Episodes in Van Bibber's Life

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EPISODES IN VAN BIBBER'S LIFE

By

Richard Harding Davis

CONTENTS

Her First Appearance
Van Bibber's Man Servant
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Her First Appearance

It was at the end of the first act of the first night of "The Sultana,"and every member of the Lester Comic Opera Company, from Lester himselfdown to the wardrobe woman's son, who would have had to work if hismother lost her place, was sick with anxiety.

There is perhaps only one other place as feverish as it is behind thescenes on the first night of a comic opera, and that is a newspaperoffice on the last night of a Presidential campaign, when the returnsare being flashed on the canvas outside, and the mob is howling, andthe editor-in-chief is expecting to go to the Court of St. James if theelection comes his way, and the office-boy is betting his wages that itwon't.

Such nights as these try men's souls; but Van Bibber passed thestage-door man with as calmly polite a nod as though the piece had beenrunning a hundred nights, and the manager was thinking up souvenirs forthe one hundred and fiftieth, and the prima donna had, as usual, begunto hint for a new set of costumes. The stage-door keeper hesitated andwas lost, and Van Bibber stepped into the unsuppressed excitement ofthe place with a pleased sniff at the familiar smell of paint andburning gas, and the dusty odor that came from the scene-lofts above.

For a moment he hesitated in the cross-lights and confusion about him,failing to recognize in their new costumes his old acquaintances of thecompany; but he saw Kripps, the stage-manager, in the centre of thestage, perspiring and in his shirt-sleeves as always, wildly waving anarm to some one in the flies, and beckoning with the other to thegasman in the front entrance. The stage hands were striking the scenefor the first act, and fighting with the set for the second, anddragging out a canvas floor of tessellated marble, and running a throneand a practical pair of steps over it, and aiming the high quakingwalls of a palace and abuse at whoever came in their way.

"Now then, Van Bibber," shouted Kripps, with a wild glance ofrecognition, as the white-and-black figure came towards him, "you knowyou're the only man in New York who gets behind here to-night. But youcan't stay. Lower it, lower it, can't you?" This to the man in theflies. "Any other night goes, but not this night. I can't have it.I—Where is the backing for the centre entrance? Didn't I tell youmen—-"

Van Bibber dodged two stage hands who were steering a scene at him,stepped over the carpet as it unrolled, and brushed through a group ofanxious, whispering chorus people into the quiet of the star'sdressing-room.

The star saw him in the long mirror before which he sat, while hisdresser tugged at his boots, and threw up his hands desperately.

"Well," he cried, in mock resignation, "are we in it or are we not?Are they in their seats still or have they fled?"

"How are you, John?" said Van Bibber to the dresser. Then he droppedinto a big arm-chair in the corner, and got up again with a protestingsigh to light his cigar between the wires around the gas-burner. "Oh,it's going very well. I wouldn't have come around if it wasn't. Ifthe rest of it is as good as the first act, you needn't worry."

Van Bibber's unchallenged freedom behind the scenes had been a sourceof much comment and perplexity to the members of the Lester Comic OperaCompany. He had made his first appearance there during one hot nightof the long run of the previous summer, and had continued to be analmost nightly visitor for several weeks. At first it was supposedthat he was backing the piece, that he was the "Angel," as those weakand wealthy individuals are called who allow themselves to be led intosupplying the finances for theatrical experiments. But as he neverpeered through the curtain-hole to count the house, nor made frequenttrips to the front of it to look at the box sheet, but was, on thecontrary, just as undisturbed on a rainy night as on those when the"standing room only" sign blocked the front entrance, this suppositionwas discarded as untenable. Nor did he show the least interest in theprima donna, or in any of the other pretty women of the company; he didnot know them, nor did he make any effort to know them, and it was notuntil they inquired concerning him outside of the theatre that theylearned what a figure in the social life of the city he really was. Hespent most of his time in Lester's dressing-room smoking, listening tothe reminiscences of Lester's dresser when Lester was on the stage; andthis seclusion and his clerical attire of evening dress led the secondcomedian to call him Lester's father confessor, and to suggest that hecame to the theatre only to take the star to task for his sins. And inthis the second comedian was unknowingly not so very far wrong.Lester, the comedian, and young Van Bibber had known each other at theuniversity, when Lester's voice and gift of mimicry had made him theleader in the college theatricals; and later, when he had gone upon thestage, and had been cut off by his family even after he had becomefamous, or on account of it, Van Bibber had gone to visit him, and hadfound him as simple and sincere and boyish as he had been in the daysof his Hasty-Pudding successes. And Lester, for his part, had foundVan Bibber as likable as did every one else, and welcomed his quietvoice and youthful knowledge of the world as a grateful relief to theboisterous camaraderie of his professional acquaintances. And heallowed Van Bibber to scold him, and to remind him of what he owed tohimself, and to touch, even whether it hurt or not, upon his betterside. And in time he admitted to finding his friend's occasionalcomments on stage matters of value as coming from the point of view ofthose who look on at the game; and even Kripps, the veteran, regardedhim with respect after he had told him that he could turn a set ofpurple costumes black by throwing a red light on them. To the company,after he came to know them, he was gravely polite, and, to those whoknew him if they had overheard, amusingly commonplace in hisconversation. He understood them better than they did themselves, andmade no mistakes. The women smiled on him, but the men were suspiciousand shy of him until they saw that he was quite as shy of the women;and then they made him a confidant, and told him all their woes andtroubles, and exhibited all their little jealousies and ambitions, inthe innocent hope that he would repeat what they said to Lester. Theywere simple, unconventional, light-hearted folk, and Van Bibber foundthem vastly more entertaining and preferable to the silence of thedeserted club, where the matting was down, and from whence the regularhabitues had departed to the other side or to Newport. He liked theswing of the light, bright music as it came to him through the opendoor of the dressing-room, and the glimpse he got of the chorus peoplecrowding and pushing for a quick charge up the iron stairway, and thefeverish smell of oxygen in the air, and the picturesque disorder ofLester's wardrobe, and the wigs and swords, and the mysterious articlesof make-up, all mixed together on a tray with half-finished cigars andautograph books and newspaper notices.

And he often wished he was clever enough to be an artist with thetalent to paint the unconsciously graceful groups in the sharplydivided light and shadow of the wings as he saw them. The brilliantlycolored, fantastically clothed girls leaning against the bare brickwall of the theatre, or whispering together in circles, with their armsclose about one another, or reading apart and solitary, or working atsome piece of fancy-work as soberly as though they were in arocking-chair in their own flat, and not leaning against a scene brace,with the glare of the stage and the applause of the house just behindthem. He liked to watch them coquetting with the big fireman detailedfrom the precinct engine-house, and clinging desperately to the curtainwire, or with one of the chorus men on the stairs, or teasing thephlegmatic scene-shifters as they tried to catch a minute's sleep on apile of canvas. He even forgave the prima donna's smiling at him fromthe stage, as he stood watching her from the wings, and smiled back ather with polite cynicism, as though he did not know and she did notknow that her smiles were not for him, but to disturb some moreinterested one in the front row. And so, in time, the company becameso well accustomed to him that he moved in and about as unnoticed asthe stage-manager himself, who prowled around hissing "hush" onprinciple, even though he was the only person who could fairly be saidto be making a noise.

The second act was on, and Lester came off the stage and ran to thedressing-room and beckoned violently. "Come here," he said; "you oughtto see this; the children are doing their turn. You want to hear them.They're great!"

Van Bibber put his cigar into a tumbler and stepped out into the wings.They were crowded on both sides of the stage with the members of thecompany; the girls were tiptoeing, with their hands on the shoulders ofthe men, and making futile little leaps into the air to get a betterview, and others were resting on one knee that those behind might seeover their shoulders. There were over a dozen children before thefootlights, with the prima donna in the centre. She was singing theverses of a song, and they were following her movements, and joining inthe chorus with high piping voices. They seemed entirely too much athome and too self-conscious: to please Van Bibber; but there was oneexception. The one exception was the smallest of them, a very, verylittle girl, with long auburn hair and black eyes; such a very littlegirl that every one in the house looked at her first, and then lookedat no one else. She was apparently as unconcerned to all about her,excepting the pretty prima donna, as though she were by a piano at homepractising a singing lesson. She seemed to think it was some new sortof a game. When the prima donna raised her arms, the child raisedhers; when the prima donna courtesied, she stumbled into one, andstraightened herself just in time to get the curls out of her eyes, andto see that the prima donna was laughing at her, and to smilecheerfully back as if to say, "WE are doing our best anyway, aren'twe?" She had big, gentle eyes and two wonderful dimples, and in theexcitement of the dancing and the singing her eyes laughed and flashed,and the dimples deepened and disappeared and reappeared again. She wasas happy and innocent looking as though it were nine in the morning andshe were playing school at a kindergarten. From all over the house thewomen were murmuring their delight, and the men were laughing andpulling their mustaches and nudging each other to "look at the littlestone."

The girls in the wings were rapturous in their enthusiasm, and werecalling her absurdly extravagant titles of endearment, and making somuch noise that Kripps stopped grinning at her from the entrance, andlooked back over his shoulder as he looked when he threatened fines andcalls for early rehearsal. And when she had finished finally, and theprima donna and the children ran off together, there was a roar fromthe house that went to Lester's head like wine, and seemed to leapclear across the footlights and drag the children back again.

"That settles it!" cried Lester, in a suppressed roar of triumph. "Iknew that child would catch them."

There were four encores, and then the children and Elise Broughten, thepretty prima donna, came off jubilant and happy, with the LittlestGirl's arms full of flowers, which the management had with kindlyforethought prepared for the prima donna, but which that delightfulyoung person and the delighted leader of the orchestra had passed overto the little girl.

"Well," gasped Miss Broughten, as she came up to Van Bibber laughing,and with one hand on her side and breathing very quickly, "will youkindly tell me who is the leading woman now? Am I the prima donna, oram I not? I wasn't in it, was I?"

"You were not," said Van Bibber.

He turned from the pretty prima donna and hunted up the wardrobe woman,and told her he wanted to meet the Littlest Girl. And the wardrobewoman, who was fluttering wildly about, and as delighted as though theywere all her own children, told him to come into the property-room,where the children were, and which had been changed into adressing-room that they might be by themselves. The six little girlswere in six different states of dishabille, but they were too little tomind that, and Van Bibber was too polite to observe it.

"This is the little girl, sir," said the wardrobe woman, excitedly,proud at being the means of bringing together two such prominentpeople. "Her name is Madeline. Speak to the gentleman, Madeline; hewants to tell you what a great big hit youse made."

The little girl was seated on one of the cushions of a double throne sohigh from the ground that the young woman who was pulling off thechild's silk stockings and putting woollen ones on in their place didso without stooping. The young woman looked at Van Bibber and noddedsomewhat doubtfully and ungraciously, and Van Bibber turned to thelittle girl in preference. The young woman's face was one of a typethat was too familiar to be pleasant.

He took the Littlest Girl's small hand in his and shook it solemnly,and said, "I am very glad to know you. Can I sit up here beside you,or do you rule alone?"

"Yes, ma'am—yes, sir," answered the little girl.

Van Bibber put his hands on the arms of the throne and vaulted upbeside the girl, and pulled out the flower in his button-hole and gaveit to her.

"Now," prompted the wardrobe woman, "what do you say to the gentleman?"

"Thank you, sir," stammered the little girl.

"She is not much used to gentlemen's society," explained the woman whowas pulling on the stockings.

"I see," said Van Bibber. He did not know exactly what to say next.And yet he wanted to talk to the child very much, so much more than hegenerally wanted to talk to most young women, who showed no hesitationin talking to him. With them he had no difficulty whatsoever. Therewas a doll lying on the top of a chest near them, and he picked this upand surveyed it critically. "Is this your doll?" he asked.

"No," said Madeline, pointing to one of the children, who was muchtaller than herself; "it's 'at 'ittle durl's. My doll he's dead."

"Dear me!" said Van Bibber. He made a mental note to get a live one inthe morning, and then he said: "That's very sad. But dead dolls docome to life."

The little girl looked up at him, and surveyed him intently andcritically, and then smiled, with the dimples showing, as much as tosay that she understood him and approved of him entirely. Van Bibberanswered this sign language by taking Madeline's hand in his and askingher how she liked being a great actress, and how soon she would beginto storm because THAT photographer hadn't sent the proofs. The youngwoman understood this, and deigned to smile at it, but Madeline yawneda very polite and sleepy yawn, and closed her eyes. Van Bibber movedup closer, and she leaned over until her bare shoulder touched his arm,and while the woman buttoned on her absurdly small shoes, she let hercurly head fall on his elbow and rest there. Any number of people hadshown confidence in Van Bibber—not in that form exactly, but in thesame spirit—and though he was used to being trusted, he felt a sharpthrill of pleasure at the touch of the child's head on his arm, and inthe warm clasp of her fingers around his. And he was conscious of akeen sense of pity and sorrow for her rising in him, which he crushedby thinking that it was entirely wasted, and that the child wasprobably perfectly and ignorantly happy.

"Look at that, now," said the wardrobe woman, catching sight of thechild's closed eyelids; "just look at the rest of the little dears, allthat excited they can't stand still to get their hats on, and she justas unconcerned as you please, and after making the hit of the piece,too."

"She's not used to it, you see," said the young woman, knowingly; "shedon't know what it means. It's just that much play to her."

This last was said with a questioning glance at Van Bibber, in whom shestill feared to find the disguised agent of a Children's Aid Society.Van Bibber only nodded in reply, and did not answer her, because hefound he could not very well, for he was looking a long way ahead atwhat the future was to bring to the confiding little being at his side,and thinking of the evil knowledge and temptations that would mar thebeauty of her quaintly sweet face, and its strange mark of gentlenessand refinement. Outside he could hear his friend Lester shouting therefrain of his new topical song, and the laughter and the hand-clappingcame in through the wings and open door, broken but tumultuous.

"Does she come of professional people?" Van Bibber asked, dropping intothe vernacular. He spoke softly, not so much that he might not disturbthe child, but that she might not understand what he said.

"Yes," the woman answered, shortly, and bent her head to smooth out thechild's stage dress across her knees.

Van Bibber touched the little girl's head with his hand and found thatshe was asleep, and so let his hand rest there, with the curls betweenhis fingers. "Are—are you her mother?" he asked, with a slightinclination of his head. He felt quite confident she was not; atleast, he hoped not.

The woman shook her head. "No," she said.

"Who is her mother?"

The woman looked at the sleeping child and then up at him almostdefiantly. "Ida Clare was her mother," she said.

Van Bibber's protecting hand left the child as suddenly as thoughsomething had burned it, and he drew back so quickly that her headslipped from his arm, and she awoke and raised her eyes and looked upat him questioningly. He looked back at her with a glance of thestrangest concern and of the deepest pity. Then he stooped and drewher towards him very tenderly, put her head back in the corner of hisarm, and watched her in silence while she smiled drowsily and went tosleep again.

"And who takes care of her now?" he asked.

The woman straightened herself and seemed relieved. She saw that thestranger had recognized the child's pedigree and knew her story, andthat he was not going to comment on it. "I do," she said. "After thedivorce Ida came to me," she said, speaking more freely. "I used to bein her company when she was doing 'Aladdin,' and then when I left thestage and started to keep an actors' boarding-house, she came to me.She lived on with us a year, until she died, and she made me theguardian of the child. I train children for the stage, you know, meand my sister, Ada Dyer; you've heard of her, I guess. The courts payus for her keep, but it isn't much, and I'm expecting to get what Ispent on her from what she makes on the stage. Two of them otherchildren are my pupils; but they can't touch Madie. She is a betterdancer an' singer than any of them. If it hadn't been for the Societykeeping her back, she would have been on the stage two years ago.She's great, she is. She'll be just as good as her mother was." VanBibber gave a little start, and winced visibly, but turned it off intoa cough. "And her father," he said hesitatingly, "does he—"

"Her father," said the woman, tossing back her head, "he looks afterhimself, he does. We don't ask no favors of HIM. She'll get alongwithout him or his folks, thank you. Call him a gentleman? Nicegentleman he is!" Then she stopped abruptly. "I guess, though, youknow him," she added. "Perhaps he's a friend of yourn?"

"I just know him," said Van Bibber, wearily.

He sat with the child asleep beside him while the woman turned to theothers and dressed them for the third act. She explained that Madiewould not appear in the last act, only the two larger girls, so she lether sleep, with the cape of Van Bibber's cloak around her.

Van Bibber sat there for several long minutes thinking, and then lookedup quickly, and dropped his eyes again as quickly, and said, with aneffort to speak quietly and unconcernedly: "If the little girl is noton in this act, would you mind if I took her home? I have a cab at thestage door, and she's so sleepy it seems a pity to keep her up. Thesister you spoke of or some one could put her to bed."

"Yes," the woman said, doubtfully, "Ada's home. Yes, you can take heraround, if you want to."

She gave him the address, and he sprang down to the floor, and gatheredthe child up in his arms and stepped out on the stage. The prima donnahad the centre of it to herself at that moment, and all the rest of thecompany were waiting to go on; but when they saw the little girl in VanBibber's arms they made a rush at her, and the girls leaned over andkissed her with a great show of rapture and with many gasps of delight.

"Don't," said Van Bibber, he could not tell just why. "Don't."

"Why not?" asked one of the girls, looking up at him sharply.

"She was asleep; you've wakened her," he said, gently.

But he knew that was not the reason. He stepped into the cab at thestage entrance, and put the child carefully down in one corner. Thenhe looked back over his shoulder to see that there was no one nearenough to hear him, and said to the driver, "To the Berkeley Flats, onFifth Avenue." He picked the child up gently in his arms as thecarriage started, and sat looking out thoughtfully and anxiously asthey flashed past the lighted shop-windows on Broadway. He was farfrom certain of this errand, and nervous with doubt, but he reassuredhimself that he was acting on impulse, and that his impulses were sooften good. The hall-boy at the Berkeley said, yes, Mr. Caruthers wasin, and Van Bibber gave a quick sigh of relief. He took this as anomen that his impulse was a good one. The young English servant whoopened the hall door to Mr. Caruthers's apartment suppressed hissurprise with an effort, and watched Van Bibber with alarm as he laidthe child on the divan in the hall, and pulled a covert coat from therack to throw over her.

"Just say Mr. Van Bibber would like to see him," he said, "and you neednot speak of the little girl having come with me."

She was still sleeping, and Van Bibber turned down the light in thehall, and stood looking down at her gravely while the servant went tospeak to his master.

"Will you come this way, please, sir?" he said.

"You had better stay out here," said Van Bibber, "and come and tell meif she wakes."

Mr. Caruthers was standing by the mantel over the empty fireplace,wrapped in a long, loose dressing-gown which he was tying around him asVan Bibber entered. He was partly undressed, and had been just on thepoint of getting into bed. Mr. Caruthers was a tall, handsome man,with dark reddish hair, turning below the temples into gray; hismustache was quite white, and his eyes and face showed the signs ofeither dissipation or of great trouble, or of both. But even in theformless dressing-gown he had the look and the confident bearing of agentleman, or, at least, of the man of the world. The room was veryrich-looking, and was filled with the medley of a man's choice of goodpaintings and fine china, and papered with irregular rows of originaldrawings and signed etchings. The windows were open, and the lightswere turned very low, so that Van Bibber could see the many gas lampsand the dark roofs of Broadway and the Avenue where they crossed a fewblocks off, and the bunches of light on the Madison Square Garden, andto the lights on the boats of the East River. From below in thestreets came the rattle of hurrying omnibuses and the rush of thehansom cabs. If Mr. Caruthers was surprised at this late visit, he hidit, and came forward to receive his caller as if his presence wereexpected.

"Excuse my costume, will you?" he said. "I turned in rather earlyto-night, it was so hot." He pointed to a decanter and some sodabottles on the table and a bowl of ice, and asked, "Will you have someof this?" And while he opened one of the bottles, he watched VanBibber's face as though he were curious to have him explain the objectof his visit. "No, I think not, thank you," said the younger man. Hetouched his forehead with his handkerchief nervously. "Yes, it is hot,"he said.

Mr. Caruthers filled a glass with ice and brandy and soda, and walkedback to his place by the mantel, on which he rested his arm, while heclinked the ice in the glass and looked down into it.

"I was at the first night of 'The Sultana' this evening," said VanBibber, slowly and uncertainly.

"Oh, yes," assented the elder man, politely, and tasting his drink."Lester's new piece. Was it any good?"

"I don't know," said Van Bibber. "Yes, I think it was. I didn't seeit from the front. There were a lot of children in it—little ones;they danced and sang, and made a great hit. One of them had never beenon the stage before. It was her first appearance."

He was turning one of the glasses around between his fingers as hespoke. He stopped, and poured out some of the soda, and drank it downin a gulp, and then continued turning the empty glass between the tipsof his fingers.

"It seems to me," he said, "that it is a great pity." He looked upinterrogatively at the other, but Mr. Caruthers met his glance withoutany returning show of interest. "I say," repeated Van Bibber—"I sayit seems a pity that a child like that should be allowed to go on inthat business. A grown woman can go into it with her eyes open, or agirl who has had decent training can too. But it's different with achild. She has no choice in the matter; they don't ask her permission;and she isn't old enough to know what it means; and she gets used to itand fond of it before she grows to know what the danger is. And thenit's too late. It seemed to me that if there was any one who had aright to stop it, it would be a very good thing to let that person knowabout her—about this child, I mean; the one who made the hit—beforeit was too late. It seems to me a responsibility I wouldn't care totake myself. I wouldn't care to think that I had the chance to stopit, and had let the chance go by. You know what the life is, and whatthe temptation a woman—" Van Bibber stopped with a gasp of concern,and added, hurriedly, "I mean we all know—every man knows."

Mr. Caruthers was looking at him with his lips pressed closelytogether, and his eyebrows drawn into the shape of the letter V. Heleaned forward, and looked at Van Bibber intently.

"What is all this about?" he asked. "Did you come here, Mr. VanBibber, simply to tell me this? What have you to do with it? Whathave I to do with it? Why did you come?"

"Because of the child."

"What child?"

"Your child," said Van Bibber.

Young Van Bibber was quite prepared for an outbreak of some sort, andmentally braced himself to receive it. He rapidly assured himself thatthis man had every reason to be angry, and that he, if he meant toaccomplish anything, had every reason to be considerate and patient.So he faced Mr. Caruthers with shoulders squared, as though it were aphysical shock he had to stand against, and in consequence he was quiteunprepared for what followed. For Mr. Caruthers raised his facewithout a trace of feeling in it, and, with his eyes still fixed on theglass in his hand, set it carefully down on the mantel beside him, andgirded himself about with the rope of his robe. When he spoke, it wasin a tone of quiet politeness.

"Mr. Van Bibber," he began, "you are a very brave young man. You havedared to say to me what those who are my best friends—what even my ownfamily—would not care to say. They are afraid it might hurt me, Isuppose. They have some absurd regard for my feelings; they hesitateto touch upon a subject which in no way concerns them, and which theyknow must be very painful to me. But you have the courage of yourconvictions; you have no compunctions about tearing open old wounds;and you come here, unasked and uninvited, to let me know what you thinkof my conduct, to let me understand that it does not agree with yourown ideas of what I ought to do, and to tell me how I, who am oldenough to be your father, should behave. You have rushed in whereangels fear to tread, Mr. Van Bibber, to show me the error of my ways.I suppose I ought to thank you for it; but I have always said that itis not the wicked people who are to be feared in this world, or who dothe most harm. We know them; we can prepare for them, and checkmatethem. It is the well-meaning fool who makes all the trouble. For noone knows him until he discloses himself, and the mischief is donebefore he can be stopped. I think, if you will allow me to say so,that you have demonstrated my theory pretty thoroughly, and have doneabout as much needless harm for one evening as you can possibly wish.And so, if you will excuse me," he continued, sternly, and moving fromhis place, "I will ask to say good-night, and will request of you thatyou grow older and wiser and much more considerate before you come tosee me again."

Van Bibber had flushed at Mr. Caruthers's first words, and had thengrown somewhat pale, and straightened himself visibly. He did not movewhen the elder man had finished, but cleared his throat, and then spokewith some little difficulty. "It is very easy to call a man a fool,"he said, slowly, "but it is much harder to be called a fool and not tothrow the other man out of the window. But that, you see, would not doany good, and I have something to say to you first. I am quite clearin my own mind as to my position, and I am not going to allow anythingyou have said or can say to annoy me much until I am through. Therewill be time enough to resent it then. I am quite well aware that Idid an unconventional thing in coming here—a bold thing or a foolishthing, as you choose—but the situation is pretty bad, and I did as Iwould have wished to be done by if I had had a child going to the deviland didn't know it. I should have been glad to learn of it even from astranger. However," he said, smiling grimly, and pulling his capeabout him, "there are other kindly disposed people in the world besidesfathers. There is an aunt, perhaps, or an uncle or two; and sometimes,even to-day, there is the chance Samaritan."

Van Bibber picked up his high hat from the table, looked into itcritically, and settled it on his head. "Good-night," he said, andwalked slowly towards the door. He had his hand on the knob, when Mr.Caruthers raised his head.

"Wait just one minute, please, Mr. Van Bibber?" asked Mr. Caruthers.

Van Bibber stopped with a prompt obedience which would have led one toconclude that he might have put on his hat only to precipitate matters.

"Before you go," said Mr. Caruthers, grudgingly, "I want to say—I wantyou to understand my position."

"Oh, that's all right," said Van Bibber, lightly, opening the door.

"No, it is not all right. One moment, please. I do not intend thatyou shall go away from here with the idea that you have tried to do mea service, and that I have been unable to appreciate it, and that youare a much-abused and much-misunderstood young man. Since you havedone me the honor to make my affairs your business, I would prefer thatyou should understand them fully. I do not care to have you discuss myconduct at clubs and afternoon teas with young women until you—"

Van Bibber drew in his breath sharply, with a peculiar whistling sound,and opened and shut his hands. "Oh, I wouldn't say that if I wereyou," he said, simply.

"I beg your pardon," the older man said, quickly. "That was a mistake.I was wrong. I beg your pardon. But you have tried me very sorely.You have intruded upon a private trouble that you ought to know must bevery painful to me. But I believe you meant well. I know you to be agentleman, and I am willing to think you acted on impulse, and that youwill see to-morrow what a mistake you have made. It is not a thing Italk about; I do not speak of it to my friends, and they are far tooconsiderate to speak of it to me. But you have put me on thedefensive. You have made me out more or less of a brute, and I don'tintend to be so far misunderstood. There are two sides to every story,and there is something to be said about this, even for me."

He walked back to his place beside the mantel, and put his shouldersagainst it, and faced Van Bibber, with his fingers twisted in the cordaround his waist.

"When I married," said Mr. Caruthers, "I did so against the wishes ofmy people and the advice of all my friends. You know all about that.God help us! who doesn't?" he added, bitterly. "It was very rich, rarereading for you and for every one else who saw the daily papers, and wegave them all they wanted of it. I took her out of that life andmarried her because I believed she was as good a woman as any of thosewho had never had to work for their living, and I was bound that myfriends and your friends should recognize her and respect her as mywife had a right to be respected; and I took her abroad that I mightgive all you sensitive, fine people a chance to get used to the idea ofbeing polite to a woman who had once been a burlesque actress. Itbegan over there in Paris. What I went through then no one knows; butwhen I came back—and I would never have come back if she had not mademe—it was my friends I had to consider, and not her. It was in theblood; it was in the life she had led, and in the life men like you andme had taught her to live. And it had to come out."

The muscles of Mr. Caruthers's face were moving, and beyond hiscontrol; but Van Bibber did not see this, for he was looking intentlyout of the window, over the roofs of the city.

"She had every chance when she married me that a woman ever had,"continued the older man. "It only depended on herself. I didn't tryto make a housewife of her or a drudge. She had all the healthyexcitement and all the money she wanted, and she had a home here readyfor her whenever she was tired of travelling about and wished to settledown. And I was—and a husband that loved her as—she hadeverything—everything that a man's whole thought and love and moneycould bring to her. And you know what she did."

He looked at Van Bibber, but Van Bibber's eyes were still turnedtowards the open window and the night.

"And after the divorce—and she was free to go where she pleased, andto live as she pleased and with whom she pleased, without bringingdisgrace on a husband who honestly loved her—I swore to my God that Iwould never see her nor her child again. And I never saw her again,not even when she died. I loved the mother, and she deceived me anddisgraced me and broke my heart, and I only wish she had killed me; andI was beginning to love her child, and I vowed she should not live totrick me too. I had suffered as no man I know had suffered; in a way aboy like you cannot understand, and that no one can understand who hasnot gone to hell and been forced to live after it. And was I to gothrough that again? Was I to love and care for and worship this child,and have her grow up with all her mother's vanity and animal nature,and have her turn on me some day and show me that what is bred in thebone must tell, and that I was a fool again—a pitiful fond fool? Icould not trust her. I can never trust any woman or child again, andleast of all that woman's child. She is as dead to me as though shewere buried with her mother, and it is nothing to me what she is orwhat her life is. I know in time what it will be. She has begunearlier than I had supposed, that is all; but she is nothing to me."The man stopped and turned his back to Van Bibber, and hid his head inhis hands, with his elbows on the mantelpiece. "I care too much," hesaid. "I cannot let it mean anything to me; when I do care, it meansso much more to me than to other men. They may pretend to laugh and toforget and to outgrow it, but it is not so with me. It means toomuch." He took a quick stride towards one of the arm-chairs, and threwhimself into it. "Why, man," he cried, "I loved that child's mother tothe day of her death. I loved that woman then, and, God help me! Ilove that woman still."

He covered his face with his hands, and sat leaning forward andbreathing heavily as he rocked himself to and fro. Van Bibber stillstood looking gravely out at the lights that picketed the black surfaceof the city. He was to all appearances as unmoved by the outburst offeeling into which the older man had been surprised as though it hadbeen something in a play. There was an unbroken silence for a moment,and then it was Van Bibber who was the first to speak.

"I came here, as you say, on impulse," he said; "but I am glad I came,for I have your decisive answer now about the little girl. I have beenthinking," he continued, slowly, "since you have been speaking, andbefore, when I first saw her dancing in front of the footlights, when Idid not know who she was, that I could give up a horse or two, ifnecessary, and support this child instead. Children are worth morethan horses, and a man who saves a soul, as it says"—he flushedslightly, and looked up with a hesitating, deprecatorysmile—"somewhere, wipes out a multitude of sins. And it may be I'dlike to try and get rid of some of mine. I know just where to sendher; I know the very place. It's down in Evergreen Bay, on LongIsland. They are tenants of mine there, and very nice farm sort ofpeople, who will be very good to her. They wouldn't know anythingabout her, and she'd forget what little she knows of this present lifevery soon, and grow up with the other children to be one of them; andthen, when she gets older and becomes a young lady, she could go tosome school—but that's a bit too far ahead to plan for the present;but that's what I am going to do, though," said the young man,confidently, and as though speaking to himself. "That theatricalboarding-house person could be bought off easily enough," he went on,quickly, "and Lester won't mind letting her go if I ask it,—and—andthat's what I'll do. As you say, it's a good deal of an experiment,but I think I'll run the risk."

He walked quickly to the door and disappeared in the hall, and thencame back, kicking the door open as he returned, and holding the childin his arms.

"This is she," he said, quietly. He did not look at or notice thefather, but stood, with the child asleep in the bend of his left arm,gazing down at her. "This is she," he repeated; "this is your child."

There was something cold and satisfied in Van Bibber's tone and manner,as though he were congratulating himself upon the engaging of a newgroom; something that placed the father entirely outside of it. Hemight have been a disinterested looker-on.

"She will need to be fed a bit," Van Bibber ran on, cheerfully. "Theydid not treat her very well, I fancy. She is thin and peaked andtired-looking." He drew up the loose sleeve of her jacket, and showedthe bare forearm to the light. He put his thumb and little fingerabout it, and closed them on it gently. "It is very thin," he said."And under her eyes, if it were not for the paint," he went on,mercilessly, "you could see how deep the lines are. This red spot onher cheek," he said, gravely, "is where Mary Vane kissed her to-night,and this is where Alma Stantley kissed her, and that Lee girl. Youhave heard of them, perhaps. They will never kiss her again. She isgoing to grow up a sweet, fine, beautiful woman—are you not?" he said,gently drawing the child higher up on his shoulder, until her facetouched his, and still keeping his eyes from the face of the older man."She does not look like her mother," he said; "she has her father'sauburn hair and straight nose and finer-cut lips and chin. She looksvery much like her father. It seems a pity," he added, abruptly. "Shewill grow up," he went on, "without knowing him, or who he is—or was,if he should die. She will never speak with him, or see him, or takehis hand. She may pass him some day on the street and will not knowhim, and he will not know her, but she will grow to be very fond and tobe very grateful to the simple, kindhearted old people who will havecared for her when she was a little girl."

The child in his arms stirred, shivered slightly, and awoke. The twomen watched her breathlessly, with silent intentness. She raised herhead and stared around the unfamiliar room doubtfully, then turned towhere her father stood, looking at him a moment, and passed him by; andthen, looking up into Van Bibber's face, recognized him, and gave agentle, sleepy smile, and, with a sigh of content and confidence, drewher arm up closer around his neck, and let her head fall back upon hisbreast.

The father sprang to his feet with a quick, jealous gasp of pain."Give her to me!" he said, fiercely, under his breath, snatching herout of Van Bibber's arms. "She is mine; give her to me!"

Van Bibber closed the door gently behind him, and went jumping down thewinding stairs of the Berkeley three steps at a time.

And an hour later, when the English servant came to his master's door,he found him still awake and sitting in the dark by the open window,holding something in his arms and looking out over the sleeping city.

"James," he said, "you can make up a place for me here on the lounge.Miss Caruthers, my daughter, will sleep in my room to-night."

Van Bibber's Man Servant

Van Bibber's man Walters was the envy and admiration of his friends.He was English, of course, and he had been trained in the household ofthe Marquis Bendinot, and had travelled, in his younger days, as thevalet of young Lord Upton. He was now rather well on in years,although it would have been impossible to say just how old he was.Walters had a dignified and repellent air about him, and he brushed hishair in such a way as to conceal his baldness.

And when a smirking, slavish youth with red checks and awkward gesturesturned up in Van Bibber's livery, his friends were naturally surprised,and asked how he had come to lose Walters. Van Bibber could not sayexactly, at least he could not rightly tell whether he had dismissedWalters or Walters had dismissed himself. The facts of the unfortunateseparation were like this:

Van Bibber gave a great many dinners during the course of the season atDelmonico's, dinners hardly formal enough to require a private room,and yet too important to allow of his running the risk of keeping hisguests standing in the hall waiting for a vacant table. So heconceived the idea of sending Walters over about half-past six to keepa table for him. As everybody knows, you can hold a table yourself atDelmonico's for any length of time until the other guests arrive, butthe rule is very strict about servants. Because, as the head waiterwill tell you, if servants were allowed to reserve a table during thebig rush at seven o'clock, why not messenger boys? And it wouldcertainly never do to have half a dozen large tables securely held byminute messengers while the hungry and impatient waited their turn atthe door.

But Walters looked as much like a gentleman as did many of the diners;and when he seated himself at the largest table and told the waiter toserve for a party of eight or ten, he did it with such an air that thehead waiter came over himself and took the orders. Walters knew quiteas much about ordering a dinner as did his master; and when Van Bibberwas too tired to make out the menu, Walters would look over the cardhimself and order the proper wines and side dishes; and with such acarelessly severe air and in such a masterly manner did he dischargethis high function that the waiters looked upon him with much respect.

But respect even from your equals and the satisfaction of having yourfellow-servants mistake you for a member of the Few Hundred are notenough. Walters wanted more. He wanted the further satisfaction ofenjoying the delicious dishes he had ordered; of sitting as a coequalwith the people for whom he had kept a place; of completing thedeception he practised only up to the point where it became mostinteresting.

It certainly was trying to have to rise with a subservient andunobtrusive bow and glide out unnoticed by the real guests when theyarrived; to have to relinquish the feast just when the feast shouldbegin. It would not be pleasant, certainly, to sit for an hour at abig empty table, ordering dishes fit only for epicures, and then, justas the waiters bore down with the Little Neck clams, so nicely iced andso cool and bitter-looking, to have to rise and go out into the streetto a table d'hote around the corner.

This was Walters's state of mind when Mr. Van Bibber told him for thehundredth time to keep a table for him for three at Delmonico's.Walters wrapped his severe figure in a frock-coat and brushed his hair,and allowed himself the dignity of a walking-stick. He would haveliked to act as a substitute in an evening dress-suit, but Van Bibberwould not have allowed it. So Walters walked over to Delmonico's andtook a table near a window, and said that the other gentlemen wouldarrive later. Then he looked at his watch and ordered the dinner. Itwas just the sort of dinner he would have ordered had he ordered it forhimself at some one else's expense. He suggested Little Neck clamsfirst, with Chablis, and pea-soup, and caviare on toast, before theoyster crabs, with Johannisberger Cabinet; then an entree of calves'brains and rice; then no roast, but a bird, cold asparagus with Frenchdressing, Camembert cheese, and Turkish coffee. As there were to be nowomen, he omitted the sweets and added three other wines to follow thewhite wine. It struck him as a particularly well-chosen dinner, andthe longer he sat and thought about it the more he wished he were totest its excellence. And then the people all around him were so brightand happy, and seemed to be enjoying what they had ordered with such arefinement of zest that he felt he would give a great deal could hejust sit there as one of them for a brief hour.

At that moment the servant deferentially handed him a note which amessenger boy had brought. It said:

"Dinner off called out town send clothes and things after me to Young'sBoston."

"VAN BIBBER."

Walters rose involuntarily, and then sat still to think about it. Hewould have to countermand the dinner which he had ordered over half anhour before, and he would have to explain who he was to those otherservants who had always regarded him as such a great gentleman. It wasvery hard.

And then Walters was tempted. He was a very good servant, and he knewhis place as only an English servant can, and he had always acceptedit, but to-night he was tempted—and he fell. He met the waiter'sanxious look with a grave smile.

"The other gentlemen will not be with me to-night," he said, glancingat the note. "But I will dine here as I intended. You can serve forone."

That was perhaps the proudest night in the history of Walters. He hadalways felt that he was born out of his proper sphere, and to-night hewas assured of it. He was a little nervous at first, lest some of VanBibber's friends should come in and recognize him; but as the dinnerprogressed and the warm odor of the dishes touched his sense, and therich wines ran through his veins, and the women around him smiled andbent and moved like beautiful birds of beautiful plumage, he becamecontent, grandly content; and he half closed his eyes and imagined hewas giving a dinner to everybody in the place. Vain and idle thoughtscame to him and went again, and he eyed the others about him calmly andwith polite courtesy, as they did him, and he felt that if he mustlater pay for this moment it was worth the paying.

Then he gave the waiter a couple of dollars out of his own pocket andwrote Van Bibber's name on the check, and walked in state into thecafe, where he ordered a green mint and a heavy, black, and expensivecigar, and seated himself at the window, where he felt that he shouldalways have sat if the fates had been just. The smoke hung in lightclouds about him, and the lights shone and glistened on the whitecloths and the broad shirt-fronts of the smart young men anddistinguished foreign-looking older men at the surrounding tables.

And then, in the midst of his dreamings, he heard the soft, carelessdrawl of his master, which sounded at that time and in that place likethe awful voice of a condemning judge. Van Bibber pulled out a chairand dropped into it. His side was towards Walters, so that he did notsee him. He had some men with him, and he was explaining how he hadmissed his train and had come back to find that one of the party hadeaten the dinner without him, and he wondered who it could be; and thenturning easily in his seat he saw Walters with the green mint and thecigar, trembling behind a copy of the London Graphic.

"Walters!" said Van Bibber, "what are you doing here?"

Walters looked his guilt and rose stiffly. He began with a feeble "Ifyou please, sir—"

"Go back to my rooms and wait for me there," said Van Bibber, who wastoo decent a fellow to scold a servant in public.

Walters rose and left the half-finished cigar and the mint with the icemelting in it on the table. His one evening of sublimity was over, andhe walked away, bending before the glance of his young master and thesmiles of his master's friends.

When Van Bibber came back he found on his dressing-table a note fromWalters stating that he could not, of course, expect to remain longerin his service, and that he left behind him the twenty-eight dollarswhich the dinner had cost.

"If he had only gone off with all my waistcoats and scarf-pins, I'dhave liked it better," said Van Bibber, "than his leaving me cash forinfernal dinner. Why, a servant like Walters is worthtwenty-eight-dollar dinners—twice a day."

The Hungry Man was Fed

Young Van Bibber broke one of his rules of life one day and camedown-town. This unusual journey into the marts of trade and financewas in response to a call from his lawyer, who wanted his signature tosome papers. It was five years since Van Bibber had been south of thenorth side of Washington Square, except as a transient traveller to theferries on the elevated road. And as he walked through the City HallSquare he looked about him at the new buildings in the air, and thebustle and confusion of the streets, with as much interest as a latelyarrived immigrant.

He rather enjoyed the novelty of the situation, and after he hadcompleted his business at the lawyer's office he tried to stroll alonglower Broadway as he did on the Avenue.

But people bumped against him, and carts and drays tried to run himdown when he crossed the side streets, and those young men whom he knewseemed to be in a great hurry, and expressed such amused surprise atseeing him that he felt very much out of place indeed. And so hedecided to get back to his club window and its quiet as soon aspossible.

"Hello, Van Bibber," said one of the young men who were speeding by,"what brings you here? Have you lost your way?"

"I think I have," said Van Bibber. "If you'll kindly tell me how I canget back to civilization again, be obliged to you."

"Take the elevated from Park Place," said his friend from over hisshoulder, as he nodded and dived into the crowd.

The visitor from up-town had not a very distinct idea as to where ParkPlace was, but he struck off Broadway and followed the line of theelevated road along Church Street. It was at the corner of VeseyStreet that a miserable-looking, dirty, and red-eyed object stood stillin his tracks and begged Van Bibber for a few cents to buy food. "I'vecome all the way from Chicago," said the Object, "and I haven't tastedfood for twenty-four hours."

Van Bibber drew away as though the Object had a contagious disease inhis rags, and handed him a quarter without waiting to receive the man'sblessing.

"Poor devil!" said Van Bibber. "Fancy going without dinner all day!" Hecould not fancy this, though he tried, and the impossibility of itimpressed him so much that he amiably determined to go back and hunt upthe Object and give him more money. Van Bibber's ideas of a dinnerwere rather exalted. He did not know of places where a quarter wasgood for a "square meal," including "one roast, three vegetables, andpie." He hardly considered a quarter a sufficiently large tip for thewaiter who served the dinner, and decidedly not enough for the dinneritself. He did not see his man at first, and when he did the man didnot see him. Van Bibber watched him stop three gentlemen, two of whomgave him some money, and then the Object approached Van Bibber andrepeated his sad tale in a monotone. He evidently did not recognizeVan Bibber, and the clubman gave him a half-dollar and walked away,feeling that the man must surely have enough by this time with which toget something to eat, if only a luncheon.

This retracing of his footsteps had confused Van Bibber, and he made acomplete circuit of the block before he discovered that he had lost hisbearings. He was standing just where he had started, and gazing alongthe line of the elevated road, looking for a station, when the familiaraccents of the Object again saluted him.

When Van Bibber faced him the beggar looked uneasy. He was not surewhether or not he had approached this particular gentleman before, butVan Bibber conceived an idea of much subtlety, and deceived the Objectby again putting his hand in his pocket.

"Nothing to eat for twenty-four hours! Dear me!" drawled the clubman,sympathetically. "Haven't you any money, either?"

"Not a cent," groaned the Object, "an' I'm just faint for food, sir.S' help me. I hate to beg, sir. It isn't the money I want, it's jestfood. I'm starvin', sir."

"Well," said Van Bibber, suddenly, "if it is just something to eat youwant, come in here with me and I'll give you your breakfast." But theman held back and began to whine and complain that they wouldn't letthe likes of him in such a fine place.

"Oh, yes, they will," said Van Bibber, glancing at the bill of fare infront of the place. "It seems to be extremely cheap. Beefsteakfifteen cents, for instance. Go in," he added, and there was somethingin his tone which made the Object move ungraciously into theeating-house.

It was a very queer place, Van Bibber thought, and the people staredvery hard at him and his gloves and the gardenia in his coat and at thetramp accompanying him.

"You ain't going to eat two breakfasts, are yer?" asked one of the verytough-looking waiters of the Object. The Object looked uneasy, and VanBibber, who stood beside his chair, smiled in triumph.

"You're mistaken," he said to the waiter. "This gentleman is starving;he has not tasted food for twenty-four hours. Give him whatever heasks for!"

The Object scowled and the waiter grinned behind his tin tray, and hadthe impudence to wink at Van Bibber, who recovered from this in time togive the man a half-dollar and so to make of him a friend for life.The Object ordered milk, but Van Bibber protested and ordered twobeefsteaks and fried potatoes, hot rolls and two omelettes, coffee, andham with bacon.

"Holy smoke! watcher think I am?" yelled the Object, in desperation.

"Hungry," said Van Bibber, very gently. "Or else an impostor. And,you know, if you should happen to be the latter, I should have to handyou over to the police."

Van Bibber leaned easily against the wall and read the signs about him,and kept one eye on a policeman across the street. The Object waschoking and cursing through his breakfast. It did not seem to agreewith him. Whenever he stopped Van Bibber would point with his stick toa still unfinished dish, and the Object, after a husky protest, wouldattack it as though it were poison. The people sitting about werelaughing, and the proprietor behind the desk smiling grimly.

"There, darn ye!" said the Object at last. "I've eat all I can eat fora year. You think you're mighty smart, don't ye? But if you choose topay that high for your fun, I s'pose you can afford it. Only don't letme catch you around these streets after dark, that's all."

And the Object started off, shaking his fist.

"Wait a minute," said Van Bibber. "You haven't paid them for yourbreakfast."

"Haven't what?" shouted the Object. "Paid 'em! How could I pay him?Youse asked me to come in here and eat. I didn't want no breakfast,did I? Youse'll have to pay for your fun yerself, or they'll throw yerout. Don't try to be too smart."

"I gave you," said Van Bibber, slowly, "seventy-five cents with whichto buy a breakfast. This check calls for eighty-five cents, andextremely cheap it is," he added, with a bow to the fat proprietor."Several other gentlemen, on your representation that you werestarving, gave you other sums to be expended on a breakfast. You havethe money with you now. So pay what you owe at once, or I'll call thatofficer across the street and tell him what I know, and have you putwhere you belong."

"I'll see you blowed first!" gasped the Object.

Van Bibber turned to the waiter.

"Kindly beckon to that officer," said he.

The waiter ran to the door and the Object ran too, but the tough waitergrabbed him by the back of his neck and held him.

"Lemme go!" yelled the Object. "Lemme go an' I'll pay you."

Everybody in the place came up now and formed a circle around the groupand watched the Object count out eighty-five cents into the waiter'shand, which left him just one dime to himself.

"You have forgotten the waiter who served you," said Van Bibber,severely pointing with his stick at the dime.

"No, you don't," groaned the Object.

"Oh, yes," said Van Bibber, "do the decent thing now, or I'll—"

The Object dropped the dime in the waiter's hand, and Van Bibber,smiling and easy, made his way through the admiring crowd and out intothe street.

"I suspect," said Mr. Van Bibber later in the day, when recounting hisadventure to a fellow-clubman, "that, after I left, fellow tried to gettip back from waiter, for I saw him come out of place very suddenly,you see, and without touching pavement till he lit on back of his headin gutter. He was most remarkable waiter."

Love Me, Love My Dog

Young Van Bibber had been staying with some people at Southampton, L.I., where, the fall before, his friend Travers made his reputation as across-country rider. He did this, it may be remembered, by shuttinghis eyes and holding on by the horse's mane and letting the horse go asit pleased. His recklessness and courage are still spoken of with awe;and the place where he cleared the water jump that every one elseavoided is pointed out as Travers's Leap to visiting horsemen, who lookat it gloomily and shake their heads. Miss Arnett, whose mother wasgiving the house-party, was an attractive young woman, with an admiringretinue of youths who gave attention without intention, and for none ofwhom Miss Arnett showed particular preference. Her whole interest,indeed, was centred in a dog, a Scotch collie called Duncan. Sheallowed this dog every liberty, and made a decided nuisance of him forevery one, around her. He always went with her when she walked, ortrotted beside her horse when she rode. He stretched himself beforethe fire in the dining-room, and startled people at table by placinghis cold nose against their hands or putting his paws on their gowns.He was generally voted a most annoying adjunct to the Arnett household;but no one, dared hint so to Miss Arnett, as she only loved those wholoved the dog or pretended to do it. On the morning of the afternoonon which Van Bibber and his bag arrived, the dog disappeared and couldnot be recovered. Van Bibber found the household in a state of muchexcitement in consequence, and his welcome was necessarily brief. Thearriving guest was not to be considered at all with the departed dog.The men told Van Bibber, in confidence, that the general relief amongthe guests was something ecstatic, but this was marred later by thegloom of Miss Arnett and her inability to think of anything else butthe finding of the lost collie. Things became so feverish that for thesake of rest and peace the house-party proposed to contribute to ajoint purse for the return of the dog, as even, nuisance as it was, itwas not so bad as having their visit spoiled by Miss Arnett'sabandonment to grief and crossness.

"I think," said the young woman, after luncheon, "that some of you menmight be civil enough to offer to look for him. I'm sure he can't havegone far, or, if he has been stolen, the men who took him couldn't havegone very far away either. Now which of you will volunteer? I'm sureyou'll do it to please me. Mr. Van Bibber, now: you say you're soclever. We're all the time hearing of your adventures. Why don't youshow how full of expedients you are and rise to the occasion?" Thesuggestion of scorn in this speech nettled Van Bibber.

"I'm sure I never posed as being clever," he said, "and finding a lostdog with all Long Island to pick and choose from isn't a particularlyeasy thing to pull off successfully, I should think."

"I didn't suppose you'd take a dare like that, Van Bibber," said one ofthe men. "Why, it's just the sort of thing you do so well."

"Yes," said another, "I'll back you to find him if you try."

"Thanks," said Van Bibber, dryly. "There seems to be a disposition onthe part of the young men present to turn me into a dog-catcher. Idoubt whether this is altogether unselfish. I do not say that theywould rather remain indoors and teach the girls how to play billiards,but I quite appreciate their reasons for not wishing to roam about inthe snow and whistle for a dog. However, to oblige the despondentmistress of this valuable member of the household, I will riskpneumonia, and I will, at the same time, in order to make the eventinteresting to all concerned, back myself to bring that dog back byeight o'clock. Now, then, if any of you unselfish youths have anysporting blood, you will just name the sum."

They named one hundred dollars, and arranged that Van Bibber was tohave the dog back by eight o'clock, or just in time for dinner; for VanBibber said he wouldn't miss his dinner for all the dogs in the twohemispheres, unless the dogs happened to be his own.

Van Bibber put on his great-coat and told the man to bring around thedog-cart; then he filled his pockets with cigars and placed a flask ofbrandy under the seat, and wrapped the robes around his knees.

"I feel just like a relief expedition to the North Pole. I think Iought to have some lieutenants," he suggested.

"Well," cried one of the men, "suppose we make a pool and each chip infifty dollars, and the man who brings the dog back in time gets thewhole of it?"

"That bet of mine stands, doesn't it?" asked Van Bibber.

The men said it did, and went off to put on their riding things, andfour horses were saddled and brought around from the stable. Each ofthe four explorers was furnished with a long rope to tie to Duncan'scollar, and with which he was to be led back if they found him. Theywere cheered ironically by the maidens they had deserted on compulsion,and were smiled upon severally by Miss Arnett. Then they separated andtook different roads. It was snowing gently, and was very cold. VanBibber drove aimlessly ahead, looking to the right and left andscanning each back yard and side street. Every now and then he hailedsome passing farm wagon and asked the driver if he had seen a straycollie dog, but the answer was invariably in the negative. He soonleft the village in the rear, and plunged out over the downs. The windwas bitter cold, and swept from the water with a chill that cut throughhis clothes.

"Oh, this is great," said Van Bibber to the patient horse in front ofhim; "this IS sport, this is. The next time I come to this part of theworld I'll be dragged here with a rope. Nice, hospitable people thoseArnetts, aren't they? Ask you to make yourself at home chasing dogsover an ice fjord. Don't know when I've enjoyed myself so much." Everynow and then he stood up and looked all over the hills and valleys tosee if he could not distinguish a black object running over the whitesurface of the snow, but he saw nothing like a dog, not even the trackof one.

Twice he came across one of the other men, shivering and swearing fromhis saddle, and with teeth chattering. "Well," said one of them,shuddering, "you haven't found that dog yet, I see."

"No," said Van Bibber. "Oh, no. I've given up looking for the dog.I'm just driving around enjoying myself. The air's so invigorating,and I like to feel the snow settling between my collar and the back ofmy neck."

At four o'clock Van Bibber was about as nearly frozen as a man could beafter he had swallowed half a bottle of brandy. It was so cold thatthe ice formed on his cigar when he took it from his lips, and his feetand the dashboard seemed to have become stuck together.

"I think I'll give it up," he said, finally, as he turned the horse'shead towards Southampton. "I hate to lose three hundred and fiftydollars as much as any man; but I love my fair young life, and I'm notgoing to turn into an equestrian statue in ice for anybody's colliedog."

He drove the cart to the stable and unharnessed the horse himself, asall the grooms were out scouring the country, and then went upstairsunobserved and locked himself in his room, for he did not care to havethe others know that he had given out so early in the chase. There wasa big open fire in his room, and he put on his warm things andstretched out before it in a great easy-chair, and smoked and sippedthe brandy and chuckled with delight as he thought of the four othermen racing around in the snow.

"They may have more nerve than I," he soliloquized, "and I don't saythey have not; but they can have all the credit and rewards they want,and I'll be satisfied to stay just where I am."

At seven he saw the four riders coming back dejectedly, and without thedog. As they passed his room he heard one of the men ask if Van Bibberhad got back yet, and another say yes, he had, as he had left the cartin the stable, but that one of the servants had said that he hadstarted out again on foot.

"He has, has he?" said the voice. "Well, he's got sporting blood, andhe'll need to keep it at fever heat if he expects to live. I'm frozenso that I can't bend my fingers."

Van Bibber smiled, and moved comfortably in the big chair; he had dozeda little, and was feeling very contented. At half-past seven he beganto dress, and at five minutes to eight he was ready for dinner andstood looking out of the window at the moonlight on the white lawnbelow. The snow had stopped falling, and everything lay quiet andstill as though it were cut in marble. And then suddenly across thelawn, came a black, bedraggled object on four legs, limping painfully,and lifting its feet as though there were lead on them.

"Great heavens!" cried Van Bibber, "it's the dog!" He was out of theroom in a moment and down into the hall. He heard the murmur of voicesin the drawing-room, and the sympathetic tones of the women who werepitying the men. Van Bibber pulled on his overshoes and a great-coatthat covered him from his ears to his ankles, and dashed out into thesnow. The dog had just enough spirit left to try and dodge him, andwith a leap to one side went off again across the lawn. It was, as VanBibber knew, but three minutes to eight o'clock, and have the dog hemust and would. The collie sprang first to one side and then to theother, and snarled and snapped; but Van Bibber was keen with theexcitement of the chase, so he plunged forward recklessly and tackledthe dog around the body, and they both rolled over and over together.Then Van Bibber scrambled to his feet and dashed up the steps and intothe drawing-room just as the people were in line for dinner, and whilethe minute-hand stood at a minute to eight o'clock.

"How is this?" shouted Van Bibber, holding up one hand and clasping thedog under his other arm.

Miss Arnett flew at the collie and embraced it, wet as it was, andruined her gown, and all the men glanced instinctively at the clock andsaid:

"You've won, Van."

"But you must be frozen to death," said Miss Arnett, looking up at himwith gratitude in her eyes.

"Yes, yes," said Van Bibber, beginning to shiver. "I've had a terriblelong walk, and I had to carry him all the way. If you'll excuse me,I'll go change my things."

He reappeared again in a suspiciously short time for one who had tochange outright, and the men admired his endurance and paid up the bet.

"Where did you find him, Van?" one of them asked.

"Oh, yes," they all chorused. "Where was he?"

"That," said Mr. Van Bibber, "is a thing known to only two beings,Duncan and myself. Duncan can't tell, and I won't. If I did, you'dsay I was trying to make myself out clever, and I never boast about thethings I do."

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