I, THE KING ]
By WAY LAND WELLS WILLIAMS.
(Copyright. 1*24.)
(Continued From Saturday.)
Newell gave him a casual smile over
his shoulder and called for two cards.
He knew that Dick was drunker
than he shojved.
‘‘Newell don’t care for women,” said
Den Thompson. ‘‘How about a little
bridge? Come on, Dick, you and I’ll
stand anybody."
"The hell he don't,” said Dick. “Aw,
not bridge, too slow. No, old man
Newell, old Post Newell. . . . Say,
who was it used to call you Post,
Newell?”
"Jack Caslon," said Kit hurriedly.
Half the room fell into silence; Len
Thompson kicked Dick's shins, but
he only stretched and raised a glass.
"That’s so. Jack Caslon. He’s dead,
do’ bless him. Here's to him, well
rid of us—and we of him.”
The words were audible to every
one; the stillness became complete and
hopeless. Kit turned in his rhair and
looked at Pick. "If you think that,
perhaps you'd better go,” he said,
inclining his head slightly toward the
door. • ,
"VVhoof!” said Dick inanely. “The
loyal boy. More’n to those wives o’
yours on the island, what? Think of
it, boys!”
Kit fixed him with his eyes, motion
less. "You'd better go,” he repeated.
The silence became charged. Dick
leaned forward on the table. "Huh
What’s that?”
"You’re drunk, I know, said Kit,
“but if it makes you like that you'd
better get out. Come back when
you're sober.” „
"My God!" Dick rose; he was really
far gone, hut he summoned some
semblance of dignity, hitched up ids
Sam Browne belt and threw his head
back. "Huh, I will. I won’t stay here
to be insulted by any one, 'specially
not by a man’t throw over his oldest
friend for a guy that the whole class
him in a flash, swinging mm rou.iu
r
New York
--Day by Day—
>_—--—--'
Hy o. 0. M'INTYRE.
New York, Nov. 23.-—A page from
the diary of a modern Samuel Pepys:
I.ay late and then to breakfast with
George Cohan and we fell to discuss
ing animals and the possibility of
them having souls. "There must be
animals in heaven," said he, 1 or how
do they get strings for their harps?"
And, too, we discussed the virtue
of common sense and T held the
greatest exponent of it I knew was
Hd. Howe, of Kansas, albeit I do not
always agree with his views, but he
seems to me ever to be tremendously
sincere.
Home and at my stint and then
cast my accounts, finding a few
pounds over my indebtedness for
which the Lord be praised. My wife
came to me with a frock, newlyj
bought, and how pretty she looked, j
she being ns fair if not the fairest
lady in all the land.
To dinner with Aulu-py Eads and
his mother and there came Margalo
Gilmore, Gertrude Lawerance, Macky
Morris, Dwight Fry and Louis Cal
hern and all cut up hlgh-jinks, yet
It was the most innocent fun and
foolery. So to bed.
He was a commanding figure with
a shock of snow-white hair. His dress
is than of the middle aged dandy,
conseralive, save for a bright cravat
or perhaps lemon colored gloves. Peo
ple usually turn their heads as they
pass him. My own impression was
that he was a colossal giant of the
business world. Py chance I stum
bled across his record. He has been
three times imprisoned for selling
worthless stock. He Is barred in
. every hotel lobby as a confidence
man.
Most confidence games are bred in
the hotel lobby. The easy familiarity
among strangers gives the scheming
crook the chance to open conversa
tion without the formality of intro
duction. And skilled ones will tell
you that if they can hold any man’s
interest for a half hour they never
fall to land tim. The Gondorf
brothers used to delight in tackling
"prospects” who were known for their
business sagacity. They boasted they
never had a prospect who would not
he a victim if they could get him to
lunch with them, ft was their theory
that only those who refused to listen
failed as "suckers."
t was bated one time in an ef
fort made hy two men to swindle In
a real estate deal. I'll confess I was
tempted up to a certain point, but
my faith was shattered when one of
them kicked at a dog.
One of the hlgh-yaller cabarets at
tracting downtown shimmers to the
uptown black belt is called "The
Nest.” It Is In the basement, but Is
as luxuriously decorated as any placa
in town. All colored jazz musicians
furnish the music—but It Is jazz with
restraint and somehow suggests the
for away tom toms In the African
jungle. There Is promiscuous danc
ing among the colored and white
folk. All are requested to wear even
ing clothes or he shunted Into a
hack room. One thing Is noticeable,
the service Is excellent. The colored
waiters are deferential, attentive
nml courteous. This is quite a con
trast from the sullen menials who
work downtown. At. the entrance
each patron Is required to register
and gain nil admission ■ curd which
costs a dollar. The cover charge Is
$2 a person. The odor from a con
stant spray of perfume is wafted
about the room hy electric fans.
Chinatown also lots a popular mid
flight supper club In Fell street. It Is
called The Khnnghal club. Chinese
girls with bobbed hair and latest
frocks are to lie seen there with sleek
American boys In collegiate clothes.
An all Chinese revue with the Amer
ican songs and dances Is offered.
(CopyrliijK, mt)
"No one says that here,” said Kit,
vexed by an Insane desire to cry.
“No, no, damned right. Oh, he'll
come round when he's sober. He'll
apologize,"
"I don't give a hang whether he
does or not—”
"Oh, c6me, buck up, old man!"
‘‘Yes, man, it's all over now. Bet’s
forget about it. What about a rub
ber'of bridge, eh?”
Len Thomson left the house with
Jen Cobb two hours later. “AH the
same,” he said, “it was a bit swift,
wasn't It, as against ii drunken man?”
"Yes," said Jen, his eyes on the
pavement. "But there's a lot behind
it. I doubt if he ever comes back to
Dick, tlood job he isn't going to
marry the sister.”
“Perhaps that’s one reason for this
tiff?”
“No. No, it was nothing hut the
Jack motif, and that was the only
thing that could have brought him
to it. Anything else he’d have just
laughed off. There’s a lot of depth
to friend Kit, and it's pretty cJarure
down there. No one’s ever/ really
seen to,the bottom, I think, even
Jack Caslon.—But I wouldn’t mind
following it, straight to the very bot
tom.”
It was a week before he talked
to Kit about it. "Oh, yes, Jen, he
wrote and apologized, and I accepted
it. And I'm having dinner witli him
and some other people tonight. Fun
ny, isn't it? how short a time one
can care. I only know there's a good
party on tonight, and I don't want*
to miss it.”
“The life's getting you. in spite of
everything," said Jen, swallowing the
surprise he felt. “Well, no one
escapes. Duchess of Richmond stuff."
Kit smiled, inertly. “Yes. at times.
I know Dick was damnable, utterly
damnable, but I don’t care. I don’t
mind seeing him.”
Jen started to speak, paused, and
said: "See here, look out. It's all
very well to forgive. But you'd bet
ter be sure you are forgiving. Not
just not caring."
"Oh, blat!” said Kit, turning away.
.‘‘You and your metaphysics. What
on earth's the difference?"
"Think of Jack, and you’ll see the
difference.”
A long pause: then Kit: "I believe
I won’t go to that dinner, Jen. I'll
go and get Mary Vane to play. That's
better, every way.”
CHAPTER XIi.
I.
Mary Vane, with her north-lit stu
dio, and her sprawling black piano
and her roommate, Ethel Stock, a
gaunt girl with bobbed hair and an
unsmiling and untimely (and for that
reason rather convincing) devotion to ■
Ibsen, became a fixture in Kit’s
weeks. She represented an unfailing
response to a mood in him, a mood
of thinking about Jack and the empti
ness of life and the pathos of his lost
youth. She also served as an anti
dote to the unsatisfying but narcotic
whirl of things In Park avenue, the
cafes, hotel ballrooms and road
houses.
And then, in early May, he made
the discovery that Mary Vane took
of that side of life also. It came
about by his learning thut she was
going to a certain dance, to which
he had also been invited, lie had not
intended to go, but immediately deter
mined to do so, out of pure and rather
anxious curiosity to see Mary Vane in
a ball gown.
The dance was given by the Van
dermylls. mother and son, relics of
two semi-fabulous patronn families of
Westchester county. They had not
very much money, their ancestors
having sold their real estate too soon;
hut they knew people who had. Their
family prestige awed the more newly
rich and their eccentricities amused
them, and they went with the best
Bobby Vandermyll had been in the
class ahead of Kit at Yale, and had
failed to make any great impression
on it. He was about five feet all and
had developed a watery blond mtis
tache. Mu h to every one's astonish' 1
ment he had allowed himself to be
drafted (having of course, eye trou
ble that prevented his getting a com
mission!, and had risen to the rank
of sergeant major in the Quartermas
ter Corps.
Mrs. Vandermyll, in a voluminous
skirt that swept the floor, stood in
the bay window of her front draw
ing room and received. "How do you
do, Christopher!" she said, her large
loose lips making a curious whistling
sound over her words. "I’m so very
glad to see you. I hope you don t
find us loo staid and straight-laced,
after that island of yours! Bobby—
yes, he's dancing. T wanted him to
wear his uniform, but he -wouldn't.
I think It's sic h a shame you men
won't.—Why, how do you do, Mrs.
Fleming! Yes, the sergeant major's
dancing . . .”
Stayed and straight-laced Mrs. Van
dermyll was, up to the very neck, but
she had a daughter, Cora, who was
quite otherwise, she had eloped with
a chauffeur, been rapidly disinherited,
divorced and pardoned, and now pro
claimed openly that she intended to
marry the first British peer she could
lay hands on As soon as he had
escaped from the mother Kit caught
sight of this Interesting person whirl
ing about in the arms of a man in
a British major's uniform, and he
wondered If this were the peer. At
the same moment she sighted him
out of her extremely sophisticated
brown eye; she stopped dancing and
yelled: ■•ill, Newell! Come here, 1 want
to see you!"
The habit of railing men by their
last names she had retained from her
patroon ancestry; otherwise she was
indistinguishable from the average
louder debutant# of some years’
standing. She shook hands with Kit
ind introduced him to Major Boon
‘spelt, he afterwards learned, Bohun).
“Well, Newell, I had to shake hands
with you because I've never shaken
hand* with a kiiiR before. Quite «
romantic figure, aren't you. What
on earth bring* you here',' Perfect
menagerie. Well, so long. But In
on me, when yon see this man's about
to faint.”
He danced once with some one
else, was cut In on. and then per
eeivpd Mary Vane dancing with the
same Ilritlsh officer. Me watched her
with the greatest care: her gown was
of light green, rather longer and
more tightly fitting than most, but en
tirely "there;" she was dancing well,
though rather erectly, and smiling
with perfect ease; her dark eyes wore
precisely iterfomunp the *‘on vent ion a I
uses of eyes at a dance.
"Weil, I'll he darned, ' he said,
and out in.
(To Its Continued Tomorrow.) |
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