a guest at the dinner below. She wonder 
 ed what a dinner-table for twenty-four must be. 
 To be able to entertain as lavishly as that, and 
 not to have to worry about the arrangement, or 
 the cost, or anything well, that would be an 
 existence any woman must delight in. She felt 
 herself capable of expanding, and of being equal 
 to the enjoyment of any degree of luxury. She 
 liked her occupation, for she had chosen her own 
 calling. She had been successful in it too ; and 
 yet she was beginning to be a little afraid that 
 she had miscalculated her strength. The work 
 was very laborious and confining, and more than 
 once of late she had felt overtaxed. It might 
 be that in a year or two her reserve force would 
 be exhausted, and she would have to give up the 
 struggle and go back home, where she would be 
 welcome, of course, but where she would add to 
 the burdens her mother was already laden with. 
 There was an alternative, and never before 
 had it seemed to her so tempting as when she 
 was sitting there alone with the sick man in the 
 darkened corner room of his jn-eat house. She 
 
IX THE WATCHES OF THE XIGHT 233 
 
 might marry. More than once she had been 
 asked in marriage ; and one man had asked her 
 more than once. He was persistent, and he still 
 declined to accept her refusal as final. He was 
 not an old man yet, although he was twice her 
 age. He was a rich man, even if he was not as 
 wealthy as the owner of the splendid hut de 
 pressing home where she now sat silently mus 
 ing. She did not love him, that was true, and 
 there was no doubt about it ; but she did respect 
 him, and she had heard that sometimes love 
 comes after marriage. He could let her have 
 all she longed for, and he was ready to give her 
 everything he had. If she married him she too 
 could have dinners of twenty -four, and wear a 
 rope of pearls and a diamond tiara ; and then, 
 too, she could do so much good with money if 
 sJie had it. 
 
 In the course of her services in the hospital, 
 and afterwards among the poor, she had seen 
 many a case of sore distress which she had been 
 unable to relieve. If she had riches she could 
 accomplish much that was now impossible ; she 
 could do good in many ways ; she could relieve 
 suffering and aid the impoverished and help the 
 feeble far more adroitly and skilfully than could 
 any woman who had always been wealthy, and 
 who had not had her experience of life and of 
 its misfortunes and its miseries. She thought 
 
 O 
 
 that she knew her own character, and she be 
 lieved that she had strength to withstand the 
 
234 OUTLINES IX LOCAL COLOK 
 
 temptations which beset the rich. Thinking 
 herself unselfish, she held herself incapable of 
 keeping for herself alone any good fortune that 
 might come to her. And she made a solemn 
 resolve that if she should marry the man who 
 stood ready to take her to wife she would devote 
 to good works the greater part of her money and 
 of her time. She would dress as became her sta 
 tion, of course, and she would entertain sumptu 
 ously too ; but no old man should ever be turned 
 shivering from her door when she was giving a 
 dinner of twenty-four. 
 
 Her re very was interrupted half a dozen times 
 by the fits of coughing "which shook her patient, 
 and which seemed to her to become more and 
 more frequent and more violent. At half-past 
 nine she gave him his medicine again, and took 
 his temperature once more. Then she made up 
 the fire, which burned badly ; and she straight 
 ened the sheets on his bed, and turned the 
 pillows. 
 
 He soon sank to slumber again, breathing heav 
 ily arid turning uneasily in his sleep. The house 
 was singularly still, and no sound of the dinner 
 party below reached the nurse in the corner room 
 above. When she happened to go into the dress 
 ing-room she found there awaiting her a tray 
 with several dishes from the dinner table. She 
 was glad to have something to eat, and she sat 
 down by the window to enjoy it. The thick, soft 
 snow had silenced nearly all the usual street 
 
IX THE WATCHES OF THE XIGHT 235 
 
 sounds. The carriages that went up and down 
 the avenue were as inaudible as though they 
 were rolling on felt. But sleighing parties be 
 came more frequent, and she found a suggestion 
 of pleasant companionship and of human activi 
 ty in the jingle of the bells. Once a tire-engine 
 sped swiftly past the house, its usual roar dead 
 ened by the heavy snow, and its whistle shrill 
 ing forth as it neared the side streets, one after 
 another; ten minutes later it came slowly back. 
 The nurse was glad that there was only a false 
 alarm, for she knew how terrible a fire would be 
 in a crowded tenement-house on such a night. 
 
 She finished her belated dinner a few minutes 
 after the deep tones of the clock in the hall had 
 told her that it was ten, and that there were left 
 of the old year but two hours more. Except 
 when the sick man waked with a cough, the next 
 hour was wholly eventless. 
 
 And yet. when it had drawn to an end. the 
 nurse thought that it would count in her life as 
 important beyond most others, for it was be 
 tween ten and eleven that she made up her mind 
 to marry the rich man who wanted her for his 
 wife, and whom she did not love. The reso 
 lution once determined, she let her mind play 
 about the possibilities of the future. She would 
 not be married till the spring, of course, and 
 they would go to Europe for their wedding-trip. 
 Then, in the fall, she would persuade him to 
 move to Xew York. He was fond of his own 
 
236 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOR 
 
 town, but he would get used to the city in time ; 
 and they could buy a new house, overlooking 
 Central Park perhaps in the same neighbor 
 hood as the one where she was sitting in the 
 hazy light of the sick-room. She smiled uncon 
 sciously as she found herself wondering whether 
 her patient s beautiful young wife would call on 
 her if she purchased the house next door. 
 
 It was a little after eleven o clock when she 
 again heard a rustling of silken stuffs in the room 
 by the side of hers, followed shortly by the voice 
 of the servant in the street below calling the car 
 riages of the departing guests. But some of the 
 diners still lingered, for it was nearly half an 
 hour later before the door of the sick-room 
 opened and the sick man s wife came gliding 
 in again with her languorous grace. 
 
 He fixed his eyes upon her at once, and smiled 
 with contentment as she came towards him. 
 
 "You ve been asleep, haven t you ?" she be 
 gan. " I m so glad, for of course that s so good 
 for you. We all missed you down -stairs, and 
 everybody asked about you and said they were 
 so sorry you were not there. You must hurry 
 up and get well ; and I ll give another dinner 
 like this, for it was a great success. The flowers 
 were superb and I don t think any of the wom 
 en had a handsomer gown than I did. And I 
 know all of them together hadn t as elegant dia 
 monds. I don t , believe anybody at the dance 
 will have as many either." 
 
IX THE WATCHES OF THE XIGHT 237 
 
 " Sit down by me here and tell me all about 
 the dinner," said the sick husband. 
 
 "Oh, I can t wait now," the young wife an 
 swered. I must be off at once. I ve simply 
 got to be there in time to see the old year out 
 and the new year in. They say Mrs. Jimmy has 
 a surprise for us, and nobody at dinner had the 
 slightest idea what it could possibly be V 
 
 " Are you going to the dance to-night ?" asked 
 the man in the bed ; and the nurse saw the plead 
 ing look in his eyes, even if his wife failed to 
 perceive it. 
 
 "Of course I am," was the wife s reply. "I 
 wouldn t miss it for anything. I think it s a 
 lovely idea to have a dance on Xew-Year s Eve. 
 don t you ? I do wish you were well enough to 
 go. and I m certain sure Mrs. Jimmy will ask 
 about you she s always *o polite. You won t 
 miss me you will be asleep again in five min 
 utes, won t you ?* 
 
 " Perhaps." he answered, still clinging to her 
 fingers. "I ll try to sleep.* 
 
 " That s right." she responded, withdrawing 
 her hand and going towards the door. " I ll 
 trust you to the nurse. She ll take better care 
 of you than I should, I m afraid. I never was 
 any good when people were sick. Xow good 
 bye. I do hope you ll be better when I get back. 
 I ll come in and say good-night, of course. I 
 sha n t be late, either I ll be home by three 
 or before four, anyway. 9 
 
238 OUTLINES IN LOCAL COLOK 
 
 And with that she glided away, smiling back 
 at her husband as she left the room. He fol 
 lowed her with his eyes, and he gazed at the 
 door fixedly after she had gone. There was a 
 hungry look in his face, so it seemed to the 
 nurse, as of one starving in the midst of plenty. 
 With the vain hope that the vision of beauty 
 might yet return, he lay silent, but listening 
 intently, until he heard the sharp slam of the 
 carriage doors. Then he relaxed and turned 
 restlessly in bed. 
 
 It was then half -past eleven, and the nurse 
 took his temperature and administered another 
 capsule, as the doctor had ordered. It seemed 
 to her that he was more feverish and that he 
 was coughing more frequently ; and even as she 
 saw the patient sink into a broken sleep, she 
 wished that the physician would come soon. 
 
 The arrival of the doctor was delayed till a 
 few minutes before midnight, and the nurse had 
 time to reconsider, once and forever, her deci 
 sion to marry for money and Avithout love. Her 
 mind had been made up slowly and with great 
 deliberation ; it was unmade suddenly and un 
 hesitatingly and irrevocably. It Avas the sight 
 of the mute pleading in the sick man s eyes 
 which made her change her mind. After see 
 ing that look she felt that it would be impos 
 sible for her to make a loveless marriage not 
 for her own sake only, but also for the sake of 
 the man she should marry. If he loved her and 
 
IX THE WATCHES OF THE XIGHT 239 
 
 she did not love him, there would be no fair ex 
 change ; she would be cheating him. When she 
 beheld clearly the meaning of the transaction 
 her honesty revolted. She had refused to marry 
 him more than once, and now her refusal was 
 final. 
 
 She stood for a moment at the window and 
 looked out. The snow had ceased falling, and 
 there was already a clearing of the clouds, which 
 let the moonlight pierce them fitfully. The 
 wind blew steadily across the broad meadows of 
 the Park, bending the whitened skeletons of the 
 trees. 
 
 Three immense sleighs filled with a joyous 
 and laughing party went down the avenue, 
 bandying songs from one sleigh to the other. 
 A horn was tooted repeatedly in one of the side 
 streets, and there were louder and more fre 
 quent whistles from the river craft on both sides 
 of the city. A pistol -shot rang out now and 
 again. It was almost midnight on the last day 
 of the old year : and the new year was to be 
 greeted with the customary chorus of wild noises. 
 
 As the nurse turned from the window the 
 doctor entered the room. She made her report 
 briefly, and she told him that the old man s 
 cough was worse, and that he seemed weaker. 
 
 While they were standing at the foot of the 
 bed. the patient was seized with another par 
 oxysm. He sat up. shaken by the violent effort 
 far more violent than any that had preceded 
 
240 OUTLINES IX LOCAL COLOK 
 
 it. He seemed to struggle vainly for relief, and 
 then he dropped back limply on the pillows. 
 The physician was at his side instantly, and laid 
 a hand on his heart. There was a moment of 
 silence, and the clock on the stairs began to 
 strike twelve, its chimes mingling with the up 
 roar made by the pistols and the horns and the 
 steam-whistles out-doors. 
 
 " That s what I was afraid of/ said the doc 
 tor at last. "I suspected that he had fatty de 
 generation of the heart." 
 
 " Is he is he dead ?" asked the nurse. 
 
 "Yes, he is dead." 
 
 But it was not for five or ten minutes that the 
 shrill noises outside ceased. 
 
 (1895) 
 
 THE END 
 
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