IN NEW YORK 
 
 OPIE 
 
CROSBY BOOK CO. 
 Booksellers 
 Stationers 
 
 1571 Ilaight Street 
 
BOWED WITH A GRACE THAT WAS NOT UNBECOMING." 
 
AN AMERICAN 
 IN NEW YORK 
 
 A Novel of Today 
 
 OPIE READ 
 
 Author of "A Kentucky Colonel," "The Starbucks, 
 "The Jucklins," S*c., &c. 
 
 EMLEN McCONNELL AND HOWARD HEATH 
 
 1905 
 THOMPSON & THOMAS 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
Copyright, 1904 
 
 BY 
 
 THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 To George W. Clawson, of St. Louis hon 
 est, adventurous ; a man with a keen mind and 
 without fear to him, a typical American, I 
 affectionately dedicate this book. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER I. Page . 
 The Waldorf Hotel 17 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The Colonel has Something to Say on Political 
 Economy 30 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 The Colonel Moralizes over the Great Human Tide. 41 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 The American Tells the Story of Minnie Watkins. 58 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 The Widow 76 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 At the Grand Opera 86 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 Sammy 97 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 The Girl who Talked Blossoms 109 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Self-possessed, but Whirled Away 125 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 At the Window 141 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 Mr. Joseph Aukwall Skidder 151 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 Money s Blizzard 169 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 Sim Groggin 182 
 
Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Night Lamps in Her Eyes 195 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 A Project Forming 203 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 At Benjamin Franklin s Tomb 213 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 Read All the Time 229 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 Brought Him a Note 241 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 Under Way 250 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 The Press Agent 259 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 Miss Baith 270 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 Not a Word About Her 280 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 The Coming of the Hour 293 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 Didn t Want to be Congratulated 305 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 New York s Opinion 318 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 In the Sixteenth Century Room 33 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 Conclusion 343 
 
Illustrations. 
 
 " Bowed with a grace that was not unbecoming." 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 " In future when you hear me laugh, take to your 
 
 heels " 19 
 
 " I shall not forget the smile on the face of a brute, 
 
 sitting at a table " 26 
 
 " Will size you up as a cheap man " 31 
 
 " Been a widow long, Ma am ? " 79 
 
 " He s worth more than all the money in the world " 227 
 
 " Throw " 341 
 
 " Ah," he said, " It s your old voice, Blandin Jim 
 
 your old voice 351 
 
An American in New York. 
 
An American in New York, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE WALDORF HOTEL. 
 
 Along with the education of the past he 
 had a shrewd eye for the present, and he 
 called himself an American in New York. In 
 the great Waldorf Hotel, where the lamps 
 burn at midday as at midnight, he was uncon 
 sciously conspicuous as slowly he strode down 
 the corridor known as Millionaire Lane, 
 where, in the evening, were gathered the 
 wealthier members of the Stock Exchange, 
 speculation polite in full dress, with many a 
 bow and sallow smile, but just as heartless 
 and as replete with human greed as when on 
 the "floor" in Wall Street, beneath the cold 
 eye of the gray-bearded old chairman sitting 
 high in his marble balcony. 
 
 Every one turned to look at the tall, middle- 
 aged American, so expressive of a quiet home 
 somewhere remote from the politer forms of 
 throat-cutting, and so different was he from 
 the average man, so pronounced a physical 
 
An American in New York 
 
 reminiscence of the considerate past in this 
 swiftly-gestured present, that the elegant idlers 
 seated along the alabaster wall regarded him 
 in the light of an amusing discovery. 
 
 A student of the English classics would not 
 have strained much to pronounce him a latter- 
 day Sir Roger, marveling and moralizing in 
 the great city. Some one had heard him say 
 to a bell-boy that he lived out in America and 
 that this was his first trip abroad. 
 
 In the Waldorf not all, however, was the 
 bead on the froth of aimless life, for here 
 where local fashion and foreign decoration pa 
 raded, admired of the imitative and the 
 thoughtless, were also gathered the bone of 
 gigantic industry and the muscle of fearless 
 adventure, organizers of mighty corporations, 
 and travelers who from the backs of trumpet 
 ing elephants had fought the striped terror of 
 the jungle. From Arizona and from Mexico 
 had come men with mining stocks, financial 
 carpet-baggers, for in many a gripsack was 
 there a gold brick wrapped in convincing silk. 
 It was a world within itself, the Waldorf Ho 
 tel, a world of apparent opulence, for obvious 
 poverty did not peep in at the door. 
 
 Off from the gay halls was a Turkish smok- 
 18 
 
IN FUTURE WHEN YOU HEAR ME LAUGH, TAKE TO YOUR 
 HEELS." 
 
An American in New York 
 
 ing-room. Here nicotine broke through con 
 vention. Stranger struck match for stranger 
 and handed it to him. This meant, "You 
 may ask me about the stock market and I will 
 genially mislead you." In this place, a twi 
 light amid rich hangings, the American soon 
 established himself, the centre of a social com 
 monwealth. Early in his career as a member 
 of this colony he laughed with an outburst so 
 loud that a London porter, passing through 
 the room, halted and stared at him. 
 
 "How much was that worth?" the Ameri 
 can inquired. The flunky begged "pairdon. 
 "I want to know how much that laugh is 
 likely to have damaged you the hearing of 
 it? But I want to tell you, sir, that along with 
 my other baggage, I ve brought with me a few 
 of my natural habits." Then a considerate 
 thought struck him. "But I reckon you ve got 
 your own habits, too. Here s fifty cents, and in 
 future, when you hear me laugh, take to your 
 heels." 
 
 "I will do so, sir," said the porter, pocket 
 ing the fifty cents without the suggestion of a 
 smile ; and ever afterward he kept his word. 
 
 It was a matter of recognized necessity to 
 call the American Colonel. He soon became 
 
 19 
 
An American in New York 
 
 a sort of favorite with ladies. They liked 
 to listen to his stories, and be it known that, 
 with two continents striving to minister to 
 her whims, the average woman is more nearly 
 natural than the average man. They all of 
 them scream when they encounter a mouse, 
 the farce-comedies tell us, and their comments 
 upon the appearance of a grizzly bear are al 
 most uniformly the same. The American 
 was to them a sort of grizzly bear, captured 
 a long time ago but in a softened way retain 
 ing all of the most interesting of his wild and 
 mountainous manners. 
 
 u Why do you call yourself an American in 
 New York?" inquired Mrs. Flashroll, wife of 
 Judge Flashroll, who with much nipping and 
 a great deal of tucking managed to live for 
 a few months of the year at the Waldorf. 
 
 "Because, madam, I have lived nearly all 
 over America, and this is the only town that 
 puts me in mind of a country I have never 
 seen. Why, the other day I was near the 
 mountain range where Nassau trails into 
 Broad street, and I saw an American flag float 
 ing from the top of an ancient building. I 
 have heard men say how the old flag, seen sud 
 denly in foreign ports, made them feel, and it 
 20 
 
An American in New York 
 
 wasn t hard to persuade myself that I felt just 
 about that way. So in I goes to offer my con 
 gratulations, and I asked if the American con 
 sul was in. The fellow that I spoke to pretend 
 ed not to understand. The American consul ? 
 said he. Why, we have no American consul 
 here. Is that a fact? I replied. Then i gad, 
 I m farther away from home than I thought 
 I was. " 
 
 The men winked and the women smiled. 
 4 We never know when you are are well, 
 guying us," said Mrs. Flashroll. 
 
 The American arose and bowed. "Ma 
 dam," said he, "I never guy a lady." 
 
 "How long have you been here, Colonel?" 
 
 "Madam, when a man is abroad he doesn t 
 somehow have a very good hold on time. It 
 may seem longer or shorter than it is. I will 
 remark, however, that I am here on my wed 
 ding journey." 
 
 "Your wedding journey! Why, where is 
 your wife?" 
 
 "Well, that is to be explained. Years ago, 
 when I married, I was too low in the financial 
 scale to think of a bridal tour, but my wife was 
 broad-minded and did not complain. How 
 ever, we didn t forget it; no, madam, we kept 
 21 
 
An American in New York 
 
 it endearingly in mind, hoping and working 
 for the time when we should be able to stand 
 the expense of such a trip. Well, the time 
 came at last, a week or so ago. The children 
 were settled and I had made rather an ad 
 vantageous sale of property, so I says, Moth 
 er, get your things ready and we ll take that 
 bridal tour. Where to? she asks, and I 
 scratched my head. Well, say New York, 
 but she shakes her head. No, don t care to 
 go there; don t know anybody, and I have 
 heard that they ain t at all sociable. Mrs. 
 Vance, over at Deerlick, was there two 
 months, a-visiting her son, and didn t get ac 
 quainted with anybody to speak of, nor to 
 speak to, for that matter. I believe I d rather 
 go back to Mount Sterling, Kentucky, where 
 I was raised. So, madam, we agreed that she 
 should go there and I should come here, but 
 have it understood that we both were on our 
 wedding tours." 
 
 A smile went around. The woman asked 
 him if he were a Southerner, a soothing flat 
 tery to one born in the South, and he answered 
 that he was, originally, having been born in 
 Kentucky; "and while," said he, "I continue 
 to have been born in that State, yet I have 
 
 22 
 
An American in New York 
 
 lived nearly everywhere in America and re 
 gard myself in the light of a nationalist." 
 "But you don t like New York." 
 He gave her what in a poker game would 
 have looked like the propitiating smile of a 
 winner. "Ah, madam, that s where you mis 
 judge me. It is not for me to dislike any part 
 of the Master s footstool, but I don t know 
 that I am commanded not to criticise one or 
 more of the legs on which the stool stands. 
 There are many things here that are most un- 
 American to me not a want of politeness, I 
 assure you, for that is as often characteristic 
 of an ignoramus as of a statesman, but a cer 
 tain and I might say a most pronounced and 
 eager strife to get away from the democratic 
 customs of our fathers. But I am not one who 
 believes that the world is growing worse or 
 that the young man of to-day is not of as good 
 fibre as I was at his age. The fact is that the 
 youngster of to-day knows about twice as much 
 as I did, but this young fellow, contrary to 
 the opinion hemmed in on this narrow island, 
 is not wholly nor in large part confined to the 
 city of New York. Six weeks west of Man 
 hattan teach him more than six years do here. 
 All that is necessary in this life is not to com- 
 
 23 
 
An American in New York 
 
 mit Broadway to memory from one end to 
 the other. A man may do that and still miss 
 nearly all the immortal beauties of Shakes 
 peare. And that reminds me. I came here 
 expecting to see Shakespeare played, but am 
 told that they have sent him back to the coun 
 try where they say he belongs. Writers that 
 never saw a wild tree" by which he meant a 
 tree not confined in a tub or nurtured in a 
 park "find fault with his shrubbery, madam. 
 They say he was rude in speech, and so was 
 old Jeremiah, but i gad, they haven t beat him 
 very far yet. But I reckon that man and wo 
 man, not only in New York but in nearly all 
 parts of the country, have become too busy to 
 listen to wisdom." 
 
 "Speaking again of the drama in New 
 York," he said, "I am forced to announce the 
 fact that there isn t any drama here. The 
 whole thing is a tune and a jig. You are pass 
 ing through what might be called the night 
 sweats of the drama. Dignity has turned 
 loose, sir, to dance a breakdown. The worse 
 the show is the better you are pleased. If a 
 fellow comes along with a new sort of flip- 
 flap he is a hero. Your rhyme is kidney-footed 
 and your dancing is vulgar. A pair of black- 
 
 24 
 
An American in New York 
 
 ened eyes and a mouth made at the audience 
 take the place of dramatic action. In your 
 tastes you haven t the excuse of a couple of 
 fellows I saw one night standing before the 
 opera house in Little Rock, Arkansas. A bill 
 announced that John MacCullough was play 
 ing Virginius. These two fellows halted and 
 looked up the stairway. Why, Bill, here s a 
 show. Ah, hah, but what sort of a show is 
 it ? Want to go up ? The other fellow stared 
 at the bill. Let s see if we can make out what 
 it means. Sleight o hand, I reckon. Seen a 
 man at a schoolhouse t other night, out our 
 way, that I ll bet can swallow two knives to 
 his one. We ve seen all he can do. Thar s a 
 sick hoss at the wagon yard. Let s go round 
 thar. Those fellows had something to keep 
 them away from the real drama, for I want to 
 tell you that out where they lived a sick horse 
 meant a good deal. But here a sick poodle 
 would serve. Of course, in my country, Amer 
 ica, I mean, from a time almost ancient we 
 have looked to New York for the stamp of 
 her approval; but either one of two things 
 must happen if this continues; we ve got to 
 lose our recollection of what is good or New 
 York must revise her judgment." 
 
 25 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "I suppose," mischievously remarked one 
 of the ladies, "that, after the manner of 
 the early English, you would keep women off 
 the stage altogether." 
 
 "Oh, no, madam. If the drama at the 
 present time showed any signs of preservation 
 I should say that it was largely due to woman. 
 Woman is as a general thing more convincing 
 than man, and without delicious illusion the 
 play is but impotent talk. An instance: 
 Rather late last night I dropped into a Broad 
 way restaurant. There were but few custom 
 ers, rendering it easy to pick out personages 
 whom I thought worthy of study a habit of 
 mine, sir/ and he nodded at a man who had 
 just drawn up to join the listeners. "And I 
 noticed particularly a gentleman and a lady 
 sitting at a table not far away. But would 
 you believe it, while I was looking a quarrel 
 arose between them? It did, and the man, 
 in a most undignified and, I might say, un- 
 gentlemanly, manner, arose, snatched up his 
 gloves which lay beside a plate, and in a huff 
 departed. The lady was much embarrassed, 
 I assure you, and I saw clearly that she didn t 
 know what to do ; and I should have hastened 
 to minister to her in this, the hour of her dis- 
 26 
 
I SHALL NOT FORGET THE SMILE ON THE FACE OF A BRUTE, 
 SITTING AT A TABLE." 
 
An American in New York 
 
 tress, had I possessed the honor of her ac 
 quaintance." 
 
 "What did you do, Colonel ?" 
 The question was asked by a woman. 
 "Madam, I don t know what I should have 
 done had not something happened at the crit 
 ical moment. She came over and spoke to 
 me. First let me note her appearance. I re 
 call in a poem somewhere And her eye was 
 of that tinge of the sky when the trout leaps 
 quickest to catch the fly. That was her eye 
 blue as the sky that must lie beyond our vision ; 
 and her hair was black, a rain-cloud shredded 
 and silkened, and her voice as she spoke with 
 sweet hesitation was almost hushed in its own 
 trembling melody. Sir, she said and I was 
 on my feet in a moment, I assure you sir, 
 will you be kind enough to see me to my car 
 riage? Would I? Her chariot was waiting 
 just without, I gathered from a few notes of 
 stray music which she dropped, and she wanted 
 no aid except to be seen to it ; she had her own 
 purse, she somehow told me, swinging it by 
 a golden chain. The unfortunate quarrel 
 with her but no matter, the carriage was 
 waiting and she would go home alone. I 
 bowed, gave her my arm and we walked out, 
 
 27 
 
An American in New York 
 
 and I shall not forget the smile on the face 
 of a brute sitting at a table. Well, the car 
 riage stood at the curb, just a little ways up 
 the street. The driver opened the door and 
 she got in. Oh, I am so much obliged to you/ 
 she said with a little whimper as sweet as the 
 gurgle of June water. I really don t know 
 what I should have done without you. James, 
 you may drive to Wait a moment. Oh, yes, 
 give me my purse, please. The latter remark 
 was directed to me. Your purse? I haven t 
 it. 
 
 !< Oh, yes, I gave it to you. 
 1 I beg your pardon, but you are mis 
 taken. 
 
 " Oh, no, I m not. Don t trifle with me 
 when I placed so much confidence in you. 
 Give me my purse, please. 
 
 "And then the cabman spoke up : Give the 
 dame her pocketbook or I ll call the cop. 
 
 "There was a fine predicament for an Amer 
 ican away from his friends. Swearing upon 
 my honor would have availed nothing." 
 
 "But what did you do, Colonel?" 
 
 " I beg your pardon, here it is, I said, and 
 I took out my own pocketbook and handed it 
 28 
 
An American in New York 
 
 to her, and snatching it eagerly she fell back 
 into the carriage and was driven away." 
 
 "Your own pocketbook! And was there 
 anything in it?" 
 
 "Madam, it was stuffed full of pieces of 
 goods that my wife had given me to match. 
 Ah, she was convincing, and i gad, she saved 
 me a world of trouble." 
 
 29 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER 1 1. 
 
 THE COLONEL HAS SOMETHING TO SAY ON 
 POLITICAL ECONOMY. 
 
 With the usual circle about him, in the Wal 
 dorf, the American in New York was telling 
 an East Indian tiger-hunter of the dangers of 
 hunting the grizzly bear. The trouble was 
 that the grizzly didn t know when he was 
 dead; and even after the "inquest," he was 
 likely to arise and assume new license for un 
 warranted depredation. The tiger-hunter, an 
 English gentleman, blinked his eyes as if into 
 them had been blown a sudden sand gust 
 from the desert. He said that he didn t quite 
 gather. He had heard that the grizzly bear 
 was whimsical, indeed petulant, but in blood- 
 thirstiness could not be compared with the 
 tiger. 
 
 "Well," said the Colonel, "the grizzly kills 
 a man, and to go beyond that point is some 
 what of an unnatural strain." 
 
 "Ah," the Englishman replied, "but that is 
 precisely what the tiger does. He eats his 
 victim." 
 
WILL SIZE YOU UP AS A CHEAP MAN. 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "A mere matter of taste," said the Ameri 
 can. "I mean, you understand, as to whether 
 or not it is worse than to be crushed out of all 
 semblance of a man and left to serve as a shock 
 to your friends. Of course, I can t speak from 
 experience or even from credible hearsay, but 
 it seems to me that after life is extinct I d as 
 soon go bounding through the jungle in the 
 close corporation of a tiger s digestive society 
 as to be spread out thin on the mountainside, 
 to serve as food for the ungallant and coward 
 ly buzzard, sir." 
 
 The Englishman arose, hooked himself to 
 gether and strode off, remarking to some one 
 that the Colonel might well call himself an 
 American, for it was impossible to get any 
 information out of him. In the meantime the 
 American had turned about to comment on a 
 phase of life in New York. "I notice," said 
 he, "that of an evening the women are drink 
 ing wine and the men are shuddering over 
 water as they sit together in the cafes. If you 
 take a lady to supper you must buy wine for 
 her, or the waiter will size you as a cheap 
 man. And in a community where fighting is 
 regarded as impolite, not to say immodest, this 
 is uncomfortable. You people may be accus- 
 
 31 
 
An American in New York 
 
 tomed to it, but I don t like the cockney grunt 
 of contempt. It strikes me that our Consti 
 tution was framed to relieve us of that sort 
 of thing. The tipping, or rather petty brib 
 ing, system has sifted out into America, but 
 here in New York it seems to have reached 
 its climax. And you must not only hire the 
 waiter to say thank you, but must buy wine 
 to maintain a place in his good opinion. It s 
 well enough to talk of independence and to 
 swear you won t do it; you will. There is 
 nothing so tireless as insolence, and they will 
 finally wear you out, those cockneys; and you 
 are then willing to buy freedom from that 
 grunt and that buttermilk eye. They have 
 ruined the nigger, sir. Of course, it has al 
 ways been the darky s game to play the polite 
 and attentive for a tip, but they have made 
 him insulting and imperative in his demand. 
 And if you don t give him at least as much as 
 ten per cent of the amount of your order he 
 gives you the cockney stare. I ll be hanged 
 if one of them didn t turn my overcoat and 
 put it on me wrong side out." 
 
 "What did you do?" one of the ladies in 
 quired. 
 
 "Do, madam? I didn t know it until I 
 
 32 
 
An American in New York 
 
 was shouted at in the street. I thought I was 
 about to get run over and I jumped. Then a 
 policeman came up and said: If you don t 
 turn that coat right and sober up a little I ll 
 run you in for drunkenness. And realizing 
 my plight, I explained, and what did the 
 scoundrel do but laugh at me. I looked at my 
 watch and found that it was then too late to 
 go back to the restaurant and kill the brute." 
 
 The American bowed himself out, and noth 
 ing more was seen of him until late in the 
 evening, when he came into the Turkish room. 
 In a flutter the ladies made a place for him, 
 and he declared that they had done him proud. 
 
 "I think," said he, as he sat down, u that I 
 have passed a profitable day, not more so for 
 myself than for the people in my country, 
 whom I shall tell something of what I saw. I 
 was out at Ellis Island, the place where the 
 immigrants land, and I must say that I was 
 profoundly and not altogether pleasantly im 
 pressed. Ladies, economics perhaps do not 
 interest you, that is, at present; but some of 
 you may move out to Colorado or to other 
 States where the right of suffrage has been ex 
 tended to your sex. And I wish to remark 
 that every citizen in this country should be 
 
 33 
 
An American in New York 
 
 interested in Ellis Island. Once in a while 
 the newspapers mention it; we are told that 
 so many thousands landed this year or last 
 year; and, occasionally, some Congressman, 
 with an eye to the future, tells of the continu 
 ous inflow. But I wanted to see for myself, 
 and I did. It was the first time that I ever 
 contemplated the rawest material of which 
 citizens are made, and I was not inspired with 
 veneration for the statesmanship of forefath 
 ers who were so eager for increase in the 
 young republic s inhabitants as to hold out an 
 invitation not only to the oppressed but to 
 the scum of the earth. A nation is but a fam 
 ily, and who would think of inviting into his 
 household a degenerate and a fugitive from 
 the justice of an older association?" 
 
 "But we should not shut our doors upon the 
 needy and the suffering," spoke up a local 
 politician. 
 
 "No, not upon the suffering not surely 
 upon those whose minds have been caged; but 
 why should we be a hospital or at least an 
 asylum for the pauper? It would be as wise 
 to empty foreign prisons into this country s lap 
 as to make voters of such material. This is 
 as well known to the average politician as 
 
 34 
 
An American in New York 
 
 ballot-box stuffing was to the carpet-bagger, 
 but the average politician is a moral coward. 
 I beg your pardon, sir." 
 
 "Oh, go ahead, Colonel, and if you tell the 
 truth about me, I ll grin and bear it," replied 
 the politician. 
 
 "Sir, I thank you," said the Colonel, and 
 thus he continued: "Shutting his eyes, the 
 politician falls off into an oratorical swoon 
 over the liberties granted by our glorious Con 
 stitution. To lubricate his joints anent the 
 race for office he would stew the grease out 
 of the Declaration of Independence. He 
 would pluck the tail-feathers from the bird of 
 freedom and stick them into the grimy hats 
 of the newly naturalized. Out in a town 
 where I lived, sir, they naturalized two thou 
 sand in one day." 
 
 "Is that a fact? And what came of it?" 
 
 "What came of it? Confound them, they 
 beat me for mayor, sir." 
 
 "Ah, that was bad. But go ahead. We are 
 getting information." 
 
 "I thank you, sir. As this is a gateway to 
 America, every American ought to visit Ellis 
 Island. It would give him a new view of the 
 evil chances taken in our constant effort to as- 
 
 35 
 
An American in New York 
 
 similate some of the worst elements of the hu 
 man family. Statistics of immigration are 
 sometimes quoted as an evidence of prosperity. 
 But there is a vast difference between the in 
 flux of honest blood and the inoculation of 
 criminal pauperism. FalstafFs recruits, with 
 only a shirt and a half to a company, could 
 boast of a complete wardrobe compared with 
 some of the European outcasts that expect to 
 be turned loose upon the shores of America. 
 A few dollars in hand should not be set up 
 as the gauge of admission. Money can be 
 stolen, you know, and to a thief we might be 
 offering the premium of citizenship. The 
 psychologist should be present and the sci 
 entist ought to pass upon the quality of the 
 candidate. Lax laws are criminal, and the 
 future will hold us responsible for our loose 
 ness. I am told by the officials that some 
 times out of the thousands of immigrants that 
 land in a day at least one-half of the number 
 are but adventurers who have no thought of 
 remaining here. To their nature material 
 production is more foreign than the shores 
 they are about to pollute, and after an illegit 
 imate levy upon the public they return to their 
 former homes to spread the report of the ease 
 
 36 
 
An American in New York 
 
 and freedom granted to them in America. Sir, 
 the negro problem in the South may be serious, 
 but let the East look to Ellis Island." 
 
 "If you gentlemen are going to get into 
 a political quarrel it is time for us to go," said 
 one of the ladies, and the Colonel arose with 
 a bow. "Madam, we are talking like broth 
 ers. You simply have misunderstood us. Sit 
 down and let me tell you of the one time in 
 my life when I held office." She smiled and 
 sat down, and the Colonel continued, after 
 warmly shaking hands with the local politi 
 
 cian: 
 
 u 
 
 It was in a rural community of the South 
 that I was elected to the office of justice of 
 the peace. I was not graced with any too 
 much law, but I thought I knew what justice 
 was, a fact proved by my first decision. One 
 day a negro appeared and said that he wanted 
 to bring suit for ten dollars against my old 
 friend Jim Gordon, a planter who lived not 
 far away. The plaintiff said that he didn t 
 need a lawyer, that he was willing to leave it 
 to me ; so I sent for Jim and he came over, as 
 mad as a hornet he was, too, when he found 
 that he had been sued. Why, confound that 
 nigger, I don t owe him a cent and never did, 
 
 37 
 
An American in New York 
 
 said he. But I told him that justice was jus 
 tice and therefore I must hear the nigger s 
 story. It wuz disser way, said he. It wuz a 
 cold day, not long ago, an I wuz er settin on 
 a stump down by de ribber, an ez I looked 
 at de skim o ice along de sho I lows ter mer- 
 se f dat I wuz monstus glad I didn t hatter git 
 in dat water. Bout dat time yere come Mr. 
 Gordon. He didn t say nuthin till he dun set 
 down on ernuder stump clost by me, an den 
 he take out er twenty-fi -cent piece, an den he 
 low dat ober at de sto dey had jest got in 
 some licker, two drinks fur er quarter, dat 
 would make a man smack his mouf all day. I 
 to! him I d like mighty well ter hab at leas 
 one o dem lickers but didn t sess de quarter. 
 He lowed dat wuz bad an I grees wid him. 
 Den he looks at de quarter in his han an says 
 he doan want it no longer an flings it in de 
 ribber. I didn t want ter git in dat col water. 
 He oughter knowed dat fack, but in he flung 
 it, an wid de taste o dat licker already in my 
 mouf I jumps in, an I grabbles round till up I 
 comes wid er han ful o mud an in de mud wuz 
 de twenty-fi* cents. I washes my han an de 
 money an strikes er trot fur de sto . I axed 
 
 38 
 
An American in New York 
 
 de man hind de counter an he say de licker 
 wuz dar, an I set my motif fur two drinks an 
 tol him to fetch em out. Den I put my 
 money on de counter, fo I got de licker, an 
 de man he tuck up de quarter, he did, sorter 
 looked at it an flung it back ter me wid de 
 nouncement dat it wuz counterfeit. An so 
 it wuz, Jedge. Wall, suh, de disserp intment 
 tergeder wid de col water makes me sick, an I 
 wuz in bed two weeks an lost at least ten dol 
 lars, an I now hoi s dat dis yere Mr. Gordon 
 he owe it ter me. 
 
 "Then Gordon spoke up. Judge, said he, 
 I hold that a man has a right to throw a piece 
 of pewter into the river whenever he has a 
 mind to. So, I don t owe him any money/ 
 He was my friend, Jim Gordon was, but, as I 
 said before, justice was justice. Sir, said I, 
 you undoubtedly have a right to throw pewter 
 into the river, and the law says that you have 
 an equal right to throw your own quarters into 
 the water, but equity, which, let me inform 
 you, goes a little beyond law, declares that 
 when a man throws a quarter into the river it 
 must be a good quarter or he lays himself lia 
 ble for making current a counterfeit. There- 
 
 39 
 
An American in New York 
 
 fore, you owe this nigger ten dollars. And 
 i gad, I made him pay it. 
 
 "Will you gentlemen repair with me to the 
 bar-room and join me in something soft? La 
 dies, I wish you good-night." 
 
 40 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE COLONEL MORALIZES OVER THE GREAT 
 HUMAN TIDE. 
 
 As voiced by the bellow of the great bells 
 old Time s wheel had slipped four cogs, signal 
 for the homeward rush, and the American in 
 New York stood at the Manhattan end of the 
 Brooklyn bridge. In the contemplation of a 
 mighty crowd the developed soul is stirred to 
 rebellion. In the crowd the mind may be more 
 active, but it is narrower. Solitude is breadth ; 
 man makes many noises but creative nature 
 lives in silence. Silence was the beginning and 
 silence must be the end of all, and to look upon 
 the nightmare of this troubled dream of life, 
 knowing that its struggles are but gestures 
 made wild in the meaningless air, depresses 
 and takes from us that keen nerve, that live 
 wire of ambition that inspires to action. Such 
 were the thoughts of the Colonel as he 
 watched the tide flowing across the bridge, but 
 with a shake he roused himself! "Come 
 now," he mused. "That is the way an old 
 man thinks. The world is real and the sun 
 
 41 
 
An American in New York 
 
 is its lamp and the moon is its evening senti 
 ment. America, even in its discovery, refuted 
 the belief that the world had seen its best day. 
 The forces of creation are ever new and we 
 learn more from the ringing hammer than 
 from the aging moralist, sitting half blind in 
 his darkened chamber. But why should the 
 mind grow old? Can any one trace its be 
 ginning, and therefore, who should attempt to 
 trace its end?" 
 
 Before taking his meditative stand at the 
 bridge the Colonel had moralized in an old 
 churchyard where headstones were crumbling 
 beneath the touch of flowing years. It was an 
 odd sight to him, these ash-heaps of the past 
 in the midst of the roaring furnaces of the 
 present, and it made him sad, the nothingness 
 of it all ; and he had come to the bridge to look 
 upon the fullest tide of American life. And 
 here were myriads of faces without the illumi 
 nation of an ennobling thought sheep rush 
 ing to the slaughter of inevitable circumstance, 
 souls dwarfed by the narrowing stress of mer 
 ciless obligation. But amid those myriads an 
 occasional lamp was carried by, a mind radiat 
 ing its light, a philosopher forced out of his 
 contemplative pace; and in sombre garb were 
 
 42 
 
An American in New York 
 
 seen the noble and self-sacrificing, the father, 
 the mother the unmarked hero of some crisis 
 yet to come. Ah, those face-pages, what a 
 book ! Sublimity, stupidity, comedy, tragedy 
 life. Tear out a thousand of these pages 
 and to-morrow the book would seem just as 
 thick. But in the homes the poems and the 
 psalms would be missed, sonnets unknown to 
 the public and destined forever to remain un 
 read by the crowd. How illustrative of us 
 all, this swift channel flowing high in the air, 
 this aqueduct of human currents. Nothing is 
 of avail except as it causes us to halt and to 
 think, for when we do think we are kindlier 
 and thereby the world is made better. An in 
 vention is a thought and a kind deed is a part 
 of true education. 
 
 The muser turned away, bettered by this 
 sermon which he had preached unto himself, 
 and he thought of the millions upon millions 
 of acres to the westward where those strug 
 gling souls would be welcomed and freed. An 
 overpowering sense of his own smallness came 
 upon him, and he wondered how any man who 
 existing thus as a grain of sand in a whirlwind 
 could fancy himself greater than his fellows. 
 But when he got down into the street where 
 
 43 
 
An American in New York 
 
 the crowd had thinned out his sense of in 
 dividuality returned. It requires but a mo 
 ment for self-assertive nature to come back to 
 us, again to beset us with whims and vanities; 
 and, indeed, without them there would be no 
 humor, no literature. 
 
 Millionaire Lane of theWaldorf Hotel was 
 in the glory of its evening swell. And what 
 a different tide from that which flowed across 
 the bridge. Here fashion was gathered, wo 
 men with white skin gleaming, and men prim 
 in elegance but powerful in the apparent 
 thought that they had fought, had won and 
 were among the conquerers of the world. We 
 wonder how it would feel to be able to draw 
 an honorable check for ten millions, and upon 
 the man whom wealth alone has granted in 
 ternational fame we gaze speculating as to 
 how he feels. He is afflicted, he shakes with 
 palsy, he is tottering toward the magnificent 
 tomb the plan of which he has just approved, 
 and still there is about him a power which our 
 own struggle and disappointment compel us 
 to recognize. He crosses the bridge, not on 
 hastening foot, but in sweeping chariot, and 
 those of the scramblers who do not get out of 
 his way are likely to be crushed ; but one of his 
 
 44 
 
An American in New York 
 
 chariots will move slowly and naught save his 
 kinsman, the worm, is in danger of being run 
 over by the wheels. But is he not weary, and 
 may he not be as willing to ride in that last 
 chariot as some of the rest of us? It does 
 not seem so. Trace back the lengthened 
 thread of his life and wonder at his beginning, 
 a poor boy, teaching a country school. Did he 
 follow the precepts in his books, or did he 
 make precepts of his own ? Was there a guide 
 to tell him how to speculate in stocks, to bring 
 about panic to cause distress? Can there be 
 true democracy until his power his mythical 
 power to shake the financial earth is gone? 
 Look at that beautiful woman: money spirit 
 ualized, she seems. Did she ever hear of the 
 German poetess who was found in the potato- 
 field and summoned blushingly and afraid to 
 the court of the emperor? The Colonel 
 looked at her as he sat by the wall, and he said 
 to an acquaintance who made it an evening 
 custom to watch the gorgeous parade : "I 
 think I saw her the other day, out riding with 
 her dog." 
 
 "Happy dog," replied the acquaintance. 
 
 "Well, not wholly," said the American. 
 "While she was waiting for the policeman to 
 
 45 
 
An American in New York 
 
 clear a way through the jamming carriages the 
 dog leaped out and was immediately seized by 
 a cur that broke away from a boy s string. For 
 a moment the air was full of ribbons. The 
 lady shrieked, and the policeman, knowing his 
 duty, ran to the rescue of the wallowed pug. 
 If such a thing had not been impossible the 
 cur would have made the pug s face uglier 
 than it was. I never saw such a shaking. 
 Usually I am for the under dog in the fight, 
 but on this occasion, sir, I was for the upper 
 one. I said to myself, Madam, the sweetest 
 and most appealing smile of a beautiful child 
 might not so nearly concern you as the sneeze 
 of that brute. Let him take it and I m glad 
 he got it. I shall not go so far as to say that 
 she kissed him when he was lifted back into 
 the carriage, but if I did it wouldn t be a lie, 
 sir. Ah, look through the doorway at that 
 old chap at the bar. See him shudder. He is 
 trying to ease himself down from a height 
 he attained yesterday. He puts me in mind 
 of an old fellow I saw in Louisville. 
 
 "Early one morning I went into the hotel 
 bar and the thought struck me that I had 
 need of ice-cold buttermilk. About the time 
 the bartender put it out in came the old citi- 
 
An American in New York 
 
 zen. His hair looked like newly-ginned cot 
 ton and in his cheeks there were broken veins. 
 Billy, he said to the bartender, make me a 
 cocktail. The bartender cracked his ice, 
 clapped his tin thing on a tumbler and shook 
 out the drink, poured it into a glass, sugared 
 the rim, hooked on a piece of lemon peel and 
 placed it before his customer. The old man 
 reached for it but suddenly drew back with a 
 sort of jolt. The memory of the night before 
 was a little too much for him. He turned about, 
 looked at the pictures on the wall, whistled a 
 few notes from an opera, and, again facing 
 the bar, put out his fumbly hand, but again 
 there came the jolt, deep from within. Then, 
 glancing at me, he said to the bartender: 
 Billy, give me some buttermilk. The milk 
 was set out for him. He took the glass, 
 drank half of the contents, which, upon my 
 word of honor, sir, I could hear sizzling, and 
 then he spoke to me : I beg your pardon, sir, 
 you being a stranger to me, but I was just 
 thinking what a shame it is that this stuff 
 won t make a man drunk. 
 
 A page came up and told the Colonel that 
 a number of his acquaintances were in the 
 Turkish room, waiting for him to tell them a 
 
 47 
 
An American in New York 
 
 story, and inquiring the name of the man who 
 sat beside him, he conducted him in and intro 
 duced him, of course, as his old and valued 
 friend. "You have honored me," said the 
 American, bowing to the men and most gra 
 ciously smiling upon the ladies, and then, seat 
 ing himself, he continued : "I don t know that 
 I have a story, but to-day as I gazed upon a 
 great moving mass of humanity I thought that 
 not in all the community which has cast by en 
 vironment such countenances was there one of 
 those peculiar individuals known as typical 
 American characters. I remember at this mo 
 ment an old fellow whom I shall speak of as 
 Uncle John, the oracle of a rural neighbor 
 hood, shrewd with the opinion that in his own 
 observation was a world of knowledge. Not 
 long ago he returned from a visit to Chicago, 
 and in the crossroads grocery store, the forum 
 of his wisdom, he took his seat near the stove. 
 About him soon gathered a number of his 
 friends Jim Horn, horse-trader and general 
 liar of the community; Uncle Bill Butter- 
 worth, recorder of the late and early frosts; 
 Tom Malone, a neighborhood drunkard, who 
 reformed every fall and fell every spring to 
 gether with a number of others whom neither 
 
An American in New York 
 
 age nor experience warranted in asserting their 
 identity. 
 
 " Well, Uncle John/ said Malone, you ve 
 got back, I see.* 
 
 Yes, in a measure, Tommy. Hain t been 
 drunk since I left?* 
 
 No, and ain t goin to drink no more. 
 
 Shake on that, Tommy, and according 
 to well-worn custom they shook hands to cele 
 brate the reformation. Yes, said Uncle 
 John, got back and mighty glad of it, for there 
 ain t no place on this earth that can equal 
 Jefferson Corners. And I ve been about a 
 good bit, I tell you. And while I was in town, 
 a-visitin my married daughter, boys, I seen 
 Richard the Third. 
 
 "With brightening interest Tommy looked 
 up and said: Richard the Third. He made 
 it in about one-thirty-six, didn t he? 
 
 "Made what? 
 
 " A mile. 
 
 "A mile! 
 
 " Yes; ain t you talkin about a boss? 
 
 " No, sir, I ain t. I m talkin about 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 " Oh, excuse me, said Tommy, but when 
 a man comes a-talkin about Jay Eye Sees and 
 
 49 
 
An American in New York 
 
 Richard Thirds, I jest nachully puts it down 
 that he s talkin about a hoss. 
 
 Shakespeare, said Uncle Bill Butter- 
 worth. Ah, hah. My granddaughter s 
 schoolbook s got somethin in it writ by him. 
 Came across it t uther day, and he writes fair 
 enough, but he can t spell alongside of my 
 granddaughter. But go ahead with what you 
 was a-goin to say, Uncle John. 
 
 " All right. You see, this was the first 
 time I have visited my daughter since she mar 
 ried that Board of Trade man. Sorter skittish 
 about goin , but I went. And he s all right, 
 my son-in-law is ain t proud don t occupy 
 more than half the house he lives in. Why, 
 Tommy, it s a quarter of a mile high and I 
 don t know how long; don t pretend to climb 
 the stairs; hoisted up in a cage s-s-s-shee 
 and you re there, either up or down, as the 
 case may be. 
 
 " Well, first night after I got there, about 
 the time we got through supper, son-in-law asks 
 me if I am fond of the drama. And I told 
 him that I had drinked a good deal of hard 
 cider and a Tom and Jerry now and then, but 
 couldn t say I was married to it beyond the 
 possibility of divorce. And then he laughed, 
 
 50 
 
An American in New York 
 
 he did, and said he didn t mean anything to 
 drink; not a dram, but the drama, the theatre. 
 Then I laughed and told him yes. And I 
 wanted him to understand, too, that I knowed 
 a good deal about the theatre business, for 
 once when an Uncle Tom s Cabin company 
 played at the Corners I furnished two of the 
 slats for Little Eva s death-bed. And this 
 pleased him goned if it didn t please him 
 till it appeared like he was glad he had mar 
 ried my daughter. And then he told me to 
 come on down with him and we d see Richard 
 the Third. He didn t say nothin about my 
 daughter goin , and I thought to myself that 
 maybe it wa n t for wimmin folks, but that 
 didn t cripple me none to speak of, so I told 
 him all right, a-gittin keener every minute. 
 When we d got into the cage and dropped 
 down to the bed-rock passage son-in-law asked 
 me if I didn t want to smoke as we went down 
 town, and as I was a-goin to a show a leetle 
 too nippy for wimmin to attend I thought I 
 might as well swaller the whole shootin 
 match, and I told him so in words befittin of 
 the occasion. Gentlemen, I reckon you have 
 seen what you thought was segars, but you 
 never saw such as son-in-law bought for me. 
 
An American in New York 
 
 Jest about the size of a bench-leg in a district 
 school, and had a gold band around it, rated 
 in price at five cents of any man s money ; and I 
 felt that nobody but bankers and Board of 
 Trade men could afford to smoke such goods, 
 but I didn t let on fired up one end and got 
 on the outside of a car and puffed jest like I 
 was borned and raised in the town. Never had 
 a cigar to keep me so busy. And putty soon I 
 seen why it must have cost so much. It would 
 smoke up one side jest half and then you could 
 go back and light the other half. 
 
 " Well, after a while we got to the show- 
 house, and it was all lit up outside, but I didn t 
 bat an eye. Son-in-law told me to throw away 
 my cigar and I hesitated, knowin that I could 
 smoke t uther half goin back, but I flung it out 
 in the street and it bounced around red like 
 a chunk of fire. After gittin seated I looked 
 up, and right in front of the platform what 
 they call the stage there was as putty a curtain 
 as you ever seen, all painted yaller and red 
 and blue, but it didn t strike me that it was in 
 tended for wimmin to look at along at the 
 same time with men. It represented a barge 
 a-comin down the river, and in it sorter lay 
 back a putty lady powerful scant of clothes 
 
 52 
 
An American in New York 
 
 and some half-naked niggers was a-holdin 
 feather dusters over her. Son-in-law said it 
 was Cleopatry a-goin to meet a feller named 
 Ant ny, and I lowed she put me in mind of a 
 woman that was a-goin to replevin her duds. 
 He snorted and told me to hush. 
 
 1 Well, then the horn-blowers and the 
 fiddlers come out, and they done right well, 
 considering that there was so many of them. 
 When they got through with this the curtain 
 was pulled up and there was the feller they 
 called Richard the Third. And it was plain 
 to be seen that murder was his game, for at this 
 particular time he waVt king, but was a putty 
 powerful candidate for the office, for it ap 
 peared like that mighty nigh everybody what 
 was dead he killed em. I thinks to myself 
 that they had to look a long time to find a 
 man of that shape, and the bill-of-fare said he 
 was great, and mebby he was. Well, it waVt 
 long till things began to warm up. And here 
 come a funeral to make it natural. This here 
 Richard had killed a king that had been shut 
 up in the round-house no, the Tower, I be 
 lieve they called it and the king s daughter- 
 in-law, the wife of a prince, a good-lookin 
 woman named Ann, she come along a- 
 
 53 
 
An American in New York 
 
 mournin like, and Richard he steps out and 
 told the hired hands to put down the deceased, 
 and they done it. And then Mis Prince she 
 begins to abuse him. 
 
 I know that when the average woman 
 puts her mind on it she can say a good many 
 mean things, fust and last, but I never heard 
 a woman that could equal this one. Put me 
 in mind of a feller that told the jedge in the 
 old story that he could addle a whole room 
 ful of goose-eggs by lookin through the key 
 hole. There waVt nothin she didn t call 
 him, but he stood there with a smile like he 
 had jest licked up some sorghum molasses. 
 She accused him of killin the deceased and he 
 didn t deny it, but smiled at her, and then she 
 thought she would give him a stunner by ac- 
 cusin him of killin her husband. But he 
 didn t deny that, either. Told her he loved 
 her so he couldn t keep from killin him 
 wanted to help her to a better husband and 
 she spit at him like a cat. She swore he ought 
 to be dead, and he drawed his sword and 
 handed it to her, and she took it and made at 
 him, and I yelled out, "Dodge, you fool !" 
 But he didn t. She let the sword drap and 
 lowed she couldn t kill him. Then he grabbed 
 
 54 
 
An American in New York 
 
 the sword and said he would kill himself if 
 she said the word, but she shook her head and 
 told him to get up and he said he would never 
 get up till she promised to marry him, and 
 boys, you may not believe it when I tell you, 
 but blamed if she didn t promise right there! 
 Yes, and he sent her one way and the deceased 
 the other, and then tittered fitten to kill him 
 self. 
 
 " Well, every once in a while they d drop 
 the curtain and show the niggers a-holdin the 
 feather dusters over the woman that was so 
 scant of clothes, and with each time things 
 warmed up more and more. Richard had a 
 cousin named Buckingham, and he says to him, 
 says he, "Buck, you help me to be king and 
 ther ain t no tellin what I won t do for you," 
 and Buck lowed he was with him, and he was 
 for a good while helped him put out of the 
 way fust one and then the other; but after the 
 real king died and he wanted Buck to go to 
 the Tower and murder the two princes, Buck 
 he quibbled. Richard told him he oughtn t to 
 stick at a little thing like that, but Buck said 
 he wa n t feelin very well that mornin and 
 didn t believe he d do it; and he didn t. He 
 
 55 
 
An American in New York 
 
 grabs his sword and rushes out to join the 
 enemy that was comin to fight Richard. 
 
 "The old man was silent for a time and 
 then went on : And, boys, I dreamed about 
 that show, and along toward mornin of the 
 last night I was there I dreamt that the nig 
 gers was a-holdin feather dusters over me, 
 and I awoke sudden and grabbed somethin 
 and give it a wring and a twist and it was 
 my daughter s parrot that had come in and 
 was on my pillow a-ticklin my ear with his 
 tail. I waVt more than half awake, you un 
 derstand, and I killed the thing. Yes, and I 
 didn t know what to do didn t know how to 
 apologize, for I never had killed a parrot be 
 fore. But suddenly a thought struck me. T 
 would put it in my valise and take it away and 
 nobody would be the wiser. I put it in on top 
 of my shirts and went out to breakfast, and 
 while we were eating daughter she wondered 
 what had become of Polly, but of course I 
 didn t let on. Well, as I was a-starting off 
 daughter called me to stop, and then here she 
 come with a small bundle which she said she 
 wanted me to take home for her mother. I 
 told her all right, that I would put it in my 
 pocket, but she said no, I would leave it on 
 
 56 
 
An American in New York 
 
 the train like I left some calico once. She de 
 clared she must put it in my valise. 1 hollered 
 out against it, you may bet, but she grabbed 
 the valise, opened it, and then she tuck out 
 the parrot and lookin at me, said : "Oh, poor 
 Polly, poor Polly!" And then I says, "Yes, 
 poor Polly, for when they git into my carpet 
 bag unbeknownst to me and touch that spring 
 lock it kills em every time." Son-in-law fol 
 lowed me down to the rock passage, put his 
 arm around me, handed me a fifty-dollar note, 
 and said : "This is to keep that spring lock in 
 good workin order and to pay your way back 
 here when she gits another parrot." 
 
 "He was an old rascal," said one of the 
 ladies when the Colonel had finished. "Ah, 
 that may be," replied the American, bowing; 
 "but, as our friend Bacon would say, A little 
 rascality, like the alloy in gold, makes char 
 acter work easier and therefore renders it 
 more enjoyable/ 
 
 57 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE AMERICAN TELLS THE STORY OF MINNIE 
 WATKINS. 
 
 Alone the Colonel sat in the Turkish room 
 of the Waldorf Hotel. On a chair beside him 
 were a number of newspapers rumpled into 
 a jagged pyramid, showing that when he put 
 them down the American s manner was not 
 stately or composed. From them he sat back 
 in a deep muse, oblivious of the comely girl 
 who came in lightly to dust about the room, 
 and the fact that to her he paid no attention 
 proved him to be in a most unusual state of 
 mind, for, as he himself was wont to say, 
 the sudden appearance of "calico" always 
 drove away the hawks and supplied their place 
 with gentler birds of thought, the doves of the 
 soul. It will require more of education to 
 prove to the gallant Southerner that all wo 
 men are not angels than it will to convince the 
 average foreigner that any of them are worthy 
 of that distinction. Once, at a hotel in Denver, 
 a chambermaid was caught by the house de 
 tective in the act of robbing the Colonel s 
 
 58 
 
An American in New York 
 
 room. She was taken to court, a fifty-dollar 
 banknote was found secreted in her sleeve, and 
 the magistrate was about to pass sentence of 
 imprisonment upon her when the Colonel 
 spoke up. "Wait a moment, Judge. Let me 
 see that bill," and when with pretended close 
 ness he had looked at the note he started 
 with surprise and cried out: u Why, this is 
 the one I gave her, and she couldn t have 
 stolen what was already her own." 
 
 "The one you gave her," said the magis 
 trate, scratching his head. 
 
 "Yes for a debt. You see, my brother 
 used to run a hotel out at Colorado Springs. 
 He failed, on account of sickness, and I 
 might say death to be exact to pay his help. 
 He owed this girl! let s see, miss, what is 
 your name?" 
 
 "Minnie Watkins," she whimpered. 
 
 From his left-hand pistol pocket the 
 Colonel took a notebook, and after turning 
 several leaves, cried out: "Ah, your honor, 
 she is right. Minnie Watkins is the name. 
 I paid her before I verified it, a careless habit 
 I dropped into while engaged in raising 
 cotton in the South, being somewhat busy at 
 the time, and am now pleased to find that 
 
 59 
 
An American in New York 
 
 she is truthful as well as honest. Now, 
 therefore, your honor, I move you, sir, in the 
 absence of any other business before the 
 house, that the prisoner be honorably dis 
 charged." 
 
 To this procedure the city prosecuting 
 attorney objected to the extent that it was not 
 in regular process, and upon him the Colonel 
 turned in thunderous wrath. "Sir, is your 
 soul no bigger than a technicality of the law? 
 And, your honor, is justice to be crippled 
 and made to go lame while attorneys indulge 
 the jumping-jack quibblings of a dwarfed 
 understanding? No, sir/ cries out the 
 American people, and therefore I insist upon 
 the motion." 
 
 The motion was carried, the prisoner dis 
 charged, and as the Colonel came up beside 
 her in the street she said to him : "They gave 
 me back the fifty dollars. What must I do 
 with it?" 
 
 "Miss, you must retain it to prove that I 
 am not a liar. And remember this: Never 
 catch a gentleman in a lie if you can help it. 
 It not only looks bad, but if by chance he is 
 inclined to be sensitive it might worry him 
 somewhat." He told her that he would talk 
 60 
 
An American in New York 
 
 to the hotel proprietor in her behalf, would 
 demand, in fact, that she should not be dis 
 charged; and he did, and when everything 
 had been adjusted he found opportunity to 
 say to her: u My dear pardon the famil 
 iarity, but you must know that financial 
 relations are sometimes the closest of kin 
 I don t understand how one with so innocent 
 a looking face could be dishonest, and if I 
 were you I should make an attempt to live 
 up to the promises of my countenance. Every 
 lady ought to be honest. If she isn t, how can 
 she expect her husband to be a gentleman?" 
 
 The girl promised that she would be hon 
 est, even if it killed her, and he replied that he 
 didn t think it would be that bad; and it 
 wasn t, for several years afterward, when he 
 found her the wife of a well-to-do man in Se 
 attle and the presiding genius of a hotel, she 
 appeared never to have suffered from her ef 
 fort. They were glad to see each other; the 
 Colonel began to talk of old friends whom 
 they had not known in common, of our old 
 Jones and of Miss Elizabeth and the like, and 
 while the reunion was at its height the hus 
 band broke in well, not exactly in the con 
 versation, being a man who seemed to hoard 
 61 
 
An American in New York 
 
 his words, but interrupted the proceedings 
 long enough to hand fifty dollars to the 
 Colonel, who, in an outburst of most gallant 
 surprise, exclaimed: 
 
 "And may I ask what this is for?" 
 The husband blinked as if the sun were in 
 his eyes, and said: "Money my wife owed 
 you when you worked for her* in Denver." 
 
 He dropped back, to hoard up his words, 
 and the wife, being more extravagant, gushed 
 forth: "Oh, it s all right, Colonel. I told 
 him all about it even before he gave me a 
 position of trust noticed that I was success 
 ful in my attempt to be honest, and about six 
 months afterward he got together words 
 enough to ask me to be his wife." The hus 
 band blinked as if he had reached the sum 
 mit of the greatest joke of his life, the very 
 Pike s Peak of humor; but the Colonel 
 hemmed and hawed, believing that he ought 
 to say something appropriate, and finally he 
 remarked: "Madam, if he knows all about 
 it there is no further need of polite disguise, 
 and now permit me to say that I am con 
 vinced you took the money to administer to 
 the distress of a mother or of some other 
 near relative." 
 
 62 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "No," she spoke up, "I wanted to buy a 
 cloak with it. Every other woman appeared 
 to have one, and I felt that I had been 
 cheated; but I know now that such a gar 
 ment would freeze me, and I thank you for 
 my ability to keep warm." 
 
 "Warm," said the husband, throwing 
 away a word that he had intended to keep. 
 She was standing beside him at the time, and 
 affectionately she ran her hand through his 
 brush-broom hair, and a ring on her finger 
 glowed like a glowworm in the autumn 
 grass. It was but natural that this should 
 make a deep impression upon the Colonel, 
 and he went his way, glad when he thought 
 of the part he had played in the little drama. 
 And it was natural, too, that this experience 
 should in the future soften him toward all 
 women accused of crime, if indeed he could 
 be made softer than he was, and it is unde 
 niably responsible for his creed that all wo 
 men are honest, more or less, according to 
 the degree of fascination in which they are 
 held by cloaks and other articles of finery. 
 He often declared that no woman would 
 steal without sufficient cause, or without what 
 she honestly believed was sufficient cause; 
 
 63 
 
An American in New York 
 
 that she was not naturally depraved, but was 
 irresistibly influenced by the gorgeous appear 
 ance of her more fortunate sisters; that her 
 sisters were gorgeous to please man, and that, 
 therefore, man was the cause of it all. 
 
 So when the Colonel did not look up from 
 his set-eyed abstraction upon the coming of 
 the chambermaid something unwonted must 
 have arisen to throw him deep down into a 
 state of forgetfulness. The girl was disap 
 pointed, as she was accustomed to receive a 
 tip whenever she smiled at the American, 
 and she coughed, a modest little distress she 
 had cultivated for the Colonel s benefit, but 
 he did not look up. She went out, wonder 
 ing what the matter could be ; and then along 
 came a doctor, not the house physician, but 
 a man who had practiced in New York years 
 ago, who had married a wealthy girl, lost 
 her money in speculation, and who now made 
 a show of prosperity by appearing regularly 
 at the Waldorf. He knew the Colonel well 
 that is, as well as a man of his pretentious 
 stamp cares to know one not belonging to the 
 golden circle and he halted and spoke to the 
 American. With a flounce the Colonel 
 tumbled out of his muse, arose, dusted his 
 
An American in New York 
 
 trousers, a habit the Southerner has from his 
 long continued custom of sitting upon the 
 stumps and stones of his plantation, grasped 
 the Doctor by the hand and shook it with 
 fervor. "Doctor/ said he, "I beg your par 
 don for not seeing you sooner. Sit down." 
 
 The Doctor said that he was very, very 
 kind, sat down and inquired as to how the 
 world was using him, which meant if he were 
 well in London and New York. The Colonel 
 said that he was well, or would be in America, 
 but that as he was still a stranger in New 
 York he didn t know exactly how he felt. 
 This was a humor too sly for the Doctor, for 
 no matter how refined the New Yorker may 
 be, there are little sun glints of drollery too 
 delicate for him. This was not always so, 
 and it has come latterly from his habit of cul 
 tivating British dullness. 
 
 "You seemed just now to be completely in 
 the possession of some hypnotic force," said 
 the Doctor, and the Colonel snorted and swore 
 that he had been. "Look here," said he, 
 shaking his fist at the pile of newspapers. 
 "Look at these things that some people call 
 the leading newspapers of America. There 
 are five of them, and out of the hundreds of 
 
 65 
 
An American in New York 
 
 columns there is scarcely a word about Amer 
 ica. Look at this one; five columns on the 
 first page from London parties, receptions, 
 scandals of dukes and lords; three-quarters 
 of a column about a storm in Devonshire 
 where no one was mortally hurt, and only a 
 few lines given to a town out West completely 
 destroyed by the wind." 
 
 The Doctor smiled. "Newspapers print 
 what they have reason to know will please 
 their readers," said he. 
 
 "Yes," cried the Colonel, "and they have 
 been educated to want foreign stuff. How 
 can you expect people to be patriotic when 
 they know nothing about their own coun 
 try?" 
 
 The Doctor shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, 
 patriotism," said he, "is a mere matter of 
 narrowness. It is an evidence of the fact 
 that a man has not traveled. Indeed, you 
 might say that it is a lack of education. To 
 be what is usually known as a patriot one 
 must believe that his country, his home, is 
 the best spot on earth, and that his friends 
 and neighbors are the best people in the 
 world. Traveling dispels that notion." 
 
 The Colonel clapped his hand over his 
 66 
 
An American in New York 
 
 mouth to keep from roaring. "And, sir, 
 when a man travels he must make it an ob 
 ject to find that all other countries are better 
 than his own, and that the country which 
 is most aristocratic is the one most worthy 
 of imitation." 
 
 "Not necessarily," the Doctor yawned. 
 "But I should like to ask if it isn t well to 
 imitate the one that has the most experience 
 in the affairs of life and is therefore the most 
 remote from crudity?" 
 
 "I grant you," cried the Colonel, "that 
 is, if we are to imitate at all but why imi 
 tate? Isn t it shallow and a sign of inherent 
 weakness to strive toward a catching of what 
 others possess, only in so far as we can copy 
 their wisdom and their virtue? But isn t it 
 a fact that when we copy we find that we 
 have gathered only a foolish harvest of 
 foibles ? America is great to-day not because 
 she has aped but because she is original. And 
 though out in America we have a most pro 
 found admiration for respectability, yet we 
 have learned to know that a man is not re 
 spectable or wise or a useful citizen simply 
 because he is the offshoot of a family that 
 was prominent in society. I have had a few 
 
An American in New York 
 
 of my own prejudices knocked on the head, 
 and I have learned that work and accom 
 plishment are the true virtues of civilization. 
 Sir," and the Colonel began to walk up and 
 down the room, "you regard the Government 
 patronage of this town as of more importance 
 than all the affairs in Washington, and many 
 of you cast your votes accordingly. I met 
 a well known politician the other day who 
 boasted that he had never been West. Has 
 ignorance become a virtue, and is your blue- 
 book rating of a man governed by his nar 
 rowness of view?" 
 
 "Sit down, Colonel. You people from the 
 outside take yourselves too seriously. You ve 
 got a sort of intellectual indigestion. Mount 
 ains and alkali water have made you nerv 
 ous, and you look at New York with your 
 accustomed grain of sand in the eye. There 
 may be some truth in your wrath. In all 
 madness there is truth, just as there is a sort 
 of philosophy in all religion. But you are 
 compelled to go away from New York, feel 
 ing that here is where the heart of the nation 
 beats." 
 
 "Sir," exclaimed the Colonel, "this is a 
 gambling house, and in such places the heart 
 68 
 
An American in New York 
 
 does beat fast, I tell you. I remember a fel 
 low named Brady that came into Deadwood. 
 He had with him a small bag of Black Hills 
 gold, and he had nerves of steel wire. From 
 the very start he began to win. They 
 changed dealers on him time, and again, but 
 luck was with him. Sitting beside him was 
 a man that had lost everything. He tried 
 to follow Brady s bets, but lost just the same. 
 After a while he shoved back and said : Well, 
 I m broke. That wasn t an announcement 
 so startling as to cause any unusual .excite 
 ment i gad, I was broke myself, but said 
 nothing about it. But this chap kept on in 
 sisting that he was done for. A Chinaman 
 stood behind him, and the dealer said to him, 
 Git up and let the gentleman sit down. The 
 fellow looked around and saw the Chinaman, 
 and as he arose he remarked to the dealer: 
 Til take that, as I m broke, but if I had ten 
 dollars I d maul you for it. Brady did not 
 look up, but reaching back he said: Here s 
 ten. Maul him. The fellow took the ten, 
 bought chips with it, and then struck the 
 dealer a blow between the eyes and tumbled 
 him out of the chair. But that made no dif 
 ference, as it was about time to change dealers 
 
An American in New York 
 
 again. For a time the unlucky chap won, 
 but along came a swipe that swept him off the 
 board. Tardner, you seem to be pretty well 
 fixed, he said to Brady: 
 
 " Yep; doing fairly well. 
 You don t know me, do you? 
 
 " Hope not, said Brady. 
 
 Well, a man can know a good many 
 worse fellows than I am. 
 
 " Well, he might, said Brady. What s 
 your name at the present? 
 
 " Joe Gates. Ever hear of me? 
 
 " Might have. 
 
 Ever hear of me strong enough to lend 
 me a hundred? 
 
 1 No; my hearing ain t that good since I 
 had the yaller janders. 
 
 "How about fifty? 
 
 " Good-night, said Brady. But the fel 
 low wouldn t go. It s harder to pull up the 
 white oak sapling that the little black bull 
 whets his horn against than it is to jerk a 
 fellow out of a gambling house as long as 
 even the vaguest hope tells him that there s 
 a chance to get back into the game, and he 
 continued to stand there. Brady asked him 
 if he had anything he could put up. No, 
 70 
 
An American in New York 
 
 he said; Tve lost everything. Wish I hadn t 
 stopped here. Was on my way through this 
 wolf-den to git married out about fifty miles 
 beyond. Had to stop to get the license/ 
 
 * Got it with you now? Brad^ Inquired, 
 and the fellow said he had. Brady took the 
 license, and as he was throwing his eye on 
 the document the fellow said: You ought 
 to have sentiment enough about you to let 
 me have at least a hundred on that piece of 
 paper/ Brady studied a while, paying no 
 attention to the game, and said, Yes, mar 
 riage is a lottery, and this is the ticket. Then 
 he added: Til tell you what I ll do; I ll let 
 you have a hundred if you ll agree to give 
 me this paper and give me the option on your 
 life if you go back to the clerk and get out 
 another draft of the same statement. 
 
 " I love the girl, the fellow moaned, and 
 Brady held forth the paper, but he didn t 
 take it. Give me the hundred, he said, and 
 Brady gave him the chips. The deal went 
 on, but Brady didn t play long after that. 
 He cashed in, and as he and I were going 
 along the street he said to me: Didn t give 
 myself away when I looked at that license, 
 did I? 
 
An American in New York 
 
 " How? I asked. 
 
 " Didn t start nor nothing? 
 
 u No. What makes you ask? 
 
 Why, as soon as I looked at the docu 
 ment I saw that the lout was going to marry 
 my sister. And as I ve got the drop on him 
 I reckon I ve saved her a lifetime of trouble. 
 And it turned out to be a fact, for this fellow, 
 Joe Gates, was as woolly a scoundrel as ever 
 crossed a sheep ranch; murdered a peddler, 
 sir, and I had the pleasure of reading an 
 exceedingly well written account of the cere 
 monies incident to his hanging. 
 
 "What became of Brady s sister? Well, 
 some time later I met her in Denver, at a 
 hotel, but didn t know who she was until 
 several years afterward. At the time I met 
 her she called herself Minnie Watkins, and 
 she is now the fortunate wife of a hotel man 
 who has as few words as the protagonist of a 
 pantomime. Brady was quite a character, 
 first and last, and I hear that he s going to 
 bring out a book of his sermons pretty soon. 
 Yes, he is a preacher, and he makes sinners 
 think that it is a constant show-down, and I 
 reckon it is. But that has nothing to do with 
 our argument, and I beg your pardon for 
 72 
 
An American in New York 
 
 drifting off. A man who is a citizen of a 
 country and is not proud of it is not entitled 
 to share in the glory of his nation. When 
 you speak of New York as America, as the 
 Parisian speaks of Paris as being France, 
 you are ridiculous. You set no fashions, but 
 get your customs from abroad." 
 
 "Not all, Colonel, for in some things you 
 must admit that we are original." 
 
 u Yes; in a very few things, and in justice 
 to you I must make a correction of the state 
 ment that your social customs are foreign. 
 A few of them have been most strikingly 
 original, such, for instance, as the tailoring 
 of a monkey into the semblance of a man 
 and making him the guest of honor at a din 
 ner. It is not recorded that London was 
 ever so wantonly new, and we may with cer 
 tainty set it down as a fact that Paris would 
 not indulge in so fitting a parody upon its 
 own physique. Sir, I am told that where 
 there is great wealth there must also be great 
 eccentricity, and this reminds me that it was 
 a Frenchman and not a monkey who said that 
 monarchies are ruined by poverty and re 
 publics by wealth. And I wish to observe 
 that when wealth becomes so aimless and so 
 
 73 
 
An American in New York 
 
 thoughtless as to be eccentric it is almost a 
 moral criminal. And with her wealth, is it 
 New York s province to ruin the republic? 
 I know that such questions are ancient, but 
 ancient Commonwealths were ruined. I 
 don t know what you adhere to, sir, but out 
 in the broad-bosomed air of true America 
 we still believe in the immortality of the 
 soul." 
 
 "Crude," yawned the Doctor. 
 
 "We believe in the eternal life of the beau 
 tiful." 
 
 "Of the prairie-dog," said the Doctor. 
 
 "Ah, and that is the way you answer all 
 of our arguments, sir." 
 
 "No, not all," said the Doctor. "The fact 
 is that New York doesn t make a pretense 
 of answering half of the questions put to her 
 by well, let us say, the provinces. And that 
 is a term that sticks in the crop of you out- 
 of-towners. But before you rage against 
 me, let me ask if all barbarians who went to 
 Rome didn t criticise her?" 
 
 "And let me ask if all of them didn t have 
 
 cause i 
 it 
 
 But, Colonel, haven t you made friends 
 in New York?" 
 
 74 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Friends? Sir, I haven t made even an 
 enemy." 
 
 The American strode out of the room, 
 scowled at the dustgirl who coughed pathet 
 ically for a tip, repented, gave her twenty- 
 five cents, and went away grumbling; but his 
 mutterings were more like the humming of 
 an old tune than a complaint, and he went 
 out into the street to be jostled and shouted 
 at and to ponder over the past, the sunlight 
 on the meadow and of the moon gleaming 
 on the path that ran down to the murmuring 
 spring, so many years ago. 
 
 75 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE WIDOW. 
 
 Among the guests at the Waldorf Hotel 
 there was, of course, a handsome widow. 
 Without her no hotel could presume to be 
 famous. She is almost as essential to the 
 social success of a hotel as to the life and 
 thrilling qualities of a divorce suit; and in 
 both instances her beauty is enhanced, if not 
 wholly created, by the noise and the dust 
 kicked up by her reputed wealth. In certain 
 quarters of New York no one of any ac 
 knowledged judgment would pretend to a 
 youth or complexion rating of a widow s 
 beauty. This is largely true of all communi 
 ties, but in New York it is not only essentially 
 but almost desperately true. There is a brief 
 quotation, not out of a sacred book, but 
 evolved from man s profane experience 
 something expressive of one not having any 
 more show than a cat in Hades without 
 claws; and in Gotham a moneyless widow 
 who makes pretenses to beauty was heard to 
 declare that if she were to exchange places 
 
An American in New York 
 
 with the clawless cat she would find food for 
 self-congratulatory reflection. 
 
 Such was the report that had been spread 
 concerning her, every one believing that a 
 handsome and rich widow s husband must 
 have been old and wheezy, but the truth was 
 that about this woman s "man," as they say 
 on the prairies, New York knew next to noth 
 ing. 
 
 But this widow at the Waldorf was rich, 
 and, being rich, she was free; and, in spite of 
 her position, she was a woman of common- 
 sense. It may have been that she remem 
 bered the time when she picked up chips to 
 keep her mother s washpot boiling, and such 
 a recollection, even though inlaid with bitter 
 ness against the world, is never wholly de 
 void of heart. This woman had seen enough 
 of society to become just a trifle weary of it 
 Scarcely any of its promises had been kept. 
 She found that society was a youth who never 
 grew old, but who forced age upon its vo 
 taries. 
 
 When the Colonel strode across her path 
 way she made no disguise of the attractive 
 ness that he held for her. She asked for an 
 introduction, and she charmed him with a 
 
 77 
 
An American in New York 
 
 laugh; a studied impulse of melody, a musical 
 instrument running riot in the hands of a 
 master. She saw the humor in his repeated 
 declaration that he was an American in New 
 York, and those who believe that woman has 
 no sense of humor have misjudged her char 
 acter. The difference between her humor 
 and that of a man is marked, it is true; a man 
 sometimes laughs at his own misfortunes, 
 while a woman never laughs genuinely at 
 herself. The fact is that woman has enough 
 to make her serious. She has man, and that 
 ought to hold her for a while. The Colonel 
 came with his foibles pinned on his coat, like 
 a rose, she said. He was so natural, so hu 
 morous in an unconscious way so deliciously 
 pretentious in his wisdom. "I wouldn t be 
 surprised if I ain t a little old-fashioned," he 
 said; and then, after a few moments of re 
 flection, he added: u And I don t know 
 why, either, since I have been revolutionized 
 to the extent of wearing collars that button 
 on the shirt. Yes, and I thought I was a good 
 bit in fashion until I came here and was con 
 demned by the hollow eye of the velvet-footed 
 importation from London, that red-breeched 
 censure of all laughter, that physical quietus 
 
 78 
 
BEEN A WIDOW LONG, MA AM?" 
 
An American in New York 
 
 to all Americanism. I have bought him 
 twice, but, i gad, madam, he won t stay 
 bought. Think of living in an atmosphere 
 with the life chilled out of it by such a social 
 iceberg. I d rather drink boiled water and 
 breathe the mist of a geyser. If they want 
 real servants why don t they get a few train- 
 loads of darkies from the South? But I beg 
 your pardon. It doesn t behoove a man to 
 go abroad and criticise the ancient customs 
 of the people. Been a widow very long, 
 ma am?" 
 
 She shrugged her graceful shoulders. 
 "Perhaps it doesn t seem so long as it is." 
 
 "Oh ! And I take it, then, that you must 
 be enjoying yourself fairly well." And when 
 she had prettily nodded at him he added: 
 "I reckon that in this day of topsyturviness 
 it puts a woman out a good deal to marry for 
 love. Rather gone out of style, but, come 
 to look at it closer, it never was a rage. Some 
 of the oldest books tell us that women have 
 ceased to marry for love. But I reckon they 
 make less pretense now than ever before." 
 
 "Some women marry for freedom," she 
 said, and he gave her a quick look. 
 
 "You don t tell me? But I shouldn t think 
 
 79 
 
An American in New York 
 
 that the freedom could be anything to speak 
 of until the obstructions are cleared away. I 
 take it, however, that she makes it a sort of 
 a point to see in the first place that the ob 
 structions ain t very likely to last long. Yes, 
 marriage on the part of ^ oman requires some 
 little judgment. And don t you think it 
 would be an advance in the proper direction 
 if, instead of sounding him as to character, 
 she d get the opinion of a physician as to his 
 probable hold on things down here?" 
 
 "Colonel, you aren t so old-fashioned. But 
 supposing that you are, don t you know that 
 it is a positive charm to meet an old-fashioned 
 man? He comes like a forgotten romance, 
 and his spirit is refreshing and sometimes his 
 words are wise. Did you think that all New 
 York women are materialists?" 
 
 "I thought it took a good deal of material 
 to fit em out. No, I must say that I am 
 strongly impressed by them. I always un 
 derstood from what I d read that a woman, 
 in order to be anything in what is called the 
 best society, must be marked not only by a 
 lack of thought but by a positive silliness. 
 But I reckon it requires about as much sense 
 to be a leader among women as among men. 
 80 
 
An American in New York 
 
 It s no light thing to carry a social primary. 
 And you ve got to look out for the highflyers 
 that intimidate the polls with their wealth. 
 At any sort of election a financial heeler is a 
 dangerous article. Out in some of the West 
 ern States the women vote. That is a bold 
 advance in Americanism, and I am free to 
 say that I regard it not only as a bold but 
 as a proper advance." 
 
 "And do the women hold office out there?" 
 she inquired. 
 
 "Oh, yes; and why shouldn t they, when 
 they are the shrewdest of politicians? I know 
 one, a judge, whose decisions have a high 
 rating; and, but for one thing, she might at 
 tain to the Supreme Bench." 
 
 "And what is that one obstacle, Colonel?" 
 
 "Madam, she is inclined to be a flirt; and 
 out there, where they adhere to common-law 
 practice, a flirtatious judge is hardly the 
 proper thing. Blackstone, in all the marvel 
 ous sweep of his Commentaries, didn t con 
 template such a thing. Hearts are constantly 
 on trial before this woman judge, and, after 
 all, a good heart means innocence. Serious 
 ly, though, I believe that the one who makes 
 the home ought to be permitted to vote. No 
 81 
 
An American in New York 
 
 matter how prosperous a man may be how 
 much money he brings into the house he 
 can t make a home. That highest of all 
 offices depends upon the woman. And surely 
 the home ought to have a voice." 
 
 She smiled at him. "Colonel, I am in 
 clined to think that your conviction comes 
 from your gallantry rather than your observa 
 tion. You really don t believe that women 
 ought to vote, do you?" 
 
 "Madam, that is my conviction when I 
 am talking to them. And why not? 
 Wouldn t their dainty opinions perfume the 
 ballot-box?" 
 
 She leaned back in her chair, and for a 
 moment it seemed that the words, the man 
 ner and the voice of this old-timer were about 
 to make her serious. But she laughed and 
 said that it was like a play, thus to be talking 
 to him, "and I have been afraid that soon I 
 should hear the ting of the bell, calling down 
 the curtain," she said. "My life, here in 
 this great whirlpool of seething counter cur 
 rents? Haven t you found it many a time in 
 newspapers and in books? Aren t they full 
 of tragedies?" 
 
 "Yes, but not to the exclusion of comedies, 
 82 
 
An American in New York 
 
 and, beg your pardon, but I thought you 
 were playing a comedy part ahem pluck 
 ing out hearts and laughing musically at 
 them a musical comedy." 
 
 "Oh, and how in keeping would it be if I 
 should smile sadly and sigh and tell you of 
 a soul starving for companionship." The 
 Colonel grunted a sort of "hump," looking 
 steadily at her, and after a time he said: "I 
 understand that you own a magnificent 
 house." She nodded assent. "Then why 
 don t you live in it?" She cried out that the 
 idea was preposterous. "This is not quite 
 the season," she said, "and the people are 
 out of town." 
 
 "Is that so? Why, it seemed to me that 
 the town was full of folks." 
 
 "Oh, yes, folks, but not the people. And, 
 besides, it wouldn t be living in New York if 
 I had to stay in my own house all the time. 
 Even in season it would on occasion be but 
 little better than a banishment compared 
 with life in the Waldorf. Here we have 
 Paris, London " 
 
 "And a mere suggestion of America," the 
 Colonel broke in. 
 
 Yes, and what does one wish more of 
 
 83 
 
An American in New York 
 
 America than a mere suggestion, once in a 
 while? So representative of Chicago, with 
 its muddy feet, America is, you know." 
 
 "Madam, you ought to meet some of the 
 women voters of the West." 
 
 "No, thank you. They might ask too 
 many questions." 
 
 "Ah," said the Colonel, "they might ask 
 questions that you would not be able to an 
 
 swer." 
 
 "Oh," she shrugged, "and a child can do 
 that." And then for a time they were silent. 
 To him it seemed that she had suddenly lost 
 some of her moral bloom, but he was not so 
 simple as to tell her so; he had felt that in 
 the endeared old fashion he would like to 
 talk to her the sentimental extravaganzas of 
 the romantic South, and to catch glimpses of 
 what he must have regarded as a new soul, 
 as startling as any that ancient philosophy 
 sought to uncover; but she was too elusive. 
 She had seen his nature, for of that he could 
 make no disguise, could find no garment 
 through which it would not throw its impul 
 sive rays, but in baffling reserve she had kept 
 her own real impulses and opinions, giving 
 him but a moment s view, a shadow-dance, 
 
An American in New York 
 
 stimulating him, disappointing him; and 
 against himself he was beginning to work up 
 a resentment and an anger when she said: 
 "I suppose that out in America they have 
 learned by this time to ask the question, Is 
 life worth living? 
 
 "Out there, madam, we are trying to make 
 life not only worth living but worth working 
 for. Upon us there has not as yet come the 
 dotage of too much inherited money. Life 
 still offers the prize to achievement, as it did 
 in the days of Pericles, and 
 
 "And," she interrupted, shutting him off 
 in his grandiloquence, "you follow the old 
 injunction that the humorists tell us was hung 
 up in the music hall : Please don t shoot the 
 pianner player; he s doin the best he kin. 
 
 "Ah," he said, "that joke has been for 
 gotten out there, but for retaining old jokes 
 on the West, New York has a marvelous 
 memory. A thousand truths might be written 
 of our advancement, and your people could 
 not remember one of them." It seemed to 
 him that she "smiled" him away from her, 
 and when he was gone he said to himself, "I 
 tried to play wise with her, but I ll bet she 
 thinks I m a fool." 
 
 85 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AT THE GRAND OPERA. 
 
 The Colonel had made preparations to re 
 turn home, had bought his sleeper ticket, had 
 lost it, and this was as far as he had advanced 
 toward his ultimate departure. In places 
 where he was not likely to have dropped the 
 bit of cardboard he made diligent search, 
 and in searching he lost several bundles that 
 he had bought to serve as a surprise and a 
 delight at home. The worst city to lose 
 things in he ever saw in all his life, he said; 
 to San Francisco he had been a number of 
 times, but had never lost anything. Some 
 one humorously remarked that his recent 
 losses were but a natural expense devolving 
 upon a visit to New York, and to this he 
 readily agreed. "I think that I d better put 
 on a yellow linen duster," said he, "have my 
 self marked on the back, and go home by 
 freight like a ham." He was passing 
 through the Turkish room as he made this 
 observation, and a member of the company 
 assembled therein, the widow, told him to put 
 86 
 
An American in New York 
 
 by his useless worry and to grant them the 
 favor of his presence. He halted, forgot his 
 ticket and his bundles, smiled at the widow, 
 said that she did him proud, and sat down. 
 The Doctor, who was also one of the com 
 pany, remarked, "We missed you last night, 
 Colonel," and the old gentleman replied, 
 "And I might say, sir, that I missed myself. 
 I went to a grand opera." 
 
 "And did you enjoy it?" the widow in 
 quired. 
 
 The Colonel cleared his throat. "All dur 
 ing my life I have been a lover of music. 
 Many years ago, in New Orleans, I met old 
 Sandy Faulkner, author of the dialogue and 
 the tune of the Arkansaw Traveler. Such 
 was my devotion to music that I let my boat 
 leave me, after I had purchased my ticket, 
 and called at the hotel to see him. At that 
 time he was thought to be one of America s 
 greatest composers. Several other gentle 
 men were present, and we asked him to play 
 his favorite tune. That is the way to honor 
 a composer, I believe; and he played for us 
 a most ringing jig, and it was music. I could 
 see the moon on the hill, while down in the 
 valley the dogs wallowed a coon a raccoon, 
 
 8? 
 
An American in New York 
 
 madam. With his fiddle he brought out the 
 verdure of the forest, the buds and then the 
 leaves; and, chilling his air, he nipped them 
 all with a frost, and the woods were bare. 
 He made the creek babble or he froze it up ; 
 in short, he was the master of conditions and 
 of seasons while his fiddle was beneath his 
 chin. 
 
 "But last night it was different. Sir, I had 
 gone expecting to be transported. I expected 
 that the stars from abroad would lift me up 
 to their planetary zone, but I may say that 
 they didn t. I was not only disappointed, but 
 amazedly so. Now, art is art because it 
 must remind us pleasantly of something that 
 does, or at least could, exist in nature. But 
 could any one conceive that two men, wrought 
 up in anger to the point of cutting each 
 other s throats could you see how they could 
 halt to wring and twist and bellow their 
 quarrel before they act? Would any sem 
 blance of natural passion, seeking to impart 
 to an adversary that he was a liar, strut away 
 from him, gasp, wheel around, kick his dan 
 gling sword out of his way, sneeze, blow his 
 angered nose, and catching the eye of a fel 
 low whose business it was to make motions 
 88 
 
An American in New York 
 
 with a short stick, call his enemy a li-li-li-ho- 
 ho-er-liar? That s absurd, and I may say 
 that there s no music in it." 
 
 "But, Colonel, the Anglo-Saxon is not 
 noted as a lover of the highest form of 
 music," said the widow. 
 
 "Well er," he hemmed, "not of the high- 
 est form of howling or of the deepest degree 
 of bellowing. I would much rather be sung 
 to sleep than shouted into antagonism, for 
 in one music has exercised a true province, 
 while in the other it has departed wholly 
 from the road and gone wild-haired through 
 the woods. Occasionally, last night, there 
 was an oasis of melody, a patch of ripening 
 wheat, yellow and rich in the midst of a 
 great drought, but for the most part I was 
 harrowed, and it seemed that there was al 
 most constantly a dust in the air." 
 
 "Why, Colonel," cried the widow, "I am 
 astonished at you. The symphony is a 
 poem." 
 
 "Ah, and, madam, written in a language 
 that no one can properly translate. Now, I 
 wonder what I could have done with that 
 sleeper ticket. There is too much pretense 
 in it. You ve got to work yourself up to a 
 
An American in New York 
 
 supposed understanding of it. If it were a 
 poem or a real art it would mean practically 
 the same to all of its votaries. But it doesn t. 
 They tell you of the theme. A villain has 
 murdered a girl, princess or peasant, one or 
 the other for in art there must be no middle 
 class and is telling himself about it. And 
 when this has been given out by the man who 
 is accepted as the one who knows, all accept 
 his explanation. They hear the shrieks of 
 the girl, the bark of the watchdog on the hill, 
 and they listen with sweet shudders to the 
 regret of the murderer. But before I was told 
 what it meant I thought that I heard a saw 
 striking an occasional knot. The fact is, that 
 sort of music isn t American. 
 
 "I well recall an old fellow who came down 
 to the Arkansas Legislature. He lived fifty 
 miles from a railroad and was elected because 
 the people thought he was honest. As is 
 usual with all backwoods communities, the 
 people of his section fancied that the capital 
 city had no other aim in life than to grind 
 down or wholly ignore the rural neighbor 
 hood. So they said to him, Uncle Bill, you 
 are old enough to know the world. Go down 
 there and keep them scoundrels in line/ He 
 90 
 
An American in New York 
 
 was old enough to know the world, but he 
 had read no book and had never been out of 
 the county. But that made no difference, for 
 to the simple-minded mere age means wis 
 dom. He said, Boys, let me get at em, 1 and 
 he took his shoes in his hand, walked to the 
 railroad, sat down on a log, put them on, 
 and waited till the train came along. There 
 was a great commotion when he arrived at 
 the capital, but soon he discovered that he 
 was not the cause of it. No attention was 
 paid to him other than to any other obscure 
 member, and day after day he sat at his desk, 
 saying nothing. One day, some one who 
 had heard of him, of his little cabin on the 
 hillside and his primitive life, asked him how 
 he was getting along, and in a confused way, 
 passing his hand over his face, he said, Why, 
 my son, I m just a drawin of my per diem 
 and a fallin back, that s all. And that was 
 all; so, day after day, he continued thus to sit 
 there, never so much as getting in a motion 
 to adjourn, while out in his settlement the 
 voters sat about the store and discussed him, 
 their endeared disappointment. 
 
 "But one day while the old man sat at his 
 desk, dreaming, there came in a railroad bill 
 
An American in New York 
 
 that did directly interest his county, and 
 without enough of parliamentary procedure 
 to say Mr. Speaker, he cried out, Hold on 
 there a minute/ And then he arose slowly 
 and he stood bent, for the most of his life had 
 been given to the back-breaking work of set 
 ting out tobacco plants. But gradually he 
 began to straighten and to talk, hesitatingly 
 at first as if he were fumbling for his words, 
 and he reminded me of a farmer sorting out 
 his seed potatoes, selecting and rejecting; but 
 after a time he forgot to fumble, and words 
 in a graceful and impressive torrent came 
 pouring upon his mind, words that doubtless 
 he had never heard before, but they came by 
 inspiration and were in the right place. His 
 eyes blazed and from his fingers he seemed to 
 pop off serpents of fire, and everybody looked 
 on amazed, the Speaker and the rest, leaning 
 toward him. It was as if the spirit of one 
 of the ancient orators had returned to the 
 earth to sport with common mortals, but the 
 spirit was impatient to be off again, for the 
 fire died out of his eyes, leaving cold ashes 
 in them, and he humped over and sat down 
 again. But the bill was dead. There, ladies 
 92 
 
An American in New York 
 
 and gentlemen, was something above all art. 
 It was inspiration." 
 
 "Yes," said the widow, "but we can t all 
 of us be inspired, and, besides, we aren t in a 
 position to kill bills. And those of us who 
 can t be inspired must resort to the arts that 
 the commonplace may learn." And when 
 thus she spoke there was in her voice a pa 
 thetic note, the Colonel thought, and feeling 
 that he had overpowered her he bowed and 
 replied, "Ah, my dear madam, but some 
 women are always inspirations, poems, odes 
 and sonnets, and surely you have need to be 
 thankful to Nature, no matter what cultiva 
 tion may have done for you," and she gave 
 to him a smile that was a full reward, and in 
 his mind he was searching for a compliment 
 when some one, passing through the room, 
 caused him to scramble out of his chair; and 
 grasping a man by the hand, he cried with 
 the mellowness of a bass-noted foxhound, 
 "Why, my dear Judge, how are you? Ladies 
 and gentlemen, this is my friend, the Judge, 
 from Idaho. Sit right down. You don t 
 know how delighted I am to see you, and, ah, 
 you come like a season of old, full of recol 
 lection. Remember when we had that hunt- 
 
 93 
 
An American in New York 
 
 ing club down in Mississippi? We had a 
 long dog, and we used him for a pillow at 
 night when we slept with our feet to the fire. 
 Recollect?" 
 
 The Judge recollected, and they shook each 
 other s hands and mused over those happy 
 times. "And I remember," said the Colonel, 
 "that one night, while we were sleeping 
 peacefully, Bob Logan you know he had 
 complained that the dog would have to be 
 lengthened or the club reduced wanted to 
 trade him off for a dachshund Bob, he was 
 snoring, you may well believe, when the dog, 
 who must have been dreaming, began to 
 scratch, and Bob cried out, Whoa, there ! 
 Hold on, boys, my horse has flung me in a 
 brier patch. Ah, there couldn t have been 
 happier days. And do you remember when 
 we elected you police justice in Memphis? 
 The votes were counted by a stuttering man 
 and we got you in, and, as I remember it, 
 your first case was that of an old negro 
 preacher known as Slue-Footed Dan. It 
 appears that his congregation had raised 
 money and had given it to him to expend in 
 the purchase of hymn-books; and as soon as 
 he got off the train in Memphis a yellow 
 
 94 
 
An American in New York 
 
 darky made a break for him, recognizing 
 him as the proper meat, took him behind a 
 cotton shed, shot a few craps with him, and 
 got his money. Dan went home penitent, 
 confessed to his people, was forgiven, fitted 
 out again and sent back to get the books; 
 and as soon as he got off the train the same 
 yellow fellow came after him. Dan carried 
 a long green umbrella shut up and tied with 
 a shoestring, and when the crapshooter came 
 within reach Dan hauled off and with the 
 umbrella knocked him down nearly killed 
 him; and, as the police were taking the 
 preacher up to the station, I asked him how 
 he had managed to strike such a blow with 
 an umbrella. A grin spread over his face as 
 he replied, Dar s a stove leg shet up in dat 
 umbrella, honey. And how is your good 
 wife, Judge?" 
 
 "The one you knew, Colonel, has passed 
 away." 
 
 "Oh, indeed. Well, how is she, anyway; 
 it doesn t make any difference which one ? In 
 politics, as some of your others were?" 
 
 "Well, not at present. Some of the ladies 
 thought of sending her to the Legislature, but 
 changed their minds, not only characteristic 
 
 95 
 
An American in New York 
 
 of female but of male politics as well. Have 
 you been here long enough, Colonel, to form 
 an estimate of these claims?" 
 
 "Judge, I have been here long enough 
 to " 
 
 "To find fault with everything," said the 
 Doctor. "We didn t know that we were so 
 frail until the Colonel came and told us. But 
 we are inclined to believe that New York has 
 profited by his visit." 
 
 "Richer by many a necessary tip, sir. 
 Judge, if you haven t already done so, find 
 that English flunkey, give all youVe got, and 
 ask him to let you remain in his town for a 
 brief season. You have doubtless inferred in 
 your ignorance that the Mayor is in some lit 
 tle authority here, but it is a mistake. He is 
 a mere sufferance. All of the perquisites be 
 long to the waiter. If you cannot elicit an ap 
 proving nod from him go home. He thinks 
 that this is a British colony, sir, and he s not 
 half-way wrong. * * By George, here s 
 that ticket," he cried out, "and I still have 
 time to catch the train. Good-by." 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SAMMY. 
 
 The Colonel had tipped the fellow who 
 brought down his baggage and was standing 
 at the door waiting for a cab when up rushed 
 a young man and seized him with both hands. 
 With a suppressed roar the American tore 
 himself loose, but a moment later he dropped 
 his bundles and with Western heartiness 
 shook the new-comer. He called upon the 
 Lord to witness the fact that never before 
 was he ever so glad to see anyone; he 
 garbled out his handkerchief and made play 
 ful pretense of tying the young yellow s hands 
 with it; said that he was going to handcuff 
 him and take him away; he demanded ex 
 planations as to the unexpected meeting and 
 would not wait for them to be given; within 
 two minutes he called the young fellow 
 Sammy a dozen times, as if it were an in 
 vestment to be increased with repetition, and 
 then he threw himself back and roared with 
 laughter. In no land is a history briefer than 
 in the West and Sammy had a Western his- 
 
 97 
 
An American in New York 
 
 tory. His father at one time was marshal of 
 a town in Montana. One night, while striv 
 ing to discharge his duty, that is, while trying 
 to kill a desperate chap named Brux, he was 
 fatally shot. The marshal was breathing his 
 last when the Colonel arrived. 
 
 "I m going," he said. 
 
 The Colonel took his hand. "It s bad to 
 go now, Ned, for you haven t been here over 
 long. Do you want to send the little fellow 
 to any one?" 
 
 "No; you take him." 
 
 The Colonel took the child and in affection 
 became his father. In the West time is as 
 short as history. Amid the black smoke of 
 the mines there are no seasons, no springs 
 with promises, no summers with fruition, no 
 autumns when men halt to muse over the 
 passing years, but all is a day and a night, 
 and it was but a day and a night, it seemed, 
 before there arose the question of the boy s 
 education. So, he was sent to a school in the 
 Middle West. Once while he was at home 
 during vacation the Colonel gathered from 
 him that it was his intention to write blood- 
 smeared stories, and as this seemed to be but 
 natural, the adopted father did not discour- 
 
An American in New York 
 
 age it. "But I d a little rather," said he, 
 "that you would hire out as a section hand on 
 a railroad." The youngster made no reply, 
 but in his silence the Colonel saw determina 
 tion, and had settled it in his own mind that 
 the boy was to be an imitator of Ned Bunt- 
 line, and therefore was not prepared for the 
 news some time later, that the forecast had 
 been shifted and that the young fellow had 
 made up to the notion of becoming an elec 
 trical engineer. This was adhered to; he 
 was graduated from Armour Institute, had 
 gone with a party to work in Mexico, in which 
 country the Colonel thought he was living un 
 til suddenly they met at the outer portals of 
 the Waldorf. 
 
 "And now I want to know what the deuce 
 you are doing here?" 
 
 The young fellow blushed. "I can t tell 
 you right out, dad; it s something that has to 
 be led up to. If we could sit down for a few 
 moments I " 
 
 "Most unfortunate, Sammy. I ve got my 
 sleeper ticket and now what in the name of 
 common sense did I do with that that in 
 fernal ticket? It s harder to hold than any 
 any damned eel. Well, if that don t beat any- 
 
 99 
 
An American in New York 
 
 thing I ever saw." He began to search him 
 self. "Hump!" 
 
 "Sleeper ticket?" 
 
 "Yes lower birth, right over the wheels, 
 too, I bet you. I put it into this pocket and 
 fearing that it would not stay there, I changed 
 it over to this one." 
 
 "Isn t that it?" 
 
 The Colonel had fished out a bit of paper. 
 "No, sir, it s a seat check to an opera, and as 
 tiresome a show as I ever saw. Let me see." 
 He looked at his watch. "I haven t time to 
 get that train now. Hump ! Fate must have 
 something to do with this thing, for it has 
 been impossible for me to hold that ticket. 
 Well, I don t know anything wiser than to 
 let fate have her way. Let s go in here." 
 
 They went into the cafe and were seated 
 when the Colonel suddenly bethought him 
 that he had left his bags and his bundles 
 somewhere in the neighborhood of the outer 
 door. With a roar, as if he saw thieves 
 carrying them off, he rushed forth, leaving 
 a scallop of smiles behind him, upturned 
 parentheses on the faces of the guests, the 
 young fellow mused as he looked about him. 
 A man in all the aspects of an accepted gen- 
 100 
 
An American in Ne\ty York" : 
 
 tleman came up, bowing, and said: "I beg 
 your pardon, sir, but is that Senator 
 
 u No, sir," Sammy broke in. "He is not 
 a senator, but could have been." 
 
 "I beg your pardon." 
 
 "What for? For coming over? Glad to 
 see you. Sit down." 
 
 "No, I thank you." But he continued to 
 stand there. "I was about to say that I must 
 have seen you in Mexico." 
 
 "You have said it." 
 
 "Yes, but as I see your friend coming 
 I beg your pardon." 
 
 Some of the Westerners seem to think that 
 in New York, in order to avoid the appear 
 ance of conspicuous rawness, begging pardon 
 is an essential. The New Yorkers bring it 
 from London. The Londoners get it from 
 waiters and its origin can be traced to hard 
 ness of hearing and so simply means "I don t 
 understand what you said." 
 
 The intruder withdrew before the Colonel 
 came up. Sammy sat gazing across the room. 
 "Got my same bunk again up stairs," said the 
 American, sitting down. "They wanted to 
 charge me fifty cents more a day for it, as 
 another guest had arrived, and I was squar- 
 101 
 
I An American in New York 
 
 ing myself for a speech when the fifty cents 
 fell off like a drop of water. They say that 
 oratory is dead, and I reckon that s the reason 
 these New Yorkers are afraid of it. We ll 
 give Chesterfield our order and then you may 
 have at me with your explanation." 
 
 The order was given and the Colonel sat 
 looking at Sammy, to note, it seemed, the 
 changes that must have taken place within the 
 past two years, but with the exception of a 
 certain seriousness that always adds some 
 thing to the countenance of youth, he found 
 no alteration. He might well have been 
 termed a young man of to-day, which may 
 mean nothing at all, but which might mean 
 a great deal. On the top of his head his 
 sandyish hair had begun to show what self- 
 congratulation may make a strain of calling 
 a thoughtful thinness. His brow was broad 
 and full, his eyes were of that cast which the 
 gulch man, who studies such things, might 
 term a dangerous gray, and his mouth was 
 cut straight across. At present he was of an 
 age to be taken in the West for a gentlemanly 
 gambler, with no lack of nerve; and a few 
 years older, he would have been "sized" as 
 a successful politician. A reaper in the har- 
 102 
 
An American in New York 
 
 vest field of experience, he bound up his 
 sheaves gracefully. His wild oats had been 
 cut, and garnered in a jail at Deadwood, but 
 as it was just a plain knock-down and drag- 
 out, the judge complimented him upon the 
 quickness of his muscle and sent a congratu 
 latory letter to the Colonel. His early desire 
 to write romances could not be taken as a 
 plea for superior intelligence, but his deter 
 mination to become an electrical engineer 
 argued that at least he was practical, which, 
 perhaps, is one of the greatest blessings that 
 can fall to modern man. Since we are not 
 permitted to go forth and pull out a usurer s 
 teeth when we need money, a reformation in 
 the wrong direction, I am sometimes con 
 strained to believe, we must labor, and, forced 
 down to employment, it is well to choose the 
 interesting and the profitable. Compelled to 
 do the work that is wearisome, we are but 
 the felons of circumstance, the convicts of 
 necessity. Sammy had a fondness for his 
 employment and what could be a greater 
 favor of the gods. 
 
 "Well?" said the Colonel. 
 
 Sammy withdrew his gaze from across the 
 room, looked at the Colonel and remarked: 
 103 
 
An American in New York 
 Dad, I m here because I haven t got any 
 
 sense." 
 
 "Oh. But as old Sam Johnson said, Of 
 what is the use of a disguise when nothing 
 is concealed? Tell me something else 
 something that I might not already have sus 
 pected." 
 
 "I m here because I m a fool." 
 
 "So am I. But go ahead." 
 
 "I m afraid you ll laugh at me." 
 
 "If I do it will show that I m not put out 
 with you. Go ahead." 
 
 "Don t rush me, dad. In the life of man 
 you know there comes a time when " 
 
 "When he rises to the gauze fly and is 
 hooked." 
 
 "By the deuce, do I show it that plainly?" 
 
 "What s her name?" 
 
 "I don t know I haven t found out. 
 There never was a bigger fool trick, but it 
 was this way. But our affairs hadn t panned 
 out and I was ready to come back any way. 
 You see I m trying to let myself down." 
 
 The Colonel sat with his elbow on the table, 
 
 looking at him. The young fellow twisted 
 
 his napkin. The Colonel reached over, took 
 
 it from him, laughed and remarked that they 
 
 104 
 
An American in New York 
 
 were not now in the eating house at Grand 
 Junction. 
 
 "I beg your pardon." 
 
 "Caught it already, begging pardon, but 
 go ahead with what you wouldn t rather 
 say." 
 
 "Well, we went into the City of Mexico to 
 take the train. At the hotel that night I 
 mean the night I was there, you under 
 stand?" 
 
 "Of course. The night you weren t there 
 doesn t count." 
 
 "There was a ball. Remember the Mexican 
 Band? It played La La something, I have 
 forgotten the name. I ve forgotten almost 
 everything except her. I didn t see her un 
 til she spoke, and then I shouldn t have looked 
 round but my blood began to tingle, and I 
 wanted to know why. She didn t strike me 
 as being beautiful, but it seemed that when 
 ever she spoke they were lighting waxen 
 tapers, in all colors; and when I looked down 
 and found a blossom lying on the floor, I 
 thought that she had dropped one of her 
 words." 
 
 The Colonel wiped his eyes. "I thank you 
 105 
 
An American in New York 
 
 for showing me that you have a soul," he 
 said. 
 
 u No, I haven t any soul. It is all her own. 
 When she looks at anything it has a soul. 
 She is a creator of souls. I wish I could 
 make you see her, but I can t. You wouldn t 
 be swept away by her, however, until she 
 spoke. You remember that the book tells us 
 of Moses smiting the rock. The thirsty peo 
 ple stood about when he smote and out 
 gushed the water, and the music must have 
 been sweet, but it couldn t have been as sweet 
 as the sound of her voice. I thought of Moses 
 smiting the rock. Radium eyes I can see 
 them now. She danced, and she was grace 
 ful wish I could make you see her. Full 
 mouth as if her words, crowded within, flut 
 tered to be free and to fly away. Young, yes; 
 but somehow her face showed care, serious 
 until she smiled and then it was sunrise. 
 She seemed frail and I know that I felt the 
 blood dripping down from my heart when I 
 fancied that she might have had trouble with 
 her lungs. Yet she was strong and she 
 whirled in the air when she danced, and I 
 caught sight of her feet, and they, too, flut 
 tered like white birds. Dad, am I foolish?" 
 106 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Yes. But when was it that God rested 
 from His labors? When He had created 
 the first fool. And if the creation of a fool 
 brought rest to the world, the contemplation 
 of one ought not at this late day to tire man 
 so very much. Go ahead, Sammy." 
 
 "Wish I could make you see her but no 
 one can see her we can simply hear her, and 
 then when we look we are dazzled. I used 
 to hear you tell about the women at White 
 Sulphur Springs and I d smile at what I 
 thought was your extravagance. But now 
 there s no such thing as extravagance. When 
 a man has been in the middle of the Pacific 
 can you tell him about an extravagance of 
 water? She and her party left the hotel early 
 that night, to take a train. I heard her say 
 New York, and instantly it became Old 
 Bunyan s golden city, and when she went out 
 of the ball room, the music cried for her to 
 come back. I couldn t stay there. I rushed 
 out and ran to my boss room to get some 
 money. He wasn t there. I set out to look 
 for him; found him, but reached the station- 
 too late. But I caught the next train." 
 
 "What is her name, Sammy?" 
 
 "She hasn t any that is, I don t know. I 
 107 
 
An American in New York 
 
 went to the register and tried to find out, but 
 I didn t. There were a dozen or more of 
 young women from New York. But I m go 
 ing to find out. Just now a man came up and 
 spoke to me said he must have seen me in 
 Mexico, and perhaps he was in her party. 
 
 He s sitting over yonder and " He 
 
 broke off and seized the Colonel by the arm. 
 There she is." 
 
 108 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE GIRL WHO TALKED BLOSSOMS. 
 
 Not far off sat a woman, the man who had 
 spoken to Sammy, and a girl whom the Col 
 onel recognized as the one over whom the 
 young fellow must have been raving, not that 
 there was anything remarkable about her, 
 but that she was young and yet seemed old 
 just before she spoke to the woman beside 
 her and then lighted i-nto dazzling youth. He 
 observed, too, the fulness of her mouth and 
 he caught the flash of her wondrous eye, 
 and then as slowly the other woman turned 
 toward him he recognized the widow. "Why, 
 bless my life, she is with a friend of mine," 
 said he, "I ll go over and " 
 
 "Please don t not now," Sammy mur 
 mured. He looked like a condemned man 
 whom the sheriff has just a sked if he knows 
 of any reason as to why the law should not 
 take its course, and he shoved the dishes away 
 as fast as the waiter placed them in front of 
 him. "I ll be back after a while," he said, 
 109 
 
An American in New York 
 
 and he seemed to drag himself out of his chair, 
 so enormous was the weight that had sud 
 denly fallen upon him. The Colonel bade 
 him wait a moment, but he hastened out, halt 
 ing a moment at the door to shoot a back 
 ward glance. "Crazy," mused the Colonel. 
 "I thought the youngsters had about got over 
 that sort of thing thought that it belonged 
 wholly to the past." He glanced at the 
 widow. She smiled at him, and with more of 
 embarrassment than he would have liked to 
 acknowledge, he went over to her table and 
 was presented to Miss Johnson and shook 
 hands with her brother, Mr. Johnson, niece 
 and nephew of the widow. They called the 
 widow Aunt Mag, American enough, surely. 
 Mr. Johnson, whom the widow addressed as 
 Dick, complained of the slowness of the 
 waiter, slower than even in Mexico, he said, 
 and called upon Imogene to testify to that 
 fact, and Miss Johnson, who answered to 
 that name, said that it was a fact, she sup 
 posed, and the Colonel looked down upon the 
 floor, remembering that the young fellow 
 Sammy had found a blossom where had fallen 
 one of her words in the Mexican ballroom. 
 "So you didn t go after all," said the 
 1 10 
 
An American in New York 
 widow. "Permit me to say that I m glad of 
 
 it." 
 
 The Colonel bowed and the girl, whisper 
 ing to her brother, said that it was charming, 
 this grace of the old South; and the brother 
 grunted and said something about starving 
 to death. The American said that a combina 
 tion of circumstances operated against his go 
 ing. With a motion almost delicate enough 
 to be unrecognizable, the widow bade him 
 sit down, and he did, beside her; and she 
 asked him to tell a story, which he did not, 
 declaring that his mind had been swept clear 
 of all yarns. 
 
 "I hope the wind will soon shift and blow 
 some of them back," she said, and then 
 Imogene spoke up. "We have heard of your 
 stories, Colonel," and her voice was sweet, 
 but not so musical as the widow s notes, 
 trained into so perfect a charm. A waiter 
 approached and informed the Colonel that 
 his dinner was getting cold, and the Ameri 
 can turned to him and said: "Sir, I always 
 like my dinner cold. It runs in the family, 
 having been acquired by my people while 
 chasing you British in the neighborhood of 
 New Orleans," but instantly recognizing his 
 in 
 
An American in New York 
 
 own rudeness and repenting of it, he gave the 
 waiter a dollar, which, to all appearances, 
 was thoroughly in accord with all demand. 
 Imogene said that he was delicious, a sweetly 
 tantalizing way a girl has of speaking to an 
 oldish chap. He bowed to her and said that 
 if they were at White Sulphur he would kiss 
 her hand, and with a laugh in which there 
 was the ringing of bells and the tinkling of 
 silver strings she told him not to let the fact 
 that those famous springs were so far away 
 stand against such an honor and pleasure on 
 her part. 
 
 "I went over to your table just now," said 
 the young man, "and spoke to " 
 
 "My son," the Colonel broke in, as Dick 
 hesitated for a moment. "Adopted son, 
 madam, " he quickly added, looking at the 
 widow. "He has just arrived from Mexico." 
 
 "Ah, I thought I remembered having seen 
 him," said Dick, and the Colonel looked at 
 Imogene to determine whether she remem 
 bered, too, but she said nothing and the 
 American was just a little fretted to see that 
 her countenance underwent no change. To 
 the old-time Southerner nothing is so real 
 as a romance; in no country do first loves so 
 112 
 
An American in New York 
 
 often realize their longings. In no place is 
 there more of love at first sight, except in the 
 world of Shakespeare. In no land are there 
 more old men and old women unmarried out 
 of remembrance and reverence for a romance 
 whose wreath crumbled into the grave; and 
 with Sammy s heart-frightened countenance 
 fresh before him, with the echo of his pas 
 sionate words still in his ears, the Colonel 
 felt, or at least persuaded himself that he did 
 feel, that the young fellow had been thrown 
 hard against the crisis of his soul s affairs. 
 The young woman seemed careless, as nearly 
 all girls do to the concerned eye, and as for 
 himself he could not determine why she 
 should wrap a sensible fellow in a purple 
 flame, the radiation of her own being; for 
 study her as he might he could not get at the 
 secret of her overwhelming charm. Sammy 
 had not noticed her until she spoke and then 
 his blood began to tingle, even before he had 
 in fact caught sight of her, but the Colonel 
 could not understand what there was in her 
 words, the tone of her voice, that should so 
 powerfully operate upon a youngster s blood. 
 Her voice was sweet, of course; and why 
 should it not be, since she was well bred and 
 
An American in New York 
 
 refined? It was not to be expected that a 
 girl, unless she had a long neck and short 
 hair, should be possessed of an unpleasant 
 voice. Her eyes were soulful well, yes, 
 radium, in a manner; and her autumn hair 
 looked as if it might have ripened in amber 
 atmosphere, but a man caught simply by hair 
 could not be held with even steel. Above all, 
 he did not know that she had looked at him 
 and how could love ripen unless eye should 
 meet eye ? She was too well rounded to have 
 had trouble with her lungs, for looking at a 
 bit of ribbon worn rather low, the Colonel 
 was reminded of a rice-bird when the fields 
 were turning brown. He felt that she was 
 slangy. She seemed in her manner, quiet 
 though it was, fully adventurous enough for 
 that sort of talk, to show her own refinement 
 that she was not afraid of herself and was 
 not to be hemmed in by convention. Now, 
 anyone could love the window at first or at 
 even the second sight of the dotard. She re 
 minded him of a bit of lace; she was made of 
 silken threads, tinged with a sunset. What 
 witch, with her hank of midnight, had spun 
 her hair? Had those ears been brought 
 from the southern sea, pink shells; and had 
 114 
 
An American in New York 
 
 the rose bush contributed her lips? But now 
 as he looked from one to the other as laugh 
 ingly they talked, he saw that the two women 
 were vastly different in a way more elusive 
 than in form and feature. Imogene was, the 
 Colonel suddenly thought, a book easily read, 
 her print clear and large, not to be mistaken, 
 while the widow was to be read in only to 
 the extent that she was willing. She had a 
 way of dimming her lines, of obscuring her 
 sentences, of hiding her plot, which, after all, 
 the American thought was charming, for we 
 like the books best that are not too easy to 
 comprehend. Ease dulls the mind, blunts 
 appreciation, while a little perplexity sharpens 
 our wit and puts us in a mood to compliment 
 ourselves. 
 
 After many bows, new views of a quaint 
 picture, the Colonel made an appointment to 
 meet the ladies in the Turkish room after 
 dinner, and would desire the presence of Mr. 
 Dick Johnson, too, he said, but that young 
 man replied that he had an engagement, he 
 was sorry, which he was not; and the Colonel 
 said that he was so sorry, which he was not, 
 for the brother of Imogene had not shed any 
 light upon the scene. So the American shook 
 
An American in New York 
 
 hands with him, bowed again and again to 
 the ladies and withdrew, to be halted by the 
 waiter who informed him that his dinner was 
 now cool enough to be eaten. This bit of 
 humor on the part of the Britisher, who was 
 born and brought up on a farm in the West, 
 was worthy of reward and the American 
 tipped him again. But he did not sit down to 
 eat of the cold meal. Somehow he felt that 
 it was a part of the past not to be recalled, 
 and so he went out to a lunch counter, where 
 he called a Dutch girl "my dear," who, in re 
 turn referred to him as u a handsome old 
 
 guy." 
 
 Finding from the register the number of 
 Sammy s quarters, the Colonel went up and 
 knocked on the door. The young fellow 
 came to let him in, and seeing that his caller 
 was his stepfather, seized him by the hand in 
 a caper which was no doubt expressive to him 
 self of his own distress, but which to anyone 
 else was far from bearing an aspect of sad 
 ness. u And you have heard her speak," he 
 said, wheeling out a chair for the Colonel, 
 who sat down and crossed his legs. "Ur 
 yes, heard her speak." 
 
 "Did did she say anything about me? n 
 116 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Why, I don t think she ever saw you." 
 
 "Good Lord, is it so one-sided as that?" 
 
 "I was just thinking, Sammy, that you 
 mustn t tell the widow anything at all about 
 me. She s got me to guessing and now I 
 want her to guess awhile herself. Gad, 
 there s something strange about her sweet 
 ly strange, I might say. And how I have lied 
 to her, but not viciously, Sammy. Yes, I ve 
 heard her speak went over, as I said I d do, 
 and had quite a chat with them. By the 
 way, the girl is the widow s niece." 
 
 "What! you don t tell me!" 
 
 "Now now, what caused you to suspect 
 that I didn t tell you? Is it anything un 
 usual for a widow to have a niece? Why, 
 the average widow has one." 
 
 "Ah, but not such a one as that," Sammy 
 replied, despondently shaking his head. "Dad, 
 you you don t know that girl." 
 
 "Doesn t appear that you do, either. 
 There was an old fellow lived down 
 
 "Don t tell a story, dad; don t, please, for 
 to hear anything except about her is mad 
 dening I m almost tempted to say." 
 
 "Did say it. Bacon said, however, that no 
 117 
 
An American in New York 
 
 really great man ever lost himself completely 
 in his infatuation for a woman. He 
 
 "Oh, Bacon be damned I beg your par 
 don." He came over to the Colonel and with 
 boyish affection put his hands upon the 
 American s shoulders. Somewhere behind 
 him, in a polite past, there was gentle blood 
 in Baltimore s colony; and though he was 
 born amid the scent of gunpowder, one night 
 when the cowboys were shooting out the red 
 lights of the town, he was called the "gentle 
 man toddler" when in kilts he wandered 
 about the mining camp. The only mark 
 made upon him showed itself in his desire to 
 write blustry romances, but this, as has been 
 said, soon passed away. 
 
 "Sit down, Sammy, and let us talk this 
 thing over," said the Colonel, and when the 
 youth had obeyed, leaning back helplessly in 
 a rocking chair, the American continued: 
 "Don t understand me to say that it is better 
 to be Bacon s great man than the ordinary re 
 sult of nature s intention. It is better to be 
 the fool in love than the wise man in the hall 
 of science. The promises of love are often 
 fulfilled; of wisdom, never. Love leaps into 
 glory with a kiss. Wisdom has no kiss of 
 118 
 
An American in New York 
 
 perfect fruition." Slowly he began to ham 
 mer upon his knee. "The truth is, Sammy, 
 I m at this unholy moment in love with that 
 widow can t help it to save my life; have 
 fought against it, but my fight simply 
 strengthens the enemy. She thinks I m mar 
 ried. In a sort of guy, I told her along with 
 the rest that I was on my wedding journey, 
 many years after marriage, as the trip could 
 not have been undertaken earlier, and that my 
 wife preferred to go one place and I another. 
 Don t tell her the truth, that I was never mar 
 ried." 
 
 "Now, dad, that s where you make a mis 
 take. She might fall in love with you. How 
 could she help it when she comes to know 
 you well? You aren t old; you are big and as 
 strong as a lion. You are just in your prime." 
 
 "Your last statement is correct, Sammy. I 
 am just in my intellectual prime, at least. But 
 beautiful women are not looking for intel 
 lectual primes. They are glancing about for 
 position. They say, give me what I want 
 and I will make you believe that you and I 
 are happy. Give me 
 
 The boy made some sort of a sign of dis 
 tress, cutting off the Colonel s world-wisdom 
 119 
 
An American in New York 
 
 talk; and with an atoning bow the American 
 continued: "Guess I went a little too far, 
 Sammy. The fact is that when a man sets 
 out to be wise he doesn t know when to stop. 
 It is the strain to say a wise thing that makes 
 nearly every talkative man foolish. But you 
 know that out in America they have spoiled 
 me by calling me a philosopher. Did I tell 
 you that we have an engagement to meet 
 them in the Turkish room this evening?" 
 
 "Great Caesar, no!" 
 
 "Sit down. Not time to go yet. I don t 
 suppose you ve got a dress suit with you?" 
 
 "Of course not. I brought nothing but a 
 handbag full of distress. I m crazy, I tell 
 you." 
 
 "Yes, I reckon that is a fact. But gods, 
 what is it not worth to be in your fix, youth 
 crazy in love ! In that one fact is concen 
 trated all creativeness, all genius. If the old 
 South hadn t passed away, Sammy, I should 
 have been an orator. This country, you 
 know, produced an original oratory, and a 
 mild echo of it we called literature. But I m 
 drifting. We d better go out now, and rent 
 some swallowtails. I haven t worn one in 
 some time, but I want to tell you that in the 
 120 
 
An American in New York 
 
 South they were as common as brown jeans. 
 Why, it got so that the predatory birds 
 wouldn t stay out of a field unless a scare 
 crow was arrayed in evening dress crows 
 didn t think they were real otherwise. Come, 
 pull yourself together." 
 
 Sammy had reached that stage when he 
 was willing to be led by any mind wiser than 
 his own, when, indeed, all minds seemed 
 wiser; and ready to go he stood like a rage 
 tamed into listlessness. "Don t let the sup 
 position that you may not get a suit to fit 
 worry you," said the Colonel, looking about 
 for his hat. "Truth is, you know, the aver 
 age dress suit fits better when it has been 
 made for someone else. There was an old 
 fellow named Habbleson but you don t 
 want any stories. You said just now, or I 
 inferred from what you said or didn t say, 
 that I ought to tell the widow that I m not 
 married. But that would destroy her free 
 dom with me. You know it is easier for a 
 woman to make a companion of a young fel 
 low than an old one. The old fellow s vanity 
 leads him toward sentimental extravagances; 
 so if I should tell her, she would constantly 
 stand in dread of what might come next; she 
 121 
 
An American in New York 
 
 would be afraid of love-making, if she s sensi 
 ble, and not worth loving if she isn t. She s 
 rich " 
 
 "Well, aren t you?" 
 
 "If I am she must not know it. I won 
 der if I can get at what I want to say. No 
 woman enjoys an easy conquest. Where 
 there are no barriers the conquest may be 
 easy. Marriage was instituted for the pro 
 tection of woman, but if she can, by her 
 beauty or her wit, break down all regard for 
 these barriers and win a fellow s love, whether 
 or not, she is put to a delicious test, and that 
 is what she likes. Of course her contempt 
 arises when the conquest has been made. 
 Guess I ve missed what I wanted to say. It 
 was as a dream not tangible enough to be 
 told." 
 
 The young fellow looked at him. "Col 
 onel, isn t it because you would like to break 
 through a barrier yourself and win her love 
 over the fence of your own supposed mar- 
 riage?" 
 
 "Well put, Sammy. But I m not vain 
 enough to believe that I could ever impress 
 her. As I said I love her oh, in a dazzled 
 sort of way and the Lord knows, I ve loved 
 
 122 
 
An American in New York 
 
 many a one would have married once if 
 it hadn t been for maple syrup. I was liv 
 ing in Paris, Kentucky, and had formed the 
 acquaintance of a most charming girl who 
 resided in an adjoining county. I had cut 
 many a scollop about her in the ballroom; 
 had come near kissing her on the deserted 
 public square one night, but just at that mo 
 ment some fellow threw a jug out of a win 
 dow, and its falling with a loud crash into 
 the street frightened her. But about the 
 maple molasses. I was to meet her one morn 
 ing to go with her to the county fair over at 
 Georgetown. The train was on time and I 
 was hastening through breakfast at the ho 
 tel, to join her at the station, as she was on 
 the train, when just as I shoved back my 
 chair the negro waiter came up and said that 
 I must try the new molasses, just brought in. 
 He knew that I liked the juice of the sugar 
 tree. I demurred, telling him that I hadn t 
 time, but he declared that it wouldn t take 
 but a minute, so I stayed. And, sir, while I 
 was eating, the train came along and left 
 me. The girl had saved me a seat beside 
 herself, but when I failed to make my appear 
 ance, she gave it to another fellow, who pro- 
 123 
 
An American in New York 
 
 posed to her that very day and was accepted. 
 We ll go out, now. I don t suppose it is of 
 any use to tell you to be self-possessed, but 
 I must caution you to be as cool as you can. 
 If she sees that you are her slave she ll have 
 no interest in you." 
 
 124 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER I X. 
 
 SELF-POSSESSED, BUT WHIRLED AWAY. 
 
 In the Turkish room the two women were 
 waiting. The Colonel was surprised at the 
 youngster s self-possession. When presented 
 to the girl he bowed with a grace that was 
 not unbecoming to his swallow-tailed rig, and 
 so proud was the American that with a 
 speech upon the worth and bravery of his 
 step-son he came near spoiling it all. 
 "Dad I mean the Colonel, has told me a 
 great deal about you, Madam," Sammy said 
 to the Widow, "and I was pleased with the 
 prospect of meeting not only you but so near 
 a relative of yours," and he bowed and smiled 
 and the girl laughed, which threatened his 
 overthrow, but he steadied himself. 
 
 "My Brother said something of your be 
 ing in Mexico," she said. 
 
 "Yes, I was there, and I thought that I 
 saw him. But one meets so many in trav 
 eling, you know." 
 
 She knew, or at least she said she did, and 
 both of them looked as if they had found a 
 125 
 
An American in New York 
 
 truth, as important as any new discovery in 
 chemistry or astronomy. He asked her if 
 she liked Mexico, and she answered by say 
 ing that while she was there she persuaded 
 herself that she did; and as nothing could 
 have been wiser than this, he looked ten years 
 older in his determination to stand face to face 
 with it. Usually the young fellow was full 
 of fun, and now the Colonel waited for his 
 rippling humor, but it did not come, for owl- 
 like he sat looking at the girl, with never 
 an effort to say other than the conventional 
 thing. "Ah," mused the American, "he 
 thought he was infatuated with her, away 
 off in Mexico at a time when he had not 
 attempted to get at her mind, but now that 
 he meets her he finds nothing in her and re 
 pents of his foolishness." 
 
 Ah, but how delightful was the Widow. 
 He could not have given a good notion of 
 her appearance as she sat back in a great up 
 holstered chair; one moment she seemed pink 
 and then blue and afterward red, to go 6ack 
 again to pink, a fountain with different lights 
 falling on her; and he wondered if in the 
 history of womankind so beautiful a creature 
 had ever lived before to grace the world with 
 126 
 
An American in New York 
 
 her smile. He wondered why she should 
 like him or be interested in him any further 
 than she might find in him a sort of rare 
 specimen, and he resolved to continue to be 
 rare, if he could, thus to enjoy the fact that 
 she was near him. Standing too near a dy 
 namo stops a watch, and he told her that 
 she had influenced his watch to go wrong, 
 and when she laughed he looked up suddenly 
 as if some one had turned on a new and dif 
 ferent-colored light. Whenever he fancied 
 that her interest was shifting its scene from 
 him he would tell her a story, and it was 
 then that to her he seemed the quaintest, 
 when his individuality was strongest. But 
 she did not dare too much to encourage his 
 story-telling lest he might hit upon one too 
 long for the occasion. Quick and nervous 
 herself, she was afraid of slow detail. She 
 liked to put him to the distress of meeting a 
 sudden opinion of her own, some view that 
 might be real or assumed; and she strove to 
 set traps for him. But sometimes in her 
 search for opinions and finding them, she 
 was herself at a loss to determine which were 
 real or how much of any one were simply 
 assumed to stimulate argument. Sometimes 
 127 
 
An American in New York 
 
 a sudden thought, new to us, becomes a con 
 viction, and the Widow found that in talk 
 ing to the American she was possessed of a 
 bird-flight of opinions hitherto strange to her. 
 "We are happiest we women when we are 
 compelled to do the things that we have al 
 ways wanted to do," she said, and for a mo 
 ment the American looked as if he were 
 about to sneeze, but in the Colonel s counte 
 nance the sneezy expression settled into mild 
 surprise, and the Widow continued: u Yes, 
 we sometimes want an excuse for doing the 
 things which we have longed to do. Perhaps 
 we have gone about from day to day, with 
 a bright thought, but with no excuse to give 
 it utterance; and we are thankful for occa 
 sion to give it speech. But what was I going 
 so say?" 
 
 "Perhaps, Madam, you were waiting for 
 me to give occasion to your bright thoughts." 
 
 "Oh, you always do that if I have any. 
 Yes, I was going to ask you if you weren t 
 secretly glad that you are to remain with us 
 a little longer." 
 
 "Secretly, Madam? Oh, no. Proudly and 
 therefore outwardly as well as inwardly 
 glad." 
 
 128 
 
An American in New York 
 
 Over in a corner the young fellow and the 
 girl had found something which they evi 
 dently imagined to be a curio of great inter 
 est, and the Widow nodded toward them. 
 "Glad to see your step-son enjoying him- 
 self?" 
 
 "Yes now that you have mentioned it." 
 
 "Your own children 
 
 "I have no children of my own." 
 
 "Why, I thought you said that they were 
 grown up and gone out for themselves." 
 
 "Did I say that? A mere figure of speech, 
 Madam. I believe I said that the time had 
 finally come when I could afford a bridal 
 tour, but I don t remember, of having spoken 
 of the ahem children. I said that my 
 wife went on a trip to Mt. Sterling, Ken 
 tucky, I believe. I don t suppose you were 
 ever there, but it is a most interesting place. 
 It was there that my friend, Will Visscher, 
 the poet, was a police judge." 
 
 "A poet and a police judge?" 
 
 "Yes, Madam; and every lawyer who prac 
 ticed before him had to take out poetic li 
 cense. He wrote all his decisions in rhyme, 
 even if he had to reverse a decree of the su 
 preme court to get the necessary word; and 
 129 
 
An American in New York 
 
 his reports might serve as a text-book for a 
 court of romance. Once he issued an injunc 
 tion that made him famous. Into the court 
 room there came a youth, tangled of hair and 
 crazy of eye, and said: Judge, I need your 
 help/ All right, what can I do for you? 
 Well, sir, I am in love with a girl and if I 
 don t get her the sun will go out and all the 
 world forever be dark. That would 
 be bad, replied the Judge. We need sun 
 shine to ripen the corn, for liquor made out 
 of green corn wouldn t be to the taste of the 
 best society of this commonwealth. So what 
 can I do, now, to keep the sun shining? The 
 young fellow dropped into a chair and after 
 a few moments looked up as if he had at 
 last found courage enough to float his idea. 
 The reason I am about to lose her is be 
 cause a fellow is going to see her and he s 
 going swift and often. He gives her figures 
 of speech that I don t find at my command; 
 says things that makes the red of delight 
 come to her cheeks feeds her on the sweets 
 of a flattering mind; and now I want an in 
 junction against him want an order restrain 
 ing him from talking about anything but 
 weather and the crops. The Judge medi- 
 130 
 
An American in New York 
 
 tated. It is the province of the law, or at 
 least ought to be, to protect the weak. I ll 
 issue the injunction. He did so, served it 
 with a big fellow that knew how to hit hard 
 or handle a gun, and the girl married the 
 common but more devoted lover." 
 
 The Widow smiled, but having hit upon a 
 subject that involved the necessity of dodg 
 ing, she was determined to pursue it. 
 "Colonel, I suppose your wife was a blue 
 grass girl." 
 
 "I might rather say, Madam, a clover 
 blossom." 
 
 "Tall?" 
 
 "Judging by height, Madam, I should say 
 that you and she were sisters." 
 
 "I wish you had brought her; I know 
 that she and I should have become famous 
 friends, for already I am more interested in 
 her than in almost any of my real acquaint 
 ances. Perhaps, however, it is a curiosity to 
 see what sort of woman could have capti 
 vated you." 
 
 It seemed to the Colonel that at this mo 
 ment she stabbed him in the eye with a splin 
 ter of light out of her own; and he blinked, 
 wondering why she should so delve at this 
 
An American in New York 
 
 subject when she ought to see that he was 
 striving to avoid it. He began to tell her a 
 story of an old inn keeper who had a black 
 bear chained to a tree in his yard, but he 
 fancied that he saw her mind, with all of its 
 bright variations, colored mists, floating away 
 from him. Could it be that she really was 
 interested in the supposed wife or was it that 
 she was pleased to scorpion him? 
 
 "I ought to have brought her with me," 
 he said; "and I should, too, if I had suspected 
 that she could have found such a friend. But 
 of course I could not imagine that a leader 
 in society here " 
 
 The room rang with the music of her 
 laughter. The youngsters looked up from 
 their curio corner, but looked down again; 
 and the Colonel glanced at the Widow as if 
 in slightly opening his mouth he had split a 
 word and didn t know how to join it together 
 again. "Why, Colonel," she said, "I m no 
 leader in society. I know some people that 
 are rather important, or who at least believe 
 they are, but the great society whirls past 
 me, giving to me merely the picture of its 
 flying skirts. Oh, you are going to say that 
 I must have money or I couldn t live here in 
 132 
 
An American in New York 
 
 this hotel. Perhaps I have, and I might 
 also possess money enough to buy this hotel 
 and even then not be a leader in society. 
 Money isn t everything in New York." 
 "Gad, Madam, but it comes mighty nigh 
 
 it" 
 
 "But it doesn t mean as much here, 
 Colonel, as it does in the West. There it is 
 everything. Here 
 
 "Here, it is everything with a tip thrown 
 
 in." 
 
 She did not agree with him. She said that 
 the very highest society in New York as in 
 London was not vulgarized by money. The 
 Colonel remarked that he did not know ex 
 actly what she meant by high society unless 
 it was something like that of Knob Hill, in 
 San Francisco ; but she frowned upon his play 
 with a word and he shifted his ground. 
 "Of course I know well what you mean and 
 I am grieved to take issue with you. During 
 all of my life I have heard of society that 
 was not based on money, but I have never 
 been permitted a glimpse of it. Money of 
 the second generation resents money of the 
 first generation. The more the generation 
 is drawn out the more is new money resented, 
 
 133 
 
An American in New York 
 
 upstart money; but if there had been no 
 money there would have been no society. Of 
 itself fame soon passes away. There is 
 nothing more pitiable than poverty-stricken 
 importance, and unless fame leaves money to 
 its offspring, the family becomes a snob of 
 poverty and is, I might say, passed up by so 
 ciety in self defense. There is no doubt a 
 circle in this town which imagines itself above 
 money. What then is it based upon? Intel 
 lect? Let a penniless philosopher strive to 
 break into it. Madam, this country has seen 
 no finer society than the old society of the 
 South. It was said that one needed only re 
 spectability and cultivation to enter it, and 
 only genius to become distinguished. But 
 this is not true, for I know that to go orna 
 mented into that society required cotton and 
 negroes. Perhaps the greatest orator this 
 country ever produced was Sargeant S. Pren- 
 tiss. From New England he went to Missis 
 sippi, a poor school teacher. The discovery of 
 his genius required only the opening of his 
 mouth, for in his idlest talk his words were 
 as grains of gold. But he was not recognized 
 by society until he had made both fame and 
 
 money. 1 
 
 134 
 
An American in New York 
 
 She asked if all of the famous orators of 
 the old South were rich men. He scratched 
 his head. "Well, no, they weren t rich, but 
 they were usually men of means. Oratory, 
 Madam, is the voice of elegant leisure. 
 Statesmanship is the practical management 
 of affairs, and the South had orators but no 
 statesmen. Jackson was a soldier; James K. 
 Polk an opportunist ; Henry Clay an eloquent 
 trimmer; Calhoun the genius of disturbance; 
 Hayne a forcible and proud debater, but 
 they were not business men, and a statesman 
 is but the manager of a mighty estate. But 
 I beg your pardon, we were talking about 
 society." 
 
 She looked at him as slowly she moved 
 her fan. Imogene and Sammy had quietly 
 strolled away. u At first I thought you came, 
 wearing your heart upon your sleeve," she 
 said, smiling. "But although not of New 
 York, you are of the world of society; and 
 while you playfully boast of being an Ameri 
 can, you are a man of ceremony. And I can 
 see that you might be " 
 
 "What, Madam?" 
 
 "Dangerous. I know you are a flatterer, 
 and yet I half believe your flatteries even be- 
 
 135 
 
An American in New York 
 
 fore you have uttered them. I thought that I 
 had long since ceased to put confidence in any 
 
 man." 
 
 "Madam, you half believe me because it 
 is often given to woman to see and to esti 
 mate but half of a truth. I have never 
 thought to flatter you. You have given to 
 me the opportunity to speak what I conceive 
 to be true, and for this I thank you. Those 
 who place us in a position to speak the truth 
 have conferred a great favor. If when I say 
 that your eyes are splendid you " 
 
 "I beg your pardon," she broke in, with 
 a trifle more of vigor given to the motion of 
 her fan. He bowed and she looked at him 
 a long time before she spoke. "I should like 
 to say something but I am afraid that it might 
 hurt you." 
 
 "If it be to point out a vanity of mine 
 own, let me have it." 
 
 "Not to point out a vanity but perhaps to 
 deplore a fact. I was wondering why I had 
 never heard of you why, indeed, the world 
 had not heard of you. Having such mate 
 rial, I am at a loss to know why you have 
 not made more of yourself. I have met 
 many men who were regarded as great, sen- 
 
 136 
 
An American in New York 
 
 ators and the like, and they have failed to 
 interest me as you do. At first, as I say, I 
 took you to be simple ; I thought your delight- 
 fulness proceeded from that fact; but you are 
 far from being simple. You have what is 
 rare in a man of noticeable politeness- 
 thought; and I wonder why you have not 
 put it to conspicuous uses. Was it your sense 
 of humor? Don t you know that humor, 
 while possessed by the great, often keeps a 
 man from attempts which look to be vain and 
 ridiculous? Don t you know that?" 
 
 "If I had not not lost my hat somewhere, 
 Madam, I should at this moment take it off 
 to you. But it was not a sense of the humor 
 ous that kept me from striving to make more 
 of myself." 
 
 "It wasn t a lack of education, for you are 
 much better educated than one might at first 
 believe." 
 
 "I have a sheepskin, Madam, which may 
 never have been the hide of the famous 
 Derby Ram, but which must have covered a 
 good sized bell wether." 
 
 "Without seeking to, Colonel, you have 
 made a mystery of yourself. But I am glad 
 
 137 
 
An American in New York 
 
 to know that you are married, for otherwise 
 I could not be so free with you." 
 
 u Ah, and have you been free? You 
 haven t told me anything about yourself. I 
 can not believe that you married for well, 
 other than love, and yet about you there is 
 just a bit of cynicism. In you I fancy a remi 
 niscent romance. You married " 
 
 U A man." 
 
 "An old man?" 
 
 "Older than I was." 
 
 "Ah, he might have been that and yet a 
 mere boy." 
 
 "Delightful." 
 
 "I am waiting for more." 
 
 "Let us talk about something else. Tell 
 me a story." 
 
 "The subject we studiedly depart from is 
 usually the most interesting, just as what we 
 should not say is nearly always more to the 
 point. You married for 
 
 "Didn t I intimate once that I married 
 for freedom?" 
 
 "Weren t you free before?" 
 
 "No, I was a slave to myself. Is your 
 wife fond of society?" 
 
 "Yes, she goes to church quite often." 
 
 138 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Member of any club?" 
 "She is not of a quarrelsome disposition." 
 "You are delightful, Colonel." 
 Sammy and the girl came back into the 
 room. The young fellow was sedate but the 
 girl was chatty. "I ve heard enough of the 
 West to write a book about it," she said, and 
 the Colonel remarked that not having heard 
 half so much and without half trying she 
 might still produce a better and a truer ac 
 count of the West than any volume brought 
 out by the average tourist. This pleased 
 her. She was standing near the Colonel and 
 perhaps with an unconscious memory coming 
 back from infant years she put forth her lips, 
 as a child does to be kissed. Or was it con 
 scious mischief. Sammy appeared to be 
 afraid that he might stay too long, a sense of 
 propriety that usually comes with a sense of 
 sudden awkwardness, and more than once he 
 slyly made to the Colonel a distressful sign 
 to go, but the American had struck one of 
 his easy streaks and continued to talk, look 
 ing about for his hat, of course; and Sammy 
 stood with his weight shifting from one leg 
 to the other, after the manner of a young 
 rooster with frost-bitten feet. Every time 
 
 139 
 
An American in New York 
 
 the girl looked at him she gave him a new 
 sensation, and when after a time she flamed 
 forth an unexpected radiation, a smile from 
 her splendid store of dazzles, he put up his 
 hand to find that his head was gone, and he 
 moved about as if he might find it with his 
 feet. He could not afterward recall how he 
 got out of the room, whether he was swung 
 out or blown out by a scented whirlwind; 
 but when a vestige of sense returned to him 
 he was sitting in the Colonel s room, while 
 up and down the American was walking with 
 his hands behind him. 
 
 140 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 AT THE WINDOW. 
 
 The Colonel halted at a window and 
 looked out over the city, the great unrest, his 
 meditative eye wandering along the roofs of 
 Fifth Avenue, channel of vanities; and in his 
 mind he could see the millions of contending 
 and unquiet souls that yearly jostle there. 
 Away down below where turmoil falls to 
 sleep at night, in the quaint old streets almost 
 of a medieval day, prosperity gives ambition 
 birth, then moves it up the Avenue. To out 
 ward look how bright a tide through that 
 channel flows ! Peacocked beyond democ 
 racy, display its coat of arms and gold its 
 earldom, these yearning spirits move, dollars 
 in rivalry. Virtue founds republics, diamonds 
 kill them. The psalm moves the Anglo- 
 Saxon to deeds of fanatic valor; the opera 
 inspires him with art and art tends toward 
 monarchy. Republics individualize desires; 
 they touch wealth with unrest, with distrust 
 of envious poverty. Laws made by popular 
 assemblies seem too weak for vast estates, 
 141 
 
An American in New York 
 
 and toward a throne mossed over with time- 
 grown privileges gout-blooded millionaires 
 cast a beseeching eye. Thus speaks the self- 
 appointed seer and we laugh at him. But has 
 not false security always laughed at danger? 
 We know that while islands rise out of the 
 sea, while rivers change their courses, while 
 lakes become fields and fields lakes while, 
 indeed, all physical nature is changing, human 
 nature remains the same. American life, the 
 school, work, money, fashion, opulence, all 
 unsatisfactory, and then what? Daughters 
 married to princes, sons making iron. The 
 contrast is too great. What does it portend? 
 Some sort of change. Inequality at the top, 
 unrest at the bottom, with a middle sluffing 
 both ways. Poverty is becoming more intel 
 ligent and intelligence has ever been resent 
 ful. But when shall our estate become set 
 tled? Never so long as man is an experi 
 ment unto himself. 
 
 These thoughts the Colonel had mused 
 aloud, and he turned about expecting a reply 
 from his young friend, but Sammy sat in a 
 daze; he had not heard. 
 
 "Well, what do you think of what I said?" 
 
 "Did you speak, dad?" 
 142 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Speak? Why, I have been haranguing 
 for fifteen minutes." 
 
 "About her Imogene ?" 
 
 "Hell, no I beg your pardon. I was 
 talking of what a fine street this is out here. 
 Feel sleepy?" 
 
 This aroused him. "Sleepy? No, I don t 
 feel as if I could ever sleep again. I have 
 been trying to recall some word that I said 
 to her, so that I might get at her answer to it, 
 but I can t. I kept my head by holding it on 
 with my hands, but along toward the last it 
 got out of my grasp thought I felt my very 
 hair slipping through my fingers; and I 
 couldn t see." 
 
 "My boy, you behaved better than you 
 think." 
 
 "I hope so, for I m not able to think. I 
 tell you she has poisoned me with her eyes, 
 and lest I might recover, she showered upon 
 me the sweet pestilence of her words." 
 
 The American moved closer to him, looked 
 at him and said: "Are you sure you studied 
 electricity at that institute? By George, I 
 should think you d given the most of your 
 time to reading the reports of an insane asy 
 lum. But why should I speak thus, since 
 
 143 
 
An American in New York 
 
 when was it that love ceased to be a mad 
 ness? Where does this girl live?" 
 
 "Somewhere in Maine, I believe. And 
 thank God, she s not rich. Her aunt paid for 
 her education educated the brother, too, I 
 understood. Wish to the Lord she was ig 
 norant wish she couldn t spell cat." 
 
 "I suppose you wish she was a scrub girl." 
 
 "I do," he exclaimed, bounding out of his 
 chair. "I ll swear I do. I wish she were 
 the daughter of a raftsman. I d marry her, 
 float out on a raft with her and stay there 
 forever. Was it you that told me my father 
 went insane about a woman?" 
 
 "I never told you that, Sammy. You must 
 have woven it in the loom of your own dis 
 eased brain." 
 
 "No, I didn t. Some one told me. It was 
 about my mother he went insane." 
 
 "When she died we did believe that he 
 had lost his mind." 
 
 "No, it was before she died. He went to 
 her, with a pistol in his hand, cocked it and 
 swore that unless she would agree to marry 
 him he would blow his head off, and the story 
 goes that she flew to his arms to keep him 
 from killing himself. But I want to tell 
 144 
 
An American in New York 
 
 you right now that I m strong enough to 
 teach this girl a lesson. I m going to win 
 her with the sweet melody of indifference." 
 
 u Do you remember what they said of the 
 little fellow that had been given to Falstaff? 
 Hath not the boy profited? I can see, sir, 
 as I never saw before, that you have been 
 associating with me; and you have profited, 
 I fear, just about as much as that boy did. 
 The evil words we learn come out in our 
 moments of insanity. We learn wisdom and 
 it lies dormant, probably never to come out." 
 
 "Dad, how long are you going to stay 
 here?" 
 
 "I don t know. I can t leave you here in 
 this fix." 
 
 "And by the Love of the Lord, you can t 
 take me away in this fix. That s certain. 
 Would it be well to tell her that I have pros 
 pects?" 
 
 "No, don t tell her. And as I requested 
 before, don t tell the Widow anything about 
 
 me." 
 
 "Are you going to win her, if you can?" 
 
 "What the deuce do I want with her? 
 
 She d make a painted stick of me a red and 
 
 yellow monkey. She is wise, but her wisdom 
 
 145 
 
An American in New York 
 
 is of the worldly sort, and I don t think that 
 she would value a man except as he could 
 be of advantage to her in a social way, and 
 of course I can buy " he hesitated. "But 
 it s an intoxication to be near her. I am now 
 on a spree and I don t know how long it 
 may last. What s that? She might consent 
 to marry me? Why, Sammy, if I were as 
 crazy about her as you are about that girl 
 Imboden, I 
 
 "What s that? Gracious alive! dad, her 
 name is Imogene." 
 
 "That so? I thought it was Imboden. 
 But it s all the same. As I was saying, I 
 might be as crazy about her as you are over 
 Imogene, and yet I wouldn t marry her. Bet 
 ter to be miserable without her than more 
 miserable with her." 
 
 He walked up and down the room, halted 
 for a time at the window and looked out. 
 Some of the myriad eyes of the night had 
 gone blind; noises had ceased, and whence 
 had come a roar, now came the occasional 
 clap, clap, of horse hoofs on the asphalt road. 
 
 "There is escape for me, as there always 
 has been, Sammy," he said, slowly resuming 
 his walk, "but I don t see any way out of it 
 146 
 
An American in New York 
 
 for you. That is, only one way, and we 
 must win her. But I want to tell you that 
 she s not worth having unless she marries 
 you for yourself. You ve got a quick a 
 devilish good mind, with a touch of poetry in 
 it, and this impels me to remark that unless 
 a mind has this quality it is worthless. You 
 know I m a believer in the soul, and the mind 
 is the struggling agent of the soul. I am not 
 sufficiently educated to be a scientist, and I 
 am not enough of a materialist to be over 
 practical. So, the only thing that is kft for 
 me to believe in is the real existence of the 
 soul. It was only by accident that I could 
 ever have been worth anything financially, 
 and I am more and more convinced that 
 wealth is a matter of luck. What s luck? 
 There you ve got me. Industry doesn t al 
 ways mean even a bare competency. It is 
 old but it never ceases to be true that merit 
 is not always rewarded. Gad, it s rarely re 
 warded. I knew an old fellow named Tal- 
 bott, and " 
 
 "I beg your pardon, dad, but really I can t 
 stand for a story." 
 
 "Not a love story?" 
 
 147 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "No, for they are all tame compared with 
 my own." 
 
 "That is what millions of men and women 
 have thought." 
 
 "But do you believe that millions have 
 been as crazy as I am?" 
 
 "At some time, yes. But if it is any con 
 solation for you to believe that you are alone, 
 all right. And I guess there is a sort of conso 
 lation in it. When a man is utterly miserable 
 he is helped by the thought that he s the most 
 miserable man in the world. Yes," he said, 
 halting in front of the young fellow and look 
 ing at him, "we must win her. And it can 
 be done." 
 
 "What, can be done? Do you think she 
 is so cheap?" 
 
 "What a draftsman of difficulties. If she s 
 mortal she may be won, and if she isn t, she d 
 make a devilish poor wife." 
 
 The young fellow sat down, leaned over 
 with his face in his hands, slowly raising the 
 hindmost legs of the chair off the floor. "Dad, 
 I m sorry that this came on me just at this 
 time." 
 
 "Why not this time as well as any other? 
 Sorry? I m not. It tickles me. Somehow 
 148 
 
An American in New York 
 
 I d got it into my head that such a thing died 
 out when Grant stood face to face with Lee. 
 I was but a child then, but now it seems 
 that then I grieved over the death of ro 
 mance in America. Yet how could it be 
 since the soul is ever fresh? Sammy, I will 
 confess to you that if I were wise I d pick up 
 and go home. I ve told you many a time 
 that I ve been in love, and in a way I was, but 
 I knew that it would pass away, into a dream, 
 half remembered. This time, however, it is 
 a little more difficult to dispel; and when you 
 found me at the door, with my bags and my 
 bundles, I was debating whether or not to 
 go, weakening, too, toward the weak side 
 not to go. I didn t want to acknowledge to 
 myself that she was holding me here." 
 
 "Win her, dad marry her." 
 
 "Do you counsel this when you are my 
 heir?" 
 
 u Yes, I do, dad." 
 
 He put his hand on the young fellow s 
 head. "You ve got a soul worthy of that 
 game father of yours, Sammy, and of that 
 beautiful mother. I don t suppose you can 
 more than remember her. It seemed to me 
 that she had always just come out of the 
 149 
 
An American in New York 
 
 wild woods, where the vines cling; and al 
 ways on her lips there was the stain of the 
 grape." 
 
 "Dad." The young fellow took both the 
 Colonel s hands in his own. "Dad, did you 
 love her?" 
 
 "She walked down out of the hills, like 
 spring time coming; and what an odd fancy, 
 but I always thought that I could see music 
 hidden in her hair, sweet little tunes; and 
 afterward I heard her singing them to you." 
 
 "Did you love her, dad?" 
 
 "Yes God, yes. Well, let us turn in. 
 Good-night." 
 
 150 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 MR. JOSEPH AUKWALL SKIDDER. 
 
 On the following morning the young fel 
 low said that he felt a trifle saner, for even 
 insanity has its moods. Contrary to his ex 
 pectations he had slept and had not dreamed, 
 so weary was his mind with its own com 
 pany. The Colonel called at his room, to 
 take him down to breakfast, and in the cafe 
 he sat where he could command a clear view 
 of the entrance, but finding that there was 
 more than one way to get into the room, he 
 divided his attention until the Colonel re 
 lieved him by saying: "She ll not come in 
 here, Sammy. This is a snack room for 
 men and not the one where we were yester 
 day. What are you going to do to-day?" 
 
 "What can I do? I m not in a position 
 to rush matters. Dad, sometime when you re 
 in the humor will you tell me more about 
 my mother?" 
 
 "Not now, Sammy." 
 
 "No, but when you are in the humor, I 
 said. Will you?" 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Yes, sometime I ll tell you all you need 
 to know." 
 
 "Shouldn t I know all about her? 1 
 
 "Perhaps not. But we ll not talk about it 
 now. Sammy, would you like to live in this 
 town?" 
 
 "Oh, I should think that anybody would 
 like to live here. I can t imagine anything 
 more fascinating than life at full tide, and 
 this is the flood. And where there are so 
 many people there must be ennobling ideas." 
 
 "Well, yes," said the Colonel. "Wish that 
 damned waiter wouldn t walk like a cata 
 mount. Always ideas where there are peo 
 ple. Take all the people away and there 
 wouldn t be any ideas. You got two spoons? 
 Thank you. But it is a mistake to suppose 
 that the greater the multitude the greater the 
 thought. It has been said that the majority 
 is never right, but I don t take to this notion, 
 for it would destroy all idea of popular gov 
 
 ernment." 
 
 "Dad, was the old South much in favor of 
 popular government?" 
 
 "Of course a government popular with 
 those who administered it." He laughed. 
 "The South held a peculiar sort of aristoc- 
 152 
 
An American in New York 
 
 racy, Sammy. It was always conservative. 
 If it had a riot it was over principle and not 
 over tea. Chatham, in his famous speech 
 on America the last spurt of his genius, pale 
 and on crutches, declared that the South was 
 still sound. It was not because our forefath 
 ers had inherited no love of liberty, but be 
 cause they were conservative. Wait a mo 
 ment, you are going to speak of the war." 
 
 u Oh, no, I ll not start you on that, dad." 
 
 "I thank you. But the war was an upris 
 ing on the part of the South in favor of con 
 servatism. Good deal like the fellow that 
 fought to keep the peace, but it is a fact. The 
 South demanded consistency under the Con 
 stitution, and that was conservatism. Now 
 this bill of fare said corn cakes, and if they 
 haven t put sugar in em I m the biggest liar 
 in the world. Now let s see. What do you 
 want to do after breakfast?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "Hard to arrange. See that old stock 
 broker over there white hair and mustache ? 
 I ll bet he made or lost fifty thousand yester 
 day." 
 
 "Haven t you been worth one day fifty 
 thousand more than the day before?" 
 
 153 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "But I didn t make it with my nerves. But 
 look here, boy, don t let fall anything about 
 what I may be worth. You and I are men in 
 ordinary circumstances, you understand? Let 
 the girl believe that you intend to follow your 
 calling that you had to learn a trade, so to 
 speak. Don t get acquainted with any of 
 these newspaper fellows. It is dangerous 
 even to know them." 
 
 "But you can t hide yourself all the time, 
 dad. They ll find you out sooner or later." 
 The American laughed as if pleased and 
 not a little flattered by the notion that he must 
 surely be found out; and having shown that 
 he was alive to the compliment of unsubmerg- 
 ible identity, he must protest against the ap 
 parent egotism of it all; so he assumed a sort 
 of slouchy air, always with him an outward 
 sign that inwardly he must consider himself of 
 no particular value to the world, and remarked: 
 u And my complete discovery couldn t mean a 
 great deal, Sammy. Of course, it could be 
 flailed into a sort of sensation this infernal 
 waiter leaves too much to the imagination. 
 You know in a book or a play I like a good 
 deal left to the imagination, but not in a res 
 taurant. I ll just leave his tip to his own imag- 
 
An American in New York 
 
 ination and then let him settle as to its degree 
 of vividness. Kindliness is all very well, but 
 justice is the noblest quality in man. Some 
 times we are wounded by an execution of the 
 demands of justice; and if we are weak, we 
 fail and the cause of mankind suffers. In 
 this instance I shall not yield to weakness; 
 and always after this I shall be strong enough 
 to be just. I ll begin on this infamous waiter. 
 Here, you, help me on with my overcoat." 
 
 In a half-hearted way the waiter assisted 
 him. "I guess you d call it a top coat," said 
 the Colonel, turning about with a glower, 
 "but I am here to tell you that it s an over 
 coat, a name finally and permanently estab 
 lished by the outcome of the War of 1812. 
 But of course you don t pay any attention to 
 such matters." 
 
 The waiter bowed. "It s hard for me to 
 pay any attention to anything about me this 
 morning, sir; and if I haven t served you as 
 well as you thought I ought, I beg your par 
 don and promise to do better another time." 
 He turned to go. The Colonel spoke, and re 
 spectfully he halted. "What s the trouble 
 with you to-day?" 
 
 "My little boy isn t expected to live, sir." 
 
 155 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Hah? What s that? My dear fellow, 
 it is I who must ask your pardon. Don t bow 
 to me I m nothing this morning but an or 
 dinary grizzly bear. Er you go home 
 right now, and your interest here sha n t suf 
 fer. And you bring all the bills to me. 
 Here, you ll need this." He pressed into 
 the waiter s hand a piece of gold. "Bills here 
 to me, you understand, and if you fail I ll 
 have you discharged. You can t trifle with 
 me, sir. I won t have it. You don t know 
 who I am. Now you go on home." He took 
 hold of Sammy s arm and strode out, mutter 
 ing as he went: "But you can t always recog 
 nize Justice. She is not only blind herself, 
 but sometimes she has a way of dimming the 
 sight of others. It s a damned shame every 
 thing is a damned shame. Let s go out and 
 get the air down Broadway." 
 
 In some city, Denver, Salt Lake or Ogden, 
 the Colonel had found a cigar that supplied 
 every demand of his fancy, and though he 
 had not retained the name, if indeed he had 
 taken notice of it at the time, he was continu 
 ously looking for that particular brand. The 
 cigar had been grabbed hastily, between 
 trains, and he could not remember whether 
 
 156 
 
An American in New York 
 
 it was intended to lend fame to a statesman 
 or add luster to a prima donna, but he re 
 called the fact or at least the supposed fact 
 that it was of medium strength and cost ten 
 cents. These two features were little enough 
 for the establishment of an identity, but he 
 accepted them as clues in his search and won 
 dered at the stupidity of cigar dealers. Upon 
 justice the American was still harping when 
 he turned into a tobacco shop. Sammy 
 waited while the Colonel told his story to 
 the Italian dealer. "Of course you don t 
 keep the cigars that people want," said the 
 American. "So far as the price is concerned, 
 sir, I don t give a snap. No, that isn t it. 
 I don t suppose they ever made but two of 
 them just two, and they were meant as a 
 tantalization. Why didn t I remember the 
 name ? Why don t you remember the name ? 
 It s your business to remember such things." 
 A curly haired boy ran out from a rear room. 
 "That youngster was he born in this coun 
 try? I m glad to know it. He may make 
 a good citizen. You ve never been West? 
 \Vould like to go? Well, I m glad to hear 
 you say that, any way. I ll take a dollar s 
 worth of these," and as he went out he said 
 
 157 
 
An American in New York 
 
 to Sammy, "That fellow is rather intelligent 
 or I mean rather broad-minded for a for 
 eigner." 
 
 "He was working you," said Sammy. 
 
 "Working me? Now do you suppose that 
 there s a man on the face of God s earth who 
 can do that ? After a while you ll give it out 
 that the waiter worked me." 
 
 "No, he was genuine, dad; and another 
 good mark has gone up for you." 
 
 "I don t like such talk as that Sammy. Do 
 you think I m a boy in school, striving for 
 credit marks?" 
 
 They walked along smoking in silence, and 
 though the youngster had at the Institute 
 been something of an athlete, the American 
 set him a lively pace with his long stride, a 
 sort of loose-jointed swing of the South. 
 "There s a theatre over there," said the 
 Colonel, "that has been the scene of many a 
 triumph Daly s and I can remember when 
 every ham actor that came West professed to 
 have had an interminable run here. But it s 
 changed now. Fashion has shifted its favor 
 further up this shoe-string island." They 
 were on the opposite side from the theatre, 
 
An American in New York 
 
 but the Colonel halted and gazed at it, mut 
 tering to himself. 
 
 "I don t see anything interesting about it, 
 dad." 
 
 "No? But it may hold an interest for 
 you when I have told you something. Your 
 mother played there, a child, years ago; and 
 once she showed me some red powder dust 
 of the roses that were showered upon her, 
 beautiful little thing." 
 
 The boy grasped his arm. "More," he 
 said. 
 
 "Not now not here. Let us wait for a 
 season." 
 
 "But, dad, your seasons are sometimes so 
 long. Why all this mystery? Why don t 
 you tell me?" 
 
 "I will when we drop into lunch at some 
 quiet place." 
 
 They walked on in silence, the Colonel 
 thinking of the girl with the dust of the rose 
 leaves, and the boy with his mind on the girl 
 who to him uttered roses when she talked. The 
 air was brisk and cold, but at Madison Square 
 they halted and sat down upon a bench. An 
 oldish man, shabby and with distress-limp 
 well rehearsed, came along and stopped in 
 
 159 
 
An American in New York 
 
 front of them. "Gentlemen," said he, "won t 
 you please help me along a little? I m hun 
 gry and if you ll please give me a few cents 
 
 "Not to get anything to eat with," the 
 Colonel broke in. "I was reading in a medi 
 cal journal the other day that we never run 
 so great a risk as we do while eating. Mi 
 crobes have dropped into the habit of getting 
 on everything we eat, and they are growing 
 worse all the time. They are coming from 
 Europe by the boat load and it is said that 
 one ham sandwich contains " 
 
 "But, gentlemen, I am starving," the beg 
 gar protested. 
 
 "Yes, I know," said the Colonel, "but it s 
 better to starve in a genteel sort of way than 
 to be murdered by microbes." 
 
 Sammy looked in surprise at his step 
 father. The American was exhibiting a new 
 phase of character, and he seemed deeply con 
 cerned, for his face was serious. But could 
 he remain hard against so distressful an ap 
 peal? "Now," the Colonel began, "if you 
 were a drinking man, you 
 
 "My dear sir, I never took a drink in my 
 life." 
 
 1 60 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "And that s just the trouble. You have 
 been sober all your life, and that s the sort 
 of a man the microbes are looking for. 
 The article I was reading said that they 
 would swim a river to get at a sober man. 
 They are all arrayed on the side of enmity 
 against the temperance cause. Whisky is bad 
 and I wouldn t counsel any one to use it 
 except in the arts but if you could take a 
 drink of rye before eating you might escape 
 with comparatively little risk. But as I say, 
 I couldn t possibly advise anyone to shift one 
 evil and take up another. The one drink in 
 tended to protect you against microbes might 
 cause you to form the habit of drunkenness." 
 
 "Not me, sir. I know myself well, and 
 I could drink or let it alone." 
 
 "Yes, and that s what they all do, one or 
 the other. But I m afraid. Good-day." 
 
 "But my dear sir, I give you the word of 
 an honest man that I would take but one 
 drink." 
 
 "Dangerous if you never took one before." 
 
 "Oh, I may have taken a drink years 
 ago." 
 
 "Well, yes, but a man changes every seven 
 161 
 
An American in New York 
 
 years, and you might not be strong enough to 
 resist now. Good-day." 
 
 "You don t know my strength, sir. I am 
 so strong morally that it makes me weak 
 physically." 
 
 That s very good. But the weakest man 
 is always conscious of a strength, of some 
 sort, and I don t care to 
 
 "But I m famishing." 
 
 "A matter for congratulation, sir. Re 
 member what the rich man said to the beg 
 gar that he would give half his fortune for 
 his appetite?" 
 
 "Sir, I didn t expect such treatment." 
 
 "Had no right to expect any at all, had 
 you? I have given you my society, and in 
 this town that counts for a great deal they 
 give me to understand. I have given to you 
 the benefit of my reading, and that ought to 
 count for something. Er what is or has 
 been your business?" 
 
 "I am an actor, sir." 
 
 "Actor. Haven t they got a home here 
 for actors?" 
 
 "Sir, there is a sort of asylum for a cer 
 tain sort of actor, but in order to enter into 
 it with any degree of honor one must have 
 162 
 
An American in New York 
 
 at some time been pampered by society. In 
 this life, sir, there are very few asylums for 
 the rank and file. One must be insane or 
 have some distinguishing mark. My only 
 distinction lies in the fact that I was never 
 a rage." 
 
 "Tragedy?" 
 
 "Off the stage, sir. Married a woman 
 with a poodle. Loved her, for she was 
 bright, handsome; she loved the dog better 
 than she did me said that he never came 
 home drunk." 
 
 "I thought you didn t drink." 
 
 "Sir, the fact that the dog didn t drink 
 does not argue that I did. My wife was 
 jealous " 
 
 "And yet didn t love you?" 
 
 "Ah, one of the idiosyncrasies of the stage. 
 She was jealous because the man she loved 
 was in love with another woman. I was not 
 the man. This drove me to hunger. I was 
 about to say drink." 
 
 "What is your name?" 
 
 "Sir, I have played Uncle Tom. Don t 
 ask me." 
 
 "A sad confession," said the Colonel. 
 
 163 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "But in resignation there is a sort of nobility. 
 Won t you sit down?" 
 
 "I should be pleased to if I thought there 
 was anything in it." He took off his plug 
 hat and brushed it with his sleeve. He said 
 that his appearance was somewhat against 
 him. In the basement wherein he had lodged 
 the night before there were a cat and several 
 kittens. During the night they had essayed 
 to have fun with his hat. He was shabby 
 and no longer young; about him there was a 
 pathos conquered by humor, and the Ameri 
 can liked him, and regarded him as a find, a 
 genial pick up. "Sit down, please," he said, 
 "and after a few moments we ll go and get 
 whatever you want bread or wine." 
 
 The actor smiled as he sat down beside 
 the American. "I d just as lieve it would be 
 wine," said he. "The fact is I feel some 
 what ashamed that I strove to touch you by 
 fraud. But a man in need of a drink feels 
 not the humiliation of any sort of shift." 
 
 "Weren t you sharp enough to know that 
 the food idea could be seen through by 
 me?" said the Colonel. 
 
 "Yes, almost instantly, and I knew that 
 164 
 
An American in New York 
 
 you were stringing me. I take you to be a 
 man of importance out where you live." 
 
 "Out where I live. How do you know 
 that I live out?" 
 
 "Well, you don t look as if you lived here. 
 Now if you would be so kind as to take my 
 address as a receipt for the small amount 
 which you are now almost forced by common 
 courtesy to lend me, I " 
 
 "How do you know it is to be a small 
 amount?" 
 
 "My dear sir, persistent disappointment 
 has warned me not to hope." 
 
 "What do you consider a small amount?" 
 
 "The price of a drink at present." 
 
 "And a large amount?" 
 
 "Anything above a dollar in these cos- 
 termonger times." 
 
 "Costermonger times," repeated the Col 
 onel. "You have never played in that play 
 Henry IV." 
 
 "No, but in other Shakespearean revivals 
 I have ranged with lowly livers not in con 
 tent, but scrapping for my weekly stipend. 
 Shakespeare breaks out in the country once 
 in a while, and then I find for a time that 
 the hawthorne bush has a sweeter shade than 
 
An American in New York 
 
 the awning; but as a general thing I walk 
 back. Here is my address." 
 
 The Colonel took the card, with the name 
 Joseph Aukwall Skidder printed and the 
 name of some unheralded boarding house 
 written with a blunt pencil. 
 
 "I suppose you have played at Daly s, in 
 the mellow years gone by." 
 
 "Yes, in the years as mellow as candle 
 light. There I was presented to Clara Mor 
 ris recommended to her, in fact, in the play 
 as a footman. I was callow, from Maine, 
 and was scared almost out of my wits, but 
 a child, little Mary Barksdale, took me by 
 the hand Eh, sir?" 
 
 The Colonel had jumped to his feet. 
 "Played with her? She was this young 
 chap s mother. Sammy, shake hands with 
 Mr. Skidder." 
 
 They shook hands all around. The plug 
 hat was shaken off and it fell on the gravel, 
 but Mr. Skidder, saying that it was of no mo 
 ment, wiped it w r ith his sleeve, to shake hands 
 again and to congratulate himself that he 
 had found not only friends but almost rela 
 tives. He began to talk about the girl who had 
 saved him from his embarrassment, but the 
 1 66 
 
An American in New York 
 
 Colonel shut him off with the flash of a bank 
 note, telling him at the same time that on 
 the proper occasion they would discuss her, 
 which to Sammy meant that the season was 
 again to be deferred, and to the actor it 
 meant so, too, for discreetly he held his peace, 
 until the Colonel gave him ten dollars, and 
 then he broke forth with a monologue of 
 gratitude. The Colonel intimated that of 
 course he would get drunk, but he protested. 
 He said that a man would often get drunk 
 on one dollar, whereas ten dollars, inspiring 
 him with a sense of responsibility, would be 
 employed to better purpose. "An inheritance 
 brings responsibility, and responsibility carries 
 with it a sort of discretion," said he, shaking 
 hands again. u And, sir," he said to the 
 Colonel, "I wish to assure you that this shall 
 not stop here." 
 
 "I reckon not," replied the American. 
 "You ll touch me again." 
 
 The boy laughed, and catching from his 
 own tones a remembered note in the voice of 
 Imogene, fell at once into deep sadness, 
 thrusting his hands into his pockets and medi 
 tatively strolling off down the path. 
 
 167 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "In love, I take it," said Mr. Skidder, 
 looking after him. 
 
 "Shot through the heart with a wench s 
 black eye," replied the Colonel. "Now let 
 me see," he added. "I m not always to be 
 found, but I am putting up at the Waldorf, 
 and The actor whistled. There was 
 
 magic in that name. "Not always to be 
 found," the Colonel continued, "but you are 
 perfectly welcome to come around and look 
 for me. I don t presume to offer advice, but 
 try to do the best you can; and if you do, I 
 think I can make it worth your while. Good- 
 day." 
 
 168 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER XI I. 
 
 MONEY S BLIZZARD. 
 
 They got on a car and were hummed and 
 buzzed down into the tangle of the town s 
 deeper jungle. At Chambers Street they 
 left the car and walked about, with no ob 
 ject save to look here and there at the mon 
 strous vitascope of fret, worry, strife; but 
 the boy was gazing within himself, at a pic 
 ture in his own heart, and nothing without 
 could afford more than a glimpsing interest. 
 Into Nassau they turned, the Colonel com 
 menting, the boy silent. Already the early 
 editions of the afternoon papers were out, 
 sensations prefaced with eager cries of grim 
 little merchants, Arabs of the street shrewder 
 than Arabs of the desert. 
 
 "I have a ticket for myself and one to the 
 gallery of the Stock Exchange, " said the 
 American. "I want to show you that place. 
 Wouldn t you like to see it?" 
 
 "Yes, anything." 
 
 "Sammy, you d better telephone up to the 
 hotel and have them send your mind down 
 169 
 
An American in New York 
 
 to you. Let us cross here. Look out for 
 that hell-bent machine. A man that would 
 so far forget the beauty and the romance of 
 a horse as to take up with one of these devil 
 wagons is hardly deserving of human recog 
 nition. They call it progress. And so is a 
 run-away railroad train, tumbling down the 
 mountain, since progress has come to mean 
 speed and nothing more. What do you think 
 of that old actor?" 
 
 u Actor? Oh, the man we saw back yon 
 der. I had forgotten him. Why, I guess 
 he s all right in a way." 
 
 "Don t you remember his saying that your 
 mother took him by the hand and saved him 
 from his fright?" 
 
 "Yes, I think I do. But, dad, I m not my 
 self to-day. Down in Mexico there is a sort 
 of butterfly, a beautiful thing, that stings; but 
 instead of inflicting a sharp pain, it injects 
 a dead sort of dream, a half insanity, and the 
 victim fights against all remedy. He wants 
 to be stung again and again, until he dies. It 
 seems that I have been stung by one of those 
 butterflies." 
 
 "I ve been in Mexico, but I never heard 
 of that fly. I think it was born of your own 
 170 
 
An American in New York 
 
 fancy and stung you at its birth. And while 
 the dead dream is on you I don t know that 
 it would be of advantage or even of interest 
 for you to look at anything." 
 
 "No, I guess not. Dad, don t you think 
 it would be well for me to tell her that I m 
 not a pauper. She thinks I am." 
 
 "Then let her continue to think so. Un 
 less a pauper can win a woman she isn t 
 worth having. Unless she has an ambition 
 to assist you in the making of a fortune she 
 is a misfortune. This may sound old fash 
 ioned, and I shouldn t be surprised if it were, 
 but for that matter, so is love itself old fash 
 ioned." 
 
 "I am afraid to run the risk," the young 
 fellow protested. "Dad, the fact that a wo 
 man wants to know that a man is worth 
 something is no evidence that she desires to 
 sell herself to the highest bidder. Love and 
 poverty don t mix well." 
 
 The American cleared his throat. "Yes, 
 but love doesn t know that until it finds out 
 by experience; and love ought to be willing 
 to make the test. Is it possible that you 
 would marry her whether she loves you or 
 not?" 
 
 171 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "In the hope that I could finally win her 
 love yes, I am afraid so. I m not so strong 
 in such matters as I thought I was." 
 
 "Think you have made any very decided 
 impression?" 
 
 "Oh, I simply seem to be one of the many 
 that come along the path. If I could only 
 speak what I think, not about love, for it s 
 too soon for me to talk to her about that, but 
 about things in general, books and the like. 
 I can t, however; she robs me and leaves me 
 nothing but every-day commonplaces. Won 
 der how it would do to go to one of these 
 schools of oratory and take a few lessons?" 
 They were now standing on a corner, back 
 from the tide, and the young fellow searched 
 the Colonel s countenance, evidently in the 
 hope of finding a gleam of approval. And 
 there was a gleam, but it was of mirth. "Sam 
 my ! I ve heard of a good many absurdities, 
 in the matter of love, but I m inclined to be 
 lieve that this takes the lead. Why not go 
 back West, get into the legislature, make 
 speeches and then come back here and ad 
 dress her?" 
 
 "Don t make fun of me, dad." 
 
 "Surely not. If you think that oratory s 
 172 
 
An American in New York 
 
 the thing, why not lead off with I come not 
 here to talk, and so on. Convincing her that 
 you didn t come to talk, and then proceeding 
 to talk you might capture her." 
 
 "Dad, I wouldn t make fun of your love 
 for the Widow." 
 
 u But I do, Sammy. Mind you, I don t re 
 gard her as living in a dazzle far above me. 
 In many respects I believe she s shallow, but 
 I believe that if she were poor, with the 
 same graces she now possesses, I would like 
 to marry her." 
 
 "If she were poor, dad, she couldn t have 
 the same experiences, and without these she 
 couldn t have the same graces." 
 
 "Hah, now you re talking. Oh, all you 
 need is to be stirred up a bit. You ve got 
 the mind." 
 
 "Thank you. But so far as wealth is con 
 cerned you could give her a better position 
 than she ever had." 
 
 "Yes, but some women are wealthy in 
 tastes, in refinements, and she is one of them." 
 He stepped back a little further, away from 
 the edge of the swelling tide. "Strange talk 
 to be holding here," he said. 
 
 "Yes," Sammy replied, "but all of these 
 
An American in New York 
 
 eager-faced delvers are working for some one 
 other than themselves. They don t differ so 
 much from the men that dig in the mines. 
 They haven t as much heart, perhaps." 
 
 "That is where I am inclined to think 
 we flatter ourselves," said the American. 
 "Roughness doesn t mean inner gentleness. 
 Where one man has been ennobled by pov 
 erty, a million have been made better by 
 wealth. Poverty learns to hate the world 
 disappointed poverty; and hate has never 
 been a blessing. I should put it down that 
 the best man is in moderate circumstances. I 
 mean the man who knows that he never can 
 become rich. Let us go on." 
 
 Sammy was not on a tour of surprises, but 
 looking down from the marble gallery upon 
 the turmoil of the Stock Exchange was enough 
 to challenge his interest if not his astonish 
 ment. And this was the place whence came 
 the panics that spread over the country and 
 made the West heart-sick and desolate. Here 
 was the furnace wherein values were shriveled 
 and fortunes reduced to ashes. It was more 
 noisy than a midnight dance up the gulch. It 
 would seem that speculation would adopt 
 quieter methods, that neither ruin nor gain 
 
An American in New York 
 
 should be harassed with bellowings and 
 groans. Down there, those men have been 
 compared with ants, but ants are orderly. 
 They were more like apes, in that they all 
 looked old. In one day s time that furnace 
 can make parchment of the blithest counte 
 nance. Here at this railing is where philoso 
 phy halts and is dumfounded. High up 
 there on the wall the ticking of the clock 
 means much. What changes may have taken 
 place ere the hand moves over the five minute 
 space ? Speculators in bone and blood ! Hu 
 man agony condensed and cashed! How 
 many groans in that piece of paper fluttering 
 in a nervous hand? The thumping heart of 
 Wall street ! No wonder that men look upon 
 labor with contempt. Was not this a scorn 
 of all legitimate investment? It makes no 
 difference how rich may be the harvest field 
 or how much ore has come from the mine, a 
 stampede here means suicide throughout the 
 country. Gold itself seems to lose value. 
 Rich lands dwindle in worth. Cancer of pre 
 tended civilization! The government itself, 
 with its treasury house bulging out with 
 money, is afraid of this place. What goes on 
 here is of more importance than a war across 
 
An American in New York 
 
 the sea. At luncheon, between hasty swallows 
 of coffee, presidents are nominated, and, yea, 
 elected. The monied interests of the coun 
 try that is the way those men talk. Gam 
 bling interests of the gamblers! Why, there 
 is not money enough in the world to liquidate 
 their failures. It has been written of more 
 than a thousand times. Pulpits have roared 
 or squeaked against it, measured by the w r ealth 
 and occupation of the respective church. 
 Money s blizzard center! 
 
 "What do you think of it?" the Colonel 
 inquired, looking down upon the whirling 
 scene. 
 
 "It doesn t stimulate so much of thought 
 as of wonder," Sammy answered. "Nothing 
 that I ve ever read of it has given me an 
 idea, I discover now. It looks like a stam 
 pede of cattle." 
 
 "Yes, but more lacking in heart than 
 heifers and steers. But a man successful 
 down there, Sammy, is of more importance 
 in this town than any statesman in the coun 
 try. He may be a brute in appearance and in 
 nature and he may be as dull as a woman s 
 pocket knife, but the newspaper would want 
 no better special than something he has said. 
 
An American in New York 
 
 They invent things for him. Some obscure 
 young fellows put gems in the clod s mouth. 
 For a day he rides a giant horse, high in the 
 air, but there comes a time when suddenly the 
 horse stumbles and falls and in the dust the 
 great man rolls. They help him up, dust 
 him off, lead him away; and the newspapers 
 are full of him, but no more gems are put 
 into his mouth. These are reserved for an 
 other clod, riding a high horse. Obscurity 
 is desperate for the fallen one. He could 
 not sit down to think. His life has been the 
 windy whirl of shadows. The steady shade 
 is loathsome to him. He hates books, de 
 spises man, and so man forgets him, the read 
 ers of the newspapers, grabbers after quick 
 editions, search their minds and can just recall 
 having heard of him. Got enough?" 
 
 "I had enough before I came in, dad. 
 Shall we return to the hotel?" 
 
 "Not now. You remember 1 spoke of tell 
 ing you something when the proper season 
 should come. Well, it s here now. Let us 
 go to a restaurant." 
 
 Off from the jungle, in a sort of swamp of 
 life, they found a quiet place that looked as 
 if it were about ready to fall. In its day it 
 177 
 
An American in New York 
 
 had no doubt been a famous oyster house, 
 known to the middle manhood of Beecher 
 and Greeley, but it was no such thought as 
 this that commended it to the Colonel, for 
 Greeley was an Abolitionist whose newspaper 
 was poisonous to the South and Beecher had 
 in England spoken against Secession. It was 
 wrong, of course Secession; but at the time 
 when Beecher had spoken and Greeley had 
 written, the South was of the opinion that 
 slavery was just, and this made it just for 
 the time being. 
 
 When asked as to what he would like to 
 eat the young man said that it made no dif 
 ference with him. 
 
 "That s all right, Sammy, but I want to 
 tell you that to win at any game you must 
 eat, and deviled ham is more potent than 
 angel food. Before you drift any further in 
 your present sea of distress, get out of the 
 foolish notion that she is more than a human 
 being. I don t see anything on this bill of 
 fare that tempts me very much. Frogs legs. 
 Strike you?" 
 
 "Yes, they re all right." 
 
 "Well, I don t know about them. Yes, sir, 
 get that out of your head. You know, Sam- 
 
An American in New York 
 
 my, I like to go about this town almost per 
 suading myself to feel that I am too poor 
 to buy certain things. I never tried to feel 
 economical when I ought to have done so; 
 but now I like to imagine that I m poor, and 
 then, in all fairness to truth, I somehow feel 
 a better human being. Do I contradict my 
 self? Did I talk differently a while ago, giv 
 ing you to understand that the rich are noble ? 
 Well, being more or less natural, I am in 
 consistent. The ship that would avoid the 
 rocks must not always hold to the same course. 
 I am rambling along here until I m forget 
 ting what I was going to say. Here, young 
 woman," he called, speaking to a waitress, 
 "don t neglect us because we are not noisy." 
 The waitress came forward. He called her 
 child, and she gave to him a receipt for the 
 courtesy bestowed a tired smile. He asked 
 her about her home, holding in front of him 
 the bit of paper on which in dim purple was 
 mimeographed a list of resources, blurred rec 
 ord of indigestion; and in a vague way she re 
 plied that she had no home, and then asked 
 for his order. She was tired, and sometimes 
 weariness looks like modesty to the degree 
 of refinement; so, speaking almost indis- 
 179 
 
An American in New York 
 
 tinctly, that he might not shock her with the 
 vigor of his natural voice, he said that he 
 and his friend would take frogs legs, where 
 upon she turned and shouted: "Jumpers 
 two. 1 He looked at Sammy and winked, but 
 the young fellow was in a dream and did not 
 see him. The girl placed two glasses of 
 water on the table. "You must have been 
 up late last night," said the Colonel. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Struggling with the world?" 
 
 "DancinV 
 
 "Oh." 
 
 "Coffee?" 
 
 "Yes, both of us." 
 
 "Draw two," she shrieked. Sammy started 
 as if stung in the ear. "Dancing," said the 
 Colonel. "Well, youth must trip its feet. 
 You liked it, of course." 
 
 "It was all right. Brown or white bread?" 
 
 "Makes no difference." He handed her 
 a piece of silver. "Thanks," she said and 
 moved off. For a moment the American re 
 flected. "They are all of them human be 
 ings, Sammy, these women. Man, the brute, 
 must have been mothered and the mother 
 of the human brute must have been human. 
 1 80 
 
An American in New York 
 
 Surgeons say that woman can stand more 
 pain than a man, that in fact her machinery 
 is not so fine a piece of nerve work." 
 
 "It is because woman was born to suffer 
 more," said Sammy. 
 
 "Yes, that may be true. I know they can 
 stand more cold." 
 
 "Ah," said the boy, "and they can some 
 times freeze a man." 
 
 "But Imogene is not trying to freeze you, 
 Sammy. It is your own hot imagination that 
 makes you shiver. You have come into a 
 sudden warmth and are not yet tempered to 
 it. But understand, I insist that you must 
 not w r eaken." 
 
 "How weaken?" He looked up as if his 
 spirit were borne upon the wave of a sigh. 
 
 "You must not tell her that you have any 
 prospects other than the resources of your 
 profession. Then, if she does not care for 
 you, make a fool of yourself and catch her 
 some other way if ycu are so resolved; but 
 unless she really loves you she is not worth 
 picking up in the street. Here she comes." 
 Sammy started. "I mean the girl with the 
 jumpers." 
 
 181 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SIM GROGGIN. 
 
 The place was deserted with the excep 
 tion of the girl, who now in the rear end of 
 the room was sitting in oblivious stupor. For 
 a long time the American was silent, medi 
 tatively smoking; and then, reaching over he 
 put his hand on the boy s arm. Sammy 
 started. "You are as nervous as a horse, " 
 said the Colonel. "I was going to tell you 
 about something that happened away out 
 yonder." 
 
 "Yes thank you." 
 
 "Can I bring your mind down to it?" 
 "I can bring my mind up to it, dad." 
 "All right. I was just thinking how 
 strange it is that we should be here, in this 
 wilderness of human contention; but for that 
 matter it is strange that we or anybody should 
 be anywhere. The machine makes the world 
 practical, but it does not explain the mystery 
 of life." Again he was silent and the young 
 man waited. "Click City was on a tre 
 mendous boom," said the Colonel, dropping 
 182 
 
An American in New York 
 
 the stub of his cigar on a plate. "Already 
 there were half a dozen brick buildings in the 
 town, and we all saw that it was to become 
 one of the famous places of the world. The 
 seventh brick building was an opera house. 
 The date for the grand opening was set for 
 the seventh of October. The company had 
 been engaged and it was fresh from its famous 
 run at Daly s. As a member of the city coun 
 cil, as the owner of a corner lot or so, as a 
 prominent and promising citizen, I was in a 
 box at the first performance of the Heart for 
 Heart* There had been a dinner with cham 
 pagne made precious with its long wagon 
 haul across the mountains. The play didn t 
 amount to anything. It was a strain of senti 
 ment and a distress that could have been re 
 lieved by one word on the part of the hero 
 one simple and most natural word; but be 
 fore I could realize how it came about I 
 was in love with a girl, the heroine, Mary 
 Barksdale ; the young woman, who, as a child, 
 took that fellow Skidder by the hand 
 your mother." The young man leaned toward 
 him, with his arm on the table. "Yes," he 
 said, his dreamy eyes bursting forth into 
 sparks. "Yes, go on." 
 
 183 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "I don t know that she was beautiful. If 
 I d been a poet I couldn t have described 
 her couldn t have painted her if I d been 
 the most life-like and vivid of painters. She 
 came as a soft yellow light, and with her 
 came a scent from the flowers that grew in 
 out of the way places. But I ll tell it as 
 soberly as I can." 
 
 u No," the boy protested, reaching over 
 and grasping the Colonel s hand. "No, don t 
 tell it that way. Make it wild as it was. 
 Let your story gallop. I want to see its mane 
 flowing in the wind." 
 
 "I ll tell it as best I can. But it is in 
 coherent at best. Yellow. Yes, she was a 
 blond spirit of the gold fields; and when I 
 heard her speak, it seemed to me that I 
 would smother in a glad-grief. I can t de 
 scribe that, either; it s impossible, and no 
 one but a man in the fix that you re in now 
 could listen to it without laughing. It s ab 
 surd, I know. Well, I sat there, killed, em 
 balmed, mummied by her, and that was all 
 I could remember. After the performance 
 there was more champagne, at the hotel, and 
 I lived and died in spots. I got a glimpse of 
 that spirit of pure gold, sitting in the parlor; 
 
An American in New York 
 
 and then I was dead again until morning 
 when my aching head awoke me. The most 
 of the night had been a dream in its un 
 reality, but the vision of gold was stronger 
 than a dream. It was a truth. At break 
 fast I heard some news. The manager of 
 the company had run away during the night, 
 leaving the members unpaid and penniless. 
 A soul less selfish would have deplored this 
 state of affairs, but I was thankful for it. 
 Now, in this the season of her misfortune, 
 I might be permitted to approach that thrill 
 ing daughter of a god highest on Olympus, 
 for neither virtue, grace, genius, nothing can 
 be safe from the intrusive familiarity which 
 misfortune inspires. A saint in hard luck in 
 fuses no spirit of reverence. Not that I did 
 not still worship this goddess, you under 
 stand, Sammy. Bless you, I did, but hard 
 luck had humanized her and brought her 
 into clearer view. So, I sent my card up to 
 her and she sent down word that she would 
 see me in the parlor. Ah, and there I sat, 
 talking to her. I don t know how she got 
 into the room; I couldn t tell whether she 
 had walked or floated, but there she was and 
 I was talking to her gad, about mining 
 
An American in New York 
 
 stocks and the prospects of a railroad. Finally 
 I managed in what might to her have ap 
 peared as a cool sort of way to tell her that 
 I was at her service and that it would give 
 me a great deal of pleasure business pleas 
 ure, of course, to help her to the next town 
 or to any other place under the sun. She 
 laughed a sad laugh and replied that to her 
 there was no other town. She had no home, 
 no prospects; and as she was really not a 
 success on the stage, she did not look for 
 ward to another engagement. I told her 
 that it was my understanding that she was 
 a leading lady of Daly s and at this her 
 laughter rang out like a zither running riot. 
 What one was advertised by a cheap man 
 ager to be and what one really was how 
 different, she said, and I said that, yes, I 
 knew, which was a lie, for I knew nothing 
 about it. All this time I was thankful to find 
 that she was humanizing or I d better say 
 materializing; and I found, and to my delight, 
 too, that she was not so beautiful as she had 
 appeared on the stage. We are more en 
 couraged by a flaw than a perfection, you 
 know. But what was to be done? If she 
 had no prospects, how 7 could we set about to 
 186 
 
An American in New York 
 
 make them? She said that she would like to 
 quit the stage, as she had always hated it; 
 and she didn t know but that she might find 
 work in the town. She knew something of 
 books, as her failure and consequent humilia 
 tion had often driven her to them, and she 
 might go in as an assistant librarian. Yes, 
 she might have done that, but a wheelbarrow 
 could have held all the books in Click City. 
 But an idea leaped like an athlete into my 
 mind. I told her that we had no library, but 
 ought to have one, that our people would 
 without doubt feel thankful to her for the 
 suggestion, and that if she could wait until 
 a mule train could bring the books we would 
 start up a shop of letters. I was in earnest, 
 but she was amused and again I heard the 
 music of the riotous zither. She studied a 
 while and then she said that she might take 
 up a school, and this set me on my feet in a 
 moment. I said something absurd, of course 
 that she had come to inspire us with a 
 knowledge of our necessities, and I declared 
 that I would rush forth at once and get the 
 school ready. So, hastening to my office, I 
 drew up a paper and began to circulate it for 
 signers. There had already been several 
 
An American in New York 
 
 schools started, but soon we had another, and 
 by the next morning at opening time Miss 
 Barksdale was ready and so were we. The 
 school house was a livery stable and an un 
 dertaker s shop combined, the lower part 
 given over to baled hay and coffins, but the 
 upper floor served our purpose well, and 
 here came every day except Saturdays and 
 Sundays, this divine creature, who in a mimic 
 profession had been as she thought a failure. 
 She was too good and pure for earth, and of 
 course the stage was not her home. She 
 couldn t afford to live at the hotel, but in the 
 private family of a pardoned and prosperous 
 stage robber she found a pleasant home, and 
 it was here that I called on her night after 
 night, with my heart dancing, but I talked 
 of practical things, because she seemed, with 
 all of her romantic look, a sane and practical 
 little body. My business partner was Sim 
 Groggin. He made himself prominent by 
 shooting a robber named Dix Miss Barks- 
 dale s landlord, by the way had tended him 
 through long disability and had obtained a 
 pardon for him. Groggin was about as game 
 a man as I had ever seen, and as bravery was 
 the gauge of all admiration out there in those 
 188 
 
An American in New York 
 
 days, I gave him my friendship as well as my 
 business confidence. He had been expelled 
 from Yale on account of some triviality, 
 knocking a professor on the head, or some 
 thing like that, and this added to his standing. 
 With all of his other arts and accomplish 
 ments he was a sort of Jim the Penman. 
 There was a bank in Click City and with 
 forgery he could have robbed it, but he kept 
 the most of his natural impulses well in hand 
 and used his cleverness sparingly. You have 
 never heard of him, have you?" 
 
 "No, dad. But does he hold much of a 
 place in your story?" 
 
 U A vital place. He wasn t so handsome, 
 but he was rather taking, with a sort of dashy 
 air, and it gave me some little uneasiness 
 when I could not help but observe his atten 
 tions to Miss Barksdale. One night as we 
 were sitting by the stove, beneath a smoky 
 lamp that threw black shadows here and 
 there, I asked him how far he was in earnest 
 with regard to her, and he laughed and said, 
 Your preserves, Bill. I like her and that is 
 all. I thought it best, however, to hurry up 
 matters, so one night while I sat alone with 
 Miss Barksdale, I began to edge up toward 
 189 
 
An American in New York 
 
 the final point. Gab comes to some men early 
 and to others late. It had not come to me 
 wasn t in bloom, so I had to struggle with 
 myself. The fact was that in her presence 
 I didn t know what to talk about except my 
 own insane love and I didn t know how to 
 lead up to an expression of it. I had written 
 several notes to her, but my pen stammered. 
 She didn t try to make me think she was 
 timid. She always met my frightened eye 
 with a quiet frankness, and this always fright 
 ened my eye still more. I remember that it 
 was drawing toward midnight, and still I had 
 made no advance. I had been summoned to 
 set out early the next morning to go on im 
 portant business to Denver, and I shuddered 
 to think of leaving my heart s affairs in an 
 unsettled state. But soon came the time for 
 me to take up my hat. Ah, how well I can 
 recall that scene and the talk that followed. 
 Must you be going? she asked, and I stood 
 first on one foot and then the other and told 
 her that I was compelled to go. Then fol 
 lowed silence. I turned my hat round and 
 round. Be gone long? About a week 
 maybe two/ I answered. Another silence. 
 My hat fell upon the floor. We both stooped 
 190 
 
An American in New York 
 
 at the same time to pick it up and bumped our 
 heads together. This made us both laugh 
 and she looked as if her mouth were full of 
 diamonds. Again I fumbled with my hat, 
 but the laughter had made me bolder. I took 
 hold of her hand, and how frail a little thing 
 it was, the veins showing blue. I kissed it 
 and it fluttered, a bird, and it flew away. But 
 I caught it again, drew her to me kissed her, 
 and then in a dam-broken torrent I told her 
 of my love. I didn t ask her to marry me 
 but she must have known all I wanted then 
 was to tell her of my love and to hear her 
 whisper, with her head against my breast, 
 that she loved me. I went home happy. Be 
 neath the shadow-throwing lamp Sim Groggin 
 sat, reading some sort of up the gulch book; 
 and in my bubbling happiness I told him all 
 that had passed. Well, at daylight the next 
 morning I took the stage. And, two days 
 after reaching Denver I received a letter 
 from her. Letter? It was only a line. I 
 don t want to see you again, you brute. 
 What did it mean? That wolf had written 
 to her in my name had said that I was play 
 ing with her. This all came out afterward, 
 you see. I m making it short. I didn t have 
 191 
 
An American in New York 
 
 sense enough to demand or ask for an ex 
 planation. I thought that she had been act 
 ing a part and had believed that I was act 
 ing for a purpose far from noble. The 
 scoundrel wrote to me his letter came 
 quickly after hers telling me that she was 
 gone away that she had stolen jewelry and 
 that he was going forth to fetch her back. He 
 was coming through Denver, he said, as it 
 was supposed she had gone that way. I met 
 him I was more dead than alive and heard 
 his story. He said that the people of Click 
 City were laughing at me, and I knew then 
 that I was not to go back there. So Groggin 
 and I reached a settlement of our affairs and 
 I went away, heart-broken. Five years after 
 ward, in San Francisco, I learned the truth. 
 The hell-hound had tried to marry her. She 
 had refused him, and one year before the time 
 of this revelation she had married your 
 father. I went back to Click City, went with 
 no other purpose than to kill Groggin. But 
 he wasn t there. No one knew where he 
 might be found. I saw Mary. I saw that 
 she was dying of consumption. I heard 
 you crying, pale little thing. Isn t that 
 enough?" 
 
 192 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Yes, dad." 
 
 Far a long time they were silent. 
 
 "Dad He reached over, took the 
 
 Colonel s hands and pressed them to his face, 
 and when the American took them away they 
 were wet. 
 
 Silent they sat, the place quiet, the girl 
 dozing. 
 
 "What became of him, dad?" 
 
 "He went to Australia, I heard. I started 
 to go, but in San Francisco I was taken sick 
 and for seven months was in a hospital. But 
 I had employed a man to look for him. He 
 returned without information. Since then 
 I have looked for him, every time I heard 
 that he had been seen; and not long ago I 
 learned that he was here. That is the reason 
 I came." 
 
 "If you find him, dad, let me kill him." 
 
 "No. You couldn t do that here very 
 well." 
 
 "But if you find him what are you going 
 to do?" 
 
 "I don t know." 
 
 "Yes, you do, dad; you always know." 
 
 "I haven t decided beyond the fact that I 
 want to feast my eyes upon him. Now you 
 
 193 
 
An American in New York 
 
 know why I don t want my real name known 
 here." 
 
 "Have you employed detectives ?" 
 
 "Yes and they have had track of him, 
 they say. But I don t believe it. Still, I 
 haven t given up hope. More than once I 
 have been ready to take my leave of this 
 town, but always something has held me back, 
 and for a good purpose, I am inclined to 
 think." He mused. "Yes, to feast my hungry 
 eyes on him." 
 
 "And when you find him, you will not 
 weaken?" 
 
 "No. Forgiveness is as often the sign of 
 weakness as of strength. But beyond feast 
 ing my eyes upon his countenance I can t 
 see beyond that. But there must be some 
 thing more or I should not be so impelled to 
 find him. Shall we go now? Here, girl." 
 
 194 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 NIGHT LAMPS IN HER EYES. 
 
 No appointment had been made, but that 
 evening the Colonel and Sammy met the 
 Widow and Imogene in the drawing room, 
 and as the place was filled with some sort of 
 society holding a festival, they went for a 
 walk in the air. The night was cool, but not 
 disagreeable, and they walked up as far as 
 the park. Sammy thought that on the part 
 of the girl this feat of pedestrianism was re 
 markable, but she surprised him by saying 
 that when she was in the country, in Eng 
 land, she sometimes made it a point to walk 
 ten miles a day. She had drawn him off from 
 the Widow and they were now walking alone. 
 He had not noticed the separation and if he 
 had it would have been viewed purely in the 
 light of a chance division. He listened en 
 tranced to her small talk, the whims of her 
 brother Dick, and he was ready to weep when 
 she told him that a cat had killed and eaten 
 her canary bird. He swore that all cats ought 
 to be dead. She demurred at this. As a rule 
 
 195 
 
An American in New York 
 
 she liked cats, only she didn t think that they 
 ought to be so heartless as to kill a poor little 
 bird. Come to think of it, he had always 
 liked cats, too, but he didn t understand why 
 they should eat birds. There were plenty of 
 mice in the world. She said that she was 
 afraid of mice. He didn t like them very 
 well. Once he baited a hook with one and 
 caught a black bass. She said that it must 
 ha\ 7 e been a cat fish, and he roared with 
 laughter. He said it was the brightest thing 
 he ever heard. He wanted to tell the Col 
 onel, and then for the first time noticed the 
 separation. 
 
 "I wonder where dad and your aunt went?" 
 
 "Oh, they ll take care of themselves. Are 
 you getting tired?" 
 
 u Oh, no. I could walk walk on through 
 out eternity." He looked about him. "Grim 
 old rocks, these. They look older than the 
 rocks out in the West Perhaps it is because 
 history has left its visiting card lying upon 
 them." 
 
 "Their history is short in comparison with 
 
 the rocks of Europe," she said. He agreed 
 
 and looked about for something else, but 
 
 there was nothing save leafless trees, more 
 
 196 
 
An American in New York 
 
 rocks and a pond of water ruffling in the 
 light. She said that he must have had many 
 an adventure in the West, and he hemmed 
 and hawed, trying to make one, but romantic 
 necessity was not the mother of invention. 
 He wanted music and strove to say something 
 to make her laugh. She discovered the trick 
 and laughed for him. Then he laughed. 
 They halted for a moment where it was light. 
 He looked at her, into her eyes, and he 
 thought of something the Colonel had said 
 feasting himself with a look, but his feast 
 was of love. Deep in her eyes he saw the 
 night lamps gleaming fathoms deep, they 
 seemed. She turned her face slightly and 
 the lamps went out, leaving a twilight, a mel 
 low dusk. They walked on, she with long 
 and slow stride, and he wondered at her abil 
 ity to keep step with him. It was time for 
 one of them to say, "it seems that I have 
 known you so long a time," and she said it. 
 
 "I was just about to say the same thing," 
 he replied. "Strange." 
 
 She said that it was strange. Then they 
 
 laughed and halted again. Her full mouth 
 
 looked like a half kiss, he thought, gazing 
 
 down upon her lips and they were so near 
 
 197 
 
An American in New York 
 
 him now, but they seemed to float away, fur 
 ther off. Her cloak was unbuttoned. He 
 gazed at her neck, her throat; and then in 
 her eyes he saw the lamps gleaming again. 
 She looked up and a lamp was supplanted by 
 a star. They walked on, going they knew not 
 whither. Remembering what the Colonel 
 had said, that she must be won by his worth 
 alone, he wondered aloud if there were as 
 much of opportunity for a young man to make 
 a fortune as there had been in the days when 
 penniless young youths came to New York 
 and compelled the financial world to recognize 
 them. She replied that for ability and en 
 thusiasm there always was and always would 
 be opportunity. Opportunity came from 
 within. Then she spoke of the Colonel. If 
 he had come to New York years ago he 
 might have been a great man. "Auntie says 
 he is one of the most charming men she ever 
 saw; and the beauty or, rather I should say, 
 the nobility of it all is that he doesn t im 
 agine a woman in love with him if she hap 
 pens to utter a sentiment. Men are so vain. 
 It is getting so that a woman is almost afraid 
 to be civil to the most of them." 
 
 He felt himself swallowing something. 
 198 
 
An American in New York 
 
 Was this a hint that he was accepting too 
 much for granted? Well, he would show her 
 that he was not vain. "What is his busi 
 ness the Colonel s?" she asked. 
 
 "Well, just at pEssent isn t in any busi 
 
 ness." 
 
 "I thought he must be a lawyer. I hope 
 he is well enough off not to be worried." 
 
 He swallowed again. "Well, he s not in 
 financial distress." 
 
 "I m glad of that. I should hate to see 
 him distressed. Shall we turn down this 
 way?" 
 
 "Just as you like." 
 
 "Do you know why I asked?" 
 
 "Oh, out of a sort of interest, I suppose." 
 
 "No, auntie wanted me to find out." 
 
 "You don t say. Doesn t she know he s 
 married?" 
 
 "Of course, but that makes no difference. 
 She didn t know but that at one time he was 
 about to cut his stay short because of money 
 and if that is true, why she said that she would 
 like to lend him enough to see him through. 
 That s her all over when she likes any one." 
 
 "God bless her soul," he said, swallowing 
 no lumps now. 
 
 199 
 
An American in New York 
 
 Onward they walked, slowly, and the low- 
 lying wind, rising from the ground, blew her 
 skirts about his ankles, tangling his walk, 
 and it thrilled him thus to be clogged with a 
 part of her. Rounding a hillock out of the 
 wind they halted again and sat down on a 
 bench and she buttoned her cloak and now he 
 could not see her throat gleaming in the light 
 of the night eyes of the park, but in his mind 
 he saw it, rounded satin. She said that her 
 aunt and the Colonel must have gone home. 
 
 "They know the way and aren t likely to 
 get lost," he replied, and then asked her if 
 she were cold, making a timid motion as if 
 he would take the temperature of her hand, 
 and though she was motionless at the time, 
 yet he fancied a gesture of fright on her part 
 and his own hand fell hot and limp, curled 
 like a scorched leaf. She was not cold, she 
 said. 
 
 "But you are shivering." 
 
 "The wind wailing among the bushes 
 makes me think and I shiver when I think. 
 After all it is thought that is the tragedy of 
 life." In no book had he ever found so great 
 a saying and he pondered over it. It was not 
 possible that she could ever learn to love him, 
 200 
 
An American in New York 
 
 with such thoughts in her head. He won 
 dered what she would say next and he waited. 
 She began to speak and along his nerves he 
 felt her words tingling even before he heard 
 them. "Sometimes there comes one into our 
 lives who permits us to utter the truths lying 
 idle within us and for this we ought to be 
 thankful." 
 
 "Yes," he repeated several times, remem 
 bering that the Colonel had said something 
 like this, striving to think of something to fit. 
 He thought of "truth is mighty and will pre 
 vail," but that wouldn t do, and besides it 
 was not his own. What was his own ? Was 
 anything his own? "Truth is so much bigger 
 than fact," he said. 
 
 "Yes," she replied, "fact is a photograph, 
 while truth is a painting," and within him he 
 felt his hope of ever winning her gasp out its 
 life. He must cap that or be utterly lost. 
 "Yes, fact is a truth stripped of all grace." 
 
 "And then we have the naked truth," she 
 laughed, and in a dumb chill he listened to 
 her music. "I wonder what time it is getting 
 to be," she said, when her music had ceased. 
 He took out his watch, held it to catch the 
 light, saw the hour leap forward and told her 
 201 
 
An American in New York 
 
 that it was nearly eleven. Gracious alive, she 
 had no idea that it was nearly so late. "You 
 are a killer and an embalmer of minutes and 
 a builder of monuments to hours," he said, 
 and felt that at last he had uttered something, 
 and she must have thought so, too, for she 
 muttered, "beautiful." 
 
 2O2 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A PROJECT FORMING. 
 
 The Colonel and the Widow soon tiring of 
 the cold wind in the park returned to the 
 hotel, and in the Turkish room they sat wait 
 ing for Sammy and Imogene. The Ameri 
 can had been talking of the age of youth, de 
 claring that we are still young as long as we 
 have something in which we take enthusiastic 
 interest. "I don t mean in the way of money- 
 getting," he said, "for we have authority and 
 experience to tell us that avarice increases 
 with age. "It is rare, madam, that one meets 
 a generous old man. It doesn t argue gener 
 osity when decrepitude appropriates a great 
 fund for charity, nor is it mere kindliness 
 when near the close of a grinding life a man 
 builds libraries. Man, scrapping for some 
 sort of immortality, builds a monument in the 
 name of charity, hoping that his own name 
 may live beneath it. If I should tell you of 
 something that I have for a long time had in 
 mind you would laugh at me." 
 
 He expected her to say that she would not, 
 203 
 
An American in New York 
 
 but she replied that perhaps she should. In 
 a puzzled frown he looked at her. "Don t 
 you know that there s nothing more sacred 
 than a hobby? And would you make sport 
 of a hobby?" 
 
 "I didn t say that I should laugh. I said 
 perhaps." 
 
 "Ah, but when perhaps a woman would 
 laugh she will. However, I m going to tell 
 you any way. You ve seen a play called Jim 
 the Penman, haven t you?" 
 
 "Yes, I think so." 
 
 "Well, into my life there came a sort of 
 Jim the Penman play, long before I had ever 
 seen the acted drama, and perhaps before it 
 was written. In it is embodied a good deal 
 of Western life, and at odd times I have writ 
 ten it out in the form of a drama. As it 
 now stands it couldn t be played on a ten-acre 
 lot, but I was thinking of getting some one 
 to help me with it make it walk and talk, 
 you understand. I wouldn t bother with a 
 manager; I would rent a theater for a certain 
 length of time." 
 
 She was too much surprised to laugh at his 
 whim not surprised that he had a play, but 
 that he thought of renting a theater in New 
 204 
 
An American in New York 
 
 York. "Why, Colonel, that would involve a 
 perfect storm a regular blizzard of ex 
 pense." 
 
 "Perhaps so, but I can see about it. I met 
 an actor to-day, man named Skidder ever 
 hear of him?" She shook her head. "Well, 
 I believe he could make my play go. And be 
 sides, he is out of a job." 
 
 Now she laughed. "Ah," she said, "no 
 Rockefeller could afford to put on a play for 
 every actor that is out of a job." 
 
 "Hum don t suppose any Rockefeller 
 would ever care how many players were out 
 of jobs. But this fellow Skidder appeals to 
 me. I never saw him before, but in a way 
 he comes out of my past. I ll drop him a 
 note and tell him to come around to see me." 
 
 "But, Colonel, can you afford it?" In the 
 tones of her voice and in the look that she 
 gave him there was real interest. About 
 every good woman there was something just 
 a little old-timey, he thought, and as now he 
 studied her he saw with his memory-eye many 
 a graceful and gracious woman of the past, 
 some of them with their needles and some 
 singing sweetly like birds because their hearts 
 were light. All of the world shrewdness 
 205 
 
An American in New York 
 
 seemed to have melted from the Widow s eyes, 
 leaving them aglow with a soft and kindly 
 luster; and he mused to himself that her 
 mother-love could make any son great. 7" nen 
 he fell to wondering whether within her the 
 maternal instinct were strong or whether con 
 vention had killed it. 
 
 "Madam, if man had done only the things 
 that he could afford to do, we should still be 
 trudging through the mire of the dark ages." 
 
 "I can t agree to that. It was doing the 
 things he could not afford that has made the 
 world miserable, that has filled it with mental 
 and physical disease." 
 
 "Madam, you have now raised an issue 
 upon w r hich we will not argue. I uttered but 
 a half truth and you have made it wholly 
 false." 
 
 "Ah, Colonel, your gallantry would make 
 any opposition to you false as dicers oaths." 
 
 "Good, madam; good, though I don t de 
 serve it. But going back, I d like to put that 
 play on. I just want to see it, and if it 
 pleases me it wouldn t make any difference 
 whether it s a success or not. I wouldn t re 
 gard it as an investment, but as a game the 
 mere playing of which is worth the money." 
 206 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Ah," she said, looking at him through 
 shrewd, half-open eyes, "and you would send 
 for your wife to be present at the first pres 
 entation, wouldn t you?" 
 
 u Ur madam, my wife is exceedingly re 
 ligious and under no consideration would she 
 go into a show house. She bears the distinc 
 tion of never having wept over East Lynne." 
 
 She laughed. "Let us hope that you ll not 
 be forced to weep and to pull out your hair 
 over your own." 
 
 "If I am forced to pull out enough hair to 
 make a rope to hang myself I still shall have 
 accomplished something." 
 
 "Yes, you will have made a rope." 
 
 They looked at each other and laughed. 
 After a time she wondered what had become 
 of Imogene and Sammy, and the Colonel 
 said, "Oh, never mind them; they ll come 
 along after a while and in good season, ring 
 ing their golden bells. Yes, in good time. 
 Now wouldn t it be a joke if I, a staid citizen 
 of the quiet wilds, should create a sensation 
 with a play? Man nearly always believes 
 that it is safe to defer intellectual employ 
 ment. Those who believe that it is danger 
 ous to defer attempts at physical achieve- 
 207 
 
An American in New York 
 
 ment, flatter themselves with the close-hugged 
 notion that the mind grows stronger with ad 
 vancing years. This, perhaps, is the reason, 
 madam, that I have put off the production 
 this together with the fact that the men to 
 whom I ve shown it thought that it might be 
 well set for some indefinite time in the fu 
 ture." 
 
 She asked if he had read it to many man 
 agers. "I think I read up one copy of it," 
 he said. "And then I threw the new copy 
 into my trunk. That is what a man says after 
 he has carefully laid a thing away, you 
 know. No, I don t demand that you should 
 ask to read it. That would seem the proper 
 move, but proper moves are sometimes tire 
 some and inconvenient." 
 
 "But, Colonel, I beg your pardon for say 
 ing this, but if you find that you haven t 
 enough ready money to meet your purposes, 
 you " 
 
 "Madam, I thank you, but I can manage to 
 raise enough." 
 
 "That is fortunate, but in the event that 
 you can t, won t you let me join with you?" 
 
 "Ah, backwoods," he said, "you don t hold 
 all the hearts. Madam, you are so noble as 
 208 
 
An American in New York 
 
 to make yourself short-sighted. Unless you 
 have money to throw at a bird 
 
 "But have you that much, Colonel?" 
 
 "A man may have little and yet feel that 
 he has enough to throw at his own bird. I 
 could not permit you to cast a penny at a 
 strange lark." 
 
 She smiled, and in the light of her counte 
 nance he caught a sweetly sad reminder of the 
 actress girl who had died long ago; and now 
 he remembered that from the first he had 
 noted a resemblance between them, and he 
 wondered why he had not acknowledged it to 
 himself. A stronger love may be built upon 
 the foundation of a love that was lost. Dis 
 tress has created many an ideal. Had he 
 created one ? he asked himself. 
 
 "Don t you believe that a man and a 
 woman can be friends?" she inquired, as if it 
 were a serious matter on which she desired 
 exact information, and with a sudden lower 
 ing of sentimental vitality he answered that 
 he had no doubt of it. Then he thought: 
 "What a fool I am. She thinks I m married. 
 How could she look toward being other than 
 a friend? Shall I tell her that I was joking 
 when I spoke of my wife? No, it would 
 209 
 
An American in New York 
 
 freeze the current of her freedom. Let me 
 make of her if I can so dear a friend that it 
 might be unconscious love. She has called 
 me quaint, but quaintness cannot pass beyond 
 a certain interest. We don t fall in love with 
 the quaint, the funny, but with the sublime 
 and the tragic. Let me hold her as a friend." 
 Now she looked more like Mary Barksdale 
 Mary, maturer and stronger, a delicate vital 
 ity rounded with grace. "Madam, there is 
 a place not far from here that I should like 
 to visit with you." 
 
 "I m sure it would give me pleasure, Col 
 onel. What place is it?" 
 
 "The grave of Benjamin Franklin." 
 "He wasn t buried in New York, was he?" 
 "Madam, the past has contained several 
 great men who were not buried in New York, 
 except for a time socially." 
 
 "Oh, you ought to thank me for that op 
 portunity. Of course, I know American his 
 tory in a vague way and that is the only sort 
 of history that has ever been written of this 
 country but I confess that I don t know 
 where every great man is buried, and I sup 
 pose that all of the really great ones have 
 been buried." 
 
 210 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Either that, madam, or they were 
 drowned and their bodies not recovered. 
 Franklin is buried in Philadelphia." 
 
 "Sleeps there," she smiled. 
 
 "Ah, and you ought to thank me for that 
 opportunity. Will you go over there with 
 me, sometime?" 
 
 "Yes, any time." 
 
 "To-morrow morning?" 
 
 "Yes, if not too early. Graves will keep, 
 you know." 
 
 "Ha, his ought to be well kept. He was 
 perhaps the only world man we have ever 
 produced. Will eleven o clock be too early 
 for you ?" 
 
 "No. Then I ll meet you here at that 
 
 time." 
 
 "If it should be good weather?" 
 
 "Oh, the weather makes no difference. 
 Here they come." 
 
 Sammy and Imogene entered the room. 
 Saying the expected thing, the girl remarked 
 that they had enjoyed a delightful stroll and 
 had no idea that it was so late. "Auntie, 
 have you been back long?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered, and both Sammy 
 and the Colonel looked distressed. Soon 
 
 211 
 
An American in New York 
 
 they bade the women good night, and the 
 Colonel went to Sammy s room, and when 
 the door had been shut he looked at the boy 
 and said, "Well?" 
 
 "I don t know, dad. Sometimes she seems 
 to warm toward me, but my happiness is cut 
 short by the fear that she s playing me. Do 
 you think she is?" 
 
 "Don t know," answered the American, 
 shaking his head. U A woman may be sim 
 ple and practical, but i gad, she s always a 
 mystery, so far as I m concerned. And I 
 want to say right here that the Widow is 
 throwing her golden hooks into me. Well, 
 I ll go to my room and write to that fellow 
 Skidder. I ll tell you all about it some other 
 time. Sleep well. Good night." 
 
 212 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 AT BENJAMIN FRANKLIN S TOMB. 
 
 Early the next morning the Colonel heard 
 the rain beating at his window, and he 
 feared that all present idea of his pilgrimage 
 with the Widow to the grave of Franklin was 
 drowned. But when he met her at eleven 
 o clock she was arrayed in a waterproof, 
 and declared her readiness to go at once 
 though the rain had in no wise abated. She 
 called him dear, by mistake, or in unconscious 
 imitation of the shopgirl who makes current 
 slang of ancient terms of endearment; and 
 he looked sharp at her, expecting a pretty con 
 fusion, a blushed apology, but she simply 
 smiled, which led him to believe that she had 
 not been conscious of her thrilling slip of the 
 tongue. After a weak show of arguing on 
 the part of the Widow, Imogene had declined 
 to go, and Sammy therefore "went lame" in 
 a moment, as our wayward brother of the 
 race track would say. This pleased the Col 
 onel, as he had intended the company to be 
 213 
 
An American in New York 
 
 narrowly limited. They took a cab for the 
 Twenty-third street ferry, and with the rain 
 lashes whipping at the windows, they sat for 
 a time in silence. 
 
 "Delicious." This was what she said, and 
 he replied: 
 
 "If you hadn t said it I should have 
 thought there was a better word." 
 
 She smiled at him. "Well, isn t there?" 
 
 "Your utterance of it has made a better 
 one impossible," he declared, with a South 
 erner s oratorical emphasis. At times it may 
 be important to know whether or not one 
 has sighed, and at this moment he wondered 
 if she hadn t, but there was no way of finding 
 out. He couldn t very well ask her; it would 
 sound odd to his own ears to blurt forth from 
 silence with, "I beg your pardon, ma am, 
 but did you sigh?" 
 
 Out on the water they looked back at the 
 towers, dragons of trade, ghastly in the mist. 
 She spoke of the great, unhealthful turmoil 
 they were leaving. 
 
 "And yet you love it and would shudder at 
 the thought of leaving it permanently," said 
 the American, deftly touching into better ar 
 rangement the waterproof about her shoul- 
 214 
 
An American in New York 
 
 ders, for they were standing where the rain 
 splashed. 
 
 "Yes, I should shudder at the thought of 
 leaving any place permanently." 
 
 "Even the West, which you have not seen? 
 Surely you wouldn t shudder to leave the 
 West, having never seen it." 
 
 She laughed. "I don t think your little 
 sarcasms are so timely now when directed 
 at me. I mean with regard to the West." 
 
 "And why not?" 
 
 "Because you have made the West a land 
 to be sighed for." 
 
 "I hope you don t say that in earnest." 
 
 "But I do say it in earnest. Why did you 
 hope I didn t? Tell me." 
 
 "Oh, it wouldn t be right to make a human 
 being so proud as it would make me." 
 
 She looked at him and a memory-scent 
 came floating back to him, a geranium. How 
 much it had cost him, that geranium ! From 
 a hothouse in Denver he had brought it, for 
 Mary Barksdale, because it was a flower loved 
 by her. The stage coach encountered a great 
 drift of snow, but he wrapped his coat about 
 the flowerpot to keep life in the leaf; he blew 
 his warm breath upon it to drive away the 
 215 
 
An American in New York 
 
 frost. He kept it alive, and when he gave it 
 to the girl she smiled, just as this woman was 
 smiling now and the scent of the flower 
 arose and he felt its perfume tingling in his 
 senses. 
 
 "You will never leave off joking me," she 
 said. 
 
 "Madam, I " 
 
 "Don t call me madam." 
 
 "Ah, what shall I call you?" 
 
 "I wish you would call me Margaret." 
 
 "Then you d have to call me Jim." 
 
 "Oh, my gracious, that wouldn t do. I 
 should feel that I had committed a crime. 
 But I wish I could tell you what I think you 
 are without appearing rude or familiar. 
 Wish I could." 
 
 "But can t you?" 
 
 "No, you might not understand." 
 
 "If I am so short on understanding I 
 oughtn t to be called anything but fool. Tell 
 me or I ll step off into the river." 
 
 "I ll step with you." 
 
 "Ah, a tragic two-step. But what is it you 
 would like to call me ? Out with it." 
 
 "Oh, it isn t so very bad." 
 
 "I hope not. But what is it?" 
 216 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Something I always think of you as be- 
 ing." 
 
 u They have a word out West may have 
 come from down here. Word chump. Is 
 that it?" 
 
 "You know better than that. I m half in 
 clined now not to tell you at all." 
 
 "Had you intended to tell me?" 
 
 "Not when I first spoke, but was after 
 ward almost persuaded. Aren t we foolish?" 
 
 "I can answer for myself. I have been 
 foolish ever since I first saw you." 
 
 "Now, Colonel, don t talk that way. Re 
 member you are married." 
 
 "Yes, I had forgotten." 
 
 "You ought to be ashamed of yourself." 
 
 "What, to forget my troubles I mean my 
 happiness? When a man forgets his own 
 happiness it shows that he s not selfish." 
 
 For a time she was silent and then she 
 said: "You know if I thought that I were 
 wronging any woman it would make me 
 miserable." 
 
 "Ah, but when has woman become so lit 
 tle of a woman as not to wrong woman?" 
 
 "That s unworthy of you, Colonel." 
 
 "Then I take it back and swallow it like a 
 217. 
 
An American in New York 
 
 swamp man taking a dose of medicine, and 
 nowhere on this earth is there anything as bit 
 ter as chill medicine. I knew an old fellow 
 down in the cypress that " 
 
 "We are nearly ready to land. And you 
 haven t given me a chance to tell you." 
 
 "You wouldn t tell me. But weVe got 
 time enough." 
 
 "Now that I ve come to think more about 
 it, why it wouldn t sound very well. But 
 when meant as I mean it nothing then could 
 be bad about it. And there are so few men 
 exactly what you are. Wait, I ll tell you. 
 Lovable. That s the word. Lovable. Is 
 that so bad?" 
 
 "Oh, no it s I might say it s all right. 
 I mean, I thank you if you have brought 
 yourself down to that grade. You don t 
 know me. I m as mean as well, ask 
 Sammy." The passengers were hastening 
 off. "Margaret," he said, and in silence they 
 went ashore. 
 
 They had not more than time to get the 
 tickets and catch the train. For a long while 
 they were silent. There was nothing to look 
 ajt save the rain, blurred houses in mist; but 
 neither of them lamented the lack of the sun. 
 218 
 
An American in New York 
 
 Into the lathe of his mind the Colonel had 
 put a thought and was turning it round and 
 round, sometimes rapidly and then with slow 
 ness, the thought of whether or not he should 
 tell her that in his case there was no woman 
 to wrong. But the lathe broke and the 
 thought flew off into the space of indecision. 
 After all it was better not to tell her. As it 
 was they were making sufficient progress. If 
 she were in love with him her fear of wrong 
 ing his supposed wife would be proof enough. 
 And what a thrill to think that he had torn 
 her love from her. We respect morality; we 
 teach it, we enforce it upon those who are 
 dependent upon us, but man would like to 
 know that a woman loves him regardless of 
 all law. Especially does this seem to be true 
 when he has passed out of youth into experi 
 ence. Less capable of loving then, he would 
 compel more love from others. More hon 
 orable, perhaps, toward man, he is less so to 
 ward woman. Thus the American mused, 
 but he denied his self-assertion that he was 
 not as capable of giving love now as on 
 that night when he held Mary Barksdale in 
 his arms. 
 
 "Are you tired?" he asked, looking at her 
 219 
 
An American in New York 
 
 hair, her ears as she sat next to the window, 
 with her eyes turned toward the rain. 
 
 She looked around, into his eyes. "Oh, 
 not at all. I was wondering " 
 
 "What were you wondering ?" 
 
 "Oh, whether or not I had said too much. 
 We can always tell by our conscience, and 
 mine hurts me just a little." 
 
 "You can t always put faith in conscience. 
 A thing so educated might be taught to tell 
 an untruth." 
 
 "I am almost tempted to wish that I hadn t 
 said it." 
 
 "I don t blame you, for in the first place 
 it wasn t deserved; it wasn t appropriate." 
 
 "Oh, it isn t that, but on account of some 
 one else." 
 
 "I hope, Margaret, that you ll not let the 
 some one else worry you. What I give to you 
 belongs to no one else. What I give is your 
 own, for you created it." 
 
 She was looking away. He saw the color 
 mounting, saw her cheek glow red and *hen 
 turn pale. 
 
 "I don t believe it s raining quite so hard," 
 she said. It was raining harder, but he said 
 that he didn t think so either, and though she 
 220 
 
An American in New York 
 
 turned and looked into his eyes, neither of 
 them saw absurdity. They were silent. He 
 was dreaming when she spoke again. "You 
 must never say again what you said just 
 
 now. * 
 
 "What was it I said?" 
 
 u ls your memory so short?" 
 
 "It is longer than a rope that would serve 
 to hang me." 
 
 "No, not so long as a handkerchief turned 
 caticornered if you can t remember what I 
 said just now." 
 
 "Ah, but it might be as long as an endless 
 chain and then not recall anything you said 
 that should not have been said." 
 
 They seemed to think that this was a seri 
 ous conversation, and it was but natural that 
 a silence should fall. It did fall and long it 
 lay. 
 
 "Yes, I m sorry I said it. And I suppose 
 you are surprised to find me so weak when 
 you had thought me strong. I don t know 
 why, however, that you should have thought 
 me strong. I don t know that you did think 
 so. But the strongest women have their weak 
 moods." 
 
 "Yes," he said, "their charming moods. 
 221 
 
An American in New York 
 
 When a woman thinks she is strong, she s 
 quarrelsome. Her strength lies in her de 
 termination to do something she doesn t want 
 to do, whether it be right or wrong." 
 
 "When a man is put to for anything to say 
 he philosophizes about woman. He doesn t 
 know anything about her in the first place." 
 
 "If we can believe Writ it was in the first 
 place that he found out pretty much all he 
 knows about her." 
 
 "Oh, that old Eden story. Any religion 
 ought to be ashamed to foist it. And with 
 all of her self-sacrifice, her age after age of 
 devotion, woman has not been able to live it 
 down. Sometimes it angers me when I see 
 the steeple of a church, for it is the sign that 
 here is told over and over again the story of 
 woman s treachery to God. Suppose we take 
 a train back without going to the grave of a 
 man who believed " 
 
 "He was a philosopher and not a fanatic," 
 the Colonel broke in. "He was brave enough 
 to win and marry the girl who had once 
 laughed at him, when she first saw him, a 
 gaunt youth, going along the street eating 
 bread." 
 
 222 
 
An American in New York 
 
 She laughed. "Oh, he did. Well, I don t 
 see anything so very game in that." 
 
 "It showed forgiveness and that is some 
 times brave." 
 
 "His eating of bread proved his vegetari 
 anism, and that is not so very bold. I be 
 lieve it is raining harder." 
 
 He looked out and said that he believed 
 so, too, though the truth was that the clouds 
 were lighter and the rain drops smaller. 
 "We ll soon be there," she said. "And what 
 are we going to do when we get there?" 
 
 "See that the grave is kept green and come 
 back." 
 
 "I am tempted to say that you are hate 
 ful." 
 
 "And if you did you d not regret it as 
 you did before." 
 
 "Thought you didn t remember what I 
 said before." 
 
 He smiled at her as she turned from the 
 window. "You have seen a rose jar, haven t 
 you ? Well, everything you say goes into the 
 rose jar." 
 
 "Ah, and there to crumble," she laughed. 
 
 "There to perfume," he replied, bowing. 
 
 They got off in a drizzle. The Colonel 
 223 
 
An American in New York 
 
 inquired of a cabman if he knew of a restau 
 rant wherein Benjamin Franklin used to prac 
 tice vegetarian economy. He didn t know the 
 place, but if the gentleman would name the 
 neighborhood he might find it. Franklin ! 
 The name was familiar enough. He knew 
 of some Franklins in the second-hand cloth 
 ing business. "Well," said the Colonel; 
 "drive us to the oldest looking eating house 
 you can find." 
 
 Evidently he knew where it was, for 
 straightway he drove to a place that might 
 have marked the laying of the first brick in 
 the town. It was called the Home Oyster 
 House, and in the doorway an infant sat, and 
 with the handle of a broken knife was draw 
 ing upon the floor a diagram of the mysteri 
 ous world, a map of that eternity which lies 
 behind us all. 
 
 There was sand on the floor and cobwebs 
 hung from the ceiling. The oak tables, 
 heavy as a ship s timber, were without cloths, 
 and so old and so polished were they that 
 they shone like dusky mirrors. The chairs 
 looked as if they might have come out of a 
 continental courtroom. From some remote 
 depth came the wheezy notes of an accordeon. 
 224 
 
An American in New York 
 
 A tired-looking woman took up the child and 
 placed it further back into the room. Then 
 she presented herself to the Colonel and the 
 widow. 
 
 "How old is your little girl?" the Colonel 
 inquired. 
 
 "Boy," said the woman. 
 
 "Ah? Well, the better for him, perhaps. 
 Now let me see what we want." 
 
 There was no bill of fare and the woman 
 told him what she had, mainly mutton and 
 oysters. The Colonel asked if she knew how 
 long the place had been an oyster house, and 
 she answered that her grandfather had kept 
 it as such and that it had been the same under 
 administrations running far back behind his 
 time. Then the Colonel knew that Franklin 
 must have darkened the door with his gener 
 ous bulk; and thus flavoring his meal, he or 
 dered oysters in every style. "Have you en 
 joyed your trip?" he inquired of the Widow 
 when the woman had gone, and she an 
 swered: "It has been delightful." Then 
 after a meditative silence she remarked: "I 
 wonder what somebody would think if she 
 should see us sitting here together?" 
 
 "Guess she d think we were hungry." 
 225 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Yes, I am going to take back what I said. 
 You aren t lovable any longer." 
 
 "That s true, except as it would imply that 
 I had possessed that quality, at some time or 
 other. The fact is, Margaret you see I m 
 not going to surrender that liberty fact is, 
 that I m as unlovable as a hedgehog. I am 
 inclined to be polite, but as a general thing 
 politeness is a glossy garment to cover a 
 meanness. Under certain conditions I might 
 have passed for an average man, but as it is 
 I am small enough to be revengeful. There 
 is a man in this world that I hope one day to 
 kill." - 
 
 "Why, Colonel, how could you?" 
 
 "That s what I m thinking about; how can 
 I? I m trying to find him." 
 
 "I hope you haven t an appointment to 
 meet him at Franklin s grave." 
 
 "No, but just as likely to meet him there 
 as anywhere." 
 
 She looked down and for a time she pon 
 dered. "And is that the reason you didn t 
 go home when you were ready?" 
 
 "It is the reason I came, but not the reason 
 I didn t go." 
 
 "The coming of your adopted son 
 
 226 
 
"HE S WORTH MORE THAN ALL THE MONEY IN THE WORLD." 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Even before he came up to where I was 
 standing I had decided not to go. I wanted 
 to see something at least once more your 
 eyes." 
 
 "Don t you must not say that I shall 
 not permit it." 
 
 "But I have said it." 
 
 "I shall not permit you to repeat it. Re 
 member that, please. Oh, that little fellow 
 is about to tumble out." 
 
 She ran to the door, gathered up the 
 youngster, who was in no danger of falling, 
 and kissed his toiled-stained face. The child 
 looked at her with his wondering eyes. The 
 woman came in. "Put him down, miss. 
 He s not clean enough for you to handle. 
 Oh, Marcus, what a face you ve got. I just 
 can t keep him looking like anything ; he gets 
 into such mischief." 
 
 "Let me hold him if he ll stay. Dirty as 
 he is, madam, he s worth more than all the 
 money in the world." 
 
 "Yes, he s everything to me. His father 
 died in November, and his sister the only 
 girl I had, went away with some man and 
 do let me wipe his face just a little." 
 
 "I wish he were mine," said the widow. 
 227 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "I love dirty babies. They seem to have 
 more character than clean ones." 
 
 The Colonel came forward. "Let me look 
 at him/ said he. "I am a judge of babies 
 sometimes I sit on the supreme bench of the 
 baby show. And i gad, madam, this one 
 takes the premium. Here it is," and upon 
 the youngster s palm he placed a twenty-dol 
 lar gold piece. 
 
 "Oh, sir," the woman cried out, "he can t 
 possibly take that." 
 
 "If he doesn t, madam, I ll leave your 
 house and never darken your door again. I 
 am appointed by the government to seek out 
 deserving babies, and I have given him the 
 premium provided for by law. If our oysters 
 are ready I wish you d bring them, as we are 
 in something of a hurry." 
 
 "Yes, sir, I will. Marcus, thank the gov 
 ernment gentleman. Oh, but what is your 
 name, sir?" 
 
 "I m number seventeen, madam." 
 
 "Oh, Marcus, shake hands with number 
 seventeen. Come on, now, with mamma. 
 You are rich yes, you are rich. God bless 
 you, sir." 
 
 228 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 READ ALL THE TIME. 
 
 The rain had ceased and the day, femaled 
 with a tenderness as of grief, had wrapped 
 about her face a veil of mists. At the grave 
 of an immortal one of earth, the American 
 and the Widow stood, he bare of head, look 
 ing on with reverence, and she looking with 
 wonder at him as if she half expected him to 
 break forth into some sort of wild ceremony. 
 "Modern times, thy greatest clay, 1 he said. 
 He looked at her as if he expected her to 
 charge him with exaggeration, but she said 
 nothing. "Other Americans have been 
 great," he went on, "great for their coun 
 try, but this man was great for the world and 
 for all time. European science laughed at 
 him, and he compelled it to drop to its knees 
 and sue for pardon of its ignorance. Oxford 
 tittered and then shouted. And after thread 
 ing life s busy ways, here he lies, but in that 
 light over yonder his spirit twinkles. His 
 mind was the electric light. His was the 
 first thought that flew about the world in the 
 229 
 
An American in New York 
 
 twinkling of an eye. Buried here, but living 
 in every hall of science. He had but one 
 brother, the master of the ideal world, 
 Shakespeare, while he the younger was mas 
 ter of the world material. The civilization of 
 the nineteenth and the twentieth centuries was 
 his offspring. The glory of the past was the 
 sword. The glory of the future, the lamp; 
 and this man made the lamp anew. Once I 
 saw a comet and I imagined that it was 
 Franklin, waving a scarf of flame at the 
 earth. And though he was so great, the 
 world is not yet ready to give him his due. 
 The soldier still flashes his sword and the 
 politician continues to pour words sweetened 
 with flattering wantonness into the ears of 
 man. But in the mighty round-up, a thousand 
 years shall be but an unbranded maverick in 
 the herd of the ages, and then the world shall 
 read, in letters blazed from the sky, the rec 
 ord of its debt to the soul that once inhabited 
 this bit of mold." 
 
 He looked about for his hat, found it lying 
 on a wet stone, put it on his head and turned 
 to the Widow as if for commendation or 
 agreement. "Ah, hope I don t presume when 
 I say that you must have heard what I said." 
 
 230 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Yes, Colonel, and it was a good declama 
 tion; and I don t feel disposed to dispute a 
 man s claim to greatness, standing as I am 
 at his own grave, but from what I have read 
 of Franklin, I don t think that he was born, 
 reared, worked and died in such superlatives 
 as your enthusiasm would have me believe. 
 Wasn t Jefferson a great man?" 
 
 "I grant you, madam, but he was a close 
 reader of Rousseau and seemed to have 
 caught the expression if not the spirit of lib 
 erty from him." 
 
 "You can t deny to Washington " 
 
 "Madam, I deny to him nothing, but his 
 work could have been done by some one else." 
 
 She mused for a moment. "Lincoln," she 
 said. 
 
 "The inspired man of a dark hour," the 
 Colonel spoke. "His greatness was restricted 
 within the shores of one nation. If the outer 
 world acknowledges him at all, it is as of a 
 man with a great heart. To the sympathetic 
 heart the world sometimes pays the tribute 
 of sympathy. Any other objections to offer ?" 
 
 "No, I believe not," she answered, with 
 a gesture of the hand, as if dismissing herself 
 231 
 
An American in New York 
 
 she were ready to go. She looked at him 
 with a smile. "Shall I beg your pardon? * 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "For taking issue with you." 
 
 "Margaret, when you give a man an op 
 portunity to argue with a woman, you have 
 conferred a favor upon him." 
 
 "But I don t care for your arguments. I 
 would rather walk with you simply than to 
 ride with you in your sky-wagon. The best 
 I have ever liked you was in that little restau 
 rant, just now." 
 
 "And the best I have ever liked you, Mar 
 garet, was when you took to your mother- 
 heart that soiled bit of wayward man s ex 
 periment that child. No ballroom queen 
 was ever so beautiful." 
 
 "Oh," she laughed; "let us go back and 
 I ll grab him again. But, Colonel, why did 
 you give him so much money? Could you 
 afford it?" 
 
 "It is a rare thing that the man who can 
 afford does afford. But I could and I did. 
 Doubtless a smaller amount would have 
 served as well, but I felt that the contribu 
 tion must be in gold and I had no suitable 
 232 
 
An American in New York 
 
 piece. I couldn t ask for change, you know. 
 Well, we ll get a cab." 
 
 On the way back to New York he told her 
 that he had written to Skidder, requesting 
 him to call concerning the production of the 
 play. She said that she wished that he would 
 let her be partner in the venture. "No mat 
 ter how much it may cost I ll willingly fur 
 nish half the money," she said. 
 
 "I wonder that you have any money at all," 
 he replied. "Don t you know that on my 
 part this play is simply a whim ; and you must 
 understand that a whim is always a poor in 
 vestment." 
 
 "But whims are sometimes our greatest 
 pleasures. A poem is sometimes nothing but 
 a whim. Your man Franklin s catching of 
 the lightning was nothing but a whim." 
 
 "Margaret, you are the only woman com 
 panion I have ever known." 
 
 "I think it s going to rain again," she said. 
 
 "Rain again just because you are my only 
 woman companion?" 
 
 They laughed with so much more of a gur 
 gle of sentiment than with a show of mirth 
 that a mischief-loving newsboy brought for- 
 
 233 
 
An American in New York 
 
 ward a box of sweets, and was rewarded with 
 a quick sale. 
 
 "You either give money or spend it all the 
 time," she said, nibbling a bon-bon. "But 
 tell me more about your play." 
 
 "Yes, speaking of giving money away. 
 Well, it s heart and treachery; and it seems 
 that if one doesn t catch em the other ought. 
 Art, you know, is out of the question. Art 
 makes its appearance as a determined revival. 
 Trash is spontaneous, but the trash of one 
 age may be the art of the age to follow. I 
 wonder what Sammy and " 
 
 "Imogene are doing?" she broke in. "Oh, 
 chattering gravities." 
 
 "Yes, dignifying trifles." 
 
 "He seems to be a very sane young man," 
 she said, shooting a sly glance at him, pop 
 ping him with a whip lash from the corner of 
 her eye. 
 
 "Who, that boy! Crazy as a jumping 
 bean. An old fellow that used to keep a toll- 
 gate out on the Bardstown pike " 
 
 "Of course, he died many years ago, and 
 if he did, we ll let him rest. We were talking 
 about Sammy." 
 
 "Ah, but am I not to illustrate?" 
 
 234 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "No, not now." 
 
 "Then you would reduce me to a skeleton. 
 Illustration illumines truth." 
 
 "Obscures it." 
 
 "All right. Then without illustration I ll 
 say he s crazy." 
 
 "Over Imogene? I didn t think so." 
 
 "You knew it. She knew it. Both of you 
 knew it as soon as he did." 
 
 She moved closer to him. "And wasn t 
 it an agreeable discovery?" 
 
 "Don t know about that. If so, something 
 must have made it agreeable. What was it?" 
 
 "Oh, perhaps a previous discovery that 
 she was crazy about him. She came home 
 raving over him saw him in a Mexican ball 
 
 room." 
 
 "Humph ! Two wing-broken birds flopping 
 in the air at once. He followed her to New 
 York. And if both are crazy, it follows nat 
 urally that they must merge into one insanity. 
 But will she marry a youth who has his for 
 tune yet to make?" 
 
 "Imogene has character an individuality 
 that would scorn the selling of self. She is 
 not handsome, but she is something more 
 than handsome; she is a soul. If she loved a 
 
 235 
 
An American in New York 
 
 drayman she would marry him and take care 
 of his horse. She could have married a titled 
 foreigner; she could have lived in a worm- 
 eaten mansion, and what could appeal more 
 to a romantic girl? There is only one thing 
 that I regret, concerning it all I regret that 
 he is not really your son." 
 
 He was holding her hand. Slowly she 
 took it away. "No," she said. "No. I can t 
 forget the other woman. And I ought this 
 moment to despise myself, but somehow I 
 can t. I have no right to be with you, no 
 right to be happy with you, but never have 
 I been so contented, so completely at rest as 
 you have made me. But after to-day we must 
 meet only as 
 
 "Enemies?" he said. 
 
 "Only as friends." 
 
 "But haven t we been meeting as friends?" 
 
 "At first we were acquaintances," she said. 
 "You came with a sort of soft and mellow 
 ripeness. You reminded me of a harvest ap 
 ple. You told quaint stories. In your bow 
 there was the gentlemanly past portrayed in 
 pantomime." She hesitated. "And then- 
 then you paid court to me, but now it seems 
 that you have grown indifferent." 
 236 
 
An American in New York 
 
 He smiled at her and in his smile there 
 was mischief. "Was I growing indifferent 
 when I said something which you declared I 
 must never repeat? Doesn t it seem that I 
 have paid court in so far as you would per 
 mit me?" 
 
 Suddenly her manner, the expression of 
 her countenance underwent one of those little 
 indefinable changes which it would no doubt 
 strain the minuteness of a camera to catch, 
 but which means so much as almost to pull 
 down or to reconstruct an entire nature. "Oh, 
 but why should you, a married man, pay 
 court to me? You must know that I could 
 never permit such a thing. I hope you have 
 not misunderstood my kindness. As I said, 
 you came with so simple, so delicious a na 
 ture, sparkling like the dew on the clover. 
 But now it seems that you suppose me to ex 
 pect oh, to be paid court to. That was 
 taking a low view of me, Colonel." 
 
 "Ah, madam, how you have misinterpreted 
 me. Not for a moment have I thought of 
 you as other than kind; and I knew that you 
 couldn t possibly want me to pay court to 
 
 you. But I am frank to say that if I 
 
 he hesitated and eagerly she questioned him. 
 
 237 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "But if what, Colonel?" The train had 
 stopped at a station and her voice was as 
 soft as the dusk twitter of a summer bird. 
 
 "Madam, what I was going to say, per 
 haps would be better left unsaid." 
 
 "That would be taking an unfair ad 
 vantage, Colonel; and surely you wouldn t 
 seek the advantage over a friend." 
 
 "I am afraid that it might wound you." 
 
 "Wound me ! Am I a peevish child to be 
 treated as if I had no estimation and no 
 thought?" 
 
 "Well understand you urge me." 
 
 "Oh, no, I don t urge you." 
 
 "Then we ll leave it unsaid." 
 
 "And if I had urged you I don t suppose 
 it would have made any difference. If it be 
 something that I should not hear, why I m 
 sure I am quite capable of defending myself 
 against it. But of course I shall not invite a 
 tingling of the ears. Perhaps it was better 
 that you didn t say it. Yes, and I thank you 
 for keeping it back." 
 
 The train moved on. The lamps were 
 lighted. A boy came through with the latest 
 238 
 
An American in New York 
 
 editions of the afternoon newspapers. The 
 Colonel bought three or four. The Widow 
 took up a pink sheet and sat looking out into 
 the dark. Then she glanced at the head 
 lines. The Colonel caught up a statistical 
 editorial on immigration and became inter 
 ested in it. 
 
 "It is pleasant to travel with one that 
 reads all the time," she said. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, madam, but I thought 
 you were reading." 
 
 "You gave me every inducement to read, 
 I m sure. Yes, even to the buying of news 
 papers and foisting them upon me. And I 
 suppose that now every intention of telling 
 me what you had intended to say and so un 
 graciously held back has passed out of your 
 head. Has it?" 
 
 "May be I had dismissed it." 
 
 "And am I so easily dismissed, Colonel? 
 Now, why don t you tell me?" 
 
 "I will. I was going to say that if ever 
 I had met a woman who unconsciously on 
 her part demanded that I should pay court 
 to her, regardless of all existing and all pre- 
 239 
 
An American in New York 
 
 vious obligations, it was surely yourself. I 
 was going to say that with the purest relig 
 ion in my heart I could kneel to you and 
 
 "Some one is listening, I m sure. No, you 
 mustn t talk that way. Oh, here we are at 
 the ferry." 
 
 240 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 BROUGHT HIM A NOTE. 
 
 As they were crossing the black water he 
 addressed her as madam and she seemed sur 
 prised. "I thought you were going to call 
 me Margaret." He said that somehow his 
 freedom with her was gone, since she had ob 
 jected to it, and she declared that she had not 
 objected. Silently they drove up town, and 
 just before getting out at the hotel she said: 
 "Oh, I forgot to tell you not to say anything 
 to Sammy not to let him know that Imo- 
 gene thinks more of him than of a friend. 
 Let him find it out for himself. It is always 
 sweeter then. Let me thank you for a happy 
 day. No, for a day when you have been 
 kind enough to put up with me." 
 
 The Colonel went to Sammy s room. The 
 young fellow was walking up and down, and 
 seemed to be sick with a long period of trou 
 ble-bringing meditation. He shook hands 
 with the Colonel as if many months had 
 elapsed since their separation. During the 
 day he had not seen much of Imogene, but 
 241 
 
An American in New York 
 
 he had seen enough to know firmly and 
 finally what he had all along suspected, that 
 she did not love him. He had never believed 
 that she did. How could she, so graceful, so 
 aspiring, such a thinker, such a soul? He had 
 come to her as one of the many ordinary 
 chaps, loving but incapable of making a liv 
 ing. This fact alone while materialistic and 
 having naught to do with the soul, proved 
 that he was not worthy of her, a man of no 
 force, a failure. All of this was as preface 
 to another edition of his desire to acquaint 
 her with his prospects. But the Colonel 
 shook his head. 
 
 "It is hardly worth while for me to re 
 peat what I ve said on the subject. But I 
 will. If she s not willing, yes, anxious to take 
 you whether or no, she s not worth having. 
 Never let anything crowd that out of your 
 mind." 
 
 "But see here, dad; isn t a girl to use any 
 judgment at all? If not she might just as 
 well accept one fellow as another." 
 
 "Then you think it ought to be a show 
 down of pocket-books, eh?" 
 
 "Oh, not that, dad; of course not that. 
 But he ought to show in some way that he s 
 242 
 
An American in New York 
 
 worth something. You can t leave it to a 
 fellow s own expression of what is in him 
 when he is almost stricken dumb. That s the 
 reason the insincere duffer sometimes wins 
 the finest woman. Insincerity is glib, while 
 a genuine white heat of love often splutters. 
 And like every other galoot of my class, the 
 moment I m away from her there wheels 
 into action a machine gun, popping out words 
 five hundred to the minute. Let s eat here, 
 dad. I don t want to go down and run the 
 risk of seeing her again to-day." 
 
 This met the Colonel s view, and they or 
 dered dinner to be served in the room. The 
 American was not disposed to talk, not even 
 to tell a story; nothing reminded him of OW 
 So-and-so, and Sammy remarked upon it. 
 
 "Hadn t noticed that I was silent, my 
 boy." 
 
 "Silence contemplates noises but not it 
 self," said the youth. 
 
 "Eh, getting back among em Lucullus 
 and the rest. Didactic and in love. But if 
 you ve retained any scraps of learning, don t 
 flash em in New York. They ll call you 
 schoolmaster, and they have a contempt for 
 
 243 
 
An American in New York 
 
 the pedagogue. What s become of her 
 brother?" 
 
 "Dick? Oh, he comes around once in a 
 while. I don t think he likes me very much. 
 To-day he took her off to one side and talked 
 to her." 
 
 "Wanted to borrow money from her, I 
 guess," said the Colonel. 
 
 "I wonder if that was it. She gave him 
 something." 
 
 "That was it, I warrant you." 
 
 "Dad, you ve got us all sized up pretty 
 well." 
 
 "All but myself, and there I stall. 
 Thought I had the Widow placed pretty 
 well, but didn t. Gad, she s quirky, and part 
 of the time to-day she made me as sad as 
 sad as low water." 
 
 "As low water! Is that sad?" 
 
 "If you d ever been a steamboatman you d 
 think so. Reckon I was too open a book for 
 her. She committed me to memory and now 
 now she can repeat me at her leisure." 
 
 The boy sat musing. In his mind there 
 
 dwelled something that the girl had told him 
 
 in confidence: "I don t know what is the 
 
 trouble with Aunt Mag. And I m going to 
 
 244 
 
An American in New York 
 
 say something I shouldn t say, for it s awful, 
 but I believe that in spite of herself she is 
 in love with the Colonel. Just think how 
 desperate that would be in love with a mar 
 ried man. But of course it will be impossible 
 for him ever to discover it. Like the strong 
 woman she is she ll hide it. And that is what 
 real virtue means, suppression and renuncia 
 tion." 
 
 The boy wanted to tell him as he sat there, 
 pondering, doubtless thinking of her, but un 
 der the bond of confidence the youth was 
 dumb. 
 
 Dinner was served. The Colonel had 
 lighted his cigar and was meditatively smok 
 ing when there came a knock at the door. 
 Sammy answered it. A page wanted to know 
 if the Colonel were within. He had brought 
 a note. The American took it, and though 
 the handwriting was not familiar, his fingers 
 trembled as he tore open the envelope. It 
 was from the Widow, and thus the note ran 
 in characters almost tumbling over one an 
 other in their haste : 
 
 "My Dear Chum: I couldn t let the 
 night pass into the darkness of all the other 
 nights without a show of repentance on my 
 
 2 45 
 
An American in New York 
 
 part for my beastly humor to-day. I don t 
 know why I was so inhuman as to cross you, 
 the best friend I ever had, indeed, the only 
 spiritual friend I have ever known. Have 
 you looked out upon this night? The clouds 
 are gone, like my mean humor, and the moon 
 is shining, and the upper air is star-dusty as 
 if some one were beating a carpet in the 
 milky-way. How patient you were how 
 kind when I was at my worst. But one of 
 these days I am going to put your good hu 
 mor to the test ; I am going to tell you some 
 thing of my life and then you must despise 
 me. How natural I feel to-night, and a wom 
 an is always weak when she is natural. But 
 who ever loved a strong woman? Who is 
 the author of this, or is it a proverb out of 
 the anonymous fog of the ages: ( A man 
 loves with his eyes and a woman with her 
 ears. Is that the reason why a beautiful 
 young woman, an heiress, courted by sappy 
 lords, fell in love with Old Sheridan, the 
 pauper genius? Love! Indian philosophy 
 called it wisdom. I wonder if it is. Whence 
 comes it? And if it be of a sort forbidden 
 of man, why should it not have been forbid 
 den of God and not permitted to be born? 
 However I do not write to philosophize but 
 to ask pardon for my pettishness to-day. 
 Can you recall the words you spoke at the 
 grave of Franklin? I wish you would write 
 
 246 
 
An American in New York 
 
 them for me. Imogene is sad to-night. She 
 has been convinced that Sammy does not love 
 her. How blind some people are. I should 
 like to tell her what you told me, that he is 
 crazy over her, but must not. It would be a 
 violation of your confidence. At this mo 
 ment I suppose you are telling a story, hav 
 ing forgotten all about our little journey; 
 and at this moment, too, there comes the 
 strains of a waltz. I wonder if you hear it. 
 Good night." 
 
 Carefully the Colonel put the paper into 
 his pocket. Then he took it out, read it again 
 and placed it in his pocket-book. 
 
 "Anything gone wrong?" Sammy in 
 quired. 
 
 "Oh, no, everything s all right." 
 
 "From er " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Oh, and she has written to say that Imo 
 gene doesn t want to see me again. Is that 
 it?" 
 
 "Far from it." 
 
 "Are you sure, dad?" 
 
 "Well, I can read." 
 
 "What does she say? It must be some 
 thing, for it hasn t been long since you saw 
 
 247 
 
An American in New York 
 
 her. It is something that has come up sud 
 denly. Does she mention me at all?" 
 
 "Sammy, she s a most remarkable I 
 might say a most unexpected woman. Some 
 how we didn t get along very well coming 
 back. I seemed to have lost out with her; 
 I couldn t say anything to glamour her, so 
 to speak. And she showed her impatience. 
 Now she writes to show her repentance." 
 
 "Dad, she loves you. That s all there is 
 to it." 
 
 "None of that, you rascal. Charming ras 
 cal, though, i gad. But how can she when 
 she thinks I m married?" 
 
 "Dad, you re old fashioned." 
 
 "What, because I attribute to woman " 
 
 "A lack of human nature," said the youth. 
 "Woman s nature hasn t changed, but from 
 what I can gather it was the fashion in the 
 South for man gallantly to blind himself to 
 ward her human qualities and to open wide 
 his eyes to angelic attributes. In matters of 
 the heart he made her superhumanly strong. 
 Do you suppose that when a man and a wom 
 an are constantly thrown together when 
 they are such companions as to forget sex 
 do you suppose the fact that one of them is 
 248 
 
An American in New York 
 
 married constantly lives in the mind of the 
 other? Do you?" 
 
 "I don t suppose anything, Sammy. Two 
 or three times to-day I began to suppose, and 
 then found out I was wrong. But never in 
 the South or elsewhere have I set up the di 
 vinely unnatural for woman. I have been 
 too much of a rounder not to know some 
 thing of life, and if I started out in the be 
 lief that woman was at all times an angel, 
 the idea has at least been jostled a time or 
 two." 
 
 He arose and, with his hands behind him, 
 meditatively walked up and down the room. 
 There came another knock at the door, and 
 the page that had brought the note from the 
 Widow, now brought a card from Joseph 
 Aukwall Skidder. 
 
 249 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 UNDER WAY. 
 
 Mr. Skidder appeared, fur-shedding plug 
 hat in hand, bowing in the door; and as an 
 old acquaintance the Colonel seized him by 
 the hand. "But we d better go to my room," 
 said the American. "The play is there. 
 Come, both of you." 
 
 The drama was hauled out and the experi 
 enced Mr. Skidder shuddered at its bulk. 
 He reached down and felt about his ankles 
 to determine whether or not his faded yellow 
 spats were buttoned, placed his black-thorn 
 cane on the floor beside his chair, rolled his 
 eyes in mute appeal at the Colonel and said 
 that he was ready. He looked as if he had 
 yielded to the final adjustment of the sheriff. 
 Sammy stood with one arm resting on the 
 low mantelpiece. 
 
 As the Colonel began to arrange the type 
 written sheets he said that he was no reader. 
 Mr. Skidder spoke in commendation of this 
 apparent fault, saying that the qualities of a 
 play should be bright enough to shine 
 250 
 
An American in New York 
 
 through the evils of bad declamation. The 
 Colonel looked at him, smiled and gave him 
 an approving nod. Then he began to speak 
 of the conditions under which the play had 
 been written; and in the gentlest manner 
 Skidder gave him to understand that the pub 
 lic didn t give, u ah, a damn for conditions." 
 
 "I was giving them for your own informa 
 tion, sir," said the Colonel. 
 
 "Ah, yes, of course." He picked up his 
 cane, stuck the head of it into his cheek, took 
 it out, put the cane down and with his hand 
 kerchief dusted his spats. Sammy stood with 
 his eyes half closed, like a colt dreaming in 
 the sun. 
 
 "Understand," said the Colonel, "that I 
 don t know how to pull the strings that fetch 
 them on or off." 
 
 Skidder looked at him compassionately. 
 How was it possible for him to know? Had 
 it not taken Hartley Campbell and some of 
 the rest of them nearly half a lifetime to 
 understand? 
 
 "But," said the Colonel, "I am not too set 
 in my ways to accept of advice. IVe got it 
 cut up into acts all right." 
 
 Skidder could not- restrain the remark: 
 251 
 
An American in New York 
 
 u Yes, but that much was done toward dram 
 atizing the New Testament; the acts of the 
 Apostles, you know." 
 
 The Colonel laughed. "Well said, Davy, 
 most excellent said; and you may now sow 
 the headland with wheat with red wheat, 
 Davy." 
 
 Skidder looked at him with a comedy 
 squint in the eye. "Good as a paraphrase but 
 deplorable as a quotation. I beg your par 
 don if I interrupt." 
 
 "Oh, not at all. Well, I ll begin now." 
 
 He read the first act, or rather the first 
 break-off; and the actor smiled approvingly, 
 slowly nodding his apparently thoughtful 
 head. Sammy continued to dream, his eyes 
 half shut. 
 
 The second break-off was read. Skidder 
 got up, shook down the legs of his trousers 
 and resumed his .seat. Sammy s eyes were 
 closed. No one spoke, and after waiting for 
 a few moments, the Colonel went on with his 
 labor. And it was labor. On his brow stood 
 beads of perspiration. It seemed that his 
 mind had broken out in blisters. Another 
 curtain. Skidder spoke approvingly. Sammy 
 was gone. The end must come sometime, 
 252 
 
An American in New York 
 
 and it came. "Good," the actor cried. "I 
 don t see why it shouldn t make a hit. The 
 characters are true, the situ " 
 
 "That s all very well," the Colonel broke 
 in, "but tell me the truth, or rather what you 
 conceive to be true. I mean business and 
 didn t request you to call to flatter me. Do 
 you think that the thing can be larrupped 
 into shape?" 
 
 "Well, it would be almost like dramatiz 
 ing a novel." 
 
 "Well, that has been done, hasn t it?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; but the trouble will be well, in 
 finding a manager, a producer, an angel, if I 
 may employ a term familiar to the profes 
 
 sion." 
 
 "Manager be blowed and angel be hanged. 
 But I beg your pardon, for I haven t as yet 
 made it clear to you what my intention is. 
 I m to be my own producer. I understand 
 that Daly s can be rented; and I know that 
 actors as well as other men can be hired." 
 
 Skidder sprang up with a clap of his hands. 
 "By the Lord, you can hire me." 
 
 "All right, sit down. I want to engage 
 you to play the part of the betrayed hero, and 
 to act as stage manager. You are to get the 
 
 253 
 
An American in New York 
 
 company together, and sign agreements in 
 my name, to pay good salaries. Your own 
 salary well, now, let s see. I don t know 
 much about it, you understand. How would 
 three hundred a week " 
 
 At this moment Skidder no doubt per 
 formed his life s masterpiece of acting. His 
 heart had jumped out, over the top of his 
 head, but he caught it in the air, choked it 
 into submission, and back into his tumultuous 
 bosom he tossed it, smothered it. He thought 
 that three hundred a week might do, as a 
 starter. In his hey-day, at the time when he 
 had cut freshest and dewiest grass, his salary 
 had never kicked its heels above the fifty-a- 
 week mark. Once with a road company play 
 ing the Lady of Lyons he had signed at one 
 hundred, but not more than ten a week had 
 ever been paid. And was he now to wade 
 out, throat deep into such wealth ? 
 
 "I haven t as yet settled on a title," said 
 the Colonel. "It has seemed to me a pretty 
 hard thing to get at." 
 
 The actor put his elbow upon the arm of 
 the chair, gripped his brow and in this posi 
 tion pondered deeply. Finally he came out 
 of his meditation and waved his hand as if 
 
 254 
 
An American in New York 
 
 flagging a train of thought. "I think I have 
 it, sir," he said. "Call it Click City. The 
 name is of the town, and as apparently no 
 mistake was made in naming plays after 
 states, I shouldn t think it would be a risk to 
 I might say, to particularize with the name 
 of a town." 
 
 The Colonel took up the first page of his 
 manuscript and looked at it, as if he would 
 imagine Click City written at the top. "Per 
 haps we might as well settle on that name." 
 
 "And the name of the author is to be 
 
 "To you and the people of this hotel I am 
 J. Boyers. Whether or not this is my real 
 name makes no difference, since I run no 
 bills and since I shall pay you weekly in ad 
 vance, if you like." 
 
 Skidder hooted at the notion that it could 
 make any difference, and especially with him 
 self. But his breathing was noticeably easier 
 after the mention of "advance." 
 
 "But," added the Colonel, "for reasons of 
 my own I am going to have it printed on the 
 bills By an American in New York. " 
 
 "Capital," cried Skidder. "Great. And 
 now do you want me to get some one to 
 
 255 
 
An American in New York 
 
 dramatize it for you, or shall I take a pull at 
 it myself? I am not a stranger at the work. 
 I have plucked many a tail feather out of 
 plays flying past and have adorned many a 
 gloomy scene with them." 
 
 "Well, you may take it and do the best 
 you can, but there must be no theft. Use the 
 material I give you, and if we fail, let us fail 
 honestly. As soon as you get an act done, 
 bring it to me. Ah, by the way, I think you d 
 better take up your quarters here, at the Wal 
 dorf, at my expense, of course, so as to be in 
 immediate touch with me." 
 
 Skidder was staggered. "Ah," he said in 
 a sad tone, "nothing could give me more 
 pleasure, or indeed more standing, but the 
 present state of my wardrobe " 
 
 "Don t let that worry you. I ll give you 
 a bonus of a couple of hundred or rather 
 an advance on your salary, not as actor but 
 as playwright." 
 
 The actor could act no longer. He 
 bounded across the floor and seized the Col 
 onel s hand. "Ah, sir, you may not as you 
 say know how to pull the string to fetch the 
 characters on or off, but you know how to 
 
 256 
 
An American in New York 
 
 operate the golden cord to pull the long- 
 sunken sun out of his bed." 
 
 "Sit down." 
 
 "I shall not sit down until I tell you or 
 try to tell you what I think. You are a 
 materialized generosity, come out of the 
 spiritual world of art. You have no doubt 
 been engaged in great enterprises and have 
 made souls happy, but never a poor soul so 
 happy as this one to-night. You first met me 
 under most unfortunate circumstances, and 
 that makes more wonderful the miracle of it 
 all." 
 
 u Sit down, please." 
 
 u ln a moment, sir. Whiskey is the feeder 
 of two moods, despondency and elation, and 
 as it has fed one, it shall not feed the other. 
 Once more I must grasp your hand. I don t 
 think that in the world there is much of grat 
 itude, and especially does it seem rare among 
 those connected with the stage, but if I 
 haven t it, damned if I don t pray for it. 
 That s all I have to say, and now for work." 
 
 He began to bundle up the manuscript. 
 The Colonel gave him two one hundred dol 
 lar bank notes. He took them as if they 
 were stage money, and with a flourish tucked 
 257 
 
An American in New York 
 
 them into a pocket of his "wescut;" and then, 
 with the play under his arm, he backed out, 
 bowing. The American stood beneath the 
 chandelier. From his pocketbook he took 
 two sheets of paper and stood there a long 
 time, fondly gazing at them. 
 
 258 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE PRESS AGENT. 
 
 While yet the Colonel stood there, gazing 
 at the paper, he cried out: "Why, bless my 
 life, this ought to be answered. What could 
 I have been thinking about, talking to actors 
 and scheming to bring out a play. Ought to 
 be ashamed of myself to neglect so important 
 a matter." 
 
 He sat down, opened his desk, drew out a 
 block of paper and with a stub pen began 
 almost furiously to write. But when with big 
 characters he had covered a sheet he ripped it 
 off, muttered, "won t do/ and tore it into 
 pieces. "Now, just what sort of a letter 
 should a supposedly married man write to a 
 woman who tries to pick a quarrel with him, 
 repents most womanishly, and going into the 
 sky for a figure, catches a star on the point 
 of her pen and throws it at him ! Propriety 
 would seem cold. And yet, impropriety 
 would mean insult. But why not write to her 
 and tell her what a liar I have been declare 
 my love for her? And I do love her. Not 
 259 
 
An American in New York 
 
 with the wildness that I loved Mary, but it is 
 just as deep, just as strong. It is romance 
 not in the morning but at noon. What am I 
 thinking about? She is simply playing with 
 me. She wants to force from me some sort 
 of declaration and then deliver a lecture on 
 morality. I ll simply write her a humorous 
 note. I shall be more guarded with her, and 
 when the play has been brought out when I 
 find find what? I guess I m a little flur 
 ried. I ll go to bed and think it over. 
 Sammy says she loves me. Does the young 
 scoundrel think that such a thing could be 
 possible under existing circumstances? What 
 a fool position for a man to place himself in. 
 Why did I take up such a whim in the first 
 place? Because I wanted friendship and 
 didn t want to run the risk of other entangle 
 ments. Nice mess I ve made of it. I ll call 
 on her as early to-morrow morning as seems 
 proper and tell her tell her what? That I 
 have made arrangements to have my play 
 brought out." He turned out the lights and 
 sat in the dark, looking out upon the mottled 
 night. It was time to go to bed, but he con 
 tinued long to sit there, musing, wondering if 
 he had not made a mistake in everything 
 260 
 
An American in New York 
 
 he had done since coming; wondering, in 
 deed, if he had not made a mistake in com 
 ing. "I will sleep," he said, u and then I will 
 write to her. Says she will tell me some 
 thing to make me despise her. Hanged if 
 women haven t done that very sort of thing. 
 And that is the sort of thing they sometimes 
 want to tell. A woman believes that some 
 sort of confession is demanded of her. Well, 
 I m not demanding any confessions from this 
 woman. Suppose she should demand them 
 from me?" 
 
 In bed he lay a long time, carrying a 
 thought up to the verge of a dream, stum 
 bling and then back into wide wakefulness. 
 And when daylight came it seemed to him 
 that he had slept only in winks, but he felt 
 fresh and his mind was clear for the writ 
 ing of the letter. At ten o clock he was still 
 at the work, trying to get at what he wanted 
 to say and then laboriously copying what he 
 had not said to suit himself. There came a 
 noise at the door, intended to be a knock but 
 which sounded as if some one had sighed his 
 way to the threshold and then thumped in a 
 sort of despair with a help-begging palm. 
 "Take off your boxing gloves, knock with 
 261 
 
An American in New York 
 
 your knuckles and come in," called out the 
 Colonel, knowing that it was Sammy; and it 
 was. He came in and the fancy that he had 
 sighed his way to the door was not far from 
 the truth. He looked as if he had been seized 
 by the old washerwoman Fate and run 
 through the wringer of distress. 
 
 "Gone," he gasped, dropping into a chair. 
 
 "Well, hanged if you don t look it." 
 
 "I mean they are she is." 
 
 The Colonel arose and went toward him. 
 "Eh? Now tell me what you do mean. 
 Who s gone?" 
 
 "They are Imogene. They went just 
 now, and with no word except one or two 
 that I could scarcely understand. I was in 
 the corrider waiting to catch the earliest pos 
 sible glimpse of her, and I saw the porters 
 bringing the trunks out; and then they came 
 bundled up, and her face looked as if she had 
 been crying. I asked the meaning of it all, 
 and Imogene halted to tell me, but her Aunt 
 bade her come on. I followed along and 
 learned that they were going up into Con 
 necticut to be gone the Lord only knows how 
 long. She said that she would write 
 begged me not to follow, and looked at me 
 262 
 
An American in New York 
 
 with such appeal that my legs seemed to give 
 way under me and there I was, leaning 
 against the wall and they were gone. As 
 soon as I could I ran down and asked the 
 clerk if any address had been left and he said 
 that there had not. I asked him if he had 
 any idea, and he smiled like a frost crack in 
 a pumpkin. I knew that letter you had last 
 night contained something, and it was cruel 
 not to tell me, dad." 
 
 "Yes," said the Colonel, stepping back, 
 taking up the sheets upon which he had writ 
 ten and beginning to tear them to pieces. 
 "Something, but written in confidence and I 
 couldn t tell you. But there was in the note 
 no threat of this run-away, and my word for 
 it, nothing to give rise to the suspicion that 
 the girl is not as insane about you as you 
 are about her. So, don t let that part wor 
 ry you. The fact is, the Widow has gone to 
 punish me." 
 
 "But why does she want to punish you? 
 What have you done, except to treat her 
 kindly I mean to show her " 
 
 "That s just it, my boy. I m afraid I did 
 show her." 
 
 "Show her what?" 
 
 263 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Well, must have angered her by showing 
 that I was in love with her." 
 
 "Dad, you make me tired. That s exactly 
 what you didn t show her and it is what she 
 looked for. Now, don t fly off into virtue 
 and morality. A woman s a woman, and 
 that s all there is to it. Suppose you are 
 married? Yes, but isn t there such a thing 
 as divorce, and wouldn t she marry you if 
 she thought you divorced, yes, and on her ac 
 count? It is a proof of a woman s strength 
 if she can bring about a divorce, and she 
 loses sight of the weakness on the part of 
 the man." 
 
 "Oh," said the Colonel, "I had forgotten 
 you were educated in Chicago. But go 
 ahead, sage destined to be bald before 
 gray. But I want to tell you : It is singular 
 that you are old enough to understand my 
 case and yet so young that your own is a 
 mystery to you. Are widows the only open- 
 face time keepers of society? For my part 
 I m glad they are gone." 
 
 "Dad!" 
 
 "That s what I said. It will give me a 
 chance to get my play in shape, while if she 
 were here I should neglect everything for 
 264 
 
An American in New York 
 
 her. You ll hear from the girl. Don t wor 
 ry about that." 
 
 He pretended not to be worried, but he 
 was not so much because the woman was 
 gone, but because he could not get rid of 
 the thought that he had in some way acted 
 the fool. Sammy went out, into mourning, 
 and was not seen again during the day. At 
 two o clock in the afternoon Skidder made 
 his appearance, in new black with a flowered 
 "vest," and with a plug hat that mirrored 
 his surroundings. His thorn-stick, compan 
 ion and sign of profitless wanderings up 
 and down the actor market-place, had been 
 supplanted by a slight cane, gold-headed and 
 silver shod; he was shaved and rosy with 
 prospects, having been bathed in the sunshine 
 of promise. Within half an hour he was at 
 work, bell-boys flying about him, and the Col 
 onel, walking up and down the room, mar 
 veled at his dexterity, wondering why he had 
 not always found employment. In dramatic 
 work one swift judgment is worth a world of 
 detail. A thousand words put into a look, 
 ten pages into a gesture a volume into a 
 situation, mean success. The superfine liter 
 ary touch is nearly always fatal. The old 
 
 265 
 
An American in New York 
 
 dramatists spoke, but they talked in pictures, 
 painted scenery at a time when there was no 
 overalled artist with a bucket; they thun 
 dered, and literature that seeks to follow 
 them can only echo. 
 
 Skidder had not the failing of a literary 
 touch. But he knew the value of a poetic 
 thought expressed in action. And swift ac 
 tion expressed his own performance, for by 
 midnight the first act was as nearly com 
 pleted as it could well be made without the 
 test of rehearsal. The Colonel listened to 
 the reading, sometimes with an expression of 
 pain, for he saw many of his fancies fall like 
 birds shot dead in the air. He begged al 
 most piteously for one of his long speeches, 
 but the dramatist shook his head, and re 
 marked: "The reason I ve been so poor an 
 actor is perhaps because I ve been so good a 
 playwright." This was in one way encour 
 aging but alarming in another, for the play 
 must be acted as well as written. The Col 
 onel said that he hoped and Skidder shut 
 him off with the assurance that he had noth 
 ing to fear. On the day following the work 
 was slower, not because ambition was less but 
 because capacity had been strained. The Col- 
 266 
 
An American in New York 
 
 onel had learned something and now in his 
 own room he worked on the third act, be 
 lieving that in cutting out everything he could 
 make no mistake, but Skidder showed him 
 that he had simply shortened without having 
 embodied. The American swore that the dev 
 ilish thing was too elusive for him, and after 
 a long and finally successful search for his hat 
 he went out for a walk in the park. In the air 
 was the first suggestion of the coming spring. 
 No bud had begun to swell and there was no 
 peep of green; but the atmosphere was soft 
 and from the ground toward the top of a 
 tree an oriole flew, streaming a string from 
 his beak. The Colonel was sitting on a bench 
 where the sunlight fell, when Sammy came up, 
 and as such a meeting in New York is ever 
 regarded as a coincidence, they shook hands 
 and asked after each other s health, though 
 they had breakfasted together. 
 
 "I have heard from her," said Sammy. 
 
 "Good. Or is it good?" 
 
 "Well, it could be worse. She sent me a 
 poem." 
 
 "One of her own, and yet could be worse?" 
 
 "Now, dad, none of that. But she s dev 
 ilish stingy of her words. Only five pages. 
 267 * 
 
An American in New York 
 
 I could have written a hundred if I had picked 
 up and left her that way. Just a friendly 
 sort of letter with " 
 
 "With a sly whimper here and there," said 
 the Colonel. 
 
 "With a sigh, dad." 
 
 "Well, what more do you want? More 
 sighs? What does she say?" 
 
 "Oh, she and her aunt are at their country 
 home near New Haven, she doesn t say ex 
 actly where it is. It seems that the old lady 
 
 
 The Colonel fumed. "Old lady, now be 
 careful, sir. There s not five years difference 
 in their ages. They might well pass for sis 
 ters if the girl were handsomer, sir." 
 
 "Beg your pardon, dad. No, it s a fact, 
 there isn t so much difference in their ages. 
 And I m willing to grant that the Widow is 
 handsomer." 
 
 "All right. When are they coming back?" 
 "I don t know she didn t know." 
 "Well, when you write tell her that the play 
 is getting along first-rate, and that I shall ex 
 pect them both on the opening night. Did 
 I tell you that the theatre has been grabbed 
 up by my agent? It has. The price is pretty 
 268 
 
An American in New York 
 
 steep, but that makes no difference. Skidder s 
 man is getting the company together and it 
 won t be long before we begin rehearsing. I 
 have hired a quick-stepping fellow as a press 
 agent knows all the newspaper men, especial 
 ly the big ones, eats with Hearst and Pulitzer 
 every day or so, and of course their columns 
 are gaping for him. He needed a spring over 
 coat, going out to lunch with Bennett, I guess, 
 and I put up for him. I don t know wheth 
 er it s Bennett s custom to eat in his overcoat 
 or not, but may be it is. Hasn t had anything 
 printed yet; says he s waiting for a big spread 
 on Sunday. Well, he s a liar at any rate, and 
 that may help some." For a time he sat in 
 serious thought. "Now why did she want to 
 pick up that girl and take her away, just at 
 this time ? Ah, women pull down one another 
 with their whims. Shall we stroll on back 
 toward the hotel?" 
 
 269 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 MISS BAITH. 
 
 Sammy had tried hard to sit by and to take 
 note of progress on the dramatization of the 
 Colonel s romance, but the strain was too 
 much for his "low" state of health. "Don t 
 try to be interested in it," said the Colonel. 
 "Wander off somewhere and be wretched to 
 the full craving of your trouble-hunting heart. 
 If all other resources fail, I ll get you a hand 
 organ charged with love-sighs set to doleful 
 tune and let you grind them out to swell the 
 volume of the east wind." 
 
 "Dad," said the youth, with a fall-of-the- 
 year expression of eye and countenance, "I 
 wouldn t make fun of you." 
 
 "I wish you would, for then I might join 
 in with you. But don t let anything rope 
 your mind and haul it away from the fact that 
 I m a fool. At present the prospect of bring 
 ing out the play is a brace, but when that is 
 all over with and I fall back on myself, I ll 
 fall hard." 
 
 "A rich man may play the fool for his 
 270 
 
An American in New York 
 
 own amusement," replied Sammy. "He can 
 always lift himself out of a difficulty with con 
 templating the fact that he is rich. Especial 
 ly is this true of men who have been poor and 
 then become rich, either by luck or skill. If 
 you play the fool you can do it picturesquely. 
 I can t. I m too modern; I m supposed to 
 look business whether I am or not. As soon 
 as you are tired of going in one direction 
 with the Widow, you can turn about, taking 
 her with you, and go in a direction opposite, 
 or tack, or do as you please. I m not my 
 own sailor; I don t know how to manage my 
 boat, and I drift about at the pleasure of 
 the wind. My education has been practical, 
 but I fall short of its aims. I I don t know 
 what I am, and I m becoming so accustomed 
 to my own whine that I expect it of myself. 
 Why the deuce doesn t she invite me to visit 
 her? Why in thunder doesn t she tell me 
 where she is? Dad, the whole thing is this: 
 The Widow wants to punish herself by stay 
 ing away from you, and it makes no dif 
 ference to her how many others may suffer 
 in consequence." 
 
 An hour later while the Colonel was sit 
 ting in his room, with the last act of Click 
 271 
 
An American in New York 
 
 City before him, but with the picture of a 
 woman in his mind, Sammy came bursting in. 
 u Oh, it s all right," he cried, violently shak 
 ing his fist, a piece of paper crumpled into 
 it; "all right, and now I can draw a breath 
 as long as a suspension bridge. I have a bid 
 to call see here?" He opened his hand, 
 tenderly took the piece of paper and affec 
 tionately began to smooth it out. "Short, 
 doesn t say much, but says all. Would be 
 so much pleased to see me. Isn t that pretty 
 strong, dad?" 
 
 "Yes, oh, yes; couldn t have made it any 
 stronger unless she had said, if you happen 
 to find yourself down our way, drop in. 
 That s all right, Sam." He had caught the 
 youth s quick fall of countenance. "Of course 
 she wants to see you. Of course you ll go, 
 and of course you ll come away engaged to 
 her. Do I think so? I know it. Cut and 
 dried from the first, plain as could be, no 
 other possible outcome." 
 
 "How are you getting along with the 
 play?" 
 
 "Oh, did you know we had a play on 
 hand? Keen observation. Perhaps you saw 
 something about it in the Sunday papers. 
 272 
 
An American in New York 
 
 There was a line or two about it. My press 
 agent managed to get in a squib. He says 
 the papers want stories. He can use columns 
 of stories. Hearst and Pulitzer told him to 
 bring them all the stories he could dig up. 
 He couldn t dig up any. He wanted me to 
 dig, and I dug. The stories were printed all 
 right enough, except they failed to include 
 any mention of the play. But we are getting 
 along very well. Skidder is a wheel horse, 
 and if the thing isn t a go, it won t be his 
 fault. My vanity won t be hurt much, you 
 know, even if the thing should be a failure. 
 I haven t shoved my name forward, and suf 
 fering in disguise is only half suffering. I 
 knew an old fellow down near Hopkinsville 
 who, having taken the pledge at home, went 
 over to a strange town, registered under an 
 assumed name and got on a spree. Getting 
 over it he was desperately sick, but he 
 laughed to think that no one knew who he 
 was and thus his distress was cut down con 
 siderably. The fact is I m thinking more of 
 that woman than of the play. Since she s 
 gone I ve found that the spell she put on me 
 is stronger than I had thought possible. In 
 a way, though, it tickles me." 
 
 273 
 
An American in New York 
 
 Sammy laughed, a melancholy sort of coo. 
 "Of course it does since you know where 
 you stand, but if it were all speculation as 
 in my case you d be just as I am, in the air." 
 
 The Colonel shook his head. "No, you 
 haven t struck it. It has proved to me that 
 my heart is wholly alive and I thought it 
 could never live again. You wouldn t think 
 it untrue to Mary Barksdale to you, 
 Sammy, if I should say that in a somewhat 
 different, a less tremulous manner, I love this 
 woman just as fondly as as 
 
 Now the boy laughed genuinely and with 
 a loud roar. "Untrue to either of us? Dad, 
 what a scarecrow to the blues you are. Why, 
 it would delight me to know that you loved 
 some one even more. But somehow I doubt 
 it. I don t believe there s but one grand 
 passion." 
 
 "Ha, now we stand on bricks baked in 
 the ancient sun. Now we go back to the 
 arguments of pre-historic hearts. There is 
 but one youth, that is true; but all love if it is 
 to endure, no matter how wild and passion 
 ate, must settle into quiet companionship. 
 Forty-five isn t old, but the man who at that 
 age loves impetuously is more to be pitied 
 274 
 
An American in New York 
 
 than congratulated. It is the fermenting of 
 new wine in an old bottle. Glorious is the 
 youth who loves too well ; happy the old man 
 who loves wisely." 
 
 "But do you love wisely when the object 
 of your affections thinks you are married?" 
 
 " Wisdom is never complete. Vanity or 
 some sort of trickery puts an alloy into it. 
 But this deception on my part has brought 
 out the sweetest companionship, the most un 
 selfish generosity on her part, and over it I 
 gloat fondly and congratulate myself. When 
 are you going to start for the infected dis 
 trict?" 
 
 "Within an hour. I ll write to you and 
 you can apprise me of the date set for your 
 first performance." 
 
 "All right, go ahead." 
 
 After shaking hands and looking glow- 
 eyed at the Colonel, the young fellow took 
 his leave, and the American went back into 
 his engaging worry over the play. Now that 
 he was the controlling force of a theatre, 
 with a play of his own to be presented for 
 the first time, he did not feel so much as 
 if he were in a foreign land; and in the even 
 ing, in the mellowness of the twilight, he 
 275 
 
An American in New York 
 
 walked down past his possessions. Some of 
 his actors were in front, and he greeted them 
 as members of his family. He hoped that 
 the ladies were well, and a fat fellow to play 
 miner in a red shirt and boots as resplendent 
 as the sun, said that he had just left Miss 
 Baith, the leading lady, and that she was 
 not only well but enthusiastic. As she had 
 been engaged only that morning the Colonel 
 had not seen her; he had given Skidder full 
 swing and was not to question his judgment, 
 but he felt that he should like to meet his 
 star and he wondered when it would be con 
 venient for him to pay her a call. The miner 
 said that it was a matter of immediate 
 possibility if not certainty. She was in a 
 little hotel not far off. He would lead the 
 way. The hotel was nearer than the Colonel 
 had ventured to hope. In the past it had 
 housed many a member of the profession. It 
 was old, dingy, ill-smelling; there was no 
 elevator, and Miss Baith s apartments were 
 on the third floor. There was no formality 
 of card; they climbed up and knocked on her 
 door. A dog barked. The door was opened 
 a few inches and a black eye surveyed the 
 narrow hall. The miner spoke and the door 
 276 
 
An American in New York 
 
 was opened. The Colonel, when presented, 
 bowed low. Miss Baith acknowledged the 
 courtesy, backed into the room, threw a cor 
 set behind a trunk and bade the Colonel sit 
 down. The dog barked furiously. She did 
 not appear to hear him. The Colonel said 
 that he had called and before he could com 
 plete the sentence Miss Baith broke in with 
 the assurance that she was pleased to see 
 him. Then she added, speaking to the miner: 
 u Sit over on the trunk, Ed." 
 
 The apartments consisted of one small 
 room. The walls were smoky and scratched 
 with matches. The carpet was old. One 
 corner of the dresser rested on the handle of 
 a hair-brush. The Colonel didn t know what 
 to talk about so he inquired if she were well. 
 She had never been better. "At any rate," 
 he mused, "you are not fat." That was 
 something. She didn t look like Mary 
 Barksdale, but she was rather handsome. 
 That was something more. The dog left off 
 barking and began to play with the stub of 
 a cigarette. 
 
 "Dog smoke?" the Colonel asked, and 
 Miss Baith laughed, showing good dental 
 277 
 
An American in New York 
 
 work. "We are all so hopeful for the suc 
 cess of your play," she said. 
 
 "Oh, it won t really make much differ 
 ence. It will run along for a time any way." 
 
 This was something new. Never before 
 had she heard an author talk in that strain. 
 "But success means so much," she said. 
 
 "Yes, when mere money is the object." 
 
 "Oh," she laughed, "but in this case it s 
 glory. Well, it means a great deal there, 
 just the same." 
 
 The Colonel acknowledged that without 
 success there couldn t be very much of glory, 
 but he did not expect that sort of achievement. 
 He wanted simply to see the play performed, 
 and if it were done well, his reward was 
 sure. The parts had not been given out and 
 she could not tell him that she was delighted 
 with his work, but from what she knew of 
 him, from what she saw of him at that mo 
 ment, why, she didn t fear a failure. He 
 thanked her and wished inwardly that she 
 were a little younger. He asked her if she 
 had ever played East Lynne. She couldn t 
 remember. Perhaps she had, but she knew 
 that she had played one of the two Orphans. 
 
 "They were blind, I believe," said he. 
 278 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "In that event you could not have made full 
 use of those marvelous eyes." 
 
 She warmed toward him. She went so far 
 as to request the dog to be good; and when 
 the Colonel arose to go, she put out her 
 hand and declared that she had enjoyed 
 his visit so much. When they were clear of 
 the house the Colonel expected that the miner 
 would ask him what he thought of her, but 
 he didn t; he spoke of the prospects of an 
 early spring, and hoped that it might not 
 be so pronounced in its keeping of promises 
 as to send people into the parks at night. 
 
 279 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 NOT A WORD ABOUT HER. 
 
 When the Colonel entered the corridor of 
 the hotel, a young man came swiftly forward 
 to meet him, and not until after the shaking 
 of hands and the exchange of many words 
 did he recognize Dick Johnson, the brother 
 of Imogene. He understood that the Col 
 onel was to have a play and wanted to con 
 gratulate him in advance. "Yes," said the 
 American, "I ve just come from a visit to 
 my leading lady, sir." 
 
 "Good. And I wish to repeat my con 
 gratulations." 
 
 u May be too early. Have you been in 
 town all the time?" 
 
 "Yes, and er I m most unfortunately 
 situated to-night. My aunt as you know is 
 not in town, and a sudden emergency makes 
 it necessary for me to borrow some money 
 small sum for a few days." 
 
 The Colonel looked at him and smiled. 
 "What s the limit?" 
 
 "I beg pardon, I didn t " 
 
 280 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Didn t pull out. Poker money, you 
 know, is a great emergency. Is that it?" 
 
 "Well, the fact is that a party of us " 
 
 "Yes, I understand, and I don t want to 
 deliver a lecture, but, my boy, you d better 
 let it alone." 
 
 "I am going to quit after to-night; but the 
 fever is on me now; was frozen out, and if 
 you ve ever played you know what that is." 
 
 "Yes, I know. But of all games in the 
 world it is the worst because it is the most 
 fascinating. And unless a man can get the 
 poker microbe out of his blood, there is no 
 hope for him in business. It s a fact. In 
 order to succeed in any business you must 
 give your mind to it your best thought; 
 but if you are a poker player you can t do 
 that. How much do you want?" 
 
 "If you can let me have fifty, I can in a 
 few days " 
 
 "Don t make any promises. Here you 
 are, and do the best you can." 
 
 Johnson thanked him and almost ran 
 away, fearing that the game might be broken 
 up, but more than likely they were waiting 
 for him. They nearly always are. 
 
 Skidder was in the cafe, and he looked 
 281 
 
An American in New York 
 
 tired when the Colonel drew up a chair to 
 join him. He said that the parts were being 
 copied and would be ready on the following 
 day. The Colonel told him that he had 
 called on Miss Baith. Skidder wanted to 
 know if he didn t think that she was a 
 "peach." The Colonel said that he was not 
 enough of a horticulturist to classify her. 
 Skidder shook his head and remarked that 
 she was a devil to get along with but that 
 she could act. Perhaps that was the reason 
 why she could act. 
 
 "Have you ever acted with her? 1 the Col 
 onel inquired, and Skidder broke bread be 
 fore answering. "Well, yes, think I have, 
 in scenes a trifle more realistic than she is 
 likely to give us in Click City. She used to 
 be my wife." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 "Yes, but that was several seasons ago, 
 and it needn t worry you any. The judge 
 was kind to both of us and granted a di 
 vorce. I thought she ought to pay me ali 
 mony, but there was a difference of opinion. 
 She married a fellow that she was desperate 
 ly in love with at the time, but I understand 
 that they ve passed each other up. Haven t 
 282 
 
An American in New York 
 
 asked her about him lately, as I am inclined 
 to be gentle in such matters.* 
 
 "But, sir, won t it be rather embarrassing 
 to play with your former wife?" 
 
 "Oh, not at all. She understands." 
 
 "Yes, but the public 1" 
 
 "Has forgotten all about both of us." 
 
 "But all the same I should think it a 
 rather bad state of affairs." 
 
 "Oh, well, not if every one s satisfied. In 
 artistic life we ought to forget little domes 
 tic foibles. In casting about for the proper 
 one to play the part I thought of Miss Baith, 
 dropped her a note, met her for the first time 
 in a year or so and engaged her; and you ll 
 have no cause to regret my selection. Won 
 derful nerve; fine emotion; sympathetic voice 
 charming woman. What are you going to 
 order? I d advise one of these English mut 
 ton chops excellent. Little addicted to 
 liquor at one time, during her trouble, but as 
 that is past, we have nothing to fear." 
 
 "Do you think that fat fellow s all right 
 for Jim Stokes, the miner?" 
 
 "Who, Hather? Capital; would have 
 done heavy for Otis Skinner one season, but 
 
 283 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "He s fat enough for a part as heavy as 
 Falstaff." 
 
 "Yes, and he s versatile has taken a 
 whirl at opera; was tenor once for Emma 
 Abbott. Don t think we d better run out in 
 to the country and try it on the dog, do 
 you?" 
 
 "No, we ll try it on the poodle right here." 
 
 The Colonel ordered a mutton chop, but 
 told the waiter to see that it was American. 
 Skidder remarked that the word English 
 meant manner rather than substance. "All 
 right," replied the Colonel, "let me have 
 American manner." After a short silence 
 the author of Click City said that he had 
 been thinking of the peculiar state of morals 
 on the stage. Skidder looked surprised. In 
 this respect he did not know that the stage 
 was so very different from other professions, 
 not so bad as the office building, and not 
 much worse than the pulpit. Some of the 
 women on the stage were just as true wives 
 and just as devoted mothers as any women in 
 the world could be. Some of them had di 
 vorces. So did the Vanderbilts. Some of 
 them associated professionally with former 
 husbands; and some of the women of society 
 
 284 
 
An American in New York 
 
 re-married their former husbands. If asso 
 ciation with man were bad, why then the 
 churches ought to separate the sexes. There 
 was nothing about the stage to demand that 
 virtue must be surrendered. Actors and act 
 resses were more or less familiar, a family; 
 but that should not lead to evil. The Col 
 onel said that it was not his business to ele 
 vate the stage. He had simply rented one 
 and took it as he found it, with splintered 
 floor and in need of sweeping. Skidder 
 thought that this was good and laughed at it. 
 After dinner work was resumed in Skid- 
 der s room. On the part of the actor-dram 
 atist there was no disposition to shirk even 
 the most minute or laborious detail. It was 
 after midnight when they parted. The next 
 day was to witness the beginning of rehear 
 sals, to see what would come forth, the unex 
 pected kinks, supposed action turned to 
 halts, bright lines blurred, obscurities made 
 strangely clear; but when the Colonel went 
 to his room he thought not of the play but 
 of the Widow. He conceived a plan of writ 
 ing to her, and with his stub pen he cov 
 ered many sheets of paper and then read the 
 product aloud, but the message was too much 
 
 285 
 
An American in New York 
 
 like a memorial and he destroyed it. Then 
 he took from his pocket a note which he had 
 received that day from a detective and read 
 it. Sim Groggin, the man upon whom it was 
 his prayer that he might feast the eyes of 
 never dying hate, had been lately seen in 
 New York and was no doubt still in the city. 
 Perhaps the name of the play would attract 
 him to the theatre. The Colonel desired 
 that he above all others should see the per 
 formance, the outward expression of a long- 
 hidden vengeance. In the play the villain is 
 not forgiven. He is not permitted to shoot 
 himself, but about his neck a rope is tied 
 and he is led up the trail, toward the camp 
 higher among the mountains. Suddenly he 
 breaks away, and with his hands tied be 
 hind him and with the rope trailing behind, 
 he struggles to escape. Naturally he does 
 not want to be hanged; he would much rath 
 er be shot. But the men refuse to shoot. 
 They let him run. He comes to the edge 
 of a precipice leaps, and the rope catches 
 and hangs him. The men stand looking at 
 his struggles. Slowly he is strangling. Down 
 below there is a den of wolves. They see 
 the wretch suspended far above them and 
 286 
 
An American in New York 
 
 begin to howl for him. He ceases to strug 
 gle. The men shoot the rope in two and 
 down he falls, into the jaws of the wolves. 
 The Colonel had inquired of Skidder if he 
 did not regard that scene as one of the most 
 dramatic in the history of the modern drama, 
 and the actor answered that it was at least 
 one of the most fatal. 
 
 "Sim Groggin, should he be present, must 
 recognize himself in the villain. Will fate 
 God, be kind enough to send him to the 
 theatre?" the Colonel mused. 
 
 Rehearsal was called early, for nine 
 o clock, and not even was the leading lady 
 late. She shook hands with the Colonel, 
 nodded blythely to Skidder and then looked 
 about for the dog. The Colonel expected 
 that at once he was to be placed on a van 
 tage ground when he could command a full 
 and altogether a new view of his play, but 
 there was nothing to see except actors and 
 actresses looking over bits of paper, and 
 nothing to hear except an occasional hand 
 clap, on the part of Skidder, to attract at 
 tention, an occasional mumbling, here, there, 
 off in a corner, the first sign that the 
 play was to be acted. How much alive a 
 
 287 
 
An American in New York 
 
 sketch may be as literature and yet how dead 
 as a dramatic possibility! Literature is per 
 mitted to dream; in a paragraph there may 
 be a restful vision, a borderless landscape. 
 But the drama, even in its apparent restful- 
 ness, must walk. It must jump to show how 
 still it can be. 
 
 The Colonel did not remain long at the 
 threshold of the initial rehearsal. He went 
 out of the theatre, into the raw salt air of a 
 spring that had suddenly turned to look back 
 ward, forgot the play, held to his heart a 
 vision of the Widow and slowly wandered 
 back to the hotel. In the corridor a young 
 man spoke to him. "You don t remember 
 me," and the American said that he did not. 
 "I am the waiter that told you his little boy 
 was sick. 1 
 
 "Oh, yes, yes. How are you? And the 
 little fellow, I hope " 
 
 "He s all right, I thank you, sir. I didn t 
 suppose you d know me. I m not working 
 to-day, and I ve noticed that when a waiter 
 gets off his rig and into the clothes common 
 to other men, it is almost impossible to rec 
 ognize him." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so. And the little fellow 
 288 
 
An American in New York 
 
 is all right. Don t forget to carry out the 
 other part of the agreement, that is, to have 
 the bills sent to me." 
 
 "The bill didn t amount to anything, and 
 it s paid. I have wondered, sir, if I couldn t 
 do better in the West than here. I am a 
 man of some education, but here I have no 
 show at all." 
 
 "Why don t you try the Puget Sound 
 country? There is the coming empire. Go 
 out there and after a while build you a ho 
 tel. Whenever you decide to go West, let 
 me know and I may have an opportunity to 
 help you." 
 
 The Colonel expected that this was to end 
 the conversation, but the young man showed 
 a disposition to say more. The Colonel 
 waited. "I hear you are about to bring out 
 a play." 
 
 u Yes, we are rolling one up the skids." 
 
 u Saw something about it in the paper." 
 
 "That so? Your microscope must be a 
 little stronger than mine." 
 
 "And I was thinking," said the young 
 man, moving uneasily and looking down, 
 "that you might give me a chance." 
 
 "Have you ever been on the stage?" 
 289 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "No, sir, but I know a good deal about it, 
 in one way and another; have waited on a 
 great many actors and have heard them 
 talk." 
 
 u Yes, but unless you want a divorce from 
 your wife, let the stage alone. Don t run 
 the risk of even writing a play. Well, I 
 must be moving on. Let me know about 
 the time you are ready to start West." 
 
 In the full belief that his warning against 
 the stage had robbed some divorce court law 
 yer of an ultimate client, the Colonel strode 
 slowly to the office, to get his mail, and among 
 the letters was one from Sammy. Passing all 
 other matters, he broke the seal of the youth s 
 message, sat down and read these lines: 
 
 "We are engaged. She accepted me in the 
 belief that I am without money. Isn t that 
 a beautiful self-sacrifice? The man and the 
 heartless newspaper writer that constantly 
 jibes at woman for her frailty and especially 
 her alleged disposition to be mercenary ought 
 to be scourged out of this country. Unless 
 we look into the temple how do we know 
 anything of the beauties within? Unless we 
 can go into the room how are we to know 
 anything about the soft glow of the lamp, 
 filled with perfumed oil? I have looked into 
 
 290 
 
An American in New York 
 
 the temple; I have sat in the glow of the 
 lamp, and I know that Imogene is a goddess. 
 Brave! She wasn t at all excited or fright 
 ened when I asked her to be mine. We were 
 walking along the country road and halted 
 beneath a tree, to look upward at its fleshless 
 fingers between us and the cool moon. All 
 day I had been striving for the promontory 
 of boldness, and finally I landed there with 
 courage beneath the tree. Gilded moon-dust 
 seemed to fall out of her hair. And before 
 I knew it her head was on my shoulder and 
 my words came like hastening driftwood on 
 the tide of a mill-dam broken loose. But you 
 know how it was. I don t believe in long 
 engagements, neither does she, and our af 
 fairs will be settled in pretty short order, I 
 tell you. She says that she would marry 
 me if I were a digger of ditches. Could 
 there be anything more noble than that? She 
 is willing to live anywhere, to do anything 
 for my advancement. Her brother Dick has 
 just written to her, telling her that he has 
 a fine place to put what little money she has, 
 only a few hundred, I suppose; but I told 
 her to consult you before making investments. 
 She says that Dick is a fine business man, 
 only he hasn t as yet had a chance. Don t 
 forget to tell me of the date set for your first 
 performance. Imogene, who knows a great 
 deal about plays, thinks that yours will sure- 
 
 291 
 
An American in New York 
 
 ly be a success. I suppose the rehearsals 
 are going on all right. I may draw on you 
 
 soon." 
 
 The Colonel sat for a long time, musing; 
 and the summing up of his conclusions was: 
 "The puppy didn t say a word about her/ 
 
 292 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE COMING OF THE HOUR. 
 
 As the days passed, the author of Click 
 City was impressed with the semblance of 
 dramatic form emerging from the chaos of 
 mutterings. Nearly every one was letter per 
 fect, and now the effort was not only to suit 
 the action, but to mingle the action with the 
 word. With the manner in which Skidder 
 threw himself into the atmosphere and 
 caught the spirit of the hero, the Colonel was 
 delighted. "Fgad, sir," he said, "you spoke 
 that just as if you thought it was a fact and 
 would knock a man down for insinuating that 
 it was a lie." He soon discovered that no 
 mistake was made when to Miss Baith was 
 assigned a vital part. She was tender and 
 sympathetic; her voice was so sweet that he 
 wondered how it ever could have served as 
 vehicle for a cross word. With the miner 
 he would have been better pleased if exces 
 sive flesh had not impelled on his part such 
 wheezings and wobblings. Of course a man 
 could be burdened with flesh, at first, but 
 
 293 
 
An American in New York 
 
 not for long, in the mountains, where double 
 chins fade away like spring snowdrifts among 
 the foot-hills. 
 
 Work on the scenery progressed with as 
 tonishing rapidity. It required but a souse 
 and a jerk to slap upon canvas a towering 
 rock, brown and seamed with age. To kick 
 a bucket of white paint off the ladder was 
 a snow-covered peak. It appeared to the 
 man who was paying for it all that the paint 
 ers were hastening through the job, but when 
 a scene as a whole had been viewed from 
 the front, he swore that Dore could not have 
 done better, and there are critics who are no 
 doubt willing to share his opinion. 
 
 A pretty slip of a girl whose duty in the 
 play it was to carry a message to the mines 
 and to come near offering a meal to a griz 
 zly bear, inquired of the Colonel if he were 
 not horribly afraid of the opening night. He 
 felt disposed to give to her a piece of money 
 and to tell her to run along now, but he an 
 swered that he had not thought of being 
 frightened, "for the reason that there is no 
 especial cause," he laughingly added. "I un 
 derstand that the people of this town don t 
 make a practice of toting guns." She smiled 
 294 
 
An American in New York 
 
 up at him and he smiled down at her. "Is 
 this to be your first appearance on the stage, 
 little one?" he inquired. 
 
 u Oh, no. I was, you might say, born 
 on the stage and so was my daughter." 
 
 "Your daughter!" 
 
 "Yes, she was out with Julia Marlowe this 
 last season." 
 
 "You don t tell me. Er not as the nurse 
 in Romeo and Juliet, I hope. Huh, you 
 folks are a strange lot. Your husband liv 
 ing Miss?" 
 
 "Which one?" 
 
 "Oh, any of them; it makes no particular 
 difference." 
 
 "Mr. Mecklin is living my late hus 
 band." 
 
 "Oh, late husband is living. Good enough. 
 Is he on the stage?" 
 
 "Well, not actively at present; but last 
 season he was bones in a minstrel company, 
 quite active, too, for his age. He has laid 
 away many a one of his co-workers." 
 
 "Yes, laying bones with bones. How do 
 you like your part in this play?" 
 
 "Oh, it s only a bit, you know," she an- 
 295 
 
An American in Nevv York 
 
 swered, smiling rather sadly, for all bits, no 
 matter how lively, are melancholy. 
 
 U A bit, eh? Well, we can have you caught 
 by the grizzly and make it a bite." And he 
 walked away, musing: u Her daughter. I ll 
 swear to the Lord they beat anything I ever 
 
 saw." 
 
 Such progress was made, the most of the 
 company being eager after a long season of 
 enforced rest, that the date for the opening 
 was set for the 26th of April, at least two 
 weeks earlier than at first might have been 
 thought possible. The press agent wanted 
 a photograph of the Colonel, to print along 
 with a story, but this the American refused. 
 "For reasons of my own," said he, "there 
 must be no picture of me. Now, don t insist; 
 it must not be no picture." 
 
 "I can get in pictures of the most of the 
 company and " 
 
 "Then put them in; I must be left out, and 
 if any of these drawers for comic almanacs 
 try to sketch me, they shall be held responsi 
 ble, not in a court, sir, but to me personally." 
 
 The Colonel s hotel acquaintances, the 
 Doctor and the Judge, pressed their con 
 gratulations upon him; they knew that his 
 296 
 
An American in New York 
 
 play would be a go ; they accepted tickets and 
 went away, sneering at his presumption. 
 Every first play, every first book, every first 
 anything is a secret affront to those who have 
 not tried, and a deadly insult to those who 
 have failed. Let him fail and be humble. 
 In the eye the joyous light of success may at 
 first be kindly, but soon it becomes a cold 
 stare. Let us do all we can to prevent 
 achievement, and if our efforts fail, why then 
 we may turn with the applauding tide. 
 
 From Sammy there came another letter in 
 answer to the Colonel s message of congratu 
 lation. "Everything here is as lovely as heart 
 could wish," he wrote. u The weather is per 
 fect, so far as I am able to judge. You scored 
 me for not having mentioned Aunt Mag. I 
 deserved it, for she is the best well, one of 
 the best women that ever lived. There is no 
 end to her kindness. The people who live in 
 the neighborhood of her country home all 
 love her; and the village storekeepers clap 
 their hands when they know she is coming, 
 for it means the buying of things for the poor. 
 Since I came she has clothed a score of needy 
 children. But to a marked degree she has 
 lost the bright gayety of manner which they 
 297 
 
An American in New York 
 
 say was once so pronounced a feature of her 
 nature. All day and sometimes until late at 
 night she sits by the window, looking out upon 
 the water, dreaming. I won t flatter you by 
 saying that she must be dreaming of you, dad. 
 Perhaps not, for she rarely speaks of you. 
 Yesterday she indulged in a bit of drollery, 
 and for the first time within several days. A 
 woman visitor made use of that old saw, as 
 good fish in the sea as were ever caught, and 
 Aunt Mag replied that it might be true, but 
 that the bait was not so good now as former 
 ly. Was that bright? I m such a fool now 
 that I couldn t pass on anything. We ll be 
 down for the opening sure. Aunt Mag says 
 that we ll go straight from the train to the 
 theater and not worry you with our company 
 at the time of your sore distress. Then we ll 
 go somewhere to dinner. It seems to me that 
 you must be going to meet Imogene for the 
 first time. There never was a more affection 
 ate girl but I m constantly startled, not to 
 say just a little frightened, at her wisdom. 
 She can repeat page after page from Tenny 
 son s Princess. Dick has just left us. Hav 
 ing invested in some sort of company, he is 
 very busy of late. He s a fine chap, dad, and 
 298 
 
An American in New York 
 
 I was glad to let him have fifty dollars to help 
 him out of a temporary tight place. When I 
 think of how much I have to be thankful for 
 I m almost afraid that it is all a dream. But 
 you re no dream, dad, and the Lord knows 
 I m thankful for you." 
 
 One evening the Colonel left the theater 
 with these words of Skidder s rumbling in his 
 ears: "Ladies and gentlemen, we have done 
 all we can possibly do until to-morrow night. 
 It is now up to each one of us individually." 
 
 Until this evening the opening night had 
 been to the actors a sort of speculative vision, 
 hanging mist-like in the future, perhaps not 
 to be materialized, but now it was a fact, a 
 responsibility to be faced; and no actor is so 
 hardened as not to feel the tremulous heavi 
 ness of a first night. He may be a child in a 
 playhouse; he may be whimsical, fretful, 
 peevish; but in his work no moralist could be 
 more conscientious. 
 
 In the matter of paper as in every other 
 line, no expense had been spared, and the 
 town was extensively billed with the return 
 of "New York s old favorite, Mr. Joseph 
 Aukwell Skidder, fresh from new achieve 
 ments abroad." It was rather late in the sea- 
 299 
 
An American in New York 
 
 son, but with liberal "papering" by the press 
 agent the Colonel was assured of a large if 
 not an enthusiastic audience. But he began 
 to grow just a little nervous. Nervousness 
 was in the atmosphere of the stage and he had 
 breathed his part of it. 
 
 The day broke rainy, but along toward 
 noon the sun shot its arrows through the 
 leaden shield. This was a good omen, and 
 besides, the author, looking over his right 
 shoulder, observed a growing moon. In the 
 corridor a bell boy asked him if he were going 
 to open a show. 
 
 u Yes, my son, to-night." 
 
 "Is it a Buffalo Bill show, sir?" 
 
 The Colonel glowered at him. "No, an 
 exhibition of health foods." 
 
 A chambermaid, overhearing him, said that 
 she would like to go and take her sister, who 
 was a cook. The author went to his room and 
 sat down to look up the work of his press 
 agent, in the afternoon papers. There was a 
 picture of Skidder, leaning against an indis 
 tinguishable something, one of his foreign 
 achievements, perhaps, together with a strik 
 ing bit of art portraying Miss Baith on horse 
 back. A paragraph offered the information 
 300 
 
An American in New York 
 
 that some of the lines were bright and many 
 of the situations thrilling. He went out to 
 dinner, but with him the author took no ap 
 petite, and after a cup of coffee, he strolled 
 out to cool his brow with the gusty breath of 
 the night. He met Dick Johnson, and he 
 wondered why the man always seemed to him 
 but little more than a shadow. "Ah, this is 
 the night," said Dick. "My sister, my aunt 
 and your son will be down, I understand." 
 
 "Yes, I m afraid so." 
 
 "Afraid so?" 
 
 "That s what I mean. The fewer of my 
 friends present the better. I didn t believe 
 that it could get in on my nerves, but it has. 
 Now a man can have a book brought out and 
 snort in secret, but with this sort of thing he s 
 hung up to full view. How are you getting 
 along with your your investments?" 
 
 "Investments? Oh, poker? I ve passed it 
 up. It s just as you said. There s no possi 
 ble chance for a man. Do you know what 
 train they are coming on? I d like to see my 
 aunt for a few moments before the play be 
 gins. Sorry I can t be there, but I ve got an 
 engagement." 
 
 "Same limit?" 
 
 301 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Oh, it s not that, Colonel; I assure you it 
 is not that. Let me see. I owe you fifty, 
 don t I?" 
 
 "Yes, and I ll make it seventy-five if you ll 
 keep your engagement and stay away from 
 the play." 
 
 "Why er I don t like to be bought up 
 in that way, Colonel; but of course I won t 
 go if you don t want me to. Let me see. I 
 can return the seventy-five in a day or two." 
 
 The Colonel gave him twenty-five dollars, 
 and he hastened away with foolish hope in 
 his heart, eager, and with no shame in his 
 mind. Poker, the American game the 
 American beast, blunts all sense of humilia 
 tion. 
 
 "Above the door of my Delphic temple I 
 thought I d written know thyself, " mused 
 the Colonel as slowly he walked along, hav 
 ing already forgotten the young man, "but I 
 didn t write it there. If I did, some one has 
 come along and rubbed it out. All along I 
 have thought that it would make no difference 
 whether this thing were a failure or a suc 
 cess, but now, face to face with one or the 
 302 
 
An American in New York 
 
 other with almost certain failure, I find that 
 it does make a difference. What will that 
 woman think of me if I fail? Woman re 
 spects man for what man achieves. She may 
 commiserate a failure, but she cannot love it. 
 She thinks I m strong, but strength means 
 success. Reckon I was a fool to go into it. 
 But if he comes to see it yes, that will be 
 more than worth all the trouble." He walked 
 along bareheaded. "She sits and dreams, the 
 youngster says. I wonder if she does dream 
 of me. I dream of her, and I wonder all 
 the time wonder if she is the woman for me, 
 if she would be my wife! But how am I to 
 find out if I don t ask her, and how am I ever 
 to summon will enough if this play should 
 fail? To see a vanity conquer may charm a 
 woman, but to see it conquered disgusts her. 
 I wonder if I haven t philosophized about 
 enough over her, and over everything else, 
 for that matter. How sure a sign of the com 
 ing on of age such profitless moralizing. 
 Let s see what time it s getting to be." 
 
 Upon the dial of his watch he caught the 
 light of a street lamp. It dazzled the hour 
 
 303 
 
An American in New York 
 
 dodged and the minutes danced. A clock, a 
 sullen bell somewhere on the sea of billowing 
 time, began to strike eight. The hour for 
 the trial had come, the seating of the jury; 
 and with feverishness in waves breaking over 
 him, he turned toward the theater. 
 
 304 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 DIDN T WANT TO BE CONGRATULATED. 
 
 The jury was going in. What did those 
 women know about life in the West? What 
 knew the men, and what cared any of them 
 for phases of American life other than the 
 sort shamelessly exaggerated for the amuse 
 ment of ultra taste? For what life did they 
 care except for that evolved out of their own 
 narrow environment or out of the "chronicled 
 small beer" of the foreigner who despised 
 America ? The appropriateness of his sitting 
 in a box was suggested to him by the press 
 agent, but he shuddered at the thought of 
 such publicity. He did not realize that he 
 might sit there all night and that no one 
 would necessarily associate him with the play. 
 Self-consciousness ever feels that it has hung 
 out a glaring sign. He did not sit at all, but 
 walked about slowly, in the lobby, in front of 
 the house anywhere, wishing that it were 
 all done with, that he were on a train, going 
 West. Suddenly the orchestra broke out like 
 a rash, into a red blare, and then came the 
 
 305 
 
An American in New York 
 
 whining of the fiddles as if everything that 
 had thus far been done proved cause for re 
 gret. From what heart-broken wretch did 
 the fellow with the trombone learn that 
 stretching groan? What squawking parrot 
 set the pitch for that rasping raw-hide called 
 a "chello"? Such wailings and such cries 
 could but foretell disaster. How indifferent 
 everyone was; how young men and young 
 women blabbed and gabbed. Didn t they 
 know that something was about to take place ? 
 And that something? Ah, a failure, and why 
 not have enough of heart to treat it with less 
 glibness? That old fellow down there in an 
 aisle seat, cane, white silk thing about his 
 neck he knew that there was to be sorrow 
 for some one and seemed pleased at the pros 
 pect. Had he gone to a morgue to rehearse 
 that cough? Near him was a fat woman, 
 talking about the illness of her dog. Damn 
 the dog and her, too. Why did she come? 
 Why didn t she go to a cat and dog hospital 
 and feel at home ? That foreigner, gibbering 
 in some scroll-saw tongue ! Well, it would 
 soon be time to knock him down and drag him 
 out. It was the infernal orchestra that so 
 set everything upon the sharp edge. Would 
 306 
 
An American in New York 
 
 it never leave off its whinings and groanings? 
 Was that tune marked out by a pair of com 
 passes, continuously to go round and round? 
 Yes, it could quit. Suddenly it hushed its 
 whining over its numerous diseases, and the 
 curtain slowly rose, but why that barber-shop 
 scrape, as it went up? The play began, but 
 indistinctly, for the audience was talking. 
 And that woman, that one there with the pale, 
 sleepy-looking degenerate whose breast was 
 as thin as a washboard, did she come to the 
 theater to arrange her hair? Why didn t the 
 actors talk louder? Was it understood that 
 the thing should be played confidentially? 
 Such coughing throughout the house ! Were 
 all New York theater-goers consumptive? 
 That fat miner, puffing his lines ! About how 
 long would it take him to drop dead? 
 
 In a box sat the Widow, Imogene and 
 Sammy. The Colonel wondered how they 
 could have got into the house without his hav 
 ing seen them and didn t that young scoun 
 drel have respect enough not to talk to the 
 girl, now, at this critical time? The Widow 
 seemed weary, or sad, but so refined was her 
 face, so gentle her manner that to look at her 
 was a peace and a rest, an inspiration. Skid- 
 
 307 
 
An American in New York 
 
 der! Why did not the clapping of hands 
 welcome the return of "New York s old 
 favorite?" Had he forgotten his lines? 
 What was the matter with him? 
 
 Suddenly the Colonel forgot the play, the 
 actors the Widow. Off to the right stood a 
 man, leaning on the railing. Closer toward 
 him the Colonel moved, gazing intently. The 
 man turned his face fuller toward him. Was 
 it Sim Groggin? Closer the man wheeled 
 about and almost shot through the door, the 
 Colonel racing after him. Down the steps in 
 front, down at a bound. The man was run 
 ning. The Colonel shouted at him; he ran 
 across the street, the Colonel in pursuit, call 
 ing upon him to stop; but he dodged in among 
 the passers-by, and so he was lost. But the 
 hunt was not given up, and now the Ameri 
 can turned from street to street, from hotel to 
 hotel, looking eagerly about him, but not 
 knowing whither he went. After a long time 
 he looked up and there was Daly s, with the 
 people pouring out. As he pushed his way 
 through the crowd he caught the words, here 
 and there: "Won t go;" "failure;" "noth 
 ing to it;" "who is Skidder?" He was glad 
 to get out from among those nettles. He 
 308 
 
An American in New York 
 
 would have liked to tread them deep into the 
 earth. A bit of slang came to him: u Make 
 em like it." "I will," he mused. Til make 
 them open their mouths and stretch their 
 necks for it like young mocking birds." But 
 how well he knew the lameness of the threat. 
 Slowly he walked toward the hotel, not dis 
 appointed, for he had reconciled himself to 
 failure, and besides his main object had been 
 attained; that wolf had seen it, not all, but 
 had seen enough to know that he and his 
 treachery were to be pictured. Yet he was 
 angered because the out-pouring crowd had 
 seemed not indeed to gloat over his defeat, 
 but to yawn over it. 
 
 Upon entering the hotel he would have 
 gone at once to his room to hide himself, and 
 to feast his mind with hating the man whom 
 he had followed, whose throat he felt that he 
 should like preyfully to cut, but Sammy came 
 hastening to meet him said that the ladies 
 were in the Turkish room, that they were 
 anxious to see him, to congratulate him. 
 
 "None of that," replied the Colonel. 
 "Don t go too far with me, Sam." 
 
 "Why, dad, what s the matter with you? 
 Didn t you see your play? Don t you know 
 
 309 
 
An American in New York 
 
 it went all right?" Affectionately he took the 
 Colonel s arm, and so warm he seemed after 
 the cold heartlessness of the show house, so 
 genuine, that the American hugged him close, 
 said that he was glad to have him back again. 
 Imogene came forward with "dad" on her 
 lips, and then the Widow, through a mist, 
 reached forth her hand; and the Colonel 
 laughed in his deeply mellow way, but when 
 they began to congratulate him, the music was 
 gone, leaving no echo. 
 
 u No, little Imogene, no; don t tell me that, 
 my dear. You were all ashamed of me and 
 you know it. I felt it. Madam, please don t 
 say you liked it you who must be such a 
 judge of plays. I am easily pleased, it is 
 true, but don t try it now." 
 
 "Oh, but my dear friend, I will speak," 
 said the Widow, her hand on his arm. "I 
 have been silent so long, you know, for weeks 
 so long that you must let me speak. Sit 
 down, please. Sit here," and she drew for 
 ward a chair for him. "There are no idlers 
 here and we can talk. I did like the play. It 
 is elemental and strong." 
 
 "Ah, madam, in your retirement you may 
 have forgotten many things," said the Col- 
 310 
 
An American in New York 
 
 onel, "but you have not forgotten how to be 
 kind. 7 
 
 "Stop calling me madam, and listen to me. 
 I know that at this time particularly you don t 
 want flattery forced upon you; I know you 
 want the truth and that is exactly what I am 
 giving you, as I see it for myself. Of course 
 the play has faults. May I say that in it 
 there is not enough of your own whim or your 
 penetration into the moods of others. It 
 seems that you have not so much aimed at an 
 entertainment as you have striven to express 
 some boiling wrath within yourself; you " 
 
 "Madam Margaret, your penetration 
 would pick out a thorn. The play is a sort 
 of revenge. But it is, so far as the public 
 is concerned, a failure miserable failure. 
 Those who attended went especially to avenge 
 themselves upon the fact that it was written 
 by an American." 
 
 "Now, Colonel, you surely haven t taken 
 up that notion. What difference does it make 
 to an audience who writes a thing so long as 
 it is entertaining? The fact is, the audience 
 was attracted largely by the fact that the play 
 was written by an American in New York." 
 
 "Attracted to the house? I grant you. 
 
An American in New York 
 
 But you must know that sometimes we are 
 attracted toward an expression of our dis 
 pleasure, and that was what those wretches 
 were looking for to-night, an opportunity to 
 be displeased and to show it." 
 
 "But that is where I can t understand you. 
 The audience was not displeased. There was 
 a great deal of applause, and I was disap 
 pointed when you refused to come before the 
 curtain at the end of the third act." 
 
 "What! Did they call forme?" 
 
 "Is it possible that you criticise an audi 
 ence when you didn t see the play yourself?" 
 
 "The fact is, I was in and out dodged 
 out on business just before well, just be 
 fore anything took place. But I came back 
 and was mixed up with the crowd and heard 
 enough to last me for a time. Let us not 
 think about it." 
 
 Sammy and the girl were off in a corner 
 looking at curios. "Didn t take them long," 
 said the Colonel. 
 
 "No, flew to each other s arms created 
 for each other," said the Widow, with an ex 
 pression of tenderness in her eyes. "And how 
 nobly he talked of the struggle before him, 
 the strife necessary to conquer, and all for 
 312 
 
An American in New York 
 
 her. She appreciates it all and will help 
 him be proud to work with him; but, con 
 fidentially, Colonel, their struggle shall not 
 be so great as they think. I will see to it that 
 they are well started. 
 
 The Colonel thanked her, spoke of some 
 thing else, but could not keep his mind off his 
 play. He could see that Margaret pitied him, 
 and he writhed under it. Sammy and Imo- 
 gene wandered away. The talk dragged. 
 Margaret looked tired. The Colonel arose 
 to bid her good night. "I hope you ll sleep 
 well," she said. 
 
 In his old-time way he laughed, and his 
 eyes were in unison with his mellow voice. 
 "Oh, yes, like a top. I don t know why any 
 man should ever have said that he slept like 
 a top ; don t see how a top could sleep. Won 
 der if it weren t a misprint? Don t you sup 
 pose it was intended to read, slept like a cop? 
 Well, good night." He took her hand and 
 it was tremulous for a moment and then pas 
 sive. "Glad you came down to see but no 
 matter, it will be all right in the end. If you 
 see Sammy tell him to come to my room be 
 fore he goes to bed." 
 
 He left the door unlocked and was in bed 
 
 3 T 3 
 
An American in New York 
 
 when Sammy came. "Hand me that pipe 
 over there and then sit down," said the 
 American. "Match, too, please. Thank 
 you." For a time he smoked in silence, sit 
 ting up, leaning back against the headboard; 
 and the young fellow "stood about" flinch- 
 ingly, as if he expected something not wholly 
 agreeable. 
 
 "Sammy, he was there." . 
 
 "Who, dad?" 
 
 "Sim Groggin." 
 
 "What! You don t say so!" He ceased 
 to stand about irresolutely; he sat down on 
 the bed. The Colonel continued. "Not a 
 word of it to any one, you understand? Do 
 you hear?" 
 
 "Yes, dad, I hear." 
 
 "All right. Having been furnished with 
 the name I don t see why the detectives 
 couldn t find him, but they didn t or pretended 
 that they didn t, one and the same thing." He 
 sat up straighter, gathering the covering 
 about his legs, smoking fast for a moment or 
 two. "I thought he would be there thought 
 the name of the play would attract him. But 
 I hardly believe that he associated me with 
 the writing of it. But he was there, all the 
 
 3H 
 
An American in New York 
 
 same, standing near the door; and when I 
 first discovered him it seemed to me that I 
 was shooting at him with a rifle, and he 
 turned around with a start and saw me. Then 
 he darted through the door, and I after him, 
 headlong, down the two or three steps to the 
 street. But he got away from me. I had 
 nothing to shoot with wouldn t have shot 
 anyway ; I wanted to choke him, down, to the 
 ground, into the mud, under my feet." 
 
 "I am glad you didn t catch him, dad." 
 
 "What ! And here not long ago you begged 
 for the sweet privilege of killing him if oc 
 casion offered? Do you remember that?" 
 
 "Yes, I remember. But I ve changed 
 since then." 
 
 "Yes, that s natural," said the American, 
 slowly smoking. "I don t blame you. Of 
 course I didn t intend that you should touch 
 him, but I wanted you to feel that that he 
 ought to be dead." 
 
 "I do feel that way, dad. I feel that every 
 man should be dead, when the time conies. 
 But I don t want to kill any one; don t want 
 you to kill any human being." 
 
 "I wouldn t, but I d kill a snake that looks 
 something like a human being. And if I can 
 
 315 
 
Ail American in New York 
 
 get hold of him, he ll have to answer. You 
 see the detectives can only locate him for me. 
 They can t arrest him; and I may have trouble 
 in getting hold of him, but it will come." 
 
 "I thought that love softened the heart," 
 said the young man, and the Colonel looked 
 at him a long time, slowly smoking. "It does, 
 my boy; it sometimes softens both the heart 
 and the brain." 
 
 "The brain, dad? No, I don t think that. 
 None but degenerate love can do that, and 
 there is no such thing as degenerate love, for 
 all love is creative and strong. But I thought 
 that your love for that beautiful woman 
 
 "Yes, that s all right, but I am not giving 
 love in exchange for pity. No matter, 
 though, how much I loved her, I could not for 
 get the debt I owe the past. The notes are 
 due, and when opportunity presents them, 
 they shall be honored. Yes, sir, but don t 
 you worry. There shall be no sensational 
 murder, no penitentiary or electric chair. I ll 
 manage it and you know that I am a good 
 manager." 
 
 "But think of the sensation if the public 
 should know who you are." 
 
 "I ll manage that part, too." 
 316 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "But, dad, when are you going to tell Aunt 
 Mag the truth? She must find it out sooner 
 or later, you know." 
 
 "She shall know when the time comes. In 
 her sympathy she is at present sorrowing over 
 my defeat, but at the same time she cannot 
 hide her mild contempt for me. That will do 
 now. Good night. Spring the catch, so the 
 door ll lock. Don t want to get up. Don t 
 worry," he added, as Sammy turned toward 
 the door, "but at the same time don t indulge 
 the hope that there is to be any foolish soften 
 ing toward that wolf." 
 
 317 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 NEW YORK S OPINION. 
 
 Early in the morning the Colonel sent out 
 for the newspapers, and when they had been 
 brought by a boy and placed on the foot of 
 the bed, it was a long time before the Crit 
 from the West had courage to receive the 
 opinion of New York. He mused that it was 
 not for himself that he cared. From men he 
 could stand any degree of punishment, but 
 from one woman s pity he shrank timorously. 
 If those papers assaulted him she would no 
 longer make even faint effort to hide that ten 
 der sting, that sympathy worse than contempt. 
 He got up, dressed and stood looking from 
 the window. The great town was throwing 
 off its semblance of rest, the semi-drowse of 
 a feverish night. Boys were darting hither 
 and thither, vending Manhattan s opinion of 
 the Colonel. And there, on the bed, lay that 
 opinion, in several sections and no doubt in 
 several degrees of shading, dark, darker and 
 black, but all dark. Perhaps, however, it 
 might not all be somber. 
 
 318 
 
An American in New York 
 
 On some distant hilltop the moon might 
 throw a smile down through the clouds. But 
 how was he to know unless he looked? He 
 did look. Here are some of the smiles: 
 "Stupid conventionalism. . . . There may 
 have been worse plays written, but they cer 
 tainly were never produced. . . . But for 
 the ranting of the actors the audience might 
 have slept peacefully. . . . Instead of by 
 an American in New York, they might bet 
 ter have said by a Jack Rabbit in Town. 
 . . . The author could not stay in the 
 house. This proves that he is not wholly de 
 void of taste. . . . 
 
 The Colonel tramped the papers beneath his 
 feet. He walked up and down the room, drag 
 ging some of them about with him. He would 
 slink away from every one, from Sammy; it 
 was to be a day of seclusion, but of search 
 for the man who had fled through the streets. 
 Out of the hotel he sneaked, into the street, 
 and then for breakfast he entered a restau 
 rant that was as quiet and as obscure as any 
 thing could be in Broadway. And there, first 
 table from the door, sat a man with a news 
 paper propped in front of him, reading of 
 "Click City s" shame. The Colonel could 
 
 319 
 
An American in New York 
 
 see, for there was a picture of Skidder, and 
 how they had scored him upon this his re 
 turn from "fresh achievements abroad." 
 
 The breakfast, no matter what it might 
 have been, could not have escaped being bad. 
 The Colonel cursed a mutton chop, scolded a 
 girl, gave her a dollar as a fee due from quick 
 repentance, saw her smile as if her heart had 
 never known a sorrow; and then he hastened 
 off to call at a detective agency whose ser 
 vices he had engaged early after his coming 
 to New York. 
 
 "We don t think you have cause for com 
 plaint of our inefficiency," said the manager, 
 as the Colonel sat with him in a private office. 
 "Some time had elapsed since you had seen 
 the man, and as he must necessarily have 
 changed, your description of him could have 
 furnished but a vague clew to his present ap 
 pearance." 
 
 "That s good," replied the Colonel, won 
 dering why a man couldn t talk thus in a play. 
 "In your first paragraph you make a strong 
 case. But I had supplied you with more than 
 a time-faded picture. I had given you his 
 
 name." 
 
 "Yes," said the detective, "but no such 
 320 
 
An American in New York 
 
 name was found on the hotel registers of New 
 York or of any of the neighboring towns. 
 Whenever we ran across a man who an 
 swered to your description, we looked him 
 up, and once or probably twice we notified 
 you that we thought your man had been seen. 
 But of course we had no authority to grab 
 him and to hold him until you should come." 
 
 There was nothing to do but to go away, 
 and this was what the Colonel did, wander 
 ing about with no aim except to avoid meet 
 ing anyone who might have a "consoling" ac 
 quaintance with him. At noon-time he went 
 into a rush-order place; and now, hungry, he 
 ate with a sort of revenge against the scoun 
 drels who had appointed unto themselves the 
 province of bass-drumming New York s 
 opinion. During the afternoon he wandered 
 about in the old parts of the town, searching 
 for the past to cover with its soft moss the 
 flint edges of the present. Toward night he 
 went to Daly s. Six seats had been sold. 
 
 "Ah," said the Colonel, speaking to the 
 young fellow in the box office, "they some 
 times hang out a sign, Standing room only, 
 don t they?" 
 
 321 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Yes, they have done such things, but not 
 lately." 
 
 "Well, suppose I design a a motto to 
 hang out? An attractively painted thing 
 which shall read, To hell with you. How 
 would that do?" 
 
 "I m afraid it wouldn t do very well here, 
 sir. Ah, may I ask if you expect to take the 
 play off soon?" 
 
 "Don t you worry about that. This is not 
 for publication in those scandal mongers, but 
 I ve got money enough to run this thing till 
 the latest one of the cows comes home." 
 
 He went around and stumbled up the nar 
 row stairs leading to the dressing rooms, and 
 found Skidder as blue as a "huckleberry." 
 The Colonel clapped him on the shoulder and 
 bade him cheer up. 
 
 "All our work for nothing," said the 
 actor, puffing his pipe, the smoke floating 
 among the cosmetics, whiskers, wigs, lotions 
 on his "make-up" shelf. "All for nothing." 
 
 "Not if I know it," replied the Colonel. 
 "You and your company go ahead and play 
 just as if the house were crowded and you ll 
 get your pay just as promptly and as cheer 
 fully as if it were a roaring success." 
 322 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "But such a thing can t go on, you know, 
 Colonel." 
 
 "Fgad, sir, it can go on till I tell it to stop. 
 Ring up when the time comes and do your 
 best. That s all I ask, and when it comes that 
 I can t pay you, why, you ll see some of those 
 banks go stumping off on one leg, I ll tell you 
 that." 
 
 Out in a corridor, not much wider than a 
 cattle trail through a cane brake, a dog 
 barked, and instantly seemed to have been 
 smothered and taken away. The Colonel 
 spoke of Miss Baith, and Skidder smiled. 
 "Didn t you hear her submerging her dog?" 
 he asked, putting on his brown wig. "I ll go 
 and see if she s in condition to receive you." 
 
 The Colonel protested, but Skidder darted 
 out, suspenders dangling behind him, and was 
 gone not more than a minute when he called 
 to the author to come on. Miss Baith s recep 
 tion of the American was gracious, but not 
 particularly so, considering that it was his 
 generous pocket that had enabled her to re 
 establish herself in the confidence and good 
 opinion of a landlady given to gossip and to 
 complaining; but in the light of the fact that 
 he had just been done to a pan-fish brown 
 
 323 
 
An American in New York 
 
 by the roasters and the friers of the press, her 
 bearing was singularly engaging. And, what 
 may add to the apparent sweetness of her dis 
 position was the fact that she herself had not 
 escaped the hot attention of those red- 
 browed cooks. The dog barked, but grabbed 
 and squeezed into submission, was stored 
 away somewhere, to wheeze loud and occa 
 sionally to fret. Miss Baith was glad to see 
 the Colonel looking so well. Was he feeling 
 well? Never better. Silence. She believed 
 that the play would yet be a go. So many 
 successes started out that way. The Colonel 
 thought of the six tickets that had been sold 
 during the day and cleared his throat. Si 
 lence. She hoped that he did not mind criti 
 cism so evidently biased. Oh, he thrived on 
 it, but at the same time he would like to have 
 at least one of the scoundrels by the throat. 
 How long was the play likely to run? She 
 was thinking of some gowns that had been 
 ordered a few days before. Oh, it would run 
 long enough to prove to those villains that it 
 could run as long as it wanted to. She liked 
 to see a man determined and brave; it was 
 so rare these days. He took leave of her 
 and groped his way down the stairs. 
 
 324 
 
An American in New York 
 
 Out in front an old woman asked him to 
 buy a package of chewing gum. 
 
 He went to the Waldorf and strode up and 
 down "Millionaire lane," having braved him 
 self into braving anything, and was nodded 
 at now and then. Suddenly a man bowed 
 
 down before him. "Why "Hold on," 
 
 commanded the Colonel. "My name is 
 Boyers here." 
 
 "Oh, you don t say." 
 
 "Yes, a mere whim, you understand, but 
 one that must be respected, for a time at least. 
 I have met a few acquaintances here, and of 
 them all have made the same request met 
 them again sometimes and introduced them 
 to persons whom I have have, well you 
 might say, taken up with here." 
 
 The man bowed low and passed on. 
 Sammy found the Colonel and told him that 
 the ladies were in a quiet little parlor, a nook 
 almost hidden from the world. The youth 
 took him by the arm, spoke persuasively, and 
 there was a show of resistance, but he yielded. 
 The Widow, in a rocking chair, looked like 
 an exhibition of creamy lace. In a chair beside 
 her lay her fan. She took it up and bade the 
 Colonel sit down. Imogene came laughing 
 
 325 
 
An American in New York 
 
 forth from a blue plush corner, took his 
 hands, called him dad, and playfully made 
 as if she would nestle against his breast, so 
 broad but withal so troubled; but remarking 
 that those who chanced to pass might not 
 know the relationship, she sat down. Sammy 
 hovered near her. 
 
 "You have been so busy," said Margaret, 
 speaking to the Colonel, u that you doubtless 
 haven t heard or at least haven t been able to 
 remember many of the details concerning the 
 near wedding of this charmingly foolish 
 pair." 
 
 "No, madam, I " 
 
 "Margaret," she corrected him. 
 
 "I thank you," he said, bowing. "No, I 
 haven t heard any of the delightful particu 
 lars." 
 
 "Isn t he grand!" Imogene exclaimed, and 
 Sammy looked up as if he would call atten 
 tion to the fact that she was the wisest creat 
 ure who, at that time, happened to inhabit 
 the face of the earth. 
 
 "Well," said Margaret, "they are to be 
 married just as soon as they can possibly get 
 ready, which will take only a few weeks." 
 326 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "And then, dad," cried Imogene, "we are 
 going to America." 
 
 "Lord bless your sweet lips," broke out the 
 Colonel. "Your very words carry me back. 
 Yes, and then if you want to go to Europe, 
 all right." 
 
 "Yes, after a while," she said. "But for a 
 long time we ll have to work to get money 
 enough. We won t mind that, though ; it will 
 be fun." 
 
 "Have you any idea as what particular sort 
 of work you are to do?" the Colonel inquired 
 of the girl, but looking at Margaret and 
 catching the tender glow in her eye. 
 
 "Well, I suppose I ll have to milk the 
 cows. And I won t wear anything red, and 
 and consequently I needn t be afraid of them. 
 And Sammy will dig up the sugar beets and 
 water the horses; and on Sunday we ll ride 
 mustangs to church, forty miles away, taking 
 our guns with us to persuade the Indians to 
 let us alone oh, I ve got it all mapped out, 
 and it is beautiful. My ancestors froze their 
 feet in a Puritan church while trying to keep 
 their hands warm enough to shoot a fire-lock, 
 and in spirit I m going right back among them 
 and be natural." 
 
 327 
 
An American in New York 
 
 Sammy roared with laughter. He said 
 that to hear her talk was better than a humor 
 ous lecture, and taking the average humorous 
 lecture as the standard, this might not have 
 been much short of the truth. But it was 
 time for him and the girl to wander away, 
 and they wandered, looking at things as if 
 they had not seen them more than a hundred 
 times. 
 
 "Beautiful," said Margaret. "Ah, and let 
 them bathe in this pearly sea, now while the 
 tide sings sweet and low. The breakers will 
 come soon enough." 
 
 "It is the fear that sometimes invites them 
 to come," the Colonel replied. "The brave 
 live longer than the cowards." 
 
 "I believe that is true," she said, and to 
 ward him with the slow movement of her fan 
 she wafted, not the scent, but the merest sug 
 gestion of a blooming plum tree. And so 
 they talked of many things, but never did she 
 seek to lead him toward the brier thicket, the 
 criticisms of his play; but in his heart he felt 
 that she pitied him, and when this feeling was 
 strongest, he bade her good night. In his 
 room he thought of the afternoon papers and 
 sent for them, with the hope, acknowledged 
 328 
 
An American in New York 
 
 within himself, that there might be some 
 "change in public opinion," but there it was, 
 an echo of the morning "dujl as a tale forced 
 upon you." ... "A snore set to lugubri 
 ous tune." And he went to bed, hoping that 
 Margaret might not see these tirades of ad 
 ditional insult. 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHARTER XXVI. 
 
 IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY ROOM. 
 
 Early on the following morning the Col 
 onel called at the detective agency. Groggin 
 had not been "spotted," though no effort had 
 been spared to "locate" him. It was, how 
 ever, only a question of time. u Yes," said the 
 Colonel, "let it alone and eternity itself will 
 be only a question of time." 
 
 Back to the hotel he went, feeling utterly 
 alone. No longer was Sammy company for 
 him, and fearing the soft light of pity in her 
 eyes, he shrank from the almost sure chance 
 of meeting Margaret. But in the men s cafe 
 he sat down to muse over her. The waiter 
 came, took his order, cat-stepped away; and 
 the Colonel continued to muse, deeper and 
 deeper, into her character, her nature. How 
 different she was from what he had at first 
 conceived her to be ; how much more human, 
 home-like, American. Surely she had told 
 the truth in her attitude toward society, that 
 she did not strive to be a part of it. In New 
 York his mission would soon be fulfilled, 
 
 330 
 
An American in New York 
 
 whatever it might be, but had not the very 
 opposites of the town, the antagonisms, 
 educed a sort of attachment? Did he care to 
 go away, or was it Margaret whom he 
 dreaded to leave? It was. Then why not 
 ask her to go with him, to be his wife? Con 
 cerning marriage he held what he termed the 
 old, the sentimental idea; that there must be 
 love, romance, no mere business resolve to 
 live together, looking after each other s com 
 fort partners; he would rather quarrel with 
 a woman if she loved him and he loved her 
 than to live in the regulated agreement of 
 suited matrimony. But he could not arise 
 to the feeling that she loved him. In many 
 ways he had full confidence in himself, was 
 arrogant; he would step out into the street 
 and advise a teamster as to the most effective 
 way to start a balky horse; that morning he 
 had halted to show a number of workmen 
 that they were not digging a foundation in 
 the proper manner; he would have passed ad* 
 verse judgment on a composer who had re 
 ceived the approval of the world, but he 
 could not say to himself that Margaret loved 
 him. 
 
 Late in the afternoon he went down to the 
 
 331 
 
An American in New York 
 
 theatre. "Well, how are we now?" he in 
 quired of the young man. 
 
 "Slow. 11 
 
 "Any advance over yesterday s rush? 
 Have they been kicking against one another s 
 heels ?" 
 
 "No, the other fellow got out of the way." 
 
 "Other fellow?" 
 
 "Yes, the one in front. Colonel, we sold 
 only two seats to-day." 
 
 "All right. See that the two get in and 
 then shut the doors. Don t let em out. 
 Any what do you call em? Enchores? 
 Any last night?" 
 
 "Didn t hear of any. Don t you think 
 we d better paper the house ? The press agent 
 says you told him " 
 
 "I told him not to go out into the high 
 ways and compel them to come in. Let them 
 stay out." 
 
 "Well, I guess they will." 
 
 "Wholly unconscious of the fact, I suppose, 
 that it doesn t make an infernal bit of differ 
 ence to me." 
 
 In the evening he met Margaret, and in her 
 eyes there was that same soft light, sunset 
 after-glow of a summer s day. Together 
 
 332 
 
An American in New York 
 
 they walked up and down the marble corridor, 
 and then they sat in a corner, listening to the 
 music. Occasionally Sammy and Imogene 
 came by, always laughing out of their eyes, 
 always happy; and like a luminous mist the 
 hours floated away, and still she had not men 
 tioned having seen the criticisms. But he 
 knew that she had seen them, for in her man 
 ner toward him there was even more of ten 
 derness, of sympathy. 
 
 "Did I ask you if you enjoyed your visit 
 to the country?" 
 
 "I don t remember. Well, yes, in a way," 
 she said, dreamily, as if she were looking 
 back upon a scene. "The house was very 
 quiet, for love makes no noise I mean 
 Sammy and Imogene, and I made myself 
 think that I was enjoying the gathering forces 
 of my own strength. There are times, you 
 know, when we feel that we should be 
 stronger, when deeply we regret not having 
 been stronger and then, feeling that we can 
 be, that we are, we find pleasure in the the 
 dominance of moral rectitude." 
 
 "That is perhaps the way a man feels when 
 he knows he has been a fool, Margaret, but 
 I never could get any pleasure out of resolv- 
 
 333 
 
An American in New York 
 
 ing never to be so again because I learned a 
 long time ago that I should. But how could 
 you feel that you ought to have been stronger? 
 What have you done that was weak?" 
 
 u Oh, you don t know, you can t know," 
 she said. 
 
 "No, not unless you tell me." 
 
 "And if I should, you d have a contempt 
 for me." 
 
 "I couldn t be placed in such a position. 
 Margaret, as now I look back, as I look at the 
 light that sometimes comes into your eyes, 
 it seems to me that I never knew a real soul 
 until I met you yes, one, a long time ago, 
 but her soul, beautiful as it was, could not 
 have been so great as yours." 
 
 "Colonel, I forbid you to talk that way. 
 Remember you are " 
 
 "Yes, I remember everything, but before 
 I leave this town I may tell you something 
 
 that " Sammy and Imogene came up. 
 
 "How now, youngsters? Have you had your 
 bread and milk for the night?" 
 
 They passed on, laughing out of their 
 merry eyes, and the Colonel was about to 
 catch up his broken thread when the voices 
 of two men reached him, one, especially, for 
 
 334 
 
An American in New York 
 
 he caught the words, "Yes, the newspapers 
 skinned him alive." And Margaret heard, 
 too, for the look of pity came into her eyes. 
 Shortly afterward he bade her good-night 
 did not notice that she was -loth to go, that 
 she parted from him resignedly; he did not 
 note the sadness in her voice except as it con 
 veyed to him the pity and the sorrow over his 
 defeat. 
 
 Early after breakfast on the following day 
 he wandered about, as if looking for freedom 
 from worry, for rest and he thought of the 
 quiet place whither Margaret had gone, 
 where strength had come back to her. He 
 knew not where the place was, but remem 
 bered that it must lie somewhere within the 
 neighborhood of New Haven. He had been 
 walking uptown and was now not far from 
 the railway station. u Why not take a run 
 up there?" he mused. "The fresh air will 
 do me good." This resolved itself into de 
 cision, and he got into a train which was 
 about ready to start. Here and there a 
 glimpse of the Sound reminded him of the 
 far West, of the water out from Seattle, and 
 he was dreaming pleasantly when the train 
 reached New Haven. Here he walked be- 
 
 335 
 
An American in New York 
 
 neath the great elms of old Yale s campus, 
 musing over the many feet that had gone 
 before, to destruction, to death on the field 
 of battle, when looking up suddenly he saw 
 something that made him catch his breath. 
 He saw a man entering a doorway just across 
 from the college, a restaurant, and with no 
 thought of the strange and undignified sight 
 he might afford, he ran toward the place, en 
 tered and demanded of an attendant: 
 
 "Where did that man go the one that 
 past came in?" 
 
 In the rear was a room fitted up in six 
 teenth century style, and toward it the attend 
 ant gestured. The Colonel entered the room. 
 Over in a corner, with his arms on a table, 
 in a chair old in the memory of this, a former 
 student, sat Sim Groggin. The Colonel was 
 between him and the door. He looked up. 
 With his hand the Colonel made a downward 
 gesture. "Don t move, Groggin." 
 
 He was perfectly calm. "I am not mov 
 ing," he said. "You know it is not my habit 
 to run away, and I ran the other night be 
 cause I didn t want to kill you. And may I 
 ask what you want with me now, Blandin?" 
 
 336 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "I want to feast my eyes upon your in 
 famous countenance." 
 
 "And when your eyes are no longer hun 
 gry what then?" 
 
 "You ought to know." 
 
 "Murder? Is that your game?" 
 
 "No name you call it, sir, will soften my 
 purpose. I am glad to see you so quiet. It 
 is only the fool that rants. And it is only 
 the weakling that relents." 
 
 "I haven t called you a fool, Blandin. I 
 did you a mortal wrong that s a fact, but 
 I ll venture to say that I have suffered for it 
 more than you have." 
 
 How old he looked, how hollow-eyed, as if 
 haunted. 
 
 "I ought to have been killed I acknowl 
 edge that. I don t think there ever was such 
 a wretch. But we were out among desperate 
 men, and civilization had taught that treach 
 ery in a case of love 
 
 "No more of that!" The Colonel was 
 now standing near him. 
 
 "Well, what then? I hope you don t think 
 that I m begging for my life. You ve had 
 cause to know that I m a scoundrel, but never 
 an occasion to believe me a coward, except 
 
 337 
 
An American in New York 
 
 when I ve dodged you because I didn t want 
 to kill you. And now a murder within the 
 shadow of old Yale ! Rather out of har 
 mony, don t you think?" 
 
 "I ll grant you the best of the argument, 
 Groggin; I don t care. to argue; I have quit 
 the practice of law." 
 
 "Or the observance of it, eh?" 
 
 "That is very good and very true. But 
 with both of us in it, Groggin, the world is 
 crowded. Civilization has advanced but I 
 am not here to expand upon the absurdity of 
 my position. You and I belong to another 
 state of society. God, it does my immovable 
 heart good to gaze upon that hell-map coun 
 tenance of yours. You say I have no cause to 
 think you a coward. That is true. You 
 spoke as if you did not value your life. Then 
 why preserve it? Your passing away might 
 mean a favor to some one who has not yet 
 
 been unfortunate enough to meet you. Your 
 
 u 
 
 "All of which leads to what, Blandin?" 
 "That you may kill yourself if you choose." 
 "And if I don t choose?" 
 "I shall ha ve to kill you violently. There 
 are easy ways, and I don t care particularly to 
 
 338 
 
An American in New York 
 
 see you suffer to gasp. All I want is to 
 know that you are no longer in the world." 
 
 "You don t object to my thinking a mo 
 ment?" 
 
 "No, but only a moment, for we might be 
 interrupted. It is only the devilish belief in 
 the waiter s mind that he is neglecting us that 
 has left us free." 
 
 "You were always humorous, Blandin." 
 
 "Don t repeat my name so often. Are you 
 thinking?" 
 
 "Yes." He straightened up. "I was 
 thinking that you might waive causes and 
 yield to generosity to give me a chance. 
 You were always willing to take a chance. 
 And after all it doesn t or wouldn t matter 
 much which one goes out of the world so 
 far as the other is concerned. The chance I 
 mean is this. Suppose we shake dice to de 
 termine which one of us shall kill himself 
 quietly in his room to-night? Absurd, yes, 
 but so is your position this minute. If you 
 win I ll keep my contract." 
 
 "Groggin, you ve got me cornered." 
 
 "Well, then, let me walk out." 
 
 "No." 
 
 339 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Then as a fair-minded man how can you 
 turn down my proposition?" 
 
 "Cornered." 
 
 "Shall I call for a dice box? You beat me 
 out of a law library once, before we were 
 partners. Don t you remember?" 
 
 "Yes, and carried it off at one load in a 
 gunnysack." 
 
 Groggin smiled. "You want me dead, but 
 you don t want to commit murder. It would 
 spoil your life, and you have much to live for. 
 If you should lose, you quietly pass away 
 after making all necessary arrangements." 
 
 "Groggin, I am the injured one, the one 
 who ought to blow out your brains. Nobody 
 but a fool would place his life upon such a 
 hazard." 
 
 "And nobody but a fool would follow me 
 as you have done." 
 
 "That is true. I tell you I am cornered." 
 
 "Well, a cornered man ought to accept.* 
 
 "I do accept. Hit the bell." 
 
 Groggin struck the bell. The waiter came. 
 "Dice box, please." 
 
 From a shelf the waiter took down a dice 
 box, turned the dice out into his hand, saw 
 340 
 
An American in New York 
 
 that there were five, replaced them, put the 
 box on the table and withdrew. 
 
 "Now," said Groggin, u we both swear to 
 carry out the terms of the contract." 
 
 "We do. You know I will." 
 
 "Shall I shake?" 
 
 "Yes, three times, and no horses." 
 
 "All right." 
 
 Without a tremor Groggin took up the 
 box and slowly began to shake it. 
 
 "Throw." 
 
 He threw two sixes, two deuces and an ace. 
 He studied. "I don t know whether to try 
 to fill here or not." 
 
 "Use your own judgment." 
 
 He left the sixes. Another throw another 
 six and two fives. "Full hand. I don t know 
 whether to leave it or not. Only one more 
 throw. I ll leave it." 
 
 How quiet it all was, how remindful of the 
 days when in the West a man set no store 
 upon his life. 
 
 The Colonel took the box and threw 
 three fours, a five and a tray. "Pretty fair if 
 I can help." He threw again did not help. 
 He took up the two dice and shook the box 
 round and round and turned it down upon 
 
 34i 
 
An American in New York 
 
 the table. "Your death or mine under there, 
 Groggin." 
 
 "Lift it up." 
 
 The Colonel raised the box. Another four. 
 Groggin did not start, did not wince. "Well, 
 I m glad it s over with," he said. "Many a 
 time IVe thought of doing the thing so I 
 haven t lost much. Well, are you through 
 with me?" 
 
 "Yes. To-night, remember." 
 
 "To-night. I m at the Holland House 
 George Wilber in the book. You ll see it 
 in the papers to-morrow. Where are you?" 
 
 "Waldorf. J. Boyers." 
 
 "I may telephone you to-night." 
 
 "Very well. Good-bye." 
 
 "Shake hands?" 
 
 "No, if I should touch you I d kill you. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 342 
 
An American in New York 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 "Give human nature a chance and it will 
 nearly always be a fool," the Colonel mused 
 on his way back to the city. But this reflec 
 tion, wise as he fancied it to be, was not suf 
 ficient. He brought up arguments to sustain 
 his conviction that Groggin ought to be dead, 
 that his death would serve a purpose com 
 mended by the Fates, whoever they might be ; 
 and so he kept his heart from softening. But 
 when the newspapers should come out with 
 their screaming lines, and when in the streets 
 the boys should cry the suicide, could he look 
 into Margaret s tender eyes? Yes, and see 
 that same light of pity for himself, for his 
 tragedy, the wilful murder of a modest hope. 
 Ah, but had the hope been modest? Was it 
 not a revenge rather than an aspiration that 
 had fathered the play, and was not that re 
 venge almost accomplished? It would be 
 that night. Groggin would keep his oath, 
 and when he was out of it, the world would 
 look better. 
 
 343 
 
An American in New York 
 
 In the evening he found Margaret in an 
 alcove, in company with several acquaint 
 ances, among them the Doctor and a seller of 
 gold bricks from Mexico; but the company, 
 afraid that the American might talk about the 
 play, soon wandered off, leaving Margaret 
 and the Colonel alone. Sammy and Imogene 
 had gone to see a comic opera. Margaret 
 had reminded the girl that we go to hear an 
 opera, and laughingly she had replied: "Not 
 this sort of one, auntie. Do we, Sambo?" 
 
 u You seem sadder than usual to-night," 
 Margaret remarked to the Colonel, and he 
 shook his head. "No, I think not." 
 
 "I want to see the play again." 
 
 "Please don t." 
 
 "But I tell you I liked it. How long will 
 it run?" 
 
 "It ought not to run a moment longer, 
 since its mission has been fulfilled; but the 
 company guess I ll give them an honorar 
 ium to quit." 
 
 Slowly she was moving her fan, and to his 
 senses came that same suggestion of a plum 
 tree in bloom. "If it is not to be a success it 
 is a shame to spend so much money on it," she 
 said, and he knew that the Doctor and the 
 
 344 
 
An American in New York 
 
 gold brick seller had been gloating over his 
 failure. "I don t regret the cost," he replied. 
 
 "Won t you please let me bear part of it? 
 Won t you if I ask it as a favor? I have 
 some money that I don t need ten, twenty 
 thousand. Won t you please take it?" 
 
 "No, my dear I beg your pardon. I can 
 afford all that I am likely to throw away. 
 Don t think about it, please." 
 
 How handsome she was; what a glory 
 radiated from her hair. He looked at her 
 arms, her beautiful hands, and forgot the 
 man at the Holland House, forgot every 
 thing on earth but her. Was it time for him to 
 tell her that he was not married, that he had 
 fibbed as a joke at first and had turned it into 
 a sustained lie, to hold her as a companion? 
 No, it was not time. He would wait until 
 after the boys had cried out something in the 
 street. And then he thought of Groggin, of 
 the scene in the sixteenth century room, now 
 so strange, so distinct, a vague dream. But 
 the result was not to be a dream, though a 
 sleep. 
 
 "You know," she said, "I threatened to tell 
 you something that would cause you to hate 
 
 me." 
 
 345 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Ah, in that line, Margaret, I can give you 
 cards and spades." A vision of dice, of a six 
 full, arose in his mind. 
 
 "No, I think not, Colonel. But I have 
 never done anything very bad. I have been 
 married twice." 
 
 "Twice," he repeated. 
 
 "Yes. The first time I married a man on 
 his deathbed. It was a girlish romance, a 
 foolish thing. If he had been well and 
 strong probably I should not have married 
 him. But as it was I did, and he died that 
 day. Then, a number of years afterward I 
 married a speculator who had dazzled me 
 with his boldness. He failed in New York 
 and went West. He was a a brute, and I 
 didn t go with him. We did not correspond, 
 but I heard that he was in a fair way to strike 
 a fortune in mining, so my lawyer kept track 
 of him. Well, he died. And now comes a 
 strange part of the story. Really he was 
 worth nothing at the time of his death, but a 
 man, the most generous man in the world 
 this man rather than take advantage of some 
 sort of document, acknowledged an indebted 
 ness to me of three hundred thousand dollars 
 and forwarded the money to my lawyer. 
 
 346 
 
An American in New York 
 
 After this I took the name a freakish 
 thing name of my first husband, for my fam 
 ily name was harsh and plebeian. Haven t 
 I been weak? Now, don t you despise me?" 
 
 He shook his head, gazing at her. "And 
 the name of the man who would not take 
 advantage of a technicality?" 
 
 "James Blandin, the great Copper King. 
 Did you ever meet him out West?" 
 
 A vision of Groggin arose, and the Colonel 
 heard his own voice command, "Stop calling 
 me Blandin." 
 
 "Yes, I have met him." 
 
 "I wrote to him before I took my first hus 
 band s name was ashamed to write after 
 ward." 
 
 A page came shouting: "Telephone for 
 J. Boyers." 
 
 "Here, boy." 
 
 "The Holland House wishes to talk to you, 
 sir." 
 
 The Colonel excused himself and hastened 
 to the telephone booth. "Hello, who is it?" 
 
 "Groggin." 
 
 "Oh." 
 
 "It will all be over pretty soon, and I just 
 thought I d tell you I was going to keep my 
 
 347 
 
An American in New York 
 
 word going by the gas route am in my 
 room now, and the door locked. I want you 
 to know, Blandin, that no wretch ever suf 
 fered more than I have and it may rob you 
 of some of the sweets of your victory, but I 
 want you to know that I m glad it s about all 
 over with. Do you understand?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I had no idea that you were in that theatre 
 or that you had anything to do with the play, 
 but that amounts to nothing. The end has 
 come, and 
 
 "No," shouted the Colonel. "No! Do 
 you hear?" 
 
 No answer. The connection was cut off. 
 The Colonel hastened to Margaret. "I must 
 ask you to excuse me," he hastily began. "I 
 must go at once 
 
 "Just a moment, Colonel. I want to ask 
 you a question that I ve wanted to ask be 
 fore, but didn t. I had a brother in the 
 West Sim Groggin 
 
 "What!" the Colonel shouted. "Come 
 with me, this minute no time for wraps- 
 with me." He seized her hand. 
 
 "Why, Colonel, what is the matter?" 
 
 348 
 
An American in New York 
 
 "Come, I tell you case of life or death. 
 Don t ask a question now. Come with me." 
 
 He almost dragged her till she ran to keep 
 up with him. They jumped into a cab. "To 
 the Holland House. Quick! five dollars 
 for you." 
 
 The driver whipped his horse. It was a 
 whirl, a lunge, a sudden stop. Out he jumped, 
 she following close. The Colonel threw 
 down a gold piece and ran into the hotel, up 
 to the counter. "George Wilber s room. 
 Suicide force the door. Send the house 
 physician." 
 
 The door was forced. A stifling volume of 
 gas poured out. Groggin was found uncon 
 scious on the bed. "It will all be made clear 
 in time," the Colonel whispered to Margaret 
 as the physician began swiftly to apply his 
 art. 
 
 "Yes," she replied in low tones, looking 
 on, "but why did you bring me? Who is the 
 man?" 
 
 "Your brother. Hush not a word." She 
 looked at the man on the bed, at the Colonel, 
 and was silent. "A few moments more and 
 he would have been gone," said the physician. 
 The windows were up. The sharp clack of 
 
 349 
 
An American in New York 
 
 hoofs beating the asphalt vibrated in the air. 
 Already there were reporters in the room. 
 They made inquiries of the physician. He 
 nodded toward the Colonel. The American 
 told them what he thought was enough; but 
 to a reporter no one ever tells what is wanted, 
 except as he suggests, as he opens an avenue 
 for a story. u He is coming to," some one 
 remarked. Margaret moved closer to the 
 bed. She wanted to take Groggin s hand, 
 but the physician said: "Not now, madam, 
 please." 
 
 "He is my brother, sir." 
 
 "But he is my patient." 
 
 She moved back. A reporter inquired of 
 the Colonel if he were not the author of the 
 play at Daly s. 
 
 "Yes, and this man was once a partner of 
 mine. I had not seen him for a long time. He 
 didn t know that I was here. Despondent." 
 
 "And your name, please?" 
 
 "I don t care to discuss personalities. My 
 name has nothing to do with this affair so 
 far as the public is concerned." 
 
 That statement made his name of vital 
 concern to the public. Groggin began to mut 
 ter. "Go away and let me alone. It must 
 
 350 
 
AH," HE SAID, IT S YOUR OLD VOICE, BLANDIN JIM~ 
 YOUR OLD VOICE." 
 
An American in New York 
 
 be." He opened his eyes and looked up at 
 the Colonel. "You see I m not a liar. I will 
 keep my word." 
 
 "No," said the Colonel. "Your life is 
 your own." 
 
 "It is of no account. I ought to be dead. 
 I m a pauper." 
 
 "Not a pauper, Sim, as long as I have any 
 thing, and you know what that means." 
 
 Margaret was kneeling beside the bed. 
 
 Groggin raised up. Tears streamed out 
 of his eyes. "Ah," he said^ "it is your old 
 voice, Blandin Jim your old voice." 
 
 Margaret looked at the Colonel. She said 
 nothing. She sobbed. 
 
 The air was cold and the physician pulled 
 down one of the windows. He said that he 
 must insist upon every one leaving the room. 
 The patient showed signs of natural sleep. 
 He had not recognized his sister. She begged 
 the physician to permit her to remain. The 
 Colonel insisted and the medical man yielded. 
 And now all was quiet. The hours passed. 
 Groggin awoke. His sister was near him, 
 spoke and he looked at her and took her hand 
 and pressed it to his lips. "A long time," he 
 said. "Where is Jim?" 
 
 351 
 
An American in New York 
 
 Waiting to take me back to the Waldorf," 
 she answered. 
 
 "And you know him. There s only one." 
 He slept again. 
 
 It was after daylight when the Colonel and 
 Margaret returned to the hotel. On the way 
 not a word was spoken. As they were getting 
 out of the cab she said: And your name is 
 Blandin the man who " 
 
 "Not now," he broke in. "We shall talk 
 of that some other time." 
 
 Boys in the street were shouting the sensa 
 tion of the day. "All about Blandin, the 
 Great Copper King, author of the play at 
 Daly s!" His wealth was estimated at 
 seventy-five millions, and he was said to be 
 the most peculiar man in America. The at 
 tempted suicide of Groggin was interwoven, 
 and was explained no further than that it was 
 a deep mystery. 
 
 The Colonel slept until nearly four o clock 
 in the afternoon. Numerous reporters had 
 called, but as he had left orders not to be dis 
 turbed, and especially as he was a copper 
 king, his wishes were observed. As he was 
 
 352 
 
An American in New York 
 
 in the elevator going down, he heard two 
 men talking about his play. "Went to the 
 theatre as early as ten o clock, but couldn t 
 get a thing," said one of them. "Every seat 
 was sold, not only for to-night, but far in ad 
 vance. It may be a month before I can get 
 
 in." 
 
 Sammy had not disturbed the Colonel, but 
 for a long time had waited for him below. 
 With a laugh the Colonel held forth his 
 hand. "Understand that they ve got a rous 
 ing show down at Daly s," said he. "I 
 wanted to see it, but there s not a seat to be 
 had for love or money. Ah, this town is in 
 fatuated with art. Now look here, don t you 
 thank me that Groggin is alive. I didn t 
 weaken, I ll tell you that. The man that 
 weakens is a fool. And now, my boy, I ve 
 got a delicate commission for you. Go to 
 your Aunt Margaret and tell her I lied about 
 being married. Talk as you never talked 
 before in your life." 
 
 "I told her just now, dad; didn t think it a 
 violation of confidence now, you know." 
 
 "Hah, you did? And what did she say? 
 Come, out with it. Everybody s gazing at 
 us. Let s go out here. Now, what did she 
 
 353 
 
An American in New York 
 
 say?" he repeated when they had gone out 
 upon the sidewalk. 
 
 "Cried, dad; broke down and cried." 
 
 "Huh. Where is she now?" 
 
 "In her apartments." 
 
 "Lead me there." 
 
 Sammy rapped on the door. It was opened 
 by Imogene. The Colonel kissed her. Mar 
 garet was reclining on a sofa. "Go out, you 
 two," said the Colonel. They went out, 
 Sammy and the girl. Margaret did not look 
 at him; she did not speak. Her face was half 
 hidden in a pillow. Her eyes were closed. 
 The Colonel sat down beside her. 
 
 "How could you have done that?" she 
 sobbed. 
 
 "Oh, because I thought the world would 
 be better with him out of it." 
 
 "I don t mean that. How could you have 
 deceived me?" 
 
 "I I started in with lying and couldn t 
 stop. Maybe you don t know how hard it 
 is to stop when once you begin. It s like go 
 ing down Pike s Peak on a sled. I found in 
 you a companion before I knew it, Margaret. 
 
 354 
 
An American in New York 
 
 It was beautiful free, and I didn t want to 
 spoil it. How new it was, such a compan 
 ion and you must know that women of the 
 world are trying all the time to work a man 
 in my position I beg your pardon, I knew 
 you wouldn t. But I loved your companion 
 ship. And now can you forgive a fool suf 
 ficiently to love him and to marry him ? Can 
 you?" 
 
 She strove to dry her eyes ; she sat up and 
 looked at him. "You will not want to marry 
 me when I have told you something," she 
 said. "I am a wicked woman." 
 
 "Prove it," he demanded, attempting to 
 take her hand, but she drew it away from 
 him. 
 
 "I can prove it, and before I do before I 
 drive you away, I must thank you for be 
 ing being the noblest man in the world, for 
 sending me a fortune that you could just as 
 easily have kept for yourself." 
 
 "I m not gone. I stay to call for the proof 
 that you are a wicked woman." 
 
 "You shall have the proof. I thought you 
 were married, but I loved you. I didn t want 
 to wrong any one, but I loved you. I despised 
 myself, but I loved you, and I went away to 
 
 355 
 
An American in New York 
 
 summon strength, but it would not come. No, 
 it wouldn t, and and I would have gone 
 away with you would have given up my life 
 here and gone with you because I loved you. 
 Lawless, wicked, and, oh, so shameful." 
 
 As she bowed low he bent over her. 
 "Other half of my vagabond soul," he said, 
 "you are my resurrection and my light. In 
 your eye is the constant proof of God; and if 
 you loved, it was heaven-sent. And what 
 man shall sit as a judge! Sam Imogene, 
 
 come here." 
 
 [THE END.] 
 
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THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY