[HE MANHATTAN^ 
 
 EDWARD S.VANZILE
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE MANHATTANERS.
 
 THE MANHATTANERS 
 
 of th* fgrnttr 
 
 BY 
 
 EDWARD a VAN ZILE 
 
 AUTHOR OP 
 
 'A MAGNETIC MAN," "LAST OP THE VAN SI^CKS," 
 ETC., ETC: 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 LOVELY, CORYELL & COMPANY 
 1895
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1895, 
 Bv UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY.
 
 THE MANHATTANERS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "" I DON'! want to discourage you, my boy, 
 but, as our ' brevier writers ' are so fond of 
 saying, there is 'food for reflection' in that 
 historic figure." 
 
 It was half an hour after midnight, and two 
 men were standing at the south-west corner of 
 City Hall park, gazing at the statue of Nathan 
 Hale. The taller of the two was a man who, 
 having passed the portentous age of forty, no 
 longer referred to his birthday when he reached 
 it. He had maintained silence on this subject 
 for several years, and his friends were not cer 
 tain whether he was forty-one or forty-five ; 
 but his face seemed to indicate the latter age. 
 It was a strong face, marked with lines of care, 
 perhaps of dissipation, and about the mouth 
 5
 
 The Manhattaners. 
 
 lurked an expression of discontent. That he 
 had grown rather weary of the battle of life 
 was indicated by his dress, which possessed 
 that indefinable characteristic that may be ex 
 pressed as careless shabbiness. His beard was 
 untrimmed, and a slouch hat covered a head of 
 iron-gray hair that would have been picturesque 
 had it not been constantly neglected. 
 
 His companion was a youth of not more than 
 three-and-twenty, slender, carefully attired, and 
 with a delicately-moulded face that was strik 
 ingly handsome when he smiled. He was show 
 ing his perfect teeth at this moment, as he 
 glanced first at the statue of the martyred hero, 
 and then at the sarcastic countenance of his 
 companion. 
 
 " Why do you say that, Fenton ? Surely 
 there is inspiration in the sight. Does not 
 the figure prove that the time-worn slur regard 
 ing the ingratitude of republics is false ? " 
 
 " Hardly that, Richard Richard Cceur de 
 Lion I shall dub you for awhile. It simply 
 shows that somebody, at a very late day, had 
 an attack of spasmodic sentimentality. There
 
 The Manhattaners. 
 
 are other heroes of the Revolution, who were 
 as self-sacrificing and patriotic as Nathan Hale, 
 who are still forgotten by a republic that is 
 grateful only in spots. Immortality, my dear 
 youngster, is, to a great extent, a matter of 
 chance. But, to waive that point, don't you 
 see how this figure of enthusiastic youth, this 
 doomed martyr this complete tie-up on Broad- 
 w.ay, as a flippant friend of mine once called 
 the statue illustrates the dangers that beset 
 your path ? " 
 
 "I must acknowledge," answered Richard 
 Stoughton good-naturedly, as he placed his 
 arm in Fenton's and walked westward toward 
 the Sixth Avenue elevated station at Park 
 Place, " I must acknowledge that I have seen 
 nothing in the park that tended to dampen my 
 natural enthusiasm, unless it was the sign, 
 'Keep off the grass.'" 
 
 "That's just it," returned John Fenton in 
 his deep, penetrating voice. " That statue of 
 Nathan Hale is what might be called an em 
 phasis in bronze of the warning, a warning 
 as old as human tyranny, to keep off the
 
 8 The Manhattaners. 
 
 grass. Hale failed to obey it, and went to an 
 early death. Take warning, Richard, by the 
 lesson the statue teaches. Don't let your 
 dreamy and unpractical enthusiasm carry you 
 into the enemy's camp. They'll hang you if 
 you do." 
 
 "Your words are enigmatical," commented 
 Stoughton, as the two men seated themselves 
 in an elevated train bound up-town. " I had 
 looked to you for comfort and warmth, and you 
 give me a shower-bath." 
 
 " Poor boy ! " smiled Fenton, less cynically 
 than was his wont. "When did the youthful 
 warrior ever gain anything of value by consult 
 ing the battle-scarred and defeated veteran ? I 
 have the decayed root of a conscience some 
 where that troubles me now and then. It gave 
 a little twinge just now, and causes me to doubt 
 the wisdom and justice of my effort to open 
 your eyes to the truth." 
 
 "But why," asked the younger man earnestly, 
 " should there be anything to offend your con 
 science in telling me the truth ? " 
 
 " Ah, there, my boy, you ask a question that
 
 The Manhattaners. 
 
 the wisest men have failed to answer. There 
 are certain truths that the universe holds in its 
 secret heart and refuses to divulge. As a 
 microcosm, every man cherishes in his inner 
 most being some bitter certainty that he must 
 defend from the gaze of the curious. If he 
 draws the veil, even by a hair's-breadth, that 
 exposed nerve known as conscience will throb 
 for an instant, and close his mouth." 
 
 " " But," persisted the younger man, whose 
 clear-cut face looked, in contrast with his com 
 panion's, like a delicate cameo beside a mediaeval 
 gargoyle, " I had placed so much value on your 
 advice and sympathy." 
 
 " My sympathy you certainly have," said 
 Fenton rather harshly ; " but giving you my ad 
 vice would be to take a liberty with a time- 
 honored illustration like casting swine among 
 pearls. Is it not some word-juggler, who uses 
 epigrams to conceal the truth, who says that 
 the only vice that does not cling to youth is 
 advice ? " 
 
 Richard Stoughton's face flushed, and his 
 dark gray eyes glanced questioningly at his 
 companion.
 
 io The Manhattaners. 
 
 "I sometimes think," he said rather sadly, 
 " that you are all brains and no heart, John 
 Fenton." 
 
 " You are mistaken, my boy," answered Fen- 
 ton quickly. " In that case I would have been 
 a millionnaire long ago. I was afflicted with 
 just enough heart to hamper my brain. The 
 result is that I'm an assistant city editor in 
 the prime of life, with a very short hill to roll 
 down to the grave. But never mind what I am, 
 or what I might have been. You are the only 
 interesting personage present. You have come, 
 like Nathan Hale, out of the ' Down East,' so 
 to speak, to New York, to offer your youthful 
 enthusiasm to a world that has too little of 
 that sort of thing ; so little, in fact, that it 
 immortalizes Hale's sacrifice, and forgets his 
 mission." 
 
 Fenton was silent for a moment. 
 
 " Just what do you mean by that last re 
 mark?" asked Richard gently. 
 
 " I mean that this great metropolitan com 
 munity is suffering from a tyranny greater than 
 that against which Hale and his contempo-
 
 The Manhattaners. n 
 
 raries protested. I mean that we erect statues 
 to-day to lovers of liberty, to martyrs in the 
 cause of freedom, while we blindly and sub 
 missively bow our heads to a yoke more tyran 
 nical than that which the House of Hanover 
 held over our forefathers. I mean that Nathan 
 Hale died in vain, unless his example shall in 
 spire a generation yet to come to rise against 
 an oppression more unjust, more pervasive, and 
 more impregnable than any the world has ever 
 seen." 
 
 Richard Stoughton looked at his companion 
 in amazement. Fenton's face was flushed, a 
 baleful light gleamed in his large, heavy eyes, 
 and he seemed to be talking more to himself 
 than to his companion. As they left the train 
 at Twenty-third Street and strolled eastward, 
 the elder of the two continued in a calmer 
 tone, 
 
 " You haven't seen much of life, Stoughton. 
 You will find it necessary to repair, as rapidly 
 as possible, the intellectual ravages of a college 
 education. The tendency of Yale life is to 
 convince you at graduation that you know
 
 12 The Manhattaners. 
 
 everything. The experience of a few years in 
 metropolitan newspaper life will convince you 
 that you know nothing." 
 
 " And the last state of this man is happier 
 than the first ? " interrogated Richard lightly. 
 
 "Alas, my boy, I fear not. But perhaps 
 that may be a local issue, a personal equation. 
 I was more contented when I measured the 
 circumference of knowledge by the diameter of 
 my own experience than I am at present when 
 I realize that what I know is so insignificant 
 that it has no mathematical value at all. But 
 my experience has no significance in connection 
 with yours. The chances are that your career 
 will be very different from mine. I certainly 
 hope that it will be. At all events, you have 
 the game to play, and the stakes are on the 
 board. I drew to good cards, but somebody 
 else won the pot. But what of it ? There 
 would be no fun in the game if everybody 
 won and nobody lost." 
 
 Fenton smiled as he stopped in front of a 
 brilliantly lighted saloon, and held out his hand 
 to Richard Stoughton.
 
 The Manhattaners. 
 
 " Good-night, my boy, and good luck. I'll 
 do what I can for you on the paper and let 
 me give you a word of advice, don't believe all 
 I say. Somehow and of course I'm sorry 
 for it I've got just a little romance left in 
 my composition, the ruins of a magnificent air- 
 castle I once built. It is sufficient for me to 
 take an interest in the structure you're going 
 to build on the firm foundation of youth, educa 
 tion, enthusiasm, and natural cleverness. I'll 
 do what I can to add a stone now and then to 
 your castle, my boy. And so, good-night." 
 
 The two men shook hands cordially, and 
 Richard turned to hurry up-town to his rooms 
 in Twenty-eighth Street, when Fenton called 
 him back. 
 
 " You understand, Richard Coeur de Lion, 
 that it was not rudeness that prevented my 
 asking you to join me in a drink. I was think 
 ing of your castle, my boy. It'll tumble about 
 your head if you put alcohol in the cellar. 
 Good-night, old fellow. I must have some 
 whiskey. Good-night."
 
 14 The Manhattaners. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 "THE Percy-Bartletts," as Town Tattle al 
 ways called them in the weekly paragraph that 
 it devoted to their doings, were dining alone, 
 "en tete-a-tete and en famille" as the husband 
 sometimes remarked in a mildly sarcastic way. 
 Not that Percy-Bartlett was in the habit of 
 being satirical. Far from it ! He considered 
 sarcasm and satire the outward and visible 
 or, rather, audible sign of an inward and 
 hereditary tendency toward vulgarity. The 
 use of these weapons of speech implied that 
 one possessed both temper and originality 
 characteristics that were not approved in the 
 set in which the Percy-Bartletts moved. But 
 Percy-Bartlett had, by inheritance, a rather 
 peppery disposition, and a mind naturally given 
 to creative effort. It was greatly to his credit, 
 therefore, that he had rubbed his manners and 
 speech into an almost angelic smoothness, and
 
 The Manhattaners. 15 
 
 had so thoroughly stunted such mental quali 
 ties as were not included in the accepted flora- 
 of-the-mind recognized by his set that he 
 passed current as a man in no danger of ever 
 saying or doing anything that would attract 
 special attention to him on the part of the 
 world at large. It is not generally known, but 
 it is nevertheless a fact, that it sometimes re 
 quires heroic self-restraint to become a " howl 
 ing swell " a vulgar term that cannot be 
 avoided by the writer in his effort to convey 
 to the reader the exact social status of Percy- 
 Bartlett. He was known to the lower orders 
 of society as a "howling swell," which means, 
 of course, that howling was the very last thing 
 in which he would indulge. There are those, 
 the poet tells us, who never sing, and die with 
 all their music in them. In like manner the 
 modern aristocrat is one who never howls, and 
 dies with all his howling in him. 
 
 Let it not be thought for a moment that the 
 perfect self-control exercised by Percy-Bartlett 
 indicated that there was nothing in his life to 
 try the temper of either a saint or a howling
 
 1 6 The Manhattaners. 
 
 swell. In fact, the temptation to give way to 
 his hereditary testiness was with him, practi 
 cally, at all times. Percy-Bartlett had nobly 
 triumphed over all tendency toward originality. 
 His wife had not. It was Mrs. Percy-Bartlett 
 who constantly tried Percy-Bartlett's temper. 
 If you are a married man, O reader, you will 
 realize the full significance of the assertion, 
 now made with due solemnity and emphasis, 
 that, in spite of this fact, Mr. Percy-Bartlett 
 had never said an unkind word to her, had 
 never crossed her will, had never shown 
 her, by word or deed, that he was bitterly 
 disappointed at her refusal to walk in the 
 very narrow path that society prescribed for 
 her. 
 
 It must be acknowledged that there was 
 something in the face and manner of Mrs. 
 Percy-Bartlett that rendered her husband's 
 hesitancy about opposing her will seemingly 
 explicable. Her dark-brown eyes, golden- 
 brownish hair, clear-cut nose and mouth, and 
 perfect teeth combined to give her a beauty 
 that won from every man a chivalric reverence
 
 The Manhattaners. 17 
 
 from every man, that is, who is awed by the 
 loving-kindness of the Creator in scattering 
 flowers here and there in a weed-choked earth. 
 Furthermore, there was something in Mrs. 
 Percy-Bartlett's way of using her hands and 
 moving her head that told of a will-power as 
 highly developed as that which had enabled 
 her husband to suppress every inclination to 
 defy the pattern that had been adopted by his 
 set. Percy-Bartlett had used his self-command 
 to destroy originality. Mrs. Percy-Bartlett had 
 made her will-power an ally of her creative 
 genius. The outlook for a permanent peace 
 between them was not bright, but we find them 
 at dinner at a time when the modus vivendi 
 was still in comfortable operation. 
 
 " And who sings for you to-night ? " asked 
 Percy-Bartlett, his calm, blue eyes resting on 
 his wife coldly. He was a man of thirty-eight, 
 with pale cheeks, thin lips, and immobile coun 
 tenance. The fifteen years' difference in the 
 ages of husband and wife was more than borne 
 out by their faces. She looked younger than 
 her years ; he was younger than he looked.
 
 1 8 The Manhattaners. 
 
 "I think," she answered, "that it will be a 
 great success. The new boy-soprano who has 
 made such a sensation at St. George's is com 
 ing. So is Gordon Mackey, the tenor you 
 met him one night, you remember. Then Bry 
 ant Stanton is to play the 'cello, and Mile, de 
 Sargon has promised to sing some of the ' Fal- 
 staff ' music. Several others of less importance 
 will be here, Barton, the baritone, Miss Ely, 
 the contralto, and so forth. Barton, you know, 
 has been singing my cradle-song at his con 
 certs." 
 
 Percy-Bartlett looked at his wife in a way 
 that was distinctly unsympathetic. He seemed 
 to be thinking that a cradle-song was some 
 thing of a tour-de-force for a childless woman ; 
 but there are many things about a musical 
 genius that a layman cannot hope to under 
 stand. Percy-Bartlett had learned his limita 
 tions in this direction long ago, and never 
 asked his wife how or why she wrote vocal 
 music that was slowly but surely gaining popu 
 larity. It was a cross he had to bear, and, like 
 a perfect gentleman, he bore it in silence.
 
 The Manhattaners. 19 
 
 "Don't you think, my dear," suggested Mrs. 
 Percy-Bartlett sweetly, as they arose from the 
 table, "that you could endure just one evening 
 of really good music ?" 
 
 "You will have to let me off to-night, Har 
 riet," answered Percy-Bartlett coldly. " I have 
 a committee meeting at the club. By the 
 way," he remarked as they entered the library, 
 in the intellectual atmosphere of which he was 
 in the habit of smoking his after-dinner cigar, 
 " I had a letter to-day from a business friend of 
 mine, a distant relative on my mother's side, 
 Samuel Stoughton of Norwich. He tells me 
 that his son, Richard, who was graduated from 
 Yale last year, has come to the city to take a 
 place on the Morning Trumpet. He asks me 
 to show him a little attention. And, really, I 
 don't see how I can get out of it." 
 
 " Why should you want to ? " asked Mrs. 
 Percy-Bartlett, striking a few chords on the 
 piano, and casting a questioning glance at her 
 husband. "The Stoughtons are very nice 
 people." 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course. But then a newspaper
 
 2O The Manhattaners. 
 
 man, don't you know, may be all very well, 
 but really I can't understand why Richard 
 Stoughton, who was left a fortune, if I remem 
 ber rightly, by his mother, should take up 
 the drudgery of New York newspaper life." 
 
 " Perhaps," suggested Mrs. Percy-Bartlett, 
 looking down at her white, symmetrical arms 
 and tapering hands, "perhaps the young man 
 wants to see all sides of life. Perhaps he 
 wants to enlarge his horizon." 
 
 " Humph," exclaimed Percy-Bartlett, show 
 ing more of his ancestral testiness than was 
 his wont ; " I can't understand such a motive. 
 If running up and down the city until all hours 
 of the night, making a nuisance of yourself, is 
 enlarging one's horizon, I should think a man 
 of Stoughton's position and education would 
 prefer to remain narrow in his vision. But 
 there is no accounting for tastes ; and I must 
 acknowledge that, of late years, a good many 
 very nice fellows have gone into newspaper 
 work. Well, we'll ask Stoughton to dinner 
 some night when we're dining alone, and see 
 what kind of a boy he is. Perhaps he'll get
 
 The Manhattaners. 21 
 
 over his attack of journalistic enthusiasm as he 
 recovered from the mumps or measles. His 
 father has done me some good turns in busi 
 ness, and has it in his power to do more. I'll 
 drop a note to Richard to-morrow and have 
 him call at the office." 
 
 Percy-Bartlett threw away his cigar and rose 
 to go. The picture his wife presented was ir 
 resistibly attractive. He bent over and kissed 
 her. It was an unusual outbreak of emotion on 
 his part, and Mrs. Percy-Bartlett smiled up at 
 him as he turned to leave the room. 
 
 " How late," he asked as he reached the por 
 tiere, " will your musical friends be here ? " 
 
 "Oh, not late," she answered; "come home 
 by twelve and you will find them gone." 
 
 The hour of midnight was striking. 
 
 " It was a great success, my little musicale," 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett, with flushed, triumphant 
 face, was saying to her husband as they stood 
 in the drawing-room on his return. The even 
 ing had been a pleasant one to Percy-Bartlett, 
 and the genial influences of his club had made 
 him sociable.
 
 22 The Manhattaners. 
 
 "Come into the library, Harriet," he said, 
 "while I smoke just one more cigar." 
 
 The smile on her face vanished, and lines 
 of fatigue formed around her mouth. 
 
 " Please excuse me," she murmured in a 
 weary tone. "I am very tired. They en 
 cored my cradle-song so many times that 
 that, really, it wearied me. I fear I can't 
 stand success. Good-night. I'm very sorry." 
 
 "Good-night," he said coldly. 
 
 Then he went to the library and moodily 
 lighted a "perfecto." There seemed to be 
 something lacking in his life, something that 
 forever seemed within his grasp and forever 
 escaped him.
 
 The Manhattaners. 23 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "YES, Richard," remarked Fenton, as the 
 two strangely-assorted newspaper men turned 
 into a down-town side-street to take a table 
 d'hdte dinner at a restaurant well known to the 
 semi-Bohemians of the city, real Bohemians 
 we have none, though another generation will 
 beget them, " yes, my boy, this is the most 
 interesting metropolis in the world." 
 
 He hesitated a moment, and taking Richard 
 by the arm, stood still and looked about him at 
 the passing throng. 
 
 "Within a radius of half a mile, Richard, 
 not only every nation, but nearly every tribe, 
 religion, sect, family, and name that the world 
 has ever known has its representation. See, 
 there's an Italian barber-shop across the street 
 kept by a man named Caesar. We are to dine 
 at a French restaurant whose proprietor bears 
 the historic family-name of Valois. I remem-
 
 24 The Manhattaners. 
 
 her a few lines of an after-dinner poem one of 
 the men in the office read last year at a jour 
 nalistic banquet. It began : 
 
 " 'Did you say there was no romance 
 In a town that deftly blends, 
 In a picturesque mosaic, 
 All the Old World's odds and ends ? 
 In a city where the scapegoats 
 Of the older countries meet, 
 'Tis a crazy-quilt of nations 
 That is seen upon the street.' " 
 
 "It is, in a certain sense, the fact you have 
 just touched upon that brought me here," said 
 Richard, as they seated themselves at a small 
 table in a dining-room curiously decorated in 
 black and white. Around them, seated in 
 small groups, were men whose faces bore the 
 European stamp. Here and there a young 
 woman could be seen, smiling over her claret 
 at her vis-a-vis, her white teeth making her 
 dark eyes more striking by contrast. There 
 was nothing distinctly American in the scene, 
 excepting a small, active, little newsboy, who 
 rushed from table to table selling the evening 
 edition of the Tnimpet> and requesting patron-
 
 The Manhattaners. 25 
 
 age in a voice that indicated an ancestral 
 brogue. Fenton, however, soon added one 
 more native feature to the picture by ordering 
 a Manhattan cocktail from a waiter who 
 looked as though he might be a pretender to 
 the throne of France, and sipping it slowly as 
 he waited for Stoughton to explain himself. 
 
 " You see," went on the younger man, whose 
 handsome face had already begun to attract 
 the burning glances of several impressionable 
 young women at the surrounding tables, 
 "you see, I had my choice of going into the 
 bank at Norwich, and depending upon my 
 father's influence to push me forward in a 
 line of life I detest, or coming to New York 
 to follow my natural bent, and to broaden my 
 views by contact with all kinds of people. Of 
 course my father hoped that I would choose 
 the former course. But how could I ? How 
 good this soup is, Fenton." 
 
 "Yes," answered the elderly journalist, who 
 was much better groomed than the first time 
 we met him ; " the dinner they serve here is 
 generally quite eatable especially good, you
 
 26 The Manhattaners. 
 
 know, if the proprietor realizes that you are 
 a newspaper man. The next thing to being a 
 millionnaire in New York, my boy, is to be 
 a city editor." Fenton smiled in his usual 
 sarcastic way. 
 
 " Then I go up a peg to-morrow night," re 
 marked Richard playfully. " I dine with a city 
 editor to-night, and with a millionnaire to-mor 
 row night. " 
 
 "Indeed." Fenton looked at his companion 
 with an expression of interest on his face. 
 
 " Yes ; I had a note a few days ago from a dis 
 tant relative of my father's, Percy-Bartlett, who 
 asked me to call on him at his office. He 
 owns real estate, I think ; but to judge from the 
 number of his clerks, I don't think he can be 
 overworked himself. At all events, he was 
 quite cordial, in his touch-me-not kind of way, 
 and I promised to dine with him and his wife 
 to-morrow evening. I think he was astonished 
 to find that I was no longer a reporter, for his 
 cordiality increased when I told him about my 
 promotion." 
 
 Fenton smiled rather coldly, and filled his 
 glass with red wine.
 
 The Manhattaners. 27 
 
 " No wonder he was astonished, my boy," he 
 said, as he set down his goblet ; " I have been 
 in active newspaper service for nearly fifteen 
 years, and your elevation from the ranks is the 
 most surprising occurrence in my recollection." 
 
 "I suppose it is remarkable," commented 
 Richard, as the waiter served them with game 
 that had been strong enough to break the law. 
 " I haven't quite fathomed it myself." 
 
 " In one sense it is simple enough," continued 
 Fenton. " ' To him that hath shall be given,' 
 you know, 'and to him that hath not,' etc. If 
 you had been seeking a place as brevier writer 
 or editorial paragrapher you could not have 
 obtained it, but, presto, it comes to you 
 unsought." 
 
 "Tell me all you know about it, Fenton," 
 suggested the young man as he sipped his cof 
 fee. 
 
 "There is very little to tell," answered his 
 companion as he lighted a cigar and gazed con 
 tentedly at the animated face before him. " A 
 newspaper is an insatiable beast. Its maw is 
 never satisfied. It swallows brains, talent, cul-
 
 28 The Manhattaners. 
 
 ture, industry, youth, maturity, wit, wisdom, with 
 an appetite that grows with what it feeds upon. 
 It is the hungriest monster the ages have pro 
 duced, and its food is human lives." 
 
 " What an awful picture ! " cried Richard 
 cheerfully. "But what I am after is not the 
 status of a newspaper in the cannibalistic realm, 
 but the reason for my being given a desk in the 
 editorial rooms." 
 
 "That's what I was coming to, Mr. Impa 
 tience. But you must let me get at it in my 
 own way. Let me warn you against impetuos 
 ity, boy, and that awful affliction, vulgarly called 
 ' the big head.' You have gone up like a rocket. 
 You'll come down like a stick if you're not 
 careful. And now, as to the cause of your rise. 
 Know then, my young friend, that in the news 
 paper field men who can make epigrams are 
 rare. Putting a column of fact into half an 
 inch of fireworks requires a peculiar cast of 
 mind. It may be said of paragraphers, as of 
 poets, that they are born, not made. Now, 
 without knowing it, you gave evidence in seve 
 ral of your news stories that you are the sev-
 
 The Manhattaners. 29 
 
 enth son of a forty-second cousin, and can sound 
 the well of truth with the plummet of a paradox. 
 Mr. Robinson, who is an argus-eyed managing 
 editor, if such a creature ever existed, was at 
 tracted by your sparkling generalizations, and 
 made inquiries about you. He sent for me, and 
 I told him that what his editorial page needed, 
 above everything else, was a boy-paragrapher. 
 And there you are." 
 
 Richard laughed. " I am exceedingly obliged 
 to you, Fenton. I have noticed that calling a 
 young man a boy is one of the favorite oc 
 cupations of men of uncertain age." 
 
 " Well hit, Richard," cried the elder man, 
 pushing one hand through his iron-gray locks, 
 and motioning with the other to the waiter 
 to refill his liqueur glass ; " I like your your 
 'spunk.' Isn't that what they call it 'Down 
 East ' ? Another thing. You have given me 
 a very conclusive proof that I am fond of you. 
 My age, you know, is my sensitive spot. Isn't 
 it curious that a man who prides himself on his 
 devotion to pure reason, who glories in the fact 
 that two and two make four, and whose life is
 
 3<D The Manhattaners. 
 
 spent in the classification of facts, and the pre 
 sentation of truth for the edification of the 
 public, should hesitate to acknowledge that he 
 was born on a certain date ? Well, never mind ! 
 Even the greatest men have flaws in their 
 make-up, Richard and I have mine." 
 
 As they left the restaurant, strolling leis 
 urely toward Broadway, they found the streets 
 less crowded than they had been an hour be 
 fore. 
 
 "It is the time," said Fenton, " when the 
 city rests for a moment from labor, and pauses 
 to catch its breath before it begins to dissipate 
 the interlude between its work for earthly 
 taskmasters and its work for Satan." 
 
 " What a cynic you are, Fenton ! " exclaimed 
 Richard almost deprecatingly. 
 
 " Not at all, my boy. I will tell you what I 
 am some day. I am far from being a cynic ; 
 but it makes me sad to think that this whole 
 fabric of society must undergo heroic treat 
 ment before any real progress in civilization 
 can be made." 
 
 " What do you mean ? "
 
 The Manhattaners. 31 
 
 "I haven't time to explain just now. I will 
 give you a few books to read, and your eyes 
 may be opened to certain truths that will 
 change your whole theory of life. It is sel 
 dom that I try to make a convert to my views, 
 but I have observed surface indications on your 
 part that you have brains. If you have, the 
 time has come for you to learn that you live 
 and move and have your being at a most criti 
 cal time in the world's history. We are on the 
 verge of great events, my boy, of great upheav 
 als and vast changes. You will probably live 
 to see them. I may or I may not. But 
 whether I do or don't will make little differ 
 ence to me, or to the world. But enough of 
 this. I must get down to the office. And 
 you, lucky man, have the evening to yourself. 
 What will you do with it ? " 
 
 " Go to hear the De Reszkes and Melba in 
 ' Faust,' I think." 
 
 " Great scheme ! It will do you good. It 
 is much plesanter watching Mephistopheles on 
 the stage than fighting him in real life. I 
 envy you, my boy. And to-morrow night you
 
 32 The Manhattaners. 
 
 dine with a millionnaire. Be careful, Richard ; 
 remember Nathan Hale." 
 
 " I don't see the point," remarked the youth 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " I didn't think you would," answered Fen- 
 ton ; " but don't forget to come to me to 
 morrow for those books. I'll tell you at the 
 same time what I know about the Percy-Bart - 
 letts, if you wish. Good-night." 
 
 Fenton boarded a cable-car going down 
 town, and Richard Stoughton strolled moodily 
 up Broadway. 
 
 " Fenton's a curious mixture," he muttered 
 to himself. "I wonder what he was driving 
 at."
 
 The Manhattaners. 33 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " I FEAR," remarked Mrs. Percy-Bartlett, 
 looking at Richard Stoughton with a pleased 
 expression in her brown eyes, "that you stud 
 ied the art of flattery at college and have not 
 yet learned its worthlessness." She had been 
 singing a little love-song that she had recently 
 composed, and the thrilling melody had brought 
 a flush of pleasure to the young man's face. 
 Without knowing much about the science of 
 music, he was keenly sensitive to its influence. 
 
 As he stood by the piano, looking down into 
 the smiling face of the most beautiful woman 
 he had ever met, Richard inwardly blessed the 
 unexpected telegram that had called Percy- 
 Bartlett away to his club before the coffee 
 had been served at dinner. At the time of 
 which we write, the financial affairs of the 
 nation were in a disturbed state ; and Percy- 
 Bartlett, like other millionnaires, felt that a
 
 34 The Manhattaners. 
 
 great opportunity had presented itself to him 
 for combining patriotism and prudence, by giv 
 ing aid to an improvident nation at a high rate 
 of interest. His father had followed such a 
 course during the Civil War. Percy-Bartlett's 
 financial patriotism was, as it were, hereditary, 
 and he had left the house that evening with 
 the firm determination of offering a tithe of 
 his fortune to his afflicted government, on gilt- 
 edged security, to be redeemed by posterity. 
 
 "You do me an injustice, Mrs. Percy-Bart- 
 lett," answered Richard, returning her smile. 
 " I know that my opinion regarding your song 
 is of no great value from a technical stand 
 point, but I can readily understand how glad 
 the publishers are to get your work." 
 
 Richard had learned much about the Percy- 
 Bartletts that afternoon from John Fenton. 
 He had heard of the husband's prominence 
 in society and business circles and in club 
 life, and of the wife's devotion to music, of 
 her talent as a song-writer. But Fenton had 
 not told him that Mrs. Percy-Bartlett had 
 brown eyes that had a beseeching, almost
 
 The Manhattaners 35 
 
 caressing expression at times, that her mouth 
 was rather large, but wonderfully symmetrical, 
 and especially attractive when she smiled and 
 showed her white, even teeth. Fenton had 
 been silent also regarding her brown hair 
 hair that curled and shimmered and waved 
 with a coquettish life of its own, and gave to 
 Richard Stoughton an almost irresistible desire 
 to stroke it with his hand. That she had a 
 white, firm neck, and rounded, dimpled arms, 
 and long, tapering hands that were worthy a 
 sculptor's art, his friend had not informed him. 
 Perhaps Fenton did not know all this. 
 
 " At all events," thought Richard to himself, 
 " I'm inclined to think that if Fenton could see 
 her beauty, although he might admire it, he 
 would find some reason for saying that she 
 had no right to it that so much of it as she 
 derived from her handsome ancestors was ill- 
 gotten gain." Which thought, the reader will 
 observe, proved that Richard had been skim 
 ming the books Fenton had given to him, and 
 had come, as he fondly believed, upon certain 
 arguments that seemed to him to be founded
 
 36 The Manhattaners. 
 
 on fallacy. Stoughton never went very deeply 
 into any subject presented to his attention. 
 He had that faculty of mind which enabled 
 him to cover a good deal of ground at a glance, 
 and to condense into showy half-truths the 
 results of his rapid mental processes. It was 
 this gift a dangerous one to a man who 
 wishes to make a solid rather than a glitter 
 ing success of life that had suddenly given 
 him a prominent place on the Trumpet as the 
 spiciest paragrapher the editorial page had had 
 for years. And it was this faculty applied to 
 the airy nothings of unimportant conversation 
 that had given him the reputation of being a 
 wit a reputation much more to be dreaded 
 than that of a rake. No woman fears a rake, 
 but she has a deep-seated dread of a wit. 
 
 " But come, Mr. Stoughton," said Mrs. Percy- 
 Bartlett, standing up and looking at him with 
 mock commiseration, " I have been very cruel 
 to inflict my music on you, when I know that 
 you are dying for a cigar. Come into the li 
 brary and let me repair my lack of hospitality. 
 Mr. Percy-Bartlett would feel that he had com-
 
 The Manhattaners. 37 
 
 mitted sacrilege if he failed to smoke a cigar 
 after dinner." 
 
 " It would be something worse than sacrilege 
 in such companionship," remarked Stoughton, 
 lighting a " perfecto " and seating himself op 
 posite his hostess; "it would be folly." 
 
 "There can be no folly, Mr. Stoughton, after 
 marriage, you know. I mean in our set, of 
 course. A thing is either good form or bad 
 form. What is good form may seem foolish 
 to the world at large, and what is bad form 
 may, in reality, be wise. But our motto of 
 noblesse oblige has absolutely nothing to do 
 with folly or wisdom in the abstract. It simply 
 presupposes an obligation on our part to ob 
 serve certain canons of taste and habits of 
 life that have no relation to wisdom or folly, 
 virtue or vice, progress or retrogression. You 
 know all this, though, as well as I do." 
 
 " Only in a general way," answered Richard, 
 somewhat surprised at her earnestness. He 
 felt that, somehow, she was tempted to treat 
 him in a more confidential way than the du 
 ration of their acquaintanceship strictly war-
 
 38 The Manhattaners. 
 
 ranted. "I have had little opportunity, as 
 yet, to study the different phases of New 
 York society." 
 
 "But," she persisted, her face slightly flushed 
 with eagerness, " there is no difference in the 
 social cult of the most exclusive set in New 
 York and that which dominates the inner circle 
 of other cities in what we might call the east 
 ern belt of civilization. That awful Franken 
 stein called ' Bad Form,' a monster created by 
 society, and dogging our steps at all times, is 
 not confined to New York. Haven't you en 
 dured his threatening glances in your New 
 England cities ? " 
 
 "Yes," confessed Richard; "I know the 
 creature and, in a certain sense, I suppose 
 I have run away from him. I came here to 
 New York, against my father's wishes, that I 
 might be free to live my life as my tastes and 
 inclinations inspired me, not as a select few in 
 my native city ordained that I should live it." 
 
 With an impetuous gesture Mrs. Percy-Bart - 
 lett placed her hand on his for an instant and 
 blushed slightly as their eyes met.
 
 The Manhattaners. 39 
 
 " Do you know," she said, " I feel an almost 
 irresistible inclination to tell you a secret, a 
 secret that all the world knows, but that I have 
 not yet confessed to a human soul." An odd 
 smile played across her mouth. 
 
 "I shall feel more flattered than I can tell 
 you," exclaimed Richard with marked emphasis. 
 
 "Well, then," went on Mrs. Percy-Bartlett, 
 " I am a rebel. Remember, Mr. Stoughton, 
 that this is the first time I have ever said this. 
 I hardly know why I have said it to you ; but, 
 somehow, I feel thoroughly in touch with you 
 on some points, and you seem more like an old 
 friend than a new acquaintance." 
 
 Perhaps later on she would analyze this 
 feeling more thoroughly, and realize that she 
 had reached a crisis in her life when an attrac 
 tive man in the first flush of youth, and still 
 possessing a freshness of view, and the enthu 
 siasm of newly tried powers that had already 
 won recognition from the world, stimulated 
 that part of her nature that the atmosphere 
 in which she lived tended to repress. But, for 
 the moment, she had not stopped to ask her-
 
 4O The Manhattaners. 
 
 self why Richard Stoughton attracted her. She 
 had simply given herself up to the fascination 
 he had for her, and had left to the future the 
 solution of the problem as to how far she should 
 allow this fascination to influence her. 
 
 "As a rebel," remarked Richard earnestly, 
 "I give you greeting. I think I understand 
 your revolt." 
 
 " I know you do," she exclaimed with en 
 thusiasm. "You see, it is perfectly allowable 
 for me to cultivate music as an accomplishment ; 
 but to take it seriously, to do something with it, 
 to write songs that people outside of our circle 
 will sing that, you know, is bad form. I 
 assure you, Mr. Stoughton, it took some cour 
 age to do it." 
 
 " But not to do it would have been a crime," 
 said Richard, puffing his cigar thoughtfully. 
 
 " But a crime in the interest of the canons of 
 good taste is not only allowable but impera 
 tive," returned Mrs. Percy-Bartlett, smiling. 
 "You must understand that there is a vast 
 difference between having your name in the 
 newspapers as being one of the best-dressed
 
 The Manhattaners. 41 
 
 women at the Patriarchs', and being referred to 
 as a composer both popular and promising." 
 
 " You mean that society would condemn you 
 to die with all your music in you ? " 
 
 " Practically, yes ; but I refused to obey the 
 sentence. Therefore, I am a rebel." 
 
 She arose, and he followed her into the 
 music-room. 
 
 " Here's a little thing," she said, striking a 
 few chords on the instrument, "that I have 
 never sent to my publisher." 
 
 The chords ran into a weird, almost barbaric 
 prelude. Then she began to sing. She had 
 used the words of Heine's little gem of crys 
 tallized unrest : 
 
 "A pine-tree standeth lonely, 
 On a far Norland height ; 
 It slumbereth, while around it 
 The snow falls thick and white. 
 
 And of a palm it dreameth 
 
 That in a Southern land, 
 Lonely and silent standeth 
 
 Amid the drifting sand." 
 
 There was passion, protest, longing in the 
 music, and the refrain died away and came 
 again like the sobs of a broken heart.
 
 42 The Manhattaners. 
 
 Richard bent over her and looked into her 
 eyes, dark with unshed tears. His voice trem 
 bled as he whispered, 
 
 " I am so sorry for you." 
 
 She arose and stood before him, a peculiar 
 smile on her face. 
 
 "Isn't it hard," she said, "to distinguish 
 between the real and the unreal ? When we 
 go together into the unknown land, we seem 
 to have been friends for ages piled on ages. 
 Then we come back to reality, and I sit down 
 here and we talk about the weather. And that 
 of course is much better. It is, you know, bad 
 form oh, how weary I am of the phrase 
 for you to tell me that you're sorry for me." 
 
 Richard leaned against the piano and looked 
 down at her thoughtfully. 
 
 " Yes and absurd. Why should I be 
 sorry for you? Suppose, for instance and 
 of course it is not a possibility that I should 
 tell my cynical friend Fenton, of whom I want 
 to talk to you sometime, that I had met a 
 woman young, beautiful, wealthy, courted by 
 society, wonderfully accomplished, a musician
 
 The Manhattaners. 43 
 
 possessing genius, a soul sensitive to all that is 
 noble and beautiful in life, and that I had ex 
 pressed to her my commiseration. What would 
 he say ? " 
 
 "Probably," suggested Mrs. Percy-Bartlett, 
 with a note of recklessness in her voice, " your 
 friend Fenton, if he is a man of the world, 
 and he probably is, as you call him cynical, 
 would ask you if this unhappy being was mar 
 ried or unmarried. If you told him she was 
 free" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well, he would advise you to check your 
 sympathy and defend your own freedom." 
 
 " And if I said that she was married ? " 
 
 " He would say that you must have known 
 her a long time to take such a liberty." The 
 words were robbed of their harshness by the 
 smile that accompanied them. 
 
 " Forgive me, please," he pleaded, bending 
 over her. " How can I help it if words come 
 unbidden to my lips, if I forget that I have 
 known you only a few hours ? Won't you 
 absolve me before I go ? "
 
 44 The Manhattaners. 
 
 She stood up and gave him her hand. 
 
 " I have forgiven you," she said. " It was 
 my fault. You are too sensitive to music." 
 
 Then with that charming inconsistency that 
 adds so much to woman's fascination and to 
 the sorrows of the world, she continued : 
 
 " Have you an engagement, Mr. Stoughton, 
 for Friday night ? No ? I should so much 
 like to have you join us in our box at the 
 Metropolitan that evening. ' Sanson et Da- 
 lila' is to be given for the first time in this 
 country, you know. Would you care to hear 
 it ? " 
 
 " It is very good of you," he said, taking her 
 outstretched hand. " How much pleasure your 
 invitation gives me I dare not tell you for 
 fear of taking a liberty." 
 
 She smiled merrily at his little shaft of sar 
 casm, and he left her with the roguish light 
 still dancing in her eyes. 
 
 She turned and walked across the drawing- 
 room and wandered aimlessly into the library. 
 Soon she found herself seated at the piano, but 
 there was no comfort there. For the first time
 
 The Manhattaners. 45 
 
 within her recollection her bosom friend, her 
 confidante, the sharer of her joys and sorrows, 
 had turned false. 
 
 Throwing herself down upon a divan, she 
 buried her head in the pillows and sobbed 
 bitterly.
 
 46 The Manhattaners. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 "ONE robbery does not justify another." 
 
 So said Richard Stoughton to John Fenton 
 as they sat at dinner in the restaurant of the 
 Astor House, while the wind and the snow 
 played tag up and down Broadway, and men 
 compared the blizzard of '88 with the storm 
 that was then raging, and incidentally won 
 dered how the star-eyed goddess of Reform 
 enjoyed cleaning the streets. 
 
 It was Friday evening, and Richard was 
 hurrying his dinner that he might reach his 
 rooms in time to dress for the opera. He and 
 Fenton had just come from a visit to a ten 
 ement house not far from the famous hotel 
 in which they were seated, and their conversa 
 tion had naturally turned upon the great prob 
 lem suggested by the sights they had witnessed. 
 
 "Come with me," Fenton had said to the 
 younger man an hour before. " I want to
 
 The Manhattaners. 47 
 
 show you a picture that will make a striking 
 contrast to the scene you will witness at the 
 Metropolitan to-night." 
 
 Somewhat against his will, Richard had con 
 sented to accompany Fenton, and they had 
 found a family in a garret, starving and freez 
 ing, almost within a stone's throw of the City 
 Hall. It had been a painful experience, no less 
 to Fenton, whose long years in active news 
 paper life had accustomed him to the phenom 
 ena that vice and poverty exhibit in a great 
 city, than to the younger man, whose life had 
 been spent in the sunny haunts of prosperity, 
 and who knew little of the outward aspects 
 of human misery beyond what his imagination 
 could picture. 
 
 "Explain yourself," said Fenton rather 
 sternly, refilling his sherry glass. 
 
 " What I mean is simple enough," answered 
 Richard. "I have read the books you gave 
 me, and I acknowledge they have presented 
 a startling picture of the horrors that result, 
 seemingly, from the unequal distribution of 
 wealth. I think I am even willing to admit
 
 48 The Manhattaners. 
 
 that, theoretically, nobody can show any very 
 satisfactory claim to even a square foot of the 
 earth's surface. But it is one thing arguing in 
 the abstract, and another looking at life in the 
 concrete. Granting, for instance, that my an 
 cestors stole land from the Indians, who may 
 have taken it by force from some prehistoric 
 race, is that any reason why those who believe 
 in a new method of taxation should wrest my 
 property from me ? " 
 
 A smile, both sad and sarcastic, lingered 
 about Fenton's firm, unsymmetrical mouth. 
 
 " I have played my game with you and lost, 
 Richard," he said at length, lighting a cigar, 
 while his companion sipped a demi-tasse of 
 coffee, " and, on the whole, I am not sur 
 prised. Neither am I especially sorry. The 
 economic theories toward which I was trying 
 to direct your steps are not such as lead to 
 peace of mind. Had you become an enthu 
 siast in the great crusade for the introduction 
 of the millennium, you would have grown old 
 before your time, the pressure of things that 
 are would crush you in your effort to hold to
 
 The Manhattaners. 49 
 
 the things that should be, and I would have 
 been responsible for making you a discontented 
 and restless being like myself. I told you at 
 the outset that I was not in the habit of trying 
 to make converts to the views of my master. 
 Why I experimented with you I can hardly 
 say. I hope you'll forgive me." 
 
 The gentle, affectionate smile on Fenton's 
 face was an unwonted visitor to that stern 
 countenance. Richard impulsively put out his 
 hand to his friend. 
 
 " There is nothing to forgive, old man. I 
 realize the unselfishness that prompts you to 
 long for a change in the conditions that beget 
 so much human suffering. Don't think that I 
 am so heartless that the scenes we have just 
 witnessed do not affect me. They do ; and I 
 fully understand that the future has the great 
 est problem of all the ages yet to solve. But 
 you cannot wonder, John Fenton, that at my 
 age and with my prospects it is hard for me 
 to take the whole human race to my heart, 
 and try to remedy wrongs for which I am in 
 no way responsible."
 
 5O The Manhattaners. 
 
 Fenton puffed his cigar in silence for a 
 while. Finally he said, more as if he spoke to 
 himself than to his companion, 
 
 " Yes, youth is so strong ; but the pleasures 
 of life weave their web, and the hour of 
 strength goes by ! To-night youth and wealth 
 and beauty will gather to hear an allegory, 
 an allegory centuries old, the ancient, impres 
 sive story of Samson and Delilah. In that 
 vast throng will there be one who reads in that 
 old biblical legend the story of the hour ? Will 
 they see in Samson the figure of American 
 youth, glorious in its strength, falling a victim 
 to the wiles of the temptress? They will see 
 this same man of power, who has desecrated 
 the precious heritage intrusted to him, blind, 
 maddened by the suffering he has brought 
 upon himself, pulling down in his frenzy the 
 gorgeous structure above his devoted head ; 
 and they will go away to their clubs and ball 
 rooms and supper-parties, and discuss Mantelli's 
 voice, and Tamagno's conception of his role. 
 
 " ' Oh, let the striicken deer go weep, the hart ungalled play, 
 For some must watch, while some must weep so runs the 
 world away.'
 
 The Manhattaners. 
 
 The older I grow, Richard, the more I am 
 amazed at Shakespeare's thorough grasp of hu 
 man nature as we find it at the end of the 
 nineteenth century." 
 
 Richard arose and donned his overcoat. 
 
 "Well, John," he remarked smilingly, "I'll 
 compromise with you, then ; I'll read Shake 
 speare instead of the contemporary writer to 
 whom you have introduced me ; and thus your 
 hope for my redemption may still be kept alive." 
 
 Fenton made no answer, and a moment later 
 they stood at the door, looking through the 
 frost-covered glass upon the wind-swept street. 
 For an instant they hesitated to plunge into 
 the wintry blast. Suddenly Fenton turned to 
 his companion. 
 
 " How did Mrs. Percy-Bartlett impress you, 
 Richard?" 
 
 The unexpectedness of the question caused 
 the young man to start nervously. 
 
 " I find her," he answered hesitatingly, " a 
 very charming woman." 
 
 "Yes, I believe you do," returned Fenton 
 gruffly.
 
 52 The Manhattaners. " 
 
 Then he pushed open the doors, and made 
 his way hurriedly across Broadway, leaving 
 Richard Stoughton standing on the hotel steps, 
 gazing wonderingly at the retreating figure of 
 his eccentric friend.
 
 The Manhattaners. 53 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IN spite of the storm, a large audience had 
 gathered at the Metropolitan Opera House. 
 The first rendition of Saint-Saens's opera, 
 " Sanson et Dalila " had been a magnet to 
 the multitude that can endure a biblical story 
 if it is presented to them in an attractive 
 setting. As the irreverent Buchanan Budd 
 had whispered to Mrs. Percy-Bartlett, "The 
 Old Testament is full of unused librettos. 
 But it is strange that the ' first lesson ' of 
 this evening's service should come to us from 
 wicked Paris." 
 
 The Percy-Bartletts' parterre-box contained 
 four persons as the curtain arose, the stage 
 showing the unhappy Hebrews mourning the 
 desertion of Jehovah, and the afflictions forced 
 upon them by the priests of Dagon, the fish- 
 god. 
 
 Just in front of Richard Stoughton sat
 
 54 The Manhattaners. 
 
 Gertrude Van Vleck, for the time being Mrs. 
 Percy-Bartlett's most intimate friend. This 
 means, of course, that they confided in each 
 other in a gingerly way, and spoke of each 
 other in terms of enthusiastic admiration to 
 third persons. 
 
 Gertrude Van Vleck had been a reigning 
 belle for two seasons. Society had received 
 her with a good deal of enthusiasm. She 
 was rich, handsome, in a rather striking 
 style, and her blood was as blue as any 
 that a new country can produce. But, after 
 her first appearance as a debutante, Gertrude 
 Van Vleck had not been especially popular 
 in the inner circle. She had had many suitors 
 of course, but her indifference to their woo 
 ing had been the occasion of remark. But 
 this was not all. From her mother, who had 
 come from an old New England family, Ger 
 trude had inherited a strain of Yankee humor 
 that was not appreciated by the set in which 
 she moved. The whisper had been spread 
 abroad in her first season that she had said 
 several really clever things, and a good many
 
 The Manhattaners. 55 
 
 conservative people had considered this an 
 erratic tendency on her part that was dis 
 tinctly dangerous. Society did not feel cer 
 tain that Gertrude Van Vleck might not at 
 any moment perpetrate a witticism that would 
 scratch the face of its most cherished tradi 
 tions. The worst of it was that her position 
 in society was so firmly established that she 
 could afford to indulge her appreciation of the 
 ludicrous and her inclination to look at things 
 in an original way. Society was powerless to 
 discipline her. 
 
 Furthermore, it was suspected that Ger 
 trude Van Vleck was in sympathy with the 
 effort of woman to break away from her time- 
 honored subserviency to man, and to do a 
 great deal of independent thinking about the 
 problems that agitate the world. She had 
 given her countenance to the efforts of women 
 to turn the political scale at the last election 
 into the lap of reform, whatever that elusive 
 thing may be, and she had been a pioneer 
 in the movement that had gained recognition 
 for the bicycle from the swell set.
 
 56 The Manhattaners. 
 
 Richard Stoughton had heard something of 
 all this; and he found himself looking at Ger 
 trude with considerable curiosity, while the 
 Hebrews were airing their woes upon the 
 stage woes that awakened little sympathy 
 from an audience that knew how well in latter 
 days the oppressed race has triumphed over 
 all obstacles, and has placed a mortgage on a 
 planet that has practically refused them a na 
 tive land. Richard admitted to himself that 
 Miss Van Vleck was handsome, that her eyes 
 were of a cerulean tint worthy of her blood, 
 that her dark hair was strikingly effective, 
 that her white neck and arms were well cut. 
 He also felt that nothing too bitter to please 
 a man or woman of sense could fall from a 
 mouth so finely shaped as hers. 
 
 Nevertheless, he turned from the contempla 
 tion of Gertrude's statuesque beauty to glance 
 at the softer, but equally effective, radiance of 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett ; and their eyes met for the 
 first time since he had entered the box Rich 
 ard felt that the sympathy that had seemed to 
 exist between himself and Mrs. Percy-Bartlett
 
 The Manhattaners, 57 
 
 at their first meeting was not a dream, but a 
 reality; that the unrest he had experienced 
 since he had looked into her brown eyes on 
 parting with her a few nights before could still 
 find relief when he gazed into those eyes again. 
 She smiled, and leaned toward him. 
 
 " I am not in the mood for oratorio, as this 
 first act seems to be," she whispered. " I'd 
 rather talk to you." 
 
 Richard bent nearer to her. The perfume 
 of her hair thrilled him with a subtle ecstasy. 
 
 " I have much to say to you," he answered, 
 " about about " 
 
 "About what?" she murmured, smiling at 
 his hesitancy. 
 
 " About yourself. Myself the last few days 
 about a thousand things that that might 
 bore you." 
 
 "Then don't say them," she remarked. "I 
 cannot bear to be bored." 
 
 She turned to look at the stage, and Rich 
 ard felt a pang of annoyance at her coquetry. 
 Had he been a few years older, a bit more 
 experienced in the ways of woman, he would
 
 58 The Manhattaners. 
 
 have been pleased at her treatment of him. 
 A woman does not waste coquetry on a man 
 in whom she is not interested. 
 
 Buchanan Budd and Gertrude Van Vleck 
 were good friends. As there had never been 
 anything warmer in their acquaintanceship than 
 a keen appreciation of each other's mental 
 alertness, they took solid pleasure in each 
 other's society. Budd was a rather clever fel 
 low by nature ; but he had never let his clever 
 ness go beyond the bonds of strict propriety. 
 Having attained a much higher place in society 
 than his parents had occupied, he conformed 
 with almost religious reverence to the forms 
 and edicts prescribed by the leaders of the 
 circle in which he occupied a somewhat pre 
 carious position. He was a handsome man, 
 and had inherited a large fortune ; and so 
 society had overlooked the fact that his imme 
 diate ancestors had been in trade, and had 
 admitted him into its sacred precincts. Never 
 theless, he had never felt quite assured of his 
 position, and had made it a practice to walk 
 in the very narrow groove paced by the leaders 
 of his set.
 
 The Manhattaners. 59 
 
 " Do you not find food for reflection ? " he 
 whispered to Gertrude Van Vleck, during the 
 second act of the opera, " in this unhappy story 
 of woman's interference in public affairs ? " 
 
 She turned her dark blue eyes on him, and 
 smiled coldly. 
 
 "There are women and women," she re 
 turned. " It was Samson's weakness that 
 brought disaster to himself and his people." 
 
 " I acknowledge my defeat," said Budd 
 humbly. " I have nothing to say for Samson, 
 excepting that he sings rather well." 
 
 "That is graceful of you. But, frankly, Mr. 
 Budd, you don't approve of woman going into 
 public life, and riding the bicycle ?" 
 
 "Whether I do or do not makes little differ 
 ence, Miss Van Vleck. The time is past when 
 the opinion of men regarding these matters 
 has any weight. The wise man to-day is he 
 who frankly acknowledges that he is no longer 
 a lord of creation, and settles down to suffer in 
 silence, and to adapt himself to the new condi 
 tions." 
 
 Gertrude's eyes twinkled merrily.
 
 60 The Manhattaners. 
 
 " What a sad picture ! " she exclaimed under 
 her breath. " I am as sorry for you as for that 
 poor Hebrew giant, with his shorn locks and 
 his sightless eyes. But I am very glad, Mr. 
 Budd, that you are not inclined to pull down 
 the temple about our heads." 
 
 Richard had been talking to Mrs. Percy- 
 Bartlett about John Fenton. 
 
 "You interest me in the man," she said 
 earnestly. " I have a vague idea of having 
 heard Mr. Percy-Bartlett speak of him as a 
 brilliant but eccentric man of good origin, who 
 cut quite a figure in society fifteen or twenty 
 years ago. I think he had an unhappy love- 
 affair that drove him into dissipation. Then 
 he squandered his fortune, and dropped out of 
 sight." 
 
 "I did not know all this," said Richard mus 
 ingly ; " but it explains several things. At all 
 events, Fenton has exercised a great fascina 
 tion over me. I really like him better than 
 any man I have met in New York. This is 
 the more peculiar, as I am not in sympathy 
 with any idea or theory that he propounds. It
 
 The Manhattaners. 61 
 
 is strange how we are drawn to or repelled by 
 people, without being able to explain just why 
 we like one man and detest another, why one 
 woman makes us misogynistic, and another 
 causes us to forget everying but the heaven 
 that lies in her" 
 
 Richard hesitated. 
 
 " Well ? " whispered Mrs. Percy-Bartlett, 
 glancing up at him rather shyly. 
 
 "The heaven that lies in her deep, brown 
 eyes," he murmured recklessly, as the house 
 broke into applause after a thrilling duet be 
 tween Samson and Delilah. 
 
 As the opera neared its conclusion, Mrs. 
 Percy-Bartlett, who had been gazing thought 
 fully at the stage without seeming to be much 
 impressed by the drama enacted there, turned 
 to Richard, and said, 
 
 " I am to have a small musicale on Tuesday 
 evening. Do you think you could persuade 
 Mr. Fenton to come to it ? " 
 
 Richard looked at her a moment in silence. 
 He was surprised at her proposal. 
 
 " I cannot answer for him," he said at length. 
 " He is very eccentric."
 
 62 The Manhattaners. 
 
 "That is why I want him to come," returned 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett stubbornly. " There is 
 something in his career and in his personality, 
 as you describe it, that leads me to try an ex 
 periment with him." 
 
 Richard glanced at her questioningly. He 
 did not quite approve of her at that moment. 
 She seemed to understand the expression on 
 his face. 
 
 "I want him to meet Gertrude Van Vleck," 
 she explained, smiling at him frankly. 
 
 Richard returned her smile, and said, "I 
 will bring him if I can ; " then he added 
 after a pause, "but the age of miracles has 
 passed."
 
 The Manhattaners. 63 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " HE certainly has an extremely attractive 
 face, Harriet," remarked Gertrude Van Vleck, 
 looking at Mrs. Percy-Bartlett amusedly ; " but 
 isn't he very young ? " 
 
 " Perhaps he is in one sense," assented the 
 elder woman, striking a few chords on the 
 piano impatiently. " But he's exactly my age 
 and I'm very old." 
 
 Gertrude laughed and settled herself com 
 fortably in an easy-chair for a confidential chat 
 with her bosom friend. It was early in the 
 afternoon of a brilliant winter day, and the 
 music-room of the Percy-Bartletts' house was 
 a very cosey little confessional at the moment. 
 
 " I wish I could like men somewhere near my 
 own age," mused Gertrude, her eyes still rest 
 ing thoughtfully on her companion's rather dis 
 turbed face. " But I can't ; there really seems 
 to be something fatally wrong in my inclina-
 
 64 The Manhattaners. 
 
 tions and disinclinations. There is something 
 authoritative about a man of forty that pleases 
 me. But in our set the men at forty are either 
 married impossibilities or confirmed bachelors." 
 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett laughed merrily. 
 
 " How we do crave contrasts," she exclaimed. 
 " You are suffering from too much attention 
 from boys just out of college, and I well, I'm 
 married to a man nearly forty." 
 
 " After all, Harriet, I don't believe that age 
 has so much to do with it as we seem to im 
 ply." Gertrude clasped her hands around her 
 knee as she sat leaning forward, and looked 
 up at her friend earnestly. " There is one 
 thing that the new movement among the women 
 of our class has done. It has tended to weary 
 us of men who are all cut on one pattern. 
 Take any given subject of any importance and 
 ask one of the men of our set what he thinks 
 about it. Dear little parrot, he will repeat to 
 you the general verdict of his club on the 
 question at issue, without the slightest suspi 
 cion that he is a mental marionette." 
 
 " That is very true," assented Mrs. Percy-
 
 The Manhattaners. 65 
 
 Bartlett " Perhaps that fact may explain to 
 you why I enjoy talking to Richard Stoughton." 
 
 " Oh," cried Gertrude, her face displaying an 
 animation that it seldom exhibited in public. 
 " Then he is not yet spoiled by the churning 
 process ? He certainly carries himself like 
 other society men of his age. His face is 
 brighter than the average youngster's, but 
 another season will change all that." 
 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett swung around on the 
 music-stool and looked earnestly into Ger 
 trude's face. 
 
 " He's not a society man, my dear girl. He 
 could have the entree if he wanted it. His 
 people are very prominent in Connecticut, and 
 he was in the best set at Yale. But, do you 
 know, although he has plenty of money, he is 
 quite ambitious in a very queer line." 
 
 " Yes ? " questioned Gertrude, curious re 
 garding her friend's feelings toward Richard. 
 
 " Yes. He is a newspaper man. He's on 
 the Trumpet, you know, and has been wonder 
 fully successful in some way or other. He 
 writes awfully bright things for the editorial
 
 66 The Manhattaners. 
 
 page. Percy-Bartlett says that it is a most 
 unusual thing for a man as young as Richard 
 Stoughton to jump at a bound into such a 
 prominent position." 
 
 " A newspaper man. Isn't that amusing ! 
 I never met one before." 
 
 " Well," commented the musician, turning 
 around and drumming softly on the piano, 
 " there is one thing to be said about them ; 
 they have to be bright, or they couldn't be 
 newspaper men." 
 
 "That is a very sweeping assertion," re 
 marked Gertrude, smiling in amusement. " I 
 wonder if it applies to newspaper women." 
 
 " I don't know ; I never met one," answered 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett coldly. 
 
 "But tell me," persisted Gertrude, her blue 
 eyes dark with mischief; "what are you going 
 to do with him ? " 
 
 Almost unconsciously Mrs. Percy-Bartlett be 
 gan to play the air she had composed to Heine's 
 poem on the pine-tree that dreamed of the palm. 
 Suddenly she ceased playing, and gazed ear 
 nestly at Gertrude.
 
 The Manhattaners. 67 
 
 "I don't know," she said at length, and the 
 roguish light died out of Gertrude's eyes. 
 
 " I don't understand you, Harriet," she said 
 very seriously. " You don't mean that 
 that" 
 
 " I mean nothing," cried Mrs. Percy-Bartlett 
 rather feverishly, turning to the piano and play 
 ing a few bars of the latest waltz music. Pres 
 ently she turned around and said, 
 
 " You are unkind, Gertrude. You are un 
 married, unengaged, and you can take as much 
 interest as you may care to in any man, married 
 or otherwise, and the world doesn't stop to gos 
 sip about you that is, of course, if you don't 
 go on in a scandalous way. But let a married 
 woman show the slightest attention to a man 
 who is not her husband, and everybody begins 
 to whisper and nod and smile, and you are 
 lucky if Town Tattle doesn't begin to hint at 
 another divorce in the inner circle. I don't 
 care how many people sing my songs and ad 
 mire my music, but I wish they would stop 
 talking about me. Can you tell me, Gertrude, 
 why I shouldn't have the privilege of talking to
 
 68 The Manhattaners. 
 
 to Richard Stoughton, for instance, without 
 being gossiped about ? " 
 
 "The trouble is, you know, Harriet," an 
 swered Gertrude, the mischievous gleam re 
 turning to her eye, "that whatever may be the 
 case with marriage, it was long ago decided 
 that Platonic friendship is a failure." 
 
 "Perhaps so," returned Mrs. Percy-Bartlett 
 rather wearily. "But people will follow it, 
 ignis fatuus though it may be, to the end of 
 time." 
 
 Gertrude arose to go. "Well, Harriet," she 
 said softly, bending over and kissing her friend 
 on the forehead, " don't be annoyed at anything 
 I've said. I certainly have the warmest sym 
 pathy with your disinclination to let life bore 
 you." 
 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett arose and took Gertrude's 
 hand. " And you will come to my musicale on 
 Tuesday night, my dear ? " 
 
 "Indeed I shall. I want to get better ac 
 quainted with Mr. Richard Stoughton, you 
 know." 
 
 At that moment a servant entered the room 
 and handed a note to her mistress.
 
 The Manhattaners. 69 
 
 "Excuse me, Gertrude," she said, and open 
 ing the envelope read the following words from 
 Richard : 
 
 " MY DEAR MRS. PERCY-BARTLETT, The miracle has 
 been performed. Mr. John Fenton will accompany me 
 to your musicale on Tuesday evening. Your invitation 
 will reach him if addressed to the Press Club." 
 
 The reader smiled, and handed the epistle 
 to Gertrude Van Vleck. 
 
 "And who is John Fenton?" asked Ger 
 trude, after perusing the note. 
 
 " Oh, John Fenton," said Mrs. Percy-Bart- 
 lett gayly, "John Fenton is an experiment."
 
 7O The Manhattaners. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "MEETING strangers at a musicale is not 
 always a pleasant experience. If you are mu 
 sical, the people bore you ; if you are sociable, 
 the music bores you." 
 
 So John Fenton had said to Richard Stough- 
 ton, when the latter had made his first effort 
 to perform a miracle and obtain the former's 
 acceptance in advance of Mrs. Percy-Bartlett's 
 invitation. 
 
 "But you owe me this reparation, Fenton," 
 Richard had urged. "When you gave me those 
 books on the single-tax theory to read, did I 
 hold off and say that if I was indifferent the 
 books would bore me, or, if I became a convert, 
 I would bore my friends ? No ; I made no 
 excuses, but read the books. Now I claim 
 my reward. You have failed, after a fair trial, 
 to make me an advocate of the immediate 
 establishment of the millennium. Let me
 
 The Manhattaners. 71 
 
 now have an equal chance of persuading you 
 that the best thing to do is to take the world 
 as we find it, and enjoy the good the gods 
 provide." 
 
 The two men were spending the hour 
 after dinner in Fenton's bachelor-apartments. 
 They had fallen into the way of dining 
 together whenever they were both free to do 
 so ; and their friendship, having withstood the 
 failure of Fenton's effort to make the young 
 man an economic radical, had grown warmer 
 as the weeks went by. In several ways Fenton 
 had derived considerable benefit from his close 
 intercourse with Stoughton. It had been 
 remarked in the city room of the Tnmtpet that 
 Fenton had given up drinking cocktails, and 
 that he had grown particular about his attire. 
 He no longer allowed his hair and beard to 
 show signs of neglect ; and the reporters for 
 the paper had said to each other that the 
 assistant editor did not seem to be quite as 
 sarcastic and testy as he had been in former 
 times. But if any one had told Fenton that 
 a youth not long out of college, and of a mental
 
 72 The Manhattaners. 
 
 make-up that was dazzling rather than con 
 vincing, had been the active cause in begetting 
 certain reforms in his habits of life, the cynical 
 and time-scarred journalist would have consid 
 ered his informant insane. The strongest men 
 are moulded and remoulded by their friends, 
 but they are seldom willing to acknowledge 
 the fact. 
 
 After Richard's last argument, Fenton had 
 puffed his cigar in silence for a time. But he 
 was not thinking of what his companion had 
 just said. He had grown convinced from sev 
 eral remarks, dropped inadvertently by his 
 friend, that the young man had become very 
 much interested in Mrs. Percy-Bartlett. It 
 was not within the possibilities of their exist 
 ing friendship for him to question Richard very 
 closely on this point ; but he was extremely 
 anxious to know the exact truth of the matter. 
 If he went to the musicale, he thought, he 
 could see for himself just how the affair stood, 
 and would be the better able to guide his own 
 steps in the premises. It had been his pas 
 sion, when a young man, for a certain married
 
 The Manhattaners. 73 
 
 woman, that had ruined John Fenton. He had 
 a well-grounded horror, therefore, of seeing 
 Richard Stoughton wrecking himself on the 
 same rock that had caused his own down 
 fall. 
 
 " You have stated your arguments very clev 
 erly, Richard," he had said, after a time. "You 
 sacrificed yourself on the altar of my books. 
 I will reciprocate by throwing myself under 
 the juggernaut of your musicale. But, under 
 stand me, you will be disappointed in the 
 result. Society has no allurements for me. I 
 touched it at all points years ago, when I had 
 much more enthusiasm than I have now ; and, 
 I tell you, there is nothing in it as a permanent 
 amusement for a man of sense. What is a 
 gathering of people of fashion, at its best ? 
 Nothing more than a dress-parade of more or 
 less well-groomed men and women who revenge 
 themselves for boring each other in public by 
 destroying each other's characters in private." 
 
 " If you ever have time," suggested Richard, 
 smiling, "you should write a novel, John. You 
 have a way of scolding the universe with a
 
 74 The Manhattaners. 
 
 kind of epigrammatic fervor that might prove 
 popular." 
 
 " You flatter me, Richard, by the implied 
 conviction that I have not yet been flippant 
 enough to produce a work of fiction. I don't 
 want you to idealize me ; so I might as well 
 confess, that, years ago, when I was about 
 your age, I did write a novel." Fenton looked 
 at Richard with an expression on his face that 
 would have fitted the confession of a crime. 
 Then he stepped to a closet, and, after rum- 
 aging around for a while, brought forth a dust- 
 covered roll of manuscript. 
 
 " This," he said, " is one of the little grave 
 stones in my very large cemetery of dead hopes 
 and dreams." 
 
 He brushed the dust off of the roll with 
 almost reverent hand. 
 
 "I haven't looked at this thing for years, 
 Richard. I'd almost forgotten about it, until 
 you made that remark about my writing a 
 novel. I have a sort of indistinct idea that, 
 in the storehouse of your ambitions, you have 
 high literary aspirations, more or less concealed
 
 The Manhattaners. 75 
 
 from view. If you have, let this, my boy, be 
 a warning to you not to waste your time on a 
 novel." 
 
 Richard had been looking through the man 
 uscript with an unaffected show of interest. 
 
 " You call it ' Ephemerae,' " he remarked. 
 "It is a taking title." 
 
 " But it didn't take the publishers," returned 
 Fenton, whose face had grown unusually ani 
 mated by the unexpected revival of long-buried 
 emotions. He had put a good deal of the 
 energy, enthusiasm, and vigor of early manhood 
 into the rejected novel, and it had received the 
 minute polish that his life of leisure at that 
 time had enabled him to give it. How bitterly 
 disappointed he had been at its refusal by a 
 leading publishing house he had long forgotten ; 
 but the present moment had brought back to 
 him a multitude of conflicting emotions, changed 
 by time into a general feeling of regret and 
 self-pity. 
 
 " My writing is rather blind," he remarked, 
 taking the manuscript from his friend. " Let 
 me read you the prologue ; not for publication, 
 but as an evidence of good faith."
 
 76 The Manhattaners. 
 
 For the first time in their acquaintanceship, 
 Fenton's unsymmetrical face appeared actually 
 handsome in Richard's eyes. The spirit of the 
 past that lurks in the relics of by-gone years 
 had gently spoken from the dust-stained manu 
 script, and had bidden John Fenton's lost youth 
 to gleam again in his eyes, and to add a note of 
 enthusiasm to his voice. 
 
 " It was a strangely pessimistic piece of work 
 for a man as young as I was at that time to 
 write," he said musingly. " But, as I can say 
 now, after years have strengthened my judg 
 ment, this novel is strong and artistic. At the 
 time when it was sent to the publishers, there 
 was little chance for the acceptance of any 
 thing written by an American that was not 
 strictly moral and what the good old fossils 
 of that day were so fond of calling 'wholesome.' 
 This is the prologue, Richard. It gives the 
 keynote to the story." 
 
 Fenton leaned back in his chair, and read 
 aloud the opening words of his novel : 
 
 " It was not a pretty fly, but it loved the sun. 
 It rejoiced in the power of its wings, the length
 
 The Manhattaners. 77 
 
 of its antennae, the pulsing health of its little 
 body. It was summer, and the fly flitted about 
 in the warm and caressing atmosphere, as 
 though God smiled for its especial pleasure. 
 
 " Oh, the glory of the day ! No shadow saw 
 the fly, for it soared so high that nought but 
 the golden glory of a smiling universe met its 
 gaze. 
 
 " But when the day was done, the little fly 
 was dead. 
 
 " It never knew, the joyous trifler, that it 
 was only one of a group of neuropterous in 
 sects, belonging to the genus Ephemera, that 
 live in the adult or winged state for a single 
 day, and die when the darkness falls." 
 
 There was silence for a moment. Then 
 Richard said : 
 
 " I feel sure, John, that if I had picked up 
 a novel containing that prologue my curiosity 
 would have been piqued ; that I would have 
 been anxious to read on to see how the author 
 had made his story harmonize with his melan 
 choly text." 
 
 " I remember," said Fenton, lighting a fresh
 
 78 The Manhattaners. 
 
 cigar, and rambling on musingly, " that when 
 I conceived the story I was actuated by the 
 feeling that men take themselves and their 
 affairs too seriously. There seemed to me to 
 be something grimly ludicrous about the vast 
 majority of men, who fuss around for a few 
 years on an insignificant planet in an out-of- 
 the-way corner of space, as if they had been 
 placed here for eternity, and were individually 
 of tremendous significance to the universe at 
 large. I worked out the story on lines in 
 tended to show, in a comparatively small 
 compass, that we are as powerless and unim 
 portant in the infinite realm of existence as 
 the foolish little flies that buzz so loud on a 
 summer's day. If I should re-write the story 
 to-day, I am not quite sure that I should take 
 so hopeless a view of the significance of human 
 life. As I have grown older, I have become 
 more inclined to think that no man has a right 
 to consider himself of no importance in the 
 tout ensemble of the universe ; not, at least, 
 until it is proved conclusively that there is no 
 such thing as a soul possessing eternal life.
 
 The Manhattaners. 79 
 
 At all events, if we are ephemera, I am sure 
 that one fly has as much right as another to 
 the sunshine of the noonday. And so I make 
 of an economic theory a religion, for want 
 of a better." Fenton's sarcastic smile played 
 across his mouth again as he ceased speak 
 ing. 
 
 Richard had put on his overcoat, and was 
 holding out his hand for the manuscript of 
 Fenton's novel. 
 
 " Let me take the story with me, John," 
 he said. "I want to read it. I am rather 
 inclined to think, from what I know of the 
 present literary market, that now is the ap 
 pointed time for you to win fame in the realm 
 of letters." 
 
 Fenton, after a moment's hesitancy, handed 
 the scroll to his friend. 
 
 "I am not ambitious in that line," he said 
 firmly ; " but it will do no harm to have you 
 read the book." 
 
 "And you will go to Mrs. Percy-Bartlett's 
 with me ? " Richard exclaimed smilingly. " I 
 am very glad, John, I assure you. I'm sure
 
 8o The Manhattaners. 
 
 that our hostess will feel that you have paid 
 her a great compliment." 
 
 Fenton smiled, almost bitterly ; and, as if 
 memory had sharpened his tongue, he said, 
 as he held Richard's hand a moment, 
 
 " I gave that up long ago, my boy. Paying 
 a compliment to a woman is like giving sugar 
 plums to a child. It establishes a precedent, 
 and begets an appetite. Never tell a woman 
 a thing you don't mean, Richard ; especially a 
 married woman."
 
 The Manhattaners. 81 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " MEN used to be divided into two classes, 
 you know, Mr. Fenton, those who belonged 
 to our set, and those who did not." 
 
 Gertrude Van Vleck and John Fenton had 
 retired to a remote corner of Mrs. Percy-Bart- 
 lett's drawing-room, and were keeping up as 
 animated a conversation as the depressing in 
 fluences of a musicale permit. In evening 
 dress, Fenton was a man of a most impres 
 sive presence. He had come to Mrs. Percy- 
 Bartlett's musicale expecting to be bored. The 
 expression on his strong, thoughtful face, as he 
 gazed smilingly at the handsome, aristocratic- 
 looking girl beside him, proved that she had 
 followed in Richard Stoughton's footsteps, and 
 had performed, a miracle. 
 
 " And what is the distinction that you your 
 self make, Miss Van Vleck ? " asked Fenton. 
 
 She looked at him earnestly a moment.
 
 82 The Manhattaners. 
 
 " To me," she answered, " there are two 
 kinds of men, those who interest me, and 
 those who do not." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Fenton, taking advantage of 
 an interlude in the music-room, " perhaps it is 
 inconsiderate on my part to ask the question, 
 but I acknowledge that I am curious to know 
 what ratio exists between the men who interest 
 you and the men who do not." 
 
 " I don't know that I ever put the problem 
 on a mathematical basis," answered Gertrude, 
 an amused smile playing across her face. " I 
 am inclined to think that the ratio changes 
 from year to year." 
 
 " To your advantage ? " he asked. 
 
 " I'm afraid not. As time goes on I find 
 that I meet more men who do not interest 
 me and fewer who do. But there is compen 
 sation for this in the fact that women have 
 grown more attractive to each other than they 
 used to be." 
 
 An enthusiastic soprano was at the moment 
 striking certain high notes as though she had 
 a grudge against them, and Fenton was obliged 
 to pause a moment before he asked,
 
 The Manhattaners. 83 
 
 " Won't you explain that to me, Miss Van 
 Vleck ? It is, as you put it, a novel idea." 
 
 "Why, don't you see," she said earnestly, 
 " the very fact that women are joined together 
 in a protest against ancient customs and pre 
 judices has drawn them closer to each other ; 
 while, at the same time, it has tended to bring 
 out the most characteristic qualities of each in 
 dividual woman. In a word, we women inter 
 est each other more as rebels than we did as 
 slaves." 
 
 Again the soprano uttered her protest against 
 peace and quiet, and Fenton had an opportunity 
 to weigh Gertrude Van Vleck's words. His 
 vis-a-vis was a social product the like of which 
 had not existed in the days when he had been 
 a member of New York's inner circle, and had 
 expected from a young unmarried woman noth 
 ing in a conversational way that would chal 
 lenge thought. Of course, in his journalistic 
 occupation he had been obliged to follow in 
 detail the progress of woman toward a broader, 
 perhaps higher, plane of endeavor ; but this was 
 the first time that Fenton had come face to
 
 84 The Manhattaners. 
 
 face with the new ideas incarnate. He was 
 entertained, stimulated, inspired, by the expe 
 rience. At first he had looked upon Gertrude 
 Van Vleck simply as a finely developed speci 
 men of the patrician type, whose dark hair, 
 deep blue eyes, and finely rounded neck formed 
 a combination very pleasing to the eye, and 
 indicated a remote Spanish strain mingling 
 with her Dutch blood. But after a few mo 
 ments in her companionship, he had discovered 
 that she not only satisfied his aesthetic nature, 
 but piqued his intellectual make-up. She had 
 given him the highest pleasure that one mind 
 can bestow upon another, by opening up new 
 vistas of thought to him. 
 
 John Fenton had reached that period of a 
 life that had been filled with disappointments 
 when feminine sympathy and appreciation are 
 among the few things left in the world that 
 are wholly satisfying. Perhaps it was this very 
 fact that had led him to make a friend of 
 Richard Stoughton, a youth whose quick intui 
 tions and mental alertness had much in them 
 that was feminine.
 
 The Manhattaners. 85 
 
 There was, furthermore, a note of defiance 
 in Gertrude's last remark that struck a sym 
 pathetic chord in Fenton's nature. No man can 
 accept the premises upon which the economic 
 theories to which Fenton had subscribed are 
 based without developing the rebellious ten 
 dencies that lie more or less dormant in all 
 men. For the first time, the similarity im 
 pressed him that exists between woman's re 
 volt against the oppression of man, and man's 
 restlessness under the threatening inequalities 
 of wealth. 
 
 "And as rebels women are much more at 
 tractive to men than they were as conformists," 
 remarked Fenton, seizing an opportunity to 
 resume the conversation, after a self-satisfied 
 tenor had proved to his own satisfaction that 
 he had a divine right to be conceited about 
 his voice. "To use a rather shop-worn quo 
 tation, 'Blessings brighten as they take their 
 flight.' " 
 
 "But that is not a fair illustration," ex 
 claimed Gertrude earnestly. " We are not try 
 ing to fly away from men, but to fly with them."
 
 86 The Manhattaners. 
 
 "That may be true," said Fenton, smiling 
 thoughtfully ; " but men are naturally startled 
 at the suddenly displayed power of your wings, 
 and are a little shy at first." 
 
 "Why should they be? After all, I be 
 lieve that the underlying ambition of the new 
 woman as she is rather vulgarly called is 
 to make herself intellectually attractive to the 
 brightest men." 
 
 "Then the progress of woman has not de 
 creased the social importance of the clever 
 man?" asked Fenton humbly. 
 
 "On the contrary, Mr. Fenton, it has en 
 hanced it by giving him a larger and more 
 appreciative audience. The man of mental 
 power would hold a higher place in a com 
 munity containing many Mesdames de Stael 
 than in a social circle possessing only one. 
 Is it not so ? " 
 
 " Do you know, Miss Van Vleck," said Fen 
 ton, not answering her question directly, " that 
 I begin to think that I shall owe you a great 
 debt of gratitude ? " 
 
 A slight tinge of red mounted to her face as
 
 The Manhattaners. 87 
 
 her eyes met his. He impressed her as a man 
 more fitted to bestow favors than to accept 
 them. 
 
 "I don't quite understand you," she said 
 softly. 
 
 "We owe much," he continued, "to those 
 who take us out of our mental grooves and 
 give us a new standpoint from which to view 
 the world. There may be a good deal of self 
 ishness in occupying one's mind entirely with 
 man's inhumanity to man, and blinding our 
 selves to man's inhumanity to woman. I have 
 to thank you for a new point of view." 
 
 "But," protested Gertrude, "I have said 
 nothing that we do not read in print every 
 day." 
 
 "Even if that is so," said Fenton, "truths 
 that would make no impression on me if I 
 read them on an editorial page come to me 
 with startling force when you present them. I 
 repeat, that I owe you a debt of gratitude." 
 
 At that moment Mrs. Percy-Bartlett's voice, 
 a rich, highly-cultivated contralto, was heard, 
 giving passionate expression to Heine's mourn-
 
 88 The Manhattaners. 
 
 ful little story of the pine that dreamt of love. 
 Richard Stoughton stood at the entrance to 
 the music-room, forgetful of the crowd around 
 him. There was something in her voice that 
 seemed to be meant for him alone, something 
 that told him she was thinking of the night 
 when she had first sung the song to him. " I 
 must be growing wofully egotistic," he thought ; 
 but at that instant their eyes met, and his 
 self-depreciation vanished. 
 
 She came to him after the applause had died 
 away, and called his attention to an unoccupied 
 corner of the drawing-room. 
 
 " I want to talk to you," she said simply. 
 "Come!" 
 
 "Do you know," she began playfully, after 
 they were seated, " I have begun to feel a good 
 deal awed in your presence. A man who can 
 perform miracles, you know" 
 
 "Well?" exclaimed Richard, as she hesi 
 tated a moment. 
 
 "A man who can perform miracles is to be 
 avoided. Just think of poor Trilby and Sven- 
 gali."
 
 The Manhattaners. 89 
 
 Richard laughed outright. 
 
 " That is a most complimentary remark ! If 
 I follow you, you mean that I hypnotized 
 John Fenton. I certainly feel flattered. But, 
 do you know, I begin to suspect that your 
 friend, Miss Van Vleck, will prove a much 
 more successful medium than I ? " 
 
 They both glanced at Gertrude and John 
 Fenton, who were deep in conversation in the 
 opposite corner of the drawing-room. 
 
 "I am very glad that all responsibility for 
 the man's future has been taken off of my 
 hands," said Richard. " The fact is, I feel 
 that I have all that I can do to take care of 
 myself." 
 
 He looked into her eyes with an expression 
 in his own that was hardly allowable even 
 at a musicale. 
 
 " How selfish a man is," Mrs. Percy-Bart- 
 lett murmured musingly. " It is almost im 
 possible for him to be a consistent friend to 
 another man. How much less is he able to 
 be a true friend to a woman." 
 
 " The basis of all friendship is affection,"
 
 The Manhattaners. 
 
 argued Richard, lowering his voice as the 
 music of a 'cello crept softly through the 
 room. " And affection is a very hard thing 
 to hold in check." 
 
 She looked up at him with a smile on her 
 lips, but an expression of sadness in her elo 
 quent brown eyes. 
 
 " It is, indeed ! " she almost whispered. 
 Then, as if regretting the admission, she 
 leaned back in her chair, and seemed to listen 
 to the soft, throbbing harmonies that the piano 
 and the 'cello begot as their tones met and 
 mingled, as though they caressed each other. 
 
 Richard bent forward, and their eyes met 
 again. 
 
 "Do you reject my my friendship?" he 
 whispered. 
 
 Suddenly he felt her hand in his ; and she 
 smiled as he pressed it, while her eyes bright 
 ened, and her cheeks flushed. Withdrawing 
 her hand, she said, her voice hardly audible 
 even as he bent his face close to hers : 
 
 " Remember that there is another founda 
 tion-stone to friendship : it is unselfishness."
 
 The Manhattaners. 91 
 
 The words, and the pleading tone in which 
 they were uttered, combined to make her re 
 mark sound more like a prayer to his gener 
 osity than a statement founded on a time-worn 
 truth. 
 
 " I will try," whispered Richard earnestly, 
 " I will try to be an ideal friend to you. I 
 would rather have your friendship than the 
 love of any other woman in the world." 
 
 She smiled up at him gratefully, as though 
 he had made a great sacrifice for her happi 
 ness. They say that Love is blind. Perhaps 
 that is the reason that the little rascal is 
 such a consummate liar. How can one expect 
 a sightless imp, whose domain is youth, and 
 whose throne is the heart, to wield his scep 
 tre with absolute respectability ? If he could 
 see further, Cupid might behave better as a 
 monarch ; but the chances are, in that case, 
 that he would be compelled to abdicate. 
 
 The hour was waxing late. 
 
 " I must resume my duties," said Mrs. Percy- 
 Bartlett reluctantly ; " and abandon my friend 
 for the sake of my guests. Will you come
 
 92 The Manhattaners 
 
 to see me soon? Let me see a week from 
 to-night I have no engagement. Will you 
 come and talk to me of friendship ? " 
 
 " Very gladly," murmured Richard, touching 
 her willing hand again. " Until then I shall 
 not live, but dream ! " 
 
 Richard and Fenton strolled together down 
 the avenue, silent and self-absorbed. Finally 
 the former asked, 
 
 "Did you have a pleasant evening, John?" 
 
 " Very," answered Fenton gruffly. 
 
 They walked for half a block before they 
 spoke again. 
 
 " The music was well done," ventured Richard. 
 
 " Yes," assented Fenton. Neither of the 
 two again opened their lips until they reached 
 the cross-street at which they were to part. 
 
 "Good-night, John," said Richard, holding 
 out his hand. 
 
 " Good-night, boy ! See you to-morrow," 
 exclaimed Fenton hurriedly. Then he walked 
 onward alone. 
 
 " I went there," he was saying to himself, 
 "to get a line on the youngster's affair. But
 
 The Manhattaners. 93 
 
 the cold, hard fact is that I forgot all about 
 him." . . . 
 
 At that same moment Percy-Bartlett and 
 Buchanan Budd were smoking their good-night 
 cigars together at the club. 
 
 "It is really too bad," Budd was saying, 
 " that the newspapers have been able to print 
 so much scandal about our set. But I suppose 
 there is no way to prevent it." 
 
 " But there is a way," returned Percy-Bartlett 
 almost sternly. "What we need in the inner 
 circle is more heroism and less heroics. If 
 noblesse oblige means anything at all in these 
 days, it demands of those who live up to its 
 behests that they be self-contained, not hyster 
 ical. There is no necessity for a domestic 
 tragedy getting into print if the man or woman 
 who is wronged is fundamentally worthy of a 
 place in the most select coterie on earth." 
 
 "You would rather wink at crime than have 
 the public gossip about you, then ? " asked Budd. 
 
 " I would a thousand times ! " answered 
 Percy-Bartlett, throwing away his cigar and 
 saying " good-night " cheerily.
 
 94 The Manhattaners. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " I AM not in the mood for listening to the 
 confessions of a frivolous boy," remarked John 
 Fenton, looking up from his desk in the city 
 room of the Trumpet at Richard Stoughton on 
 the afternoon following Mrs. Percy-Bartlett's 
 musicale. 
 
 "Don't be cross with me, John," implored 
 Richard gently ; " I have no intention of worry 
 ing you with my peccadilloes. But I want you 
 to look in on me for an hour after dinner. I 
 really have a very important matter I want to 
 talk to you about. You aren't on duty to 
 night, are you?" 
 
 "No," answered Fenton, with apparent re 
 luctance. Then he hesitated a moment, and 
 finally said, 
 
 " Very well, Richard. I'll do you the great 
 honor of calling on you about half after seven. 
 But I give you fair warning, if you begin to 
 bore me, I shall fly at once."
 
 The Manhattaners. 95 
 
 " It's a bargain ! " exclaimed the youth, as he 
 turned away. 
 
 Richard occupied a rather luxurious suite of 
 bachelor-apartments on a side-street not very 
 far up-town. As he sat before an open fire 
 after dinner that evening awaiting the arrival 
 of John Fenton, he felt thoroughly contented 
 with himself and the world at large. He had 
 come to New York unknown and unheralded, 
 and lo ! the great city, so indifferent to the 
 advent of most strangers, had opened its arms 
 to him, had patted him on the back, had told 
 him that he was clever, and therefore welcome. 
 The great metropolis has an insatiable hunger 
 for able men in all lines of life, but it is often 
 blind for many years to the merits of certain 
 citizens who need only an opportunity to be 
 come prominent. Once in a great while, how 
 ever, it seizes a very young man by the collar 
 of his coat, as it were, and thrusts him forward 
 in some field of endeavor, and the multitude of 
 older men who have failed to take advantage 
 of their life-tide at its flood, look on with min 
 gled amazement and envy at the lucky youth.
 
 96 The Manhattaners. 
 
 Chance had thrown Richard Stoughton into 
 the front ranks of journalism ; and as he 
 watched the flickering blaze before him, or 
 followed the smoke from his cigar with his 
 eye, he felt that he was worthy of the position 
 he held, and that the metropolis had not made 
 a blunder when it had picked him out as one 
 entitled to applause. 
 
 The door behind Richard opened softly, and 
 John Fenton entered the room and quietly 
 seated himself at the other side of the fire 
 place. 
 
 " Have a cigar, John," said the youth, de 
 serting his air-castles for the stern realities 
 that Fenton always seemed to carry with him. 
 Turning to offer his guest a light, Richard was 
 surprised to see that Fenton was garbed in 
 evening dress. " My miracle is taking on a 
 chronic form," he said to himself. Then aloud 
 he remarked, 
 
 " I thank you, John, for not disappointing 
 me. I have several weighty problems on my 
 mind, and you're the only man of my acquaint 
 ance who can help me out."
 
 The Manhattaners. 97 
 
 Fenton puffed away silently for a few mo 
 ments. 
 
 "Go on," he said at length, rather coldly. 
 "You want to talk to me about what?" 
 
 " About the single-tax theory, John, as ap 
 plied to affairs of the heart." 
 
 Fenton glanced sternly at his companion, but 
 there was no sign of mischief on Richard's 
 face. He was gazing at the fire as though try 
 ing to read in the dancing flames the answer 
 to the riddle that annoyed him. 
 
 " Explain yourself," said Fenton suspiciously. 
 
 "Well," went on Richard with studied calm 
 ness, "you see, I am trying to get into touch 
 with all the new ideas that have a marked in 
 fluence on the life of our times. I am, how 
 ever, especially interested in watching the 
 effect of theories on the actions of my friends. 
 It's almost a new science, I think. I must 
 look up some Greek roots and give it a name. 
 Perhaps I'll go down to fame as the inventor 
 of a new and very useful line of study." 
 
 "What are you attempting to get at, Rich 
 ard?" exclaimed Fenton, twisting around un-
 
 98 The Manhattaners. 
 
 easily in his chair and trying to obtain a clear 
 view of the young man's face. 
 
 " That's not the point, John. The question 
 is, what are you striving to accomplish ? You 
 see, I have been doing a good deal of uncon 
 scious cerebration in regard to your single-tax 
 ideas, and I have reached a point where I 
 should like to ask a few more questions regard 
 ing the demands that your belief makes on 
 your habits of life. Now, you know, our good 
 old Puritan ancestors were fond of looking upon 
 this world as 'a vale of tears.' You single- 
 tax people go a step farther, and call it ' a den 
 of thieves.' " 
 
 " Come, Richard," said Fenton firmly, " don't 
 be flippant." 
 
 "The very last thing that I feel inclined to 
 be, John. I'm in sober earnest. Let me ask 
 you a question. You consider, of course, a 
 man who collects rents from property he holds 
 in this city from his ancestors a receiver of 
 stolen goods ? " 
 
 "Well, what if I do?" asked Fenton testily. 
 
 " I was curious to know, that's all."
 
 The Manhattaners. 99 
 
 "And what if I say that I do?" persisted 
 Fenton at length, in a more amenable tone 
 of voice. 
 
 "Well, if you do, would you make a bosom 
 friend of a son of this receiver of stolen goods, 
 who will, in all likelihood, come into the booty 
 after a time, and whose blood is tainted by his 
 descent from a line of land-pirates ? " 
 
 " Nonsense, Richard ! I don't see the use of 
 putting those questions to me just at this 
 time. If a man is by heredity a drunkard I 
 may feel sorry for him, but it is not my duty 
 to express my disapproval of his ancestors so 
 long as he treats me decently." 
 
 "That's logical enough," commented Rich 
 ard enthusiastically. " I really begin to think, 
 John, that you still have sense enough left not 
 to let your economic theories and beliefs 
 convictions that, I have heard, sometimes 
 make fanatics of those who hold them ruin 
 any chance that might come to you for great 
 happiness in life." 
 
 There was silence in the room for several 
 minutes.
 
 ioo The Manhattaners. 
 
 " It's curious," remarked Fenton musingly, 
 "that you have taken just this tack, Richard. 
 You have that faculty of intuition that is, for 
 the most part, a feminine characteristic. I can 
 see evidences of that peculiarity of mind in 
 your work on the editorial page. You seem 
 to reach at a bound deductions that most men 
 would have to work out with painful effort." 
 
 " You mean by that, John, that, to use the 
 words of our professional President, it is a con 
 dition, not a theory, that confronts you, and 
 that I know it." 
 
 " I admit nothing, Richard," said Fenton 
 stubbornly, and looking at his watch. 
 
 " But," persisted Richard, as his friend rose 
 to go, " you believe that a man who holds real 
 estate in New York derived, let us say, from 
 his Dutch ancestors is the dishonest holder 
 of ill-gotten gain?" 
 
 "This is unkind, Richard," said Fenton, 
 with more emotion in his voice than his friend 
 had ever heard it express. " I have neither 
 the inclination nor the time at present to 
 explain my present position."
 
 The Manhattaners. 101 
 
 " Why not the time, John ? " asked Richard, 
 smiling mischievously. 
 
 "Because, my boy," and Fenton spoke like 
 a man driven to the wall, "I'm going up-town 
 to call on Miss Van Vleck." 
 
 Richard laughed outright. > 
 . "No wonder," he cried, "that you can't 
 explain your present position." 
 
 Richard found himself alone in the room, 
 and, lighting a fresh cigar, reseated himself 
 before the fire. 
 
 " It was heroic treatment," he mused, " but 
 it's the only course to pursue with such a man 
 as John Fenton." 
 
 Then he fell to thinking of Mrs. Percy-Bart- 
 lett, and the hours flew by.
 
 IO2 The Manhattan ers. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 BUCHANAN BUDD had been doing a good 
 deal of deep thinking of late proof positive 
 that the times were out of joint. Budd, of 
 course, was obliged to do more or less think 
 ing in order to be always correctly dressed, but 
 it was only a great crisis that could compel 
 him to ponder really weighty problems for any 
 length of time. 
 
 When a subterranean disturbance shakes a 
 city it is the most clumsily constructed houses 
 that go down first. In like manner, when the 
 most select circle of society is in trouble, it is 
 the man who has no very good claim to recog 
 nition in that circle who first feels the effects 
 of the internal agitation. 
 
 As Buchanan Budd listened to the current 
 gossip at his clubs, and read in the newspapers 
 impudent criticisms on the doings of the people 
 with whom he associated, he came reluctantly,
 
 The Manhattaners. 103 
 
 but firmly, to the conclusion that it behooved 
 him to take some step that would strengthen 
 his position as a recognized member of the 
 most exclusive social clique in the country 
 perhaps in the world. 
 
 It did not take him long to decide that the 
 only fitting strategical move on his part lay 
 along the line of matrimony. Not that he 
 came to this conviction willingly. He enjoyed 
 life as a bachelor, and he felt that in taking to 
 himself a wife he would be making a most 
 dangerous experiment. He could not blind 
 himself to the fact that the unpleasant pub 
 licity at that time being thrust upon certain 
 members of the inner circle had had its origin 
 in unfortunate marriages. Nevertheless, he 
 realized that society expected of him, at some 
 time or other, a personal sacrifice of his liberty 
 on the altar of matrimony ; and the present 
 crisis seemed to be an appropriate moment for 
 propitiating the powers controlling the inner 
 circle by taking to himself a wife who would 
 render him safe for the future in any sifting 
 process in which society might indulge.
 
 IO4 The Manhattaners. 
 
 After going over the list of eligible young 
 women in his set, he had decided, without 
 much hesitation, that Gertrude Van Vleck was, 
 as he put it to himself, the card for him to 
 play. She possessed several characteristics 
 that rendered her especially eligible. In the 
 first place, her position in society was thor 
 oughly assured. Furthermore, she possessed 
 sufficient mental alertness to render her com 
 panionable to a man who had not been quite 
 able to crush all fondness for originality out 
 of his make-up. Then again and this was 
 an important consideration he had never 
 made love to her. They had been good 
 friends, to use a rather meaningless phrase, 
 and Budd was encouraged by the thought 
 that he had never prejudiced his chances with 
 her by invoking sentiment to add spice to 
 their intercourse. 
 
 That she had rejected several suitors was a 
 fact well known to society, and there had been 
 a good deal of discussion as to Gertrude Van 
 Vleck's motive for refusing at least two offers 
 that were generally considered especially de-
 
 The Manhattaners. 105 
 
 sirable. In weighing this phase of the case, 
 Buchanan Budd, who was not an abnormally 
 modest man, asked himself if the explanation 
 of her reluctance to enter into wedlock had 
 not been due to the fact that he, in certain 
 respects one of the most eligible bachelors in 
 the city, had hitherto approached her only as 
 a friend, It is true that she had sometimes 
 appeared to indulge in a little sarcasm at his 
 expense, but her tongue might have been 
 inspired by pique. What more likely than 
 that his failure to put any special warmth into 
 his manner, when she had hoped for something 
 more than friendship, had been the underlying 
 cause of those shafts of satire that she had 
 sometimes launched at him ? The more Bu 
 chanan Budd questioned himself on this point, 
 the more he became convinced that Gertrude 
 Van Vleck concealed a fondness for him that 
 she only awaited a change in his manner to 
 reveal. 
 
 There was one peculiarity possessed by Budd 
 that might have enabled him to earn his own 
 living, if fate had not ordained that he should
 
 io6 The Manhattaners. 
 
 lie on a bed of roses. When he had decided 
 upon a course of action, he never hesitated 
 to begin operations at once. But, as he sel 
 dom reached any conclusion that demanded 
 the exercise of energy and directness, there 
 was something novel and inspiring in the emo 
 tions that animated him as he sent in his 
 card to Gertrude Van Vleck on the very even 
 ing on which he had pursued, while smoking 
 a cigar at his favorite club, the mental pro 
 cesses outlined above. He felt that there was 
 something Napoleonic in thus moving on the 
 enemy's stronghold at once, and he entered 
 her drawing-room with almost the air of a 
 conqueror. One fact that rendered bachelor 
 hood so satisfactory to Buchanan Budd was 
 that he possessed quite a vivid imagination. 
 No man will grow too lonely if he can con 
 stantly delude himself with flattering fancies, 
 and picture himself as the centre of the 
 universe, with the ends of space to do his 
 bidding. 
 
 "And what am I to have from you this 
 evening, Mr. Budd ? " asked Gertrude, seating
 
 The Manhattaners. 107 
 
 herself for a chat that she knew would prove 
 amusing. " Censure for the new woman ? " 
 
 " No, Miss Van Vleck ; I crave advice for the 
 old-fashioned man." 
 
 Gertrude smiled, and her eyes flashed mer 
 rily as she exclaimed, 
 
 " There is a mystery here ! Mr. Buchanan 
 Budd seeking advice from a woman whom he 
 suspects of holding advanced ideas ! That 
 seems hardly reasonable." 
 
 There was something in Gertrude Van Vleck's 
 manner and appearance that struck Budd as 
 unusual. He had always considered her a 
 handsome woman, but to-night her eyes were 
 more brilliant, her complexion more dazzling, 
 than he had ever seen them, while there was 
 something in the tone of her voice and the 
 movements of her hands that seemed to indi 
 cate suppressed excitement. These phenom 
 ena, he argued, augured well for the advance 
 movement that he, with Napoleonic cleverness, 
 had determined to order along the entire line 
 of his attack. But the moment for his forward 
 movement had not quite come. A little skir-
 
 io8 The Manhattaners. 
 
 mishing in the open field was essential before 
 he ordered up his heavy troops. 
 
 "But why is it not reasonable, Miss Van 
 Vleck? Surely, even a conservative, and, if 
 you please, reactionary, man may feel anxious 
 to put himself in touch with the new ideas. 
 It may even be that he honestly desires to 
 embrace as many of the iconoclastic theories 
 of the day as possible, if for no other pur 
 pose than to retain the friendships he made 
 in the peaceful days before before" 
 
 "Before the women of our set began to 
 think, you mean," said Gertrude, as he hesi 
 tated a moment. " It is certainly compliment 
 ary on your part and so self-sacrificing." 
 There was a touch of sarcasm in her voice. 
 
 Budd looked at her appealingly. "You 
 hardly do justice to my motives, Miss Van 
 Vleck. I am honestly anxious to overcome 
 my ancient prejudices and to put myself in sym 
 pathy with the age in which I live. You can 
 do so much to help me in this if you will." 
 
 There was a note of tenderness in his voice 
 that Gertrude had never heard in it before, and
 
 The Manhattaners. 109 
 
 she glanced at him suspiciously. She had 
 derived considerable pleasure, in a mild way, 
 from her friendly intercourse with Buchanan 
 Budd ; and her liking for him had been based, 
 to a great extent, on the utter absence of flirta- 
 tiousness in his manner. That he had any 
 intention of jeopardizing their friendship by 
 injecting sentiment into the relationship was a 
 new thought to her. At that moment it was 
 the most unwelcome suspicion that could have 
 entered her mind. There is no time when a 
 woman so dreads the advances of a man to 
 whom she is indifferent as the moment when 
 she admits to herself that her heart is influ 
 enced by another. Buchanan Budd had un 
 consciously forced Gertrude Van Vleck into a 
 self-confession that made her pulse flutter and 
 her cheek turn pale. 
 
 " I fear, Mr. Budd," she went on with ner 
 vous vivacity, " that you would not be willing 
 to follow us very far no matter how great an 
 effort I made to put you in sympathy with the 
 new movement. Let me tell you, Mr. Budd, 
 there is no predicting where it will all end. A
 
 no The Manhattaners. 
 
 woman in Vienna has applied to the authorities 
 to be appointed chief -executioner. A Miss 
 Edith Walker is an applicant in Bogota, Colum 
 bia, for the office of chief of police. I see by 
 your face that you are shocked at all this. I 
 am so glad." 
 
 "Glad that I am shocked ? " exclaimed Budd 
 confusedly. 
 
 "No, not that; but that I have had the 
 courage to warn you." 
 
 " To warn me ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Gertrude, the former pale 
 ness of her cheeks giving place to a slight 
 flush, " to warn you. Don't you see that there 
 is great danger in attempting to keep up with 
 the restless activity of the fin-de-sihle woman ? 
 I think you will be much happier, Mr. Budd, 
 in sticking to your former convictions, and not 
 attempting to take an interest in movements 
 and tendencies with which, you know, you are 
 not in sympathy at heart." 
 
 "But," persisted Budd, who felt that some 
 how his plan of campaign was not working 
 itself out with the success that should attend a
 
 The Manhattaners. in 
 
 truly Napoleonic manoeuvre, " I came here to 
 ask you to help me, not by throwing cold water 
 on my aspirations, but by telling me how to 
 become worthy of of the new woman." 
 
 Gertrude Van Vleck laughed nervously. 
 
 " I appreciate the compliment you have paid 
 me, Mr. Budd, but I am unworthy of the trust 
 you seem to place in me. Frankly, I find it so 
 difficult to adjust my former, I might say my 
 hereditary, convictions to the teachings of the 
 day, that I feel that I must remain a follower 
 instead of a leader, even at the expense of 
 not winning for the cause so valuable a cham 
 pion as Mr. Buchanan Budd." 
 
 For the first time since he had opened fire, 
 Buchanan Budd realized that his skirmish-line 
 had been driven back. But a battle is never 
 lost until the last charge is made. 
 
 " I am sorry," he said in a musing tone, 
 " that you have not given me more encourage 
 ment in my effort to to revise my ideas re 
 garding regarding woman's sphere, I think 
 you call it. I assure you, Miss Van Vleck," 
 and he bent toward her, "that my motive in
 
 H2 The Manhattaners. 
 
 asking you to help me in this matter was not 
 of small importance to myself. I am very 
 anxious to to" 
 
 He paused for words with a hesitation that 
 was not at all Napoleonic. At that moment a 
 servant entered with a card for Miss Van 
 Vleck. 
 
 " Mr. John Fenton ! " exclaimed Gertrude, 
 with something in her voice that did not please 
 Buchanan Budd. 
 
 Then she turned calmly toward him and 
 asked, " Do you know Mr. Fenton, Mr. 
 Budd?" 
 
 A hitherto unpublished anecdote tells how 
 a daring onlooker approached Napoleon on the 
 morning of Waterloo and said, 
 
 " Pardon me, Sire, but have you ever met 
 Wellington before ? "
 
 The Manhattaners. 113 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " I THINK, Mr. Budd, that Mr. Fenton can 
 give you the advice and counsel that I have 
 so wofully failed to furnish you," remarked 
 Gertrude, after her callers were seated. " You 
 see, Mr. Fenton takes the new woman seri 
 ously." 
 
 " Surely, Mr. Budd," said John Fenton, 
 " there is no great merit in that. We are 
 obliged to, are we not?" 
 
 "I am disappointed in you, Mr. Fenton," 
 exclaimed Gertrude. " I thought you did it 
 willingly, and now you hint at compulsion." 
 
 Buchanan Budd grasped the opportunity for 
 a flank movement. 
 
 " You have thrown yourself open to sus 
 picion, Mr. Fenton. I fear your counsel and 
 advice to one who is very glad to welcome 
 woman to new privileges would not be as val 
 uable as I had hoped it would be."
 
 H4 The Manhattaners. 
 
 Fenton saw that he had placed himself at a 
 disadvantage. 
 
 "You both do me an injustice," he explained. 
 "Although there may be, as I have said, no 
 possibility of retreat, we men still take pleasure 
 in advancing with women, rather than against 
 them." 
 
 Budd saw at once that his opponent was a 
 strategist worthy of his own Napoleonic skill. 
 
 "You see," said Budd, gazing earnestly at 
 Gertrude, "that you find all men ready to ca 
 pitulate. The burden now lies on your own 
 shoulders. It is for you to direct your allies 
 in the line that they should take." 
 
 Gertrude smiled in apparent amusement ; but 
 she had a painful consciousness that her hand 
 would tremble perceptibly if she held it out 
 straight before her. 
 
 ' It seems," she remarked, looking at Fen- 
 ton, " that everything has been turned around. 
 As a guide and adviser to men, I fear that 
 woman is not yet quite up in her part." 
 
 " As my friend Richard Stoughton, you 
 met him at the musicale last evening, Miss
 
 The Manhattaners. 115 
 
 Van Vleck, as Stoughton puts it, woman has 
 evoluted into a mentor from a tormentor," re 
 marked Fenton, proving that he was no longer 
 a young man, by quoting the witticism of a 
 friend and giving credit to the author. 
 
 " I have been told that Mr. Stoughton is 
 clever," remarked Gertrude. " He is on a 
 newspaper, is he not ? " 
 
 A slight flush mounted to Fenton's cheek. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, looking at Budd 
 steadily ; " he is one of my colleagues on the 
 Trumpet." 
 
 " Ah," commented Budd, with what he 
 doubtless considered an effectively Napoleonic 
 drawl, " you are ah in journalism, Mr. 
 Fenton ? " 
 
 There was nothing offensive in the words 
 themselves, but the speaker's tone implied that 
 he considered journalism a line of endeavor 
 that was not recognized in his set. Gertrude 
 Van Vleck understood the veiled sneer in his 
 voice, and her eyes shone mischievously as she 
 cast a rapid glance at Fenton, and then said 
 to Budd,
 
 n6 The Manhattaners. 
 
 " It seems to me, and I know so many 
 women who agree with me, that journalism is, 
 above all others, the appropriate profession 
 for a man of intellect in these days." 
 
 So far as good form permitted it to express 
 any emotion, Buchanan Budd's face wore a look 
 of surprise as she uttered these words. Fenton 
 smiled slightly, and said, 
 
 " Won't you explain your position, Miss Van 
 Vleck ? Your remark is so distinctly compli 
 mentary to my line of life that I should be de 
 lighted to have you enlighten us further regard 
 ing your reason for the conclusion you have 
 reached." 
 
 "Perhaps that would be killing two birds 
 with one stone," suggested Gertrude enthusias 
 tically. " Mr. Budd has been asking my advice 
 about the best method of getting into touch 
 with the new ideas that are influencing the 
 world especially as they apply to woman. 
 It seems to me that the life of a newspaper 
 man must, of necessity, place him in sympa 
 thy with the most advanced tendencies of 
 thought. I mean, of course, a newspaper man
 
 The Manhattaners. 1 1 7 
 
 who holds a position of any prominence in 
 journalism." 
 
 "If I follow you ah Miss Van Vleck," 
 put in Budd, his drawl growing somewhat more 
 pronounced as he realized that the enemy had 
 cleverly thrown him upon the defensive, " if 
 I follow you, the proposition seems to be that 
 in order to become thoroughly imbued with the 
 theories that dominate woman at present, I 
 should ah go into journalism." 
 
 Gertrude laughed nervously. 
 
 " What do you advise, Mr. Fenton ? Mr. 
 Budd is honestly anxious to be progressive ; 
 he even flattered me by saying that I could help 
 him to overcome certain ancient prejudices that 
 still cling to him. But I feel convinced that 
 you can be of more service to him in this mat 
 ter than I or any woman could ever be." 
 
 " I fear," said Fenton coldly, " that the treat 
 ment for Mr. Budd, at which you have hinted, 
 is much too heroic. The life of the New York 
 newspaper man is not devoted to the study of 
 theories, but to the discovery and publication of 
 facts. Our effort is to free from imprisonment
 
 ii8 The Manhattaners. 
 
 poor old 'Truth, crushed to earth,' to use the 
 words of the poet." 
 
 " I suppose ah Mr. Fenton," suggested 
 Budd, " that the reason the newspapers stir up 
 so much mud, then, is that they find ah* - 
 Truth in such an unfortunate position." 
 
 Gertrude and Fenton laughed outright. 
 
 "Very well put, Mr. Budd," exclaimed the 
 latter. " I feel convinced that you need no 
 outside aid to enable you to keep up with cur 
 rent tendencies ; provided, of course," and 
 Fenton looked earnestly at Budd, " provided, 
 of course, that you honestly prefer to be pro 
 gressive rather than reactionary." 
 
 Budd had arisen to make his adieux. 
 
 "I ah feel very much encouraged, Mr. 
 Fenton, by your words. Especially as they 
 don't condemn me ah to a newspaper life," 
 he said, smiling sarcastically. Then he turned 
 and took Gertrude's hand. 
 
 " I hope, Miss Van Vleck," he said earnestly, 
 " that you feel encouraged about my redemp 
 tion." 
 
 Gertrude looked at him with mock solemnity.
 
 The Manhattaners. 119 
 
 " I fear, Mr. Budd, that the age of miracles has 
 long gone by." 
 
 Budd strolled thoughtfully along the avenue 
 toward his favorite club. " She is mistaken 
 about the age of miracles," he was saying to 
 himself. " There are amazing and inexplicable 
 phenomena in sight all around us. A news 
 paper man who appears to advantage in a draw 
 ing-room ! Is not that a miracle ? And I even 
 suspect that she admires him. It's most in 
 credible." 
 
 There was a great deal in the world that 
 astonished Napoleon when he reached St. He 
 lena and had time to sit down and think. 
 
 "Do you know anything of a man named 
 John Fenton a journalist, I believe?" asked 
 Buchanan Budd of Percy-Bartlett when he 
 reached the club. 
 
 " Yes," answered the latter. " Fenton be 
 longed to our set years ago before you 
 entered it, you know. He's a thoroughbred, 
 but eccentric, and completely out of the run 
 ning."
 
 I2O The Manhattaners. 
 
 This answer did not tend to restore Budd's 
 disturbed equilibrium. He suspected that 
 Percy-Bartlett underrated John Fenton's stay 
 ing powers.
 
 The Manhattaners. 121 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 IT was a bright moonlight night as John 
 Fenton strode hurriedly away from the Van 
 Vleck mansion, and bent his steps toward 
 Richard Stoughton's apartments. Just why, 
 at such an hour, he had determined to call on 
 his youthful friend, he could hardly say. He 
 was discontented with himself and the world. 
 He had had, in a certain sense, an enjoyable 
 evening ; but a man of Fenton's age and mental 
 tendencies does not make a radical change in 
 his habits without a protest that finds expres 
 sion in his actions. A broken piston-rod may 
 not ruin an Atlantic liner, but it causes many 
 eccentric variations in the vessel's course. 
 
 For ten years past John Fenton had been a 
 man of somewhat questionable habits, and of 
 distinctly iconoclastic convictions. He had dis 
 covered, of a sudden, that a change had crept 
 over the details of his daily life, and that his
 
 122 The Manhattaners. 
 
 iconoclasm was no longer followed by an ex 
 clamation point, but by an interrogation mark. 
 What influence had been brought to bear to 
 beget these changes, he was not sure. He 
 realized that his intercourse with Richard 
 Stoughton had had some effect upon his mode 
 of life and cast of thought, but he had never 
 acknowledged to himself that he had taken the 
 young man an strieux. That a rather superfi 
 cial boy, not long out of college, could throw a 
 man of Fenton's age and character entirely out 
 of time-worn grooves seemed to be an absurd 
 ity. But as Fenton strode down the avenue, so 
 deep in self-communion that he noted not the 
 beauty of the night, he realized that influences 
 he could not trace, and whose force he could 
 not measure, had been at work to disturb the 
 even tenor of his life, and to throw him back 
 into that state of unrest and questioning that 
 had agitated his existence before he had aban 
 doned, as he fondly thought forever, the ambi 
 tions that the average man cherishes. 
 
 Modern life has one characteristic that must 
 be taken into consideration as we follow the
 
 The Manhattaners. 123 
 
 outward manifestations in our fellow-men of the 
 inward impetus that dominates them ; namely, 
 its complexity. An individual, in this age of 
 the world, is powerless in any effort to shape 
 his life in opposition to the currents that influ 
 ence the world at large. Isolation is practically 
 impossible. Our butler remarks that coffee and 
 tea have become expensive luxuries. We real 
 ize that a revolution in Brazil, or a war in the 
 far East, has had its effect in swelling the 
 expenses of our cuisine. 
 
 Society is closely knit together. Jenkins, 
 the millionnaire, gets drunk at dinner. The 
 butler tells the cook, the cook tells his sweet 
 heart, his sweetheart tells her brother, her 
 brother tells a bartender, the bartender tells a 
 loafer, the loafer tells a tramp. Does not all 
 this illustrate the perfect brotherhood of man ? 
 
 John Fenton had made a close study of mod 
 ern social problems ; and he was thoroughly 
 conversant with the fact that the interdepen 
 dence of individuals has been vastly increased 
 by the characteristic features of contemporary 
 life. Nevertheless, there was a certain stub-
 
 124 The Manhattaners. 
 
 bornness in his make-up that made him revolt 
 against the very tendencies that had seemed to 
 him, in his more optimistic moods, to insure 
 the final salvation of society. He was a man 
 who objected to the idea that he had yielded 
 to an influence that he could not follow to its 
 source, and had drifted away from his former 
 moorings. Accepting the complexity of society 
 as a stimulating, and perhaps encouraging, 
 fact, he objected to its personal application. 
 He had tried hard to be a rebel in manner as 
 well as in theory. That he had sent up a flag 
 of truce was a conviction that filled him with 
 both self-distrust and discontent 
 
 As he turned into the side street leading to 
 Stoughton's lodgings, he stopped before a 
 brilliantly lighted saloon. For fully a month 
 Fenton had abstained almost entirely from 
 alcoholic stimulants ; but at this moment he 
 craved the revivifying influence of a cocktail. 
 He turned back into the avenue, and retraced 
 his steps for half a block. He was astonished 
 at his hesitation, his seemingly childish lack 
 of determination. He tried to analyze his
 
 The Manhattaners. 125 
 
 mood. He realized that he had no objections 
 to offer to one harmless little cocktail at ten 
 o'clock at night. What, then, was it that 
 caused him to repass the saloon without enter 
 ing it ? " Perhaps," he said to himself, " per 
 haps I am growing snobbish again since I 
 returned to the inner circle. If I want a cock 
 tail hereafter I shall be obliged to rejoin one or 
 more of my old clubs." 
 
 Fenton found Richard Stoughton still seated 
 before the dying embers of the fire, and 
 thoughtfully puffing cigar-smoke into the heavy 
 atmosphere. 
 
 "Come, come, Richard," cried Fenton, throw 
 ing up one of the windows. "You might as 
 well go the pace in gay company as to ruin 
 your constitution in solitude in a room ac 
 tually choking with nicotine. I was not 
 sure that I should find you; but I took the 
 chance." 
 
 Richard gazed at his friend searchingly as 
 he handed him a cigar. 
 
 "Well, John, I'm glad to see you, of course, 
 although I had not looked forward to your
 
 126 The Manhattaners. 
 
 reappearance to-night. And now tell me, old 
 man, are you with us or against us ? " 
 
 " I don't quite understand your question, 
 Richard," exclaimed Fenton, regretting for a 
 moment that he had not taken a cocktail to 
 restore his nervous energy. 
 
 "Well, John, forgive me then, if I take a 
 liberty and put my question in different words. 
 Did you enjoy your call on Miss Van Vleck ? " 
 
 "Those are, indeed, very different words, 
 Richard. The two questions seem to have 
 no very close relationship." 
 
 " Perhaps not, John. That's for me to judge. 
 But answer one or the other of them; which 
 ever one you choose." 
 
 "Well, my boy, I can say honestly," re 
 marked Fenton guardedly, "that I have had 
 a very pleasant evening." 
 
 " But it was not wholly satisfactory, or you 
 wouldn't be here," commented Richard in a 
 tone of conviction. " Come, old man, free 
 your mind. You need a father-confessor. I'll 
 try to fill the role if you will bear with my 
 youth and inexperience."
 
 The Manhattaners. 127 
 
 Fenton puffed at his cigar in silence for a 
 time, and gazed moodily into the gleaming 
 coals in the grate. 
 
 " I acknowledge, Richard," he said at length, 
 "that I am in a disturbed state of mind. But 
 if I can't help myself, nobody else can give me 
 the aid I need." 
 
 "Proud and stubborn heart," cried Richard. 
 " Let me diagnose your case. You believe in 
 certain novel theories, and have become a con 
 vert to various economic teachings that em 
 brace more in their ultimate effects than a 
 mere question of taxation. You are suddenly 
 confronted by the fact that it is possible for 
 even political economy to demand martyrs on 
 the altars it has raised. Naturally, you object 
 to being a martyr." 
 
 "Your way of putting it, Richard," said 
 Fenton slowly, "may have a basis of truth. 
 I admit that I seem to have come to a turning- 
 point imperatively demanding a decision on my 
 part that will have a radical effect on my life." 
 
 "It is," suggested Richard, "a question of 
 hearts versus theories."
 
 128 The Manhattaners. 
 
 "Not yet, perhaps," answered Fenton ; "but 
 it may become so if I don't call a halt at once 
 in my present methods." 
 
 " No man can serve two masters to-day, John, 
 any more than our remote ancestors could when 
 the proposition was first put into words. Of 
 course you know, without any explanation on 
 my part, how my sympathy lies in the struggle 
 that is worrying you. In the first place, al 
 though I may be forced to admit the strength 
 of the premises upon which the writer you call 
 master bases his conclusions, I refuse to accept 
 the conclusions. Chasing a rainbow seems to 
 me to be a useless occupation, no matter how 
 much we admire the rainbow. Furthermore, 
 the personal element enters largely into my 
 way of looking at this matter. I have grown 
 very fond of you, John," and Richard's voice 
 grew almost caressing in its tone, "and I 
 should like to see you take the path to happi 
 ness that chance has thrown open to you." 
 
 "We are talking in the air, my boy," said 
 Fenton earnestly, with a note of sadness in 
 his intonation. " It is only excessive egotism
 
 The Manhattaners. 129 
 
 on my part that could lead me to believe that 
 the path to happiness of which you speak has 
 really opened up before me." 
 
 "But if," persisted Richard, "you felt sure 
 that by sacrificing what I take the liberty of 
 calling your chimerical efforts to put salt on 
 the tail of the millennium, you could win the 
 joy that has suddenly met your gaze, would 
 you not abandon your philanthropic but hope 
 less dreams for the alluring reality within your 
 
 grasp 
 
 " Frankly, Richard," answered Fenton, after 
 a moment's silence, " I cannot answer the ques 
 tion to-night. It takes a man in middle life a 
 long time to overturn the results of ten years 
 of reading and thinking and endeavor. But I 
 am glad that you have put the problem in con 
 crete form. I can look at it more calmly now 
 that I have heard you put it into words. But 
 it is late and I must go. I have been very 
 selfish, Richard, I fear. Tell me, my boy, why 
 have you wasted an entire evening looking at 
 a bed of coals, and blowing smoke into the 
 air?"
 
 130 The Manhattaners. 
 
 Richard smiled as he took Fenton's out 
 stretched hand. 
 
 " I have been trying to come to a decision, 
 John." 
 
 " And have you reached it ? " 
 
 " I fear not, old man. Decisions are hard to 
 arrive at, John, are they not ? " 
 
 "They are, indeed," assented Fenton sadly, 
 as he said good-night.
 
 The Manhattaners. 131 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " I SENT for you to cheer me up, Gertrude, 
 but, really, you're the most depressing crea 
 ture I've seen in a long time. You're not 
 like yourself at all. What is the matter ? " 
 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett and Gertrude Van Vleck 
 were spending an afternoon together, indul 
 ging in what the former called " boudoir re 
 pentance." Lent had come, and the reaction 
 from social gayety had caused society to sit 
 down for a time and try to think. Sackcloth 
 and ashes were very becoming to Mrs. Percy- 
 Bartlett ; for she had never looked more at 
 tractive to the eyes of Gertrude Van Vleck 
 than she did at that moment, as she drew 
 her chair close to her friend's side, and, taking 
 her hand, smiled up into her troubled face 
 questioningly. 
 
 " You have something on your mind, Ger 
 trude ; I am sure of it. Tell me what it is."
 
 132 The Manhattaners. 
 
 Gertrude Van Vleck's clear-cut face was 
 paler than its wont, and there were dark circles 
 under her eyes. 
 
 "You are mistaken, Harriet," she answered 
 evasively. " I always feel a certain depression 
 when Lent begins. I suppose that that is 
 very becoming on my part. Lent means more 
 to -us, whose days are nearly all Easters, than 
 to people who spend their whole lives in the 
 shadow of self-sacrifice and denial. Do you 
 know, Harriet, I sometimes feel a great pity 
 for the worried and overworked world that lies 
 outside our set. It seems so unjust that a few 
 of us should have all the good things of 
 the earth, while the millions are obliged to toil 
 and sicken and die in the mere effort to get 
 enough to eat and wear." 
 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett looked at Gertrude with 
 undisguised astonishment in her eyes. 
 
 "What queer ideas you are getting into 
 your head, Gertrude ! I am glad you are going 
 to Europe so soon. The change will do you 
 good." 
 
 " I hope it will, Harriet," said Gertrude earn-
 
 The Manhattaners. 133 
 
 estly, " for I am really wofully out of sorts. I 
 have often thought, don't you know, that it was 
 a glorious thing that we women of to-day are 
 not contented to take everything for granted, 
 and are inclined to do a little reading and 
 thinking for ourselves. But we pay the penalty 
 for our intellectual emancipation in various 
 ways. Isn't it Byron who says that 'knowl-' 
 edge is sorrow, and he who knows the most 
 must mourn the most.' ' 
 
 " What a curious girl you are, Gertrude ! I 
 didn't know that anybody ever quoted Byron in 
 these days. He's so old-fashioned, is he not ? 
 But, Gertrude, I am really worried about you. 
 Surely it isn't our fault if the world is all 
 wrong. What can we do to set things right ? 
 Absolutely nothing, my dear. We might as 
 well feel sorry that the Japanese have killed a 
 lot of Chinamen, as to worry about the poverty 
 and distress on the East Side or is it the 
 West Side of this great city. I'm sorry, Ger 
 trude, that you aren't literary, or musical, or 
 something of that kind. It's a wonderful thing 
 to have an outlet for just such moods as you
 
 134 The Manhattaners. 
 
 are in. If it wasn't for my music, I don't know 
 what I'd do at times. Something reckless, I'm 
 afraid." 
 
 "No," said Gertrude sadly, "I haven't any 
 thing of that kind to help me out. I some 
 times wish that I could write a great novel. 
 I know, of course, that that sounds absurd, 
 but I do so want to do something worth 
 doing." 
 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett smiled amusedly at her 
 companion. 
 
 " I hope," she said, " that you won't give way 
 to the temptation, my dear. But, seriously, 
 Gertrude, I want you to make me a promise, 
 a solemn promise, for the sake of your own 
 happiness." 
 
 " What is it ? " asked Gertrude, a sad smile 
 on her face. " I am in the mood to promise 
 almost anything." 
 
 " Then, Gertrude," said Mrs. Percy-Bartlett, 
 gently stroking her friend's hand, "then, I 
 want you to promise me that you will fall in 
 love." 
 
 Gertrude laughed, almost merrily.
 
 The Manhattaners. 135 
 
 " What a strange request, Harriet ! I don't 
 see what my word given to you would be worth 
 in such a case." Then her face took on a look 
 of sadness. " I wonder," she said musingly, 
 "if I ought to tell you something. I should 
 like to so much, Harriet, but it doesn't seem 
 to be quite fair." 
 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett threw her arm around 
 Gertrude's neck, and drew her close to her 
 side. 
 
 "You can trust me, Gertrude. Don't you 
 know you can ? I knew that you had some 
 thing to tell me. Whisper it, my dear. What 
 is it?" 
 
 Gertrude bent her head close to her confi 
 dante's ear. 
 
 " Buchanan Budd proposed to me last night, 
 Harriet." 
 
 "And you " 
 
 "And I refused him," answered Gertrude, 
 a hysterical break in her voice. 
 
 "I am so sorry," said Mrs. Percy-Bartlett 
 caressingly, as she gently stroked Gertrude's 
 luxuriant hair.
 
 136 The Manhattaners. 
 
 The girl's eyes met hers questioningly. 
 
 "Sorry, Harriet; sorry that I refused him ?" 
 
 "No, no, my dear; not that at all. I'm 
 sorry that you had to go through such an or 
 deal. But, Gertrude, you have something 
 more to tell me something more important." 
 
 Gertrude Van Vleck drew herself up and 
 looked at her friend searchingly 
 
 "You are so hard to satisfy, Harriet," she 
 exclaimed at length. " Is it not enough that 
 I have confessed to you that a man proposed 
 to me last night, and that I rejected him. 
 Really, my dear, you must check your awful 
 appetite for gossip." 
 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett arose, a hurt look on 
 her face. 
 
 " I don't wonder, Gertrude, that a good 
 many people fear you. You say very cutting 
 things at times." 
 
 "Forgive me, Harriet," cried Gertrude im 
 pulsively. " Come, sit down here. I didn't 
 mean to be sarcastic, my dear. That's nice 
 of you. Come close to me. Don't you know, 
 Harriet, that the penitent never tells quite
 
 The Manhattaners. 137 
 
 all that is on her soul, at the confessional ? 
 You mustn't expect too much of me. I'm 
 only human, you know, my dear. What would 
 a woman be without her secret ? You must 
 let me have mine, Harriet, and I will not ask 
 for yours." 
 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett flushed slightly as her 
 eyes met Gertrude's. 
 
 "Perhaps I was too exacting, Gertrude," 
 she said softly. "But I am so anxious to see 
 you perfectly happy, that I let my wishes get 
 the better of my discretion. You'll forgive 
 me, won't you ? " 
 
 "Anxious to see me perfectly happy," re 
 peated Gertrude musingly. " And that seems 
 to mean, Harriet, that you would like to have 
 me married." 
 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett laughed nervously. 
 
 "It does appear illogical," she remarked in 
 a voice that sounded cold and hard, even to 
 herself. " It is curious how marriage seems 
 to make every woman a match-maker. I'm 
 sure that I, for one, can't understand it." 
 
 There was silence in the room for several
 
 138 The Manhattaners. 
 
 moments. Gertrude and Harriet understood 
 each other perfectly ; but there is always a 
 well-defined limit to frankness between two 
 women, especially when one is married and 
 the other not. 
 
 With studied composure, Gertrude asked 
 indifferently, as she rose to go : 
 
 " Have you seen Mr. Stoughton recently, 
 Harriet ? " 
 
 " Yes, he has called several times." 
 
 " And you like him ? " 
 
 "Very much. He is coming to-night, I be 
 lieve. We are very good friends. 
 
 With an impulsiveness that was not habitual 
 with her, Gertrude bent and kissed her friend 
 on the lips. 
 
 " Be careful, Harriet. Be careful," she 
 whispered, and then turned and left the room.
 
 The Manhattaners. 139 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 "You look tired, Mr. Stoughton. You have 
 been working too hard." 
 
 Thus said Mrs. Percy-Bartlett to Richard, as 
 her brown eyes rested questioningly on his pale 
 countenance. When a woman frankly com 
 ments on a man's appearance to his face it is 
 evident that her friendship for him is on a very 
 firm basis. 
 
 " Perhaps so," returned Richard, smiling 
 gratefully. " I sometimes get very tired of 
 pouring water through a sieve ; of rolling a 
 stone to the top of a hill every day to find it 
 at the bottom the next morning." 
 
 She bent toward him, and looked up into 
 his face earnestly. 
 
 "But it must be a glorious privilege, Mr. 
 Stoughton, to feel that what you write is read 
 by thousands and tens of thousands of people ; 
 that you are an important part of that great 
 force in modern life, the daily press.''
 
 140 The Manhattaners. 
 
 "In one sense," he returned thoughtfully, 
 "it is a satisfaction to know that you are ad 
 dressing a large audience an audience that 
 is powerless to hiss you off the stage if it is 
 not pleased with your words. But at its best 
 my editorial work is both ephemeral and anon 
 ymous." 
 
 She smiled at him sympathizingly. 
 
 "I know what is in your mind," she ex 
 claimed. " You desire the recognition and 
 applause of the public. But that is sure to 
 come to you in time. You have great talents, 
 Mr. Stoughton ; and pardon me for saying 
 so you are young, and can afford to wait." 
 
 They were silent for a time, proof positive 
 that their friendship had made great progress. 
 It is not so much what people say to each 
 other as what they conceal from each other, 
 that marks the status of their intercourse. A 
 long silence between a man and woman seated 
 alone together is very eloquent ; and its sig 
 nificance is in direct ratio to their mental alert 
 ness. There is no dynamic repression in the 
 silence of a stick and a stone; but when the
 
 The Manhattaners. 141 
 
 gods on Olympus cease to speak, the earth 
 trembles with apprehension. 
 
 "Do you know," remarked Richard at length, 
 "that I have lost something of the ambition 
 that inspired me some months ago ? Perhaps 
 I have grown weary of work, or this great city 
 has had a depressing effect upon my aspira 
 tions. Whatever may be the reason, however, 
 I find that I no longer build the castles in the 
 air that I raised with so much enthusiasm not 
 long ago. Why is it, do you think ? " 
 
 He glanced at her searchingly ; and, as their 
 eyes met, her cheeks lost something of their 
 color. 
 
 " Ambition may sleep, but it never dies, 
 Mr. Stoughton. You are suffering from the 
 reaction of your sudden and remarkable suc 
 cess." 
 
 "My success!" he exclaimed. "Yes; I have 
 won one great and gratifying success since I 
 came to New York ; and only one." 
 
 "And that is?" she asked softly, and with 
 averted eyes. 
 
 " I have made you my friend," he said, bend-
 
 142 The Manhattaners. 
 
 ing toward her until the perfume of her luxu 
 riant hair thrilled him with vague ecstasy, and 
 the smile on her lips seemed almost a caress. 
 
 Suddenly she looked up at him, and in her 
 eyes lay a troubled and beseeching gleam. 
 
 "And the price of my friendship are you 
 willing to pay it ? " she asked gently. 
 
 " Of course I am ! " he exclaimed. " No sac 
 rifice on my part is too great to make in such 
 a cause. Bargains like this one are made in 
 heaven, are they not ? " 
 
 " She glanced at him with an expression in 
 her eyes that told him he had wounded her. 
 Without a word she arose and walked into 
 the music-room, and he followed her with a 
 repentant look in his face. Seating herself 
 at the piano, she played softly some of the 
 Lenten music she had heard at the afternoon 
 service. 
 
 The prayer of a heart-broken world breathed 
 in the sobbing chords. Then the movement 
 changed, and the harmony seemed to promise 
 rest and peace to the weary sons of men. The 
 spirit of the penitential season had been crys-
 
 The Manhattaners. 143 
 
 tallized in sound, and touched the heart as 
 though a voice had whispered from another 
 world. 
 
 The music died away, as if the infinite had 
 taken to its breast the tired soul of one who 
 cried aloud, then passed away in peace ; and she 
 turned and looked into the face of the youth at 
 at her side. 
 
 " Is it not restful ? " she asked gently. " How 
 wonderful it is that music should so change our 
 mood and aspirations." 
 
 "And you forgive me?" he asked penitently. 
 
 She laughed almost gayly. 
 
 "Is it not a habit I've fallen into? I am 
 always granting you pardon, am I not ? Do 
 you remember, the very first time I met you 
 you were obliged to ask forgiveness for 
 what you said. How many times since then 
 I've pardoned you I can hardly say. You 
 have been very rebellious." 
 
 "How could I be otherwise?" he exclaimed, 
 his eyes avoiding hers. " Does the prisoner 
 feel less impatient because of his chains. It 
 is so difficult, is it not, to be civilized ? "
 
 144 The Manhattan ers. 
 
 "I hardly understand you, Mr. Stoughton," 
 she said, trying hard to speak very coldly. 
 
 " ' Cursed be the social lies that warp us from the living 
 truth," 
 
 he quoted. 
 
 " How thoroughly Tennyson gives expres 
 sion to the revolt of youth against the shac 
 kles that civilization, so called, has thrown 
 around it ! I think I know, to my cost, how 
 he felt when he wrote certain lines in ' Locks- 
 ley Hall.'" 
 
 Richard took a few steps up and down the 
 room, and then threw himself into a chair and 
 looked steadfastly at Mrs. Percy-Bartlett. Her 
 face had lost its color, and there were dark 
 shadows beneath her eyes, while a smile of 
 sadness, perhaps of regret, hovered round her 
 mouth. 
 
 "I have something to say to you," she re 
 marked, after a moment's silence, her voice low 
 and firm. " You must sit where you are and 
 listen to me attentively. Will you promise me 
 to weigh my words carefully and and not 
 misunderstand me ? "
 
 The Manhattaners. 145 
 
 He saw that she was essaying a difficult task, 
 and he said gently, 
 
 " I promise ; go on." 
 
 "Then," she continued, smiling at him grate 
 fully, " I want to say frankly that I have taken 
 a great deal of pleasure in our friendship. It is 
 hardly necessary, however, to tell you that. I 
 think I have proved it to you in many ways. 
 But the time has come when it rests with you 
 as to what the future shall hold for us. If you 
 are willing to be a true and unselfish friend 
 to me, to be 'civilized' in the highest sense 
 of the word, we can go on as we have gone 
 before. But if if your chains fret you too 
 much, or if there is the slightest danger that 
 you will ever break them, then it is better that 
 we should part. It is so easy for a man to mis 
 understand a woman therefore, I am frank 
 with you. Are you not grateful? Don't you 
 thank me ?" There was a note of pleading in 
 her voice. 
 
 Richard arose, and moved restlessly up and 
 down the room a moment. Civilization decreed 
 that he should remain seated and suppress all
 
 146 The Manhattaners. 
 
 evidences of emotion ; but there is a strong vein 
 of savagery in youth, and Richard Stoughton 
 was very young. 
 
 "'They also serve who only stand and 
 wait ! '" he exclaimed irrelevantly. 
 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett laughed outright. 
 
 " The quotation does you credit in one \vaf, 
 Mr. Stoughton, even if it doesn't seem to be 
 very apropos" 
 
 "Perhaps not," he acknowledged, reseating 
 himself. "But somehow it has relieved the 
 situation. At least, let it indicate that I 
 accept your ultimatum." 
 
 " If I knew you well enough," commented 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett smilingly, " I should say 
 that that sounded rather cross. I hate to 
 think that I have formulated an ultimatum. 
 That seems unwomanly, does it not ? " 
 
 " I hardly know," he said musingly. " It 
 is hard to tell in these days what is womanly 
 and what is not. A few years ago we would 
 have said that it was unwomanly for a girl to 
 stand before a miscellaneous audience and 
 make a political speech. No one would dare 
 to take that ground now."
 
 The Manhattaners. 147 
 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett smiled sympathizingly. 
 
 " I am sure," she said, " that you don't ap 
 prove of the effort of woman to break away 
 from the old restrictions." 
 
 " Not altogether," he answered frankly. " I 
 have a strong vein of New England conserva 
 tism in my make-up. It revolts against many 
 of the end-of-the-century ideas that are making 
 such progress in this city." 
 
 And so they talked on for a time, in a vein 
 that proved the thorough efficacy of Mrs. 
 Percy-Bartlett's ultimatum. 
 
 "It is so much better," she said, as she 
 arose to give him her hand at parting, "it is 
 so much better to talk about the ' new woman ' 
 than than " 
 
 " Than the old Adam," he added. " Yes, I 
 agree with you for the sake of friendship." 
 
 " And you are my friend," she cried impul 
 sively, while he still held her hand, suddenly 
 grown cold. 
 
 " Yes," he murmured in a muffled tone, 
 bending and kissing the slender fingers in his 
 grasp.
 
 148 The Manhattaners. 
 
 She stood at the entrance to the music-room 
 until she heard the hall-door close. Then she 
 turned, and seated herself at the piano. It 
 was here that Percy-Bartlett found her, idly 
 weaving strange melodies as the night grew old. 
 
 " You look pale and tired, dear," he said 
 gently, as he bent and kissed her colorless 
 cheek. " I did not think that you would wait 
 up." 
 
 " Is it late ? " she asked wearily. " I had 
 lost all track of time." 
 
 " I shall be very glad," remarked her hus 
 band, seating himself and lighting a cigar, 
 "when my affairs and the nation's are so 
 arranged that I won't be obliged to talk busi 
 ness at night. Has no one been in, Harriet ? " 
 
 " Yes," she answered in a careless tone, and 
 striking a few soft chords on the instrument; 
 " Mr. Stoughton called, and stayed an hour or 
 so." 
 
 Percy-Bartlett flicked the ashes from his ci 
 gar impatiently. He was silent for some time, 
 firmly suppressing any feeling of annoyance 
 that her words had caused.
 
 The Manhattaners. 
 
 149 
 
 " You find the boy interesting ? " he asked 
 coldly. 
 
 She looked at him calmly an instant, and 
 then said indifferently, 
 
 " Well I prefer him to solitude, at least." 
 
 Then she arose and said "good-night," leav 
 ing Percy-Bartlett to such comfort as he could 
 derive from his thoughts and his tobacco.
 
 150 The Manhattaners. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 IT was Saturday night at La Ria's. John 
 Fenton and Richard Stoughton were seated 
 side by side near one end of the room, awaiting 
 with true La Rian patience the coming of the 
 soup. No one who is in a hurry ever goes to 
 La Ria's on Saturday night. Impatience is 
 sacrilege in that Bohemian republic that lies 
 under the sidewalk on a down-town street, and 
 draws into its charming boundaries many of 
 the brightest men and most attractive women 
 in the city. La Ria's is both a pleasure and a 
 protest. The pleasure is on the surface, the 
 protest is underneath. The former is what the 
 true La Rian feels, the latter is what he thinks. 
 His presence on Saturday evening in that fa 
 mous restaurant proves his unwillingness to 
 permit the New World's metropolis to become 
 nothing but a colorless aggregation of very 
 wealthy and very poor citizens. La Ria's
 
 The Manhattaners. 
 
 furnishes an outlet both to the rich and poor 
 for the inherent fondness in men and women 
 for the picturesque and unconventional. 
 
 There is nothing attractive in this low- 
 ceilinged room, blue with cigarette-smoke even 
 before the soup is served; but if you ask the 
 loyal La Rian if he would have the "historic 
 banquet-hall " as an enthusiastic reporter 
 once called it changed in any important par 
 ticular, he would look at you in scorn. Raise 
 the ceiling, decorate the walls, put in mirrors 
 and gilding and rugs and a costly service, and 
 the broken-hearted La Rians would file sorrow 
 fully out into the night, bewailing the moment 
 when money had thrown its fatal blight over 
 the one spot in the city where the millionnaire 
 sinks into insignificance when he comes to dine 
 with the poet and the artist and the journalist, 
 and where, once a week at least, there is "a 
 feast of reason and a flow of soul." 
 
 " There is a fascination about this sort of 
 thing that is irresistible," whispered Richard 
 to John Fenton, as he sipped his claret after 
 the dinner had been fairly started and gazed
 
 152 The Manhattaners. 
 
 around him in delight. He was still young 
 enough and sufficiently unsophisticated to en 
 joy the glamour of his surroundings without 
 looking beneath the surface, and seeing there 
 the life-tragedies that the actors in the scene 
 before him concealed under the mask of gayety. 
 His eye caught the smiling glance of a dark- 
 haired girl, with classically regular features and 
 a delicately shaped hand, who raised her wine 
 glass as she returned his smile and seemed to 
 pledge his health with the utmost goodfellow- 
 ship. She sat at a table half-way down the 
 room, and had been laughing and chatting with 
 several men wearing Van Dyke beards, one of 
 whom, Richard learned later, was a famous 
 painter of perfectly innocuous landscapes a 
 man who looked like Mephistopheles, but said 
 his prayers before retiring. 
 
 "Be careful, Richard," remarked Fenton 
 good-naturedly ; "she's a beautiful girl, but 
 very dangerous." 
 
 The young man glanced up at his friend 
 laughingly. 
 
 " You brought me here, John. You are 
 responsible for the consequences."
 
 The Manhattaners. 153 
 
 " Am I my brother's keeper ? " asked the 
 elder man solemnly. " You are old enough, 
 Richard, to take care of yourself, I suppose. I 
 wash my hands of the whole affair." 
 
 As the dinner progressed, Richard felt an 
 intoxication that had no foundation in wine ; 
 for he was not fond of alcoholic stimulants, 
 and drank very sparingly. There was a strange 
 exhilaration in his surroundings that gave him 
 a novel sensation. Of the hundred and more 
 men and women in the room he knew little or 
 nothing ; but he could see that among them 
 were those of both sexes whose faces and bear 
 ing indicated refinement and high birth. That 
 there were others whose origin was question 
 able, and who carried with them the stamp of 
 vulgarity, did not alter, but emphasized, the 
 fact that the noble blood of Bohemia was 
 represented before his gaze. After a time he 
 gave up generalizing about his companions, and 
 found his attention concentrated on the girl 
 who had smilingly touched her glass to him. 
 By the time the cheese and coffee had come 
 he was obliged to admit that she possessed the
 
 154 The Manhattaners. 
 
 most fascinating face he had yet seen, and that 
 there was something in the glance of her dark 
 eyes more intoxicating than any cordial he had 
 ever sipped. As he lighted a cigarette, and 
 leaned back in his chair to listen to the songs 
 and speeches that Fenton had told him would 
 follow the dessert, he found himself reproach 
 ing his own fickleness, but more than ever 
 determined to make the acquaintance of the 
 jo lie Bohemienne. 
 
 " Wine, women, and song ! " exclaimed a dig 
 nified but genial-looking man, arising at the 
 farther end of the room, as if to crystallize 
 in one effort the scattered elements of good- 
 fellowship begotten by the modest but very 
 eatable dinner, "and the greatest of these 
 is " He paused, as if waiting for a reply. 
 
 "Wine," cried a few; "women," shouted 
 many; and a solitary voice said "song." 
 
 Turning instantly to the reckless individual 
 who had declared in favor of song, the toast- 
 master called upon him by name to arise and 
 vindicate his position. Blushing more with an 
 noyance than modesty, a young man stood up
 
 The Manhattaners. 155 
 
 and broke the silence that followed by chant 
 ing in a pleasing but untrained voice a ballad 
 of Rtidyard Kipling, set to music by the 
 singer. A round of applause followed, and 
 the ice was broken. Songs and stories fol 
 lowed each other in rapid succession. 
 
 "It's great!" exclaimed Richard in Fenton's 
 ear ; and again he raised his glass to the dark- 
 haired girl, who was puffing a cigarette in a 
 nonchalant way and smiling cordially, now and 
 again, as she caught Richard's eye. 
 
 The toast-master arose, and, putting up his 
 hand for silence, said with simple eloquence, 
 
 " The priests and ministers, the bishops and 
 strolling preachers, have through the ages called 
 themselves ' divines ; ' and, lo ! they stand aside, 
 and we, the moderns, give that title in our 
 heart of hearts to the poets, the dramatists, 
 the weavers of tales that touch the soul, the 
 wonder-workers in words and thoughts who 
 have wrought that glorious temple we call lit 
 erature. Homer and Plato and Horace and 
 Shakespeare and Goethe, these are the true 
 ' divines ; ' these are the inspired and anointed
 
 156 The Manhattaners. 
 
 teachers who, making no demands for our rev 
 erence and awe, find all the generations bend 
 ing the knee before them." 
 
 He paused for breath, and a round of ap 
 plause drove the tobacco-smoke against the 
 ceiling. 
 
 "With this introduction," he went on, "I 
 will present an old friend of yours, who has 
 written a poem that he has modestly informed 
 me is ' simply great.' " 
 
 A shout of laughter greeted this sally, as a 
 tall, slim man with gray hair and a youthful 
 cast of countenance arose. That he was well 
 known and thoroughly liked was proved by the 
 applause that welcomed him. 
 
 He stood at the end of the table at which 
 Richard's inamorata was seated ; and, as he 
 recited the following poem, he indicated by 
 look and gesture that the dark-haired girl had 
 been its inspiration by-play that amused his 
 hearers, but filled Richard with a jealousy that 
 was as pronounced as it was unreasonable. 
 
 " I call this little effort to amuse you," said 
 the poet, " Prince Spaghetti's Vengeance."
 
 The Manhattaners. 157 
 
 Then he recited, with a good deal of elocu 
 tionary cleverness, the following lines : 
 
 "Not where garish lights are gleaming, 
 
 Not in brilliant banquet-hall, 
 Not where waiters, silent, solemn, 
 
 Make the gaudy grandeur pall; 
 Not where wine is so expensive 
 
 That your very thirst seems crime, 
 And to ' wet your whistle ' often 
 
 Is a recklessness sublime; 
 But for us a quiet corner 
 
 In a side -street, down a stair, 
 Vive Boheme and Vive La Ria ! 
 
 Who would be a millionnaire ? 
 Here are brains, served up en ton mot, 
 
 Here's spaghetti, piping hot; 
 Here's a crowd of jolly fellows, 
 
 Well contented with their lot. 
 Mayhap, as the feast progresses, 
 
 And the wine flows with the wit, 
 Visions come, and fancy whispers 
 
 'Tis a palace where we sit. 
 'Tis the palace Macaroni, 
 
 Built in ages long ago 
 By a count of many titles, 
 
 Where the waves of Tiber flow. 
 How we got there doesn't matter. 
 
 Maraschino ? Yes a drop. 
 Thanks ! a little bit of cognac ? 
 
 Just a trifle, on the top. 
 And the palace by the Tiber, 
 
 Where we dine to-night in state,
 
 158 The Manhattaners. 
 
 Here it was Count Macaroni 
 
 Met his most heart-rending fate. 
 'Twas when Rome was in a ferment, 
 
 As she used to be at times 
 Strange how black that ancient city 
 
 Is with undiscovered crimes 
 Then it was that Macaroni 
 
 Princess Gorgonzola met 
 Yes, methinks your face is like her, 
 
 Seen beyond this cigarette. 
 Gorgonzola, she was charming, 
 
 Black-eyed maiden, ripe to fall 
 In the arms of Love, if mother 
 
 Let her get beyond her call. 
 Macaroni, Gorgonzola, 
 
 They were such a handsome pair 
 That in strolling by the Tiber 
 
 E'en the boatmen had to stare. 
 Well, where am I ? In La Ria's ? 
 
 No; Saint Peter knows I'm not. 
 Just another sip of cognac ? 
 
 Thanks it reached the very spot. 
 Well, the Count and Gorgonzola 
 
 By a villain were pursued, 
 Prince Spaghetti was his title 
 
 Scion of an evil brood. 
 Prince Spaghetti loved the maiden 
 
 In a weird and wicked way, 
 And he swore that Macaroni 
 
 Must forswear the light of day. 
 Thus he mixed a potent poison 
 
 In a glass of ruby wine 
 Yes, I'll light one more perfecto 
 
 Gad, I think the earth is mine !
 
 The Manhattaners. 159 
 
 One more little sip of cognac ? 
 
 Thanks, I cannot say thee nay; 
 Well where was I ? Oh, Spaghetti 
 
 Macaroni meant to slay. 
 Did I kill him? Say, my fair one, 
 
 You with Gorgonzola's eyes, 
 Did I make him drink the poison? 
 
 Answer you who were the prize. 
 Well, the tale is nearly ended 
 
 Strange that I should live to-night, 
 Dining in La Ria's with you. 
 
 Thanks! that cognac's out of sight.' 
 
 A roar of delight rewarded the poet's effort ; 
 and he reseated himself smilingly, while the 
 dark-eyed maiden at his table who, by the 
 way, went by the name of " Gorgonzola " ever 
 after raised her /fcpwrsirglass, and drank grate 
 fully to the genius who had done what he could 
 to immortalize her beauty. 
 
 The hour was growing late, and the jolly 
 diners had begun to disperse. Fenton was 
 engaged in a discussion of the single-tax 
 theory with an English newspaper correspon 
 dent on his left, when Richard noticed with 
 regret that his inamorata and her friends, the 
 artists, had arisen to take their departure. It 
 was time for decisive action ; and impulsively
 
 160 The Manhattaners. 
 
 he fumbled in his cardcase, found his pencil in 
 time to write his address on one of his paste 
 boards, and had resumed a position of becoming 
 dignity before the gay group, making for the 
 entrance, had reached his table. As the girl 
 passed him, smiling down at him with her 
 dancing black eyes, he handed the card to 
 her. It was all over in a moment, and 
 Richard found himself practically alone. The 
 room seemed utterly deserted after her depar 
 ture. 
 
 "Well, young light-o'-love," remarked Fen- 
 ton, as they strolled homeward, " have you had 
 a pleasant evening ? " 
 
 "Delightful, John," answered the youth. 
 Then he said earnestly, 
 
 "John, at what age do you think that it is 
 possible for a man to fall honestly and thor 
 oughly in love ? " 
 
 "Not until after he is forty, my boy," an 
 swered Fenton gravely. "Don't take yourself 
 or anybody else too seriously, Richard, until 
 you have reached middle life." 
 
 "That's not the doctrine you preached to me
 
 The Manhattaners. 161 
 
 some months ago, John Fenton," said Richard 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "I know you better now, my dear fellow," 
 returned Fenton, adding to himself, "and my 
 self too."
 
 1 62 The Manhattaners. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THAT John Fenton was in a peculiar frame 
 of mind was sufficiently proved by the fact 
 that Sunday morning had arrived, and he had 
 arisen early, very early, three hours before 
 noon, and was pleased at this innovation in 
 his habits. It was a clear, bracing day, with 
 a promise of spring in the air, and a saline 
 odor in the breeze, a public confession that 
 it had kissed the sea when the sun came up. 
 How much he owes to the salt air for the 
 sprightliness that is in him the average New 
 Yorker seldom realizes. Manhattan Island is 
 a natural health-resort. That many of its in 
 habitants languish and die before their time 
 is the fault not of nature but of man. 
 
 John Fenton strode down the avenue after 
 breakfast, one of the best-dressed men abroad 
 at that early hour. The last few months had 
 made a great change in his outward appear-
 
 The Manhattaners. 163 
 
 ance. Somewhat to his surprise, he had found 
 that by refraining from alcoholic self-indul 
 gence he had not only gained in nervous 
 energy, but had reaped a fat financial harvest. 
 Renewing his youth in more ways than one, 
 he had expended at his tailor's money that, 
 under his former habits of life, would have 
 gone to swell a saloon's growing surplus. He 
 had been noted in the old days for his good 
 taste in dress, and his years of carelessness 
 had not destroyed his natural ability to select 
 attire that was at once fashionable and becom 
 ing. 
 
 With a clean-shaven face, a glow on- his 
 cheeks, and the light of physical contentment 
 in his eyes, John Fenton looked positively 
 handsome as he entered Richard Stoughton's 
 rooms, and found his young friend, en ne'glige', 
 smoking a pipe, and perusing, with a sense 
 of self-satisfaction that age cannot wither nor 
 custom stale, his work of the previous day as 
 it appeared in print in that morning's edition 
 of the Trumpet. 
 
 "What is it I see before me?" cried Rich-
 
 164 The Manhattaners. 
 
 ard, springing up, and holding out his hand to 
 his guest. " Upon what meat doth this, our 
 Caesar, feed, that he gets up and out before 
 noon ? " 
 
 Fenton seated himself, and lighted a cigar. 
 
 " Do you know, my boy," he remarked 
 quietly, " I have spent the night in a sleepless 
 vigil, pondering the error of your ways. I 
 have become convinced that it is absolutely 
 imperative that you should be given an anti 
 dote for last night's poison." 
 
 " I did smoke too much, I acknowledge," 
 returned Richard densely ; " but I have drunk 
 several cups of coffee this morning, and feel 
 much better." 
 
 " Flippant youngster ! have you no reverence 
 in your make-up ? I referred not to the cigars, 
 but to the tout ensemble" 
 
 " Is that her name, John ? It's a queer one, 
 you must admit. But, seriously, what are you 
 driving at ? Here you are at ten o'clock on 
 Sunday morning an hour that has for years, 
 as you have told me, found you sound asleep 
 abroad in the land, dressed with the most ex-
 
 The Manhattaners. 165 
 
 treme care, and delivering sermons gratis to 
 your friends. I acknowledge that there is a 
 mystery here that I cannot solve." 
 
 " It is simple enough, Richard. I have 
 come to an important decision, and I am about 
 to take a step in which I want your companion 
 ship and sympathy." 
 
 , There was a solemnity in Fenton's man 
 ner that caused Richard to look at him with 
 mingled curiosity and surprise. 
 
 " Of course, John, I'll give you all the help 
 I can. But frankly, now, what are you going 
 to do ? " 
 
 Fenton puffed in silence for a moment, gaz 
 ing earnestly at his companion. 
 
 "What am I going to do, Richard? I'm 
 going to church." 
 
 Richard laughed merrily. 
 
 "And you want my support and countenance 
 in this heroic purpose ? Well, John, I see no 
 reason why I should discourage your eccentric 
 but praiseworthy design. If you'll amuse your 
 self with the papers for a few moments, I will 
 get into a garb of a more devotional character
 
 1 66 The Manhattaners. 
 
 than this old smoking-jacket. To go to church 
 with John Fenton ! That is a privilege that I 
 had never hoped to win. But I've given up 
 all hope of understanding you, John. You're 
 a puzzle I can't solve." 
 
 With these words Richard entered an inner 
 room, and left John Fenton to puff his cigar, 
 and glance indifferently over the newspapers. 
 It is seldom that a true journalist cannot find 
 occupation, even excitement, in the latest edi 
 tion of the newspaper with which he is con 
 nected ; but, for some reason or other, Fenton 
 was in no mood to take his usual professional 
 interest in the Sunday make-up of the Trumpet, 
 and when Richard returned to the room he 
 found his friend standing at the window, and 
 gazing dreamily into the street. 
 
 A quarter of an hour later the two friends 
 were seated in one of the rear pews of a 
 church that had kept pace with the demands 
 that the modern love of luxury makes on the 
 outward and visible signs of an inward and 
 spiritual cult. An agnostic, even an atheist, 
 would have felt a reverential awe in such sur-
 
 The Manhattaners. 167 
 
 roundings, an inclination to worship something, 
 if it was nothing but the beauty of interior 
 decoration, as an abstract influence, or the 
 concrete glory of well-dressed women. There 
 is something for all men in a church that 
 frowns not on the aesthetic pleasures that the 
 eye and ear can taste. 
 
 As they rose at the opening words of the 
 service, " The Lord is in his holy temple, let all 
 the earth keep silence before him," Richard's 
 eye followed Fenton's, and a new light broke 
 upon his mind. His friend was not as in 
 explicably eccentric as he had considered him. 
 About half-way between them and the altar, 
 and at an angle that placed her in full view 
 from where they stood, Richard saw Gertrude 
 Van Vleck, a striking figure even in that gath 
 ering of women of fashion. He turned on the 
 instant, and his eyes looked into Fenton's. He 
 could not repress a smile that impressed its 
 meaning upon the latter, whose face bore an 
 expression of mingled satisfaction and annoy 
 ance as he knelt to join in the general con 
 fession. His satisfaction was caused by the
 
 1 68 The Manhattaners. 
 
 fact that he could watch Gertrude Van Vleck, 
 unobserved by her, for an entire morning. His 
 annoyance was due to the mocking light in 
 Richard's glance. 
 
 As the service progressed, with its stately 
 and impressive words and forms, Richard felt 
 keenly the influence of his surroundings. He 
 had been brought up in the atmosphere of the 
 church, and under its caress the highest dreams 
 and aspirations of his early youth were revivi 
 fied. Before long he had forgotten John Fen- 
 ton and Gertrude Van Vleck ; and as the soft 
 strains of Lenten music stole through the per 
 fumed air, the face of a brown-eyed woman 
 whose gaze was sad and tearful filled his soul 
 with remorse. He felt like one who had com 
 mitted sacrilege. The garish glitter, the taw 
 dry brilliancy, of the night he had spent in 
 Bohemia seemed to him at that moment piti 
 fully repulsive. The dark face of the girl who 
 had fascinated him for the moment told its true 
 story as he recalled it in the calm and holy pre 
 cincts of the temple where he sat. That he 
 had yielded to the debasing influence that she
 
 The Manhattaners. 169 
 
 had exerted at the time was a fact that filled 
 him with amazement and discontent. 
 
 "What strange coincidence is this?" he 
 exclaimed to himself, as the words of the 
 Epistle for the Third Sunday in Lent seemed 
 to voice the thoughts that were surging through 
 his brain : " Be ye therefore followers of God, 
 as dear children ; and walk in love, as Christ 
 also hath loved us, and hath given himself for us 
 an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweet- 
 smelling savour. But all uncleanness, let it 
 not be once named amongst you, as becometh 
 saints ; neither foolish talking, nor jesting, 
 which are not convenient : but rather giving 
 of thanks. Have no fellowship with the un 
 fruitful works of darkness, but rather reprove 
 them. For it is a shame even to speak 
 of those things which are done of them in 
 secret." 
 
 Richard Stoughton was of an extremely im 
 pressionable temperament, and time had not 
 yet hardened the shell that surrounds the 
 soul. It seemed to him at that moment as 
 though the inspired word of God had spoken
 
 170 The Manhattaners. 
 
 to him alone in that consecrated temple, and 
 had warned him to seek higher things; to 
 avoid, for the sake of a great reward, the mud- 
 holes and pitfalls in the path before him. He 
 knelt in prayer with a reverential fervor that 
 was new to him. 
 
 From the Gospel for the day, St. Luke xi. 14, 
 the rector had taken his text : " He that is not 
 with me is against me ; and he that gathereth 
 not with me scattereth." Richard listened to 
 the sermon with an interest that was almost 
 painful. The preacher was a man not yet in 
 middle life, who had already won a high posi 
 tion for his eloquence and fearlessness. There 
 was no prosy reiteration of self-evident truths 
 that have lost their influence through long 
 service in the pulpit in the words that he 
 poured forth. He was a man of the times ; 
 and he applied the faith that was in him to 
 the topics of the hour, and drove his lesson 
 home with a skill and courage that were in 
 tensely effective. He seemed to recognize 
 that he was a warrior in the front ranks of 
 the church militant, and there was no half- 

 
 The Manhattaners. 171 
 
 heartedness in the blows that he struck. The 
 prosperity of a sermon, like that of a jest, lies 
 in the ear of him that hears it. Richard Stough- 
 ton was in a receptive mood, and the ringing 
 words of the preacher touched chords in his 
 nature that had long ceased to vibrate. He 
 bent his head at the benediction with a sense 
 of renewed reverence and faith that was both 
 welcome and inspiring. 
 
 When or how he lost track of John Fenton 
 he never knew. He remembered, later on, 
 that as he had left the church he had caught 
 a glimpse of his friend walking down the ave 
 nue by the side of Gertrude Van Vleck, but 
 at the moment the sight had made no im 
 pression on him. The dominant thought in 
 his mind found expression in the words that 
 seemed to rise uncontrollably to his lips : 
 
 " Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive 
 those who trespass against us. And lead us 
 not into temptation, but deliver us from evil : 
 For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and 
 the glory, forever and ever. Amen."
 
 i/2 The Manhattaners. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 IT was a cold night in early spring. It 
 seemed as if the winter had forgotten some 
 thing, and had returned to look for it. Its 
 search being futile, it had relieved its feelings 
 by howling up and down the streets, feebly 
 tweaking the noses of pedestrians in its senile 
 disappointment. 
 
 As an atmospheric crazy-quilt, early spring 
 in New York is a success. The modern crav 
 ing for variety is fully satisfied in the metrop 
 olis, so far as the weather is concerned, from 
 the last of February to the first of June. Be 
 tween those dates no New Yorker is astonished 
 at anything that may be hurled at him from 
 the skies, from a sunstroke to a blizzard. 
 
 John Fenton had had a fire lighted in his 
 grate, and was puffing his after-dinner cigar 
 before the blaze, bewailing inwardly the fact 
 that he was due at the office of the Trumpet
 
 The Manhattaners. 173 
 
 within the hour. He would have preferred to 
 spend the evening revising his general theories 
 of life than in correcting proofs at high pres 
 sure in the overwrought atmosphere of a news 
 paper office. 
 
 He had much to think about and a weighty 
 decision to make. He had been drifting in a 
 current that had carried him far in a direction 
 that he had long ago determined never to take 
 again. For the moment, he could not say 
 whether he was happy or discontented. For 
 the first time in his life, as he fully realized, he 
 was thoroughly in love ; but, as he pondered 
 the situation calmly, there seemed to be in 
 superable obstacles in the path that led toward 
 happiness. 
 
 "What am I, after all, Richard?" he said to 
 his friend, as Stoughton entered the room and 
 quietly seated himself at the opposite side of 
 the fireplace. " A wreck that has been patched 
 up ; a failure, not quite hopeless ; a man who 
 has been condemned by the world, with a 
 recommendation to mercy." 
 
 " I don't like your mood, John," remarked
 
 1/4 The Manhattaners. 
 
 Richard, lighting a cigarette, and puffing the 
 smoke slowly into the air. " No game is lost 
 until the hand is played out. I think you 
 stand to win, if you don't lose your pluck. I 
 had good news for you to-day." 
 
 " No ? What was it ? " asked Fenton, with 
 no great show of interest. 
 
 " When I reached the office this morning," 
 continued Richard, unawed by his friend's cold 
 ness, " I found two letters and a bundle on my 
 desk." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " One of the letters was from the dark-eyed 
 girl I saw at La Ria's." 
 
 Fenton smiled, but said nothing. 
 
 " I tore it up, John. I suppose you will call 
 me very young your pet accusation." 
 
 " Hardly, my boy, hardly. You have simply 
 proved that you are wiser in the morning than 
 you are at night." 
 
 "Well, most men are, I suppose. There 
 is nothing eccentric or meritorious in that. 
 And so much for 'Gorgonzola.' Let her 
 rest in peace. But the other letter, John,
 
 The Manhattaners. 175 
 
 was of more importance. It will interest 
 you." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " You see, old man, I have played you false. 
 I have come here to confess and to ask forgive 
 ness. You remember you gave me the manu 
 script of ' Ephemeras ' to read. Well, I took 
 it to a well-known publisher, suppressing the 
 name of the author, and asking for an expres 
 sion of opinion regarding its merits." 
 
 Fenton knocked the ashes from his cigar 
 with a gesture of annoyance, but said nothing. 
 
 "Have you no curiosity, John?" exclaimed 
 Richard impatiently. " Don't you care to hear 
 the verdict ? " 
 
 Without waiting for a reply the youth arose, 
 and, fumbling in his overcoat for a moment, 
 took therefrom a roll of manuscript and a 
 letter. 
 
 "I am tempted to punish your indifference, 
 John ; but the game is not worth the candle, I 
 fear. Never mind a light. The letter is short. 
 I can read it by the fire, if you will deign to 
 listen. The publisher, John, expresses him-
 
 176 The Manhattaners. 
 
 self as much pleased with the book, and is 
 inclined to think that it would find a ready 
 market. He objects, however, to the title, and 
 to one or two small details in the denouement. 
 If you will make the changes he suggests, how 
 ever, he will bring out the story at once. In 
 closing he politely hints that a type-written 
 copy be returned to him." 
 
 Fenton puffed on in silence for a time, and 
 then leaned forward and took the roll of manu 
 script from Richard's hand. Hesitating an 
 instant, as if to make sure that the decision 
 he had reached was irrevocable, he threw the 
 bundle of paper into the fire. Richard sprang 
 forward, but Fenton seized him by the arm and 
 forced him back into his seat. 
 
 " Let it burn, Richard. Let it burn. It has 
 had two narrow escapes from publication al 
 ready. It shall never have another." 
 
 " But are you mad, John ? The story would 
 make you famous. Good Heavens, man ! it is 
 too late. I call it a crime, John, a crime ! 
 Do you hear?" 
 
 " Come, come, Richard ! don't grow hysteri-
 
 The Manhattaners. 177 
 
 cal," remarked Fenton calmly, as he leaned 
 back in his chair and resumed his cigar, to dis 
 sipate the odor of burnt paper that filled the 
 room. 
 
 " But why, John, did you do such a reckless 
 thing? You're the last man in the world to 
 act like a child." 
 
 Fenton remained silent for some moments, 
 and then said gently, 
 
 "We can't hark back in this life, Richard. 
 Time is an inexorable tyrant. If you try to 
 take a liberty with him you are certain to be 
 punished. What I wrote in my youth would 
 do no credit to my maturity no matter what 
 you or a publisher or the public might say 
 to the contrary. One of the strangest things 
 about the life of an intellectual man, Richard, 
 is that his views regarding the fundamental 
 problems of existence are in a constant state 
 of change. How we regard death and love and 
 friendship and immortality, and other matters 
 of more or less significance, at twenty-five has 
 little, if anything, to do with the way we look 
 at these matters twenty years later. I know
 
 178 The Manhattaners. 
 
 of no greater wrong you could do to a man 
 of intelligence than to present to him in type 
 a record of the opinions he openly expressed 
 ten years ago, and inform him that it was im 
 perative that he should go before the public 
 on that basis. In fact, Richard, I have grown 
 very suspicious of those chameleons we so 
 proudly call convictions. Lucky is the man 
 who can reach middle life and still feel abso 
 lutely certain that two and two make four." 
 
 Richard remained silent for a time after 
 Fenton had ceased to speak, but finally said 
 gently, 
 
 " I think, John, that I can see as much 
 through a knot-hole as most men of my age, 
 when the points of interest are called to my 
 attention; but I must acknowledge that I had 
 never expected to hear you preach the doctrine 
 of uncertainty." 
 
 "You mistake me, boy. I preach nothing ! " 
 exclaimed Fenton, arising and peering at his 
 watch in the darkness. " Nothing but the 
 glorious doctrine that hard work is the only 
 relief from futile questionings. Good-night,
 
 The Manhattaners. 179 
 
 my boy. I am sorry to rush off, but I must 
 get to the office at once. And you ? " 
 
 "Can't you guess?" asked Richard, smiling. 
 
 "I might if I tried," answered Fenton, hold 
 ing his friend's hand a moment ; " but I sha'n't 
 try. But bear in mind, Richard, that the glory 
 of a renunciation lies in the strength of the 
 temptation." 
 
 " I thought, John, that you had no convic 
 tions ! " exclaimed Richard pointedly. 
 
 "You are mistaken, boy," returned Fenton, 
 with a touch of his old cynicism. " Every 
 man has a large supply of them to offer 
 to his friends. Good-night."
 
 i8o The Manhattaners. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 "You are very thoughtful, Mr. Stoughton," 
 remarked Mrs. Percy-Bartlett gently, as she 
 wheeled around on the piano-stool and looked 
 Richard squarely in the face. 
 
 "I was weighing a sentence just uttered by 
 John Fenton one of those haunting phrases 
 of his that will not take a back seat when they 
 have once entered the mind." 
 
 " He must be a man of peculiar power, this 
 John Fenton," commented Mrs. Percy-Bartlett 
 musingly. "I have heard him quoted a good 
 deal of late." 
 
 "By Gertrude Van Vleck?" asked Richard, 
 with an impulsive exhibition of bad taste. 
 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett frowned. 
 
 " I am astonished, Mr. Stoughton ! Your 
 question is simply shocking. But tell me," 
 she continued, leaning forward, and looking at 
 him inquisitively, "do you really think that 
 Mr. Fenton is interested in Gertrude ? "
 
 1'he Manhattaners. 181 
 
 " I am astonished ! " cried Richard. " Your 
 question is simply shocking, Mrs. Percy-Bart- 
 lett." 
 
 Their eyes met, and they laughed merrily. 
 They were both very happy for the moment. 
 The love-affairs of other people may form at 
 times a very effective counter-irritant and de 
 lay a crisis that Platonic friendship is apt to 
 carry with it when a young married woman 
 and an ardent youth use it as a cloak to con 
 ceal their feelings. 
 
 " In some respects," remarked Mrs. Percy- 
 Bartlett musingly, " it would be an ideal 
 union." 
 
 "If there are such," put in Richard reflec 
 tively. 
 
 " That sounds like the cynicism of your 
 friend Mr. Fenton. I hope, Mr. Stoughton, 
 that you are not losing your ideals." 
 
 "On the contrary," said Richard earnestly, 
 " I am finding new ones." 
 
 " May I ask where ? " she murmured, a wist 
 ful look in her brown eyes. 
 
 " I have found the highest of them all in this
 
 1 82 The Manhattaner 
 
 little music-room," he said with more earnest 
 ness in his tone than it had held before. 
 " What ideal is so beautiful as that which 
 forms the basis of our friendship ? Is it not 
 true that the altar on which we make the hard 
 est sacrifice is that which becomes the most 
 sacred in our sight ? I might live a thousand 
 years, but when memory grew weary of its 
 heavy task, it would still turn fondly to the 
 scene before me now, and I would see myself 
 in fancy a youth with an ideal an ideal that 
 sealed his lips and broke his heart." 
 
 He had turned very pale, and his words 
 seemed to him to have been forced from him 
 by a mysterious and irresistible influence that 
 he could neither recognize nor control. 
 
 The woman's eyes were heavy with unshed 
 tears. As he had gone on speaking in a low, 
 vibrant tone, she had felt the blood rush to her 
 face, and then recede, leaving her cheeks white 
 and drawn. Her hands trembled as she turned 
 and struck a few wavering, melancholy chords 
 on the piano. 
 
 Richard had arisen, and was looking down at
 
 The Manhattaners. 183 
 
 her, his face grown old, as if life had whispered 
 a mighty secret into his unwilling ears, and 
 marred the pristine glory of his youth. 
 
 Neither of them spoke for a time. Finally 
 he said, 
 
 " I had started to quote to you something 
 that Fenton said. Do you care to hear it ? " 
 
 His voice was almost hard with the effort 
 he made to control its trembling. 
 
 " Yes," she murmured, looking up at him, 
 in her eyes a mute appeal, an unspoken prayer 
 to his nobler self. 
 
 " ' The glory of a renunciation/ said my 
 friend, .'lies in the strength of the tempta 
 tion.' " 
 
 She put her cold, trembling hand into his 
 and their eyes met. 
 
 " Please go," she whispered. " If you care 
 for me at all you will do as I ask." 
 
 She withdrew her hand, and Richard turned 
 away as if determined to do as she had 
 requested. For a moment he saw himself in 
 his true character, an impressionable, impetu 
 ous man, inexperienced in the ways of the
 
 184 The Manhattaners. 
 
 world, and easily influenced by his surround 
 ings. He saw himself casting meaning glances 
 at a dark-eyed girl in an unconventional res 
 taurant. Then the remorse and self-loathing 
 that had come over him as he knelt in prayer 
 in the sombre shadows that haunted a church- 
 pew returned for an instant, and he felt an 
 irresistible desire to prove, for his own satis' 
 faction, that the higher aspirations that had 
 dominated him later on were not mere fleeting 
 fancies. He turned and reseated himself in 
 the chair at her side. 
 
 " Forgive me for what I've said," he im 
 plored, his voice low and firm ; " I dare not 
 leave you now. It will drive me mad to reflect 
 that I have been unkind to you. I have been 
 very selfish. Let me have at least one more 
 chance to prove that I can be your friend." 
 
 She smiled sadly, and turning to the instru 
 ment played softly the refrain of Heine's mel 
 ancholy song. 
 
 The impotence of longing, the futility of 
 rebellion, were emphasized in Richard's restless 
 mind as he recalled the words of the poem
 
 The Manhattaners. 185 
 
 she had set to music. What availed it that 
 the pine-tree craved the palm ? The inexor 
 able fiat of a universe controlled by laws as 
 pitiless as they are unchangeable had decreed 
 that only in dreams should its love find satis 
 faction. 
 
 She turned and looked at him again. Her 
 face was pale, and there were shadows beneath 
 her eyes, but in her smile was a ray of 
 sunshine. 
 
 "Why can you not be content?" she asked 
 gently. "Do you not find pleasure in spend 
 ing an evening with me now and then?" 
 
 "You need not ask," he murmured. 
 
 "But do you know that it would end all 
 this if if" 
 
 "If?" 
 
 " If you were always as reckless as you have 
 been to-night." 
 
 "How hard it is to obtain justice in this 
 world," he cried, a faint smile on his lips. 
 " How well I know that, far from being reck 
 less, I have exercised the greatest self-restraint. 
 Do you know, please don't turn your eyes
 
 1 86 The Manhattaner 
 
 away, do you know what temptation I have 
 resisted to-night ? Is it not true that the 
 grandeur of a victory lies in the martial power 
 of the enemy overthrown ? I would have been 
 a coward had I retreated when you asked me 
 to. Is it not better for us to sit here con 
 tentedly and talk of friendship?" 
 
 She glanced at him deprecatingly. 
 
 "Do you know," she said in a tone of sad 
 ness, "that there is sometimes a mocking note 
 in your voice and an expression on your face 
 that make me wonder if you ever take your 
 self or any one else seriously?" 
 
 She had put into words a doubt that had 
 never before been symbolized in his mind, 
 though often vaguely felt. He was silent for 
 a moment, wondering if it was only his youth, 
 or a fundamental defect in character, that had 
 awakened in her a questioning that found so 
 unwelcome a response in his own heart. Un 
 fortunate is that man who finds nothing at 
 the very depths of his own personality but an 
 interrogation mark. 
 
 "Are you not unreasonable?" he suggested
 
 The Manhattaners. 187 
 
 quietly, striving to obtain self-justification. 
 " When I speak earnestly and honestly 
 you ask me to leave you. When I openly 
 ratify the terms upon which you allow me to 
 remain, you say I jest. I almost despair of 
 ever winning your favor." 
 
 She smiled encouragingly. 
 
 "I like you now," she remarked frankly. 
 " Perhaps, after all, I am not as daring a rebel 
 as I once told you that I was." 
 
 Some one had entered the drawing-room ; 
 and turning toward the portiere, they saw 
 Percy-Bartlett, his pale face just a shade whiter 
 than usual. 
 
 " Good-evening, Stoughton," he said, coming 
 forward and giving the young man his hand. 
 " Harriet, we ask your indulgence. Shall we 
 smoke here or go into the library ? " 
 
 Richard's first inclination was to take his 
 departure at once, but he realized in time the 
 awkwardness that would attend such a step. 
 
 " Always the slaves to habit ! " cried Mrs. 
 Percy-Bartlett, with a vivacity born of nervous 
 reaction rather than of satisfaction at the con 
 tretemps.
 
 1 88 The Manhattaners 
 
 "I long ago gave up the idea of defending 
 my music-room from cigar-smoke, Mr. Stough- 
 ton. In fact, I have become fond of it. I 
 think," and she looked at her husband smil 
 ingly, but with a gleam of defiance in her 
 eyes, " that I will take to cigarettes. They're 
 really quite good form in these days, are they 
 not ? " 
 
 "It is hard to say at present," remarked 
 Percy-Bartlett, puffing his cigar reflectively, 
 " what is good form and what is not. I con 
 fess, Stoughton, that I am rather old-fashioned 
 in my ideas." 
 
 " For instance ? " suggested Richard, not 
 wholly at his ease. 
 
 "There are a thousand illustrations on my 
 tongue. But of what use is resistance ? The 
 new ideas and cigarettes are an appropriate 
 symbol of many of them are too strong at 
 present in their initial force to succumb to 
 opposition. But I have never lost faith in the 
 power of reaction. We have gone ahead too 
 fast. There must be a return to the old ways 
 soon."
 
 The Manhattaners. 189 
 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett turned restlessly to the 
 piano, and struck a few defiant chords on the 
 instrument. She had expressed a doubt as to 
 her status as a rebel. Her husband had ap 
 peared at the right moment to fling those 
 doubts to the wind. 
 
 As Richard arose to take his departure, 
 Percy-Bartlett said to him, with more cordial 
 ity than the young man inwardly felt that he 
 deserved from such a source, 
 
 " Don't let the atmosphere in which you are 
 thrown, Stoughton, cause you to cast away 
 your birthright. It is on men of birth and 
 education that the safety of this country ulti 
 mately depends. You should be and I hope 
 you are a conservative of the conservative. 
 I want to get you into the Sons of the Revo 
 lution and the Society of Colonial Wars. I 
 am an enthusiast on these things, Stoughton, 
 a man must have a fad, you know, and you're 
 the kind of material that we can't afford to 
 give to the enemy. Good-night ! Drop into 
 my office some morning soon, and we'll talk 
 these matters over."
 
 190 The Manhattaners. 
 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett gave her cold hand to 
 Richard and said, with a conventional intona 
 tion that chilled him, in spite of the soft ex 
 pression in her eyes, 
 
 "And we will see you soon again, Mr. 
 Stoughton ? " 
 
 "Thanks," he said, "and good-night." 
 
 Percy-Bartlett had reseated himself, and was 
 taking the final puffs from his cigar, as his wife 
 returned and began to rearrange the sheets of 
 music on the piano. 
 
 "Stoughton is a boy I think I might like," 
 remarked Percy-Bartlett, gazing at his wife 
 steadily. " But he looks worn-out. I fear he 
 is overdoing things." 
 
 "Perhaps," she answered with studied indif 
 ference. " I suppose his work is very wear- 
 ing." 
 
 " Yes ; and that's what I can't understand 
 about the youngster. He has money of his 
 own. Why doesn't he travel and study in 
 stead of tying himself to such a merciless 
 mill-wheel as a daily newspaper?" 
 
 How magnificent is man's blind egotism !
 
 The Manhattaners. 191 
 
 Percy-Bartlett, a millionnaire, was devoting his 
 whole time and nervous energy to adding to 
 his wealth, and still he censured a youth, by 
 no means rich, for following a line of life that 
 insured him a living. It is so easy to demand 
 of our neighbor that he lead an ideal exist 
 ence ! 
 
 "You look very pale, my dear," remarked 
 his wife after a long silence, with more con 
 cern in her voice than it often held in his hear 
 ing. 
 
 "I am not feeling especially well," he re 
 turned gratefully, and throwing away his cigar, 
 "I must give up smoking, Harriet. The doc 
 tor says it is imperative."
 
 1 92 The Manhattaners. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 JOHN FENTON had once called Mr. Robinson, 
 of the Trumpet, an argus-eyed editor. But 
 Fenton did not fully realize how searching 
 and far-reaching was his superior's gaze. The 
 managing editor of a New York newspaper 
 is seldom appreciated at his true worth by 
 his subordinates. They are too closely in 
 touch with the methods by which he produces 
 his effects to grant him that admiration that 
 the readers of his newspaper feel for him. It 
 is enough if the navigator of a journalistic 
 craft obtains the respect and loyalty of his 
 crew. He must not expect to be the object 
 of hero-worship in the forecastle. It depends 
 upon which end of the telescope you place 
 before your eye, the impression that the moon 
 makes on your mind. The public looks at 
 a famous editor through the large end of the 
 instrument, while his subordinates view him
 
 The Manhattaners. 193 
 
 through the small end. Rare and precious 
 is the newspaper potentate who can stand 
 both tests. 
 
 Editor Robinson of the Trumpet was not 
 a great man, a creature that the end of 
 the century seems disinclined to produce in 
 any line of human endeavor, but he pos 
 sessed ripe experience, a wide range of vision, 
 and a keen appreciation of the merits and 
 demerits of the material at his disposal. In 
 judging the availability of a piece of news or 
 the advisability of a certain line of editorial 
 policy his mind worked with great rapidity 
 and acuteness. When it came to rendering 
 a final verdict regarding any man with whom 
 he came in contact he was hesitating and 
 conservative. He had learned by experience 
 that it is dangerous to admire Dr. Jekyll too 
 much until you have proved conclusively that 
 he is not a Mr. Hyde. 
 
 There were two men in the office who had, 
 of late, been under Mr. Robinson's close in 
 spection. He was making a thorough study 
 of John Fenton and Richard Stoughton for
 
 194 The Manhattaners. 
 
 a cherished purpose that he had long had at 
 heart. Many circumstances had combined to 
 lead him to the conclusion that slowly but 
 surely these two men had rendered themselves 
 eligible for a post that neither of them had 
 ever dreamed of rilling. 
 
 A man is always going up or coming down 
 in a newspaper office, a fact that proves 
 how like the world at large a journalistic sanc 
 tum is. In Mr. Robinson's eyes, Fenton and 
 Stoughton were on the up-grade. Regarding 
 Fenton he had long been in doubt. He had 
 grown to look upon him as a man of ability 
 who had lost all ambition, and whose ques 
 tionable habits and iconoclastic tendencies of 
 thought had unfitted him for any higher place 
 than he already held. Fenton's long service 
 in the city department and his thorough knowl 
 edge of men and affairs in the metropolis 
 had rendered him a valuable assistant, in spite 
 of his peccadilloes and theories ; but that he 
 would ever become fitted for a higher line 
 of journalistic achievement Mr. Robinson had 
 never imagined. For some months, however,
 
 The Manhattaners. 195 
 
 the managing editor's keen eye had observed 
 a great change in Fenton's demeanor and ap 
 pearance. Much to Mr. Robinson's astonish 
 ment, he saw that his subordinate was inclined 
 to refrain from alcoholic stimulants, that he 
 had grown very particular about his attire 
 and that he seemed fond of the society of 
 young Stoughton. 
 
 Mr. Robinson was what the world calls a 
 self-made man. He had "come up from the 
 case," as the expression goes, having been a 
 journeyman printer in the days of his youth. 
 It is a curious fact that a man who has 
 made a success of his life in spite of heavy 
 obstacles can never destroy a certain unde 
 fined admiration for a man who, being born 
 to wealth, position, and leisure has carelessly 
 thrown away his advantages and fallen from 
 his high estate. The fact that Fenton had 
 abandoned as useless toys the very things for 
 which Robinson had been striving all his life 
 gave the city editor, as Fenton was at this 
 time, a unique place in the eyes of his chief. 
 In his heart of hearts, he considered Fenton
 
 196 The Manhattaners. 
 
 a being superior to himself ; and it was this 
 feeling that often added a brusqueness to his 
 manner when dealing with his subordinate 
 that had not tended to make their relations 
 very cordial. But, then, cordiality between 
 the heads of the various departments of a 
 metropolitan daily is a gem as rare as it is 
 precious. Down in the pressroom a great 
 object-lesson is presented to the eyes of a 
 thoughtful man. Here is a vast amount of 
 machinery, the most insignificant part of which 
 is obliged to work in perfect union with all 
 other parts, small or great. By the constant 
 application of oil, friction is prevented and 
 the gigantic presses perform their task in a 
 way that shows what tremendous results can 
 be obtained by a complicated machine when 
 absolute sympathy between all the varying 
 features is maintained. 
 
 How different is the working of the great 
 brain-engine above stairs ! Here man rubs 
 against man, jealousy and discontent and fa 
 voritism do what they can to clog the machin 
 ery ; and the more one knows about the inner
 
 
 The Manhattaners. 197 
 
 life of a newspaper-office, the more the won 
 der grows that the newspaper of to-day ap 
 proximates so closely to the highest journalistic 
 ideal. You may find flaws, gentle reader, in 
 what your favorite journal says, but its typo 
 graphical make-up is always perfect. Bear in 
 mind that the brain-machine that turns out 
 the ideas it presents is laboring under the ob 
 stacles that poor, weak, erring human nature 
 begets, while the engines that deal with the 
 materialistic make-up of the paper are influ 
 enced neither by jealousy nor heart-burning, 
 neither by revenge nor malice. If the har 
 mony that prevails in the workings of the 
 press-room could dominate the editorial depart 
 ments, an ideal newspaper would be the re 
 sult a result that will not be obtained until 
 the millennium has done its elevating work. 
 
 It is just possible that Mr. Robinson was 
 not altogether at ease in his mind over the 
 advance that John Fenton had made in his 
 outward bearing and in his position and in 
 fluence on the Trumpet. One of the chief 
 occupations of an editor in charge of a great
 
 198 The Manhattaners. 
 
 newspaper consists in keeping his mind awake 
 to possible rivals. That Fenton had become 
 in the last few months a very important fac 
 tor in the office was apparent to the most in 
 significant reporter; and to Mr. Robinson the 
 desirability of checking the rise of a possible 
 competitor seemed imperative. But hard steel 
 or cold poison is not available in these days 
 for the removal of a man who stands in our 
 way. In a newspaper-office, however, there 
 are weapons that take their place. One is 
 promotion, the other is exile. In the case of 
 John Fenton, Mr. Robinson had decided, after 
 mature consideration, to combine both. 
 
 " I have sent for you, Mr. Fenton," re 
 marked the editor, smiling cordially as he 
 wheeled around in his chair and motioned to 
 his subordinate to be seated, " to discuss quite 
 an important matter." 
 
 " Timeo Danaos, et dona ferentes" muttered 
 Fenton to himself, as he drew up a chair and 
 looked at his chief inquiringly. 
 
 "Pardon me, I didn't catch your remark?" 
 and Mr. Robinson looked at Fenton suspi 
 ciously.
 
 The Manhattaners. 199 
 
 "I am at your service Mr. Robinson, "I 
 said," answered Fenton, smiling. 
 
 "Ah, very good of you ! Well, now tell me, 
 Mr. Fenton, what is your opinion of young 
 Stoughton ? You have seen a great deal of 
 him, have you not ? " 
 
 " Yes ; he's a very clever boy. I'm exceed 
 ingly fond of him." 
 
 " You find him thoroughly companionable ? " 
 
 " Extremely so," answered Fenton, wonder 
 ing what the editor was getting at. Mr. Rob 
 inson did not waste time in the afternoon on 
 unimportant gossip. 
 
 "And now, Mr. Fenton," continued Robin 
 son, putting the tips of his fingers together, 
 after a habit that pertained to his more Machi 
 avellian moods, " how long is it since you were 
 on the other side?" 
 
 " Fifteen years, I think," answered Fenton 
 reflectively. "I spent two years in London 
 and on the Continent just before I went into 
 newspaper work." 
 
 " Hum ! Very good. Well, the fact is, Mr. 
 Fenton, I have long had a scheme in mind for
 
 2OO The Manhattaners. 
 
 making a great improvement in our foreign 
 service. Stilson, you know, has resigned the 
 London office. My idea is this : I am very 
 much pleased with young Stoughton's work as 
 a paragrapher. He's very pithy, and his style 
 has really created quite a sensation. Now, 
 there is no man in the profession who has 
 a more artistic estimate of news than you 
 have, Mr. Fenton. Furthermore, your acquaint 
 anceship with men and affairs has been wide, 
 and, I might say, international. It seems to 
 me that if you took the London office, with 
 Stoughton as your assistant, we could make 
 a great feature of a line of news-matter in 
 which we have been pretty weak of late years. 
 You catch my idea ? You're to shoot the 
 game, and Stoughton's to dress it for the table. 
 I needn't tell you, of course, that your salary 
 will be much larger in London than it is here, 
 and the work will be much easier and of a 
 character more acceptable to your tastes, Mr. 
 Fenton." 
 
 John Fenton's mind had been very busy 
 while Mr. Robinson was speaking. Three
 
 The Manhattaners. 201 
 
 months before he would not have hesitated 
 a moment to accept the editor's proposition. 
 He was not sure now that it did not offer a 
 solution to a difficulty that he had not yet had 
 strength of mind enough to solve himself. 
 But Fenton was not a man to do anything in 
 a hurry unless it was to fall in love. He 
 looked at Mr. Robinson in silence for a mo 
 ment, and then said, 
 
 " There is much that is very satisfactory 
 to me in what you have said, Mr. Robinson. 
 But I'm a slow, rather conservative man, and I 
 seldom come to a conclusion in a hurry. May 
 I have a day or two to weigh this matter ? " 
 
 " Oh, certainly, certainly," answered the 
 editor, not wholly pleased at the position 
 Fenton had taken. " Give me your answer 
 day after to-morrow. It will do as well then 
 as now." 
 
 Fenton arose to go. 
 
 " And about Stoughton ? " he asked. 
 
 Mr. Robinson sat silent for a time. Finally 
 he said, 
 
 " I leave him to you, Mr. Fenton. Talk the
 
 2O2 The Manhattaners. 
 
 matter over with him, and bring him with you 
 when you come to me Monday. Good-day." 
 
 Fenton returned to his desk in a more excited 
 mood than he had expected ever to feel again. 
 When a man renews his youth the rejuvenation 
 is apt to bring with it many surprises. That it 
 should make any important difference to him 
 whether he lived in New York or London was 
 an astonishing fact to John Fenton. It was an 
 unpleasant truth that, in a way, forced him to 
 come to a decision that he had been avoiding 
 for a long time. Should he or should he not 
 give up all thought of making Gertrude Van 
 Vleck his wife, was the question that haunted 
 him. 
 
 And Mr. Robinson, gazing moodily out of the 
 window in his room up-stairs, was thinking that 
 John Fenton's hesitation was due to ambition.
 
 The Manhattaners. 203 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 "!F we go, Richard, we burn our bridges 
 behind us." 
 
 So said John Fenton, as he walked restlessly 
 up and down the room, puffing a pipe nervously, 
 his face paler than usual, and a gleam in his 
 eyes that indicated a mind disturbed. 
 
 Stoughton was lounging in one of Fenton's 
 easy-chairs and gazing at his friend question- 
 ingly. It was the evening of the day on which 
 Fenton had listened to Mr. Robinson's proposi 
 tion, and he had summoned Richard to his rooms 
 for a council of war. 
 
 " I am fully convinced," continued Fenton, 
 " that the best thing that could happen to you 
 at present, Richard, would be a long absence 
 from New York. As for myself, I am not sure 
 that this London scheme would not save me from 
 making a fool of myself. But " 
 
 "But," put in Richard solemnly, "you love
 
 2O4 The Manhattaners. 
 
 Gertrude Van Vleck. The ' but ' is a very im 
 portant one. Why should you give her up? 
 Of course, John, there are several reasons why 
 I can see an advantage for myself in going to 
 London as your assistant. But I am perfectly 
 willing to waive all that, if you'll throw away 
 your unreasonable scruples, and take the good 
 the gods provide." 
 
 Fenton seated himself and puffed at his pipe 
 musingly. 
 
 " There's a vulgar assertion," he remarked at 
 length, " that informs us how hard it is to teach 
 an old dog new tricks. Admitting, Richard, 
 that what you say is true, granting your prem 
 ises, I mean, I cannot accept your conclusion. 
 Listen to me a moment, and don't interrupt. I 
 will acknowledge that I should like to make 
 Gertrude Van Vleck my wife, but let us look at 
 the matter from all points of view. In the first 
 place, I have no means of knowing that she 
 esteems me more than other men. I have 
 grown distrustful, Richard, of my own impres 
 sions in a matter of this kind. Her cordiality 
 toward me may mean anything or nothing.
 
 The Manhattaners. 205 
 
 But, after all, that is not the important point. 
 The fact is, my boy, that I have no right to 
 woo her. I have made a failure of life, for one 
 thing. Furthermore, I have been for some 
 years a determined foe to the institutions that 
 have surrounded her with wealth and luxury. 
 I am willing to acknowledge that I am not as 
 aggressive a radical as I was some time ago, but 
 that does not alter the fact that I have long 
 been an outspoken opponent of timocracy." 
 
 "Timocracy?" exclaimed Richard. "The 
 word sounds familiar, but my Greek is rusty. 
 What does it mean, John ? " 
 
 Fenton looked at his friend suspiciously. For 
 an instant he had a feeling that Richard was 
 ridiculing him. But the earnest expression in 
 the youth's face reassured him. 
 
 "Timocracy, you remember, Richard, estab 
 lished a man's social and political status accord 
 ing to the amount of grain he owned. We 
 have a timocracy in this country, in fact, if not 
 in theory. A man is known by the companies 
 he is in. But this is wandering a long way from 
 the point. The fact is, Richard, that I have
 
 206 The Manhattaners. 
 
 been under a tremendous temptation for the 
 last few weeks, a temptation against which my 
 better nature has been at war. What if I had 
 given in to it, and had, let us say, won the hand 
 of Gertrude Van Vleck ? I could never make 
 her happy. Ten years ago, perhaps, such a 
 woman might have moulded me into something 
 approaching an ideal husband. But time is 
 tyrannical, Richard. It is too late now for me 
 to ask of life the greatest blessing that it holds 
 for man, a companionable wife. I cannot ac 
 cept the sacrifice of youth, beauty, intellect, 
 and affection on the altar of my selfishness. It 
 wouldn't do, Richard. It wouldn't do at all. Let 
 the dream pass ! Come, boy, help me to be a 
 man. Let us try London, Richard, and see if 
 its fogs can't hide the foolish mirage our fevered 
 brains have raised. You need heroic treatment 
 as much as I do. From one standpoint, in fact, 
 your case, Richard, is worse than mine. If you 
 stay here you may bring misery to at least three 
 people. If I remain, the worst I could do 
 would be to make myself and one other un 
 happy. Mathematically you are more deserving 
 of exile than I am."
 
 The Manhattaners. 207 
 
 " I tell you, John," exclaimed Richard, his 
 eyes resting on his friend's face affectionately, 
 "I tell you I don't want you to bring me in 
 as an important factor in this matter. You 
 are treating a great crisis in your life with 
 more cold-blooded cynicism than I thought 
 you retained. Don't you see that you may 
 be doing Gertrude Van Vleck a great wrong ? 
 Don't you understand that you may be reck 
 lessly throwing away your chance of lifelong 
 happiness ? What have your years, or your 
 past, or your theories got to do with the mat 
 ter? The only question at issue in the whole 
 affair is this : Does Gertrude Van Vleck love 
 you ? If she does, your sacrifice would be 
 simply a cruelty. If she doesn't, your sacri 
 fice wouldn't be a sacrifice. That sounds Irish, 
 but it expresses my meaning. 
 
 ' He either fears his fate too much, 
 
 Or his deserts are small, 
 That dares not put it to the touch, 
 To gain or lose it all."' 
 
 An amused smile played over Fenton's pale 
 face.
 
 208 The Manhattaners. 
 
 " And what course of action do you advise, 
 young hot-head ? " 
 
 " There is only one thing for you to do, 
 John. Go to Gertrude Van Vleck, and tell her 
 that you love her. If she accepts you, that 
 settles the problem before us. If she rejects 
 you, we will go to London." 
 
 Fenton arose, and resumed his impatient 
 march up and down the room. 
 
 " How impetuous youth is ! " he remarked 
 after a time. Then he halted; and, standing 
 in front of Richard, looked down at the young 
 man solemnly. " You know little of true love, 
 Richard. It is based on unselfishness and is 
 only true to itself when it remains worthy of 
 its foundation. Listen, boy, and learn. If I 
 propose to Gertrude Van Vleck, and she rejects 
 me, I have subjected to a painful experience 
 the woman I love. If she accepts me, the 
 same result, emphasized, is reached ; for I am 
 not worthy of her, Richard. I could not make 
 her happy. No, no ; do not answer me. No 
 man can tell another what is the right course 
 in such an affair as this. I have confessed to
 
 The Manhattaners. 209 
 
 you more than I ever expected to reveal to 
 any one. I have fought my fight and won 
 my victory." 
 
 Fenton turned, and seated himself wearily. 
 " It has not been easy for me, Richard," he 
 continued after a long silence. " But let that 
 pass. If you really care for me, - and I feel 
 that you do, you will never refer to the mat 
 ter again. I have dreamed my dream, and 
 the awakening has come. I see clearly that 
 there is only one way for me to be true to 
 myself and just to others. I shall take that 
 way. And now, Richard, let us talk of our 
 plans. You have never been in London ? " 
 
 Richard Stoughton's heart was heavy as he 
 talked with Fenton about their future. He 
 could not but admire the strength and nobility 
 of his friend's character ; but there seemed to 
 be something left unsaid, some argument not 
 yet advanced, that might throw a different 
 light on the problem Fenton had weighed and 
 solved for himself. But Richard had learned 
 in the last few months that there was a stub 
 bornness and pride in his companion's nature
 
 2io The Manhattaners. 
 
 that rendered opposition impossible after a 
 certain point had been reached. 
 
 Furthermore, he could not disguise from 
 himself that he was pleased at Fenton's de 
 cision in so far as it affected himself. Stough- 
 ton was a thorough modern in his ways of 
 looking at most subjects, and a few years of 
 experience and travel might easily make his 
 impressionable nature very broad in its ten 
 dencies. But there was an ancestral strain 
 of Puritanism in his make-up that still had a 
 strong influence on his ideas of life. Just what 
 his feelings toward Mrs. Percy-Bartlett were 
 he hardly knew ; but he realized that if he 
 continued to meet her on the footing that had 
 existed between them of late, he would in the 
 end lose sight of certain principles to which 
 he still fondly clung. He was old-fashioned 
 enough, as yet, to respect, in his cooler mo 
 ments, the musty teachings that still prevail 
 in certain parts of New England regarding the 
 sacredness of another man's wife. He had 
 not yet grasped the comparatively modern dis 
 covery that to a bachelor all things are pure.
 
 The Manhattaners. 211 
 
 Then, again, with his fondness for Mrs. Percy- 
 Bartlett was mingled an admiration for a vein 
 of self-restraint that he felt certain existed in 
 the foundation of her character. He knew 
 intuitively that if, by word or action, he over 
 stepped certain well-defined boundaries, his in 
 tercourse with her would come to an abrupt 
 and unpleasant end. 
 
 That Mrs. Percy-Bartlett was not especially 
 fond of her husband he felt convinced, not 
 by any word of hers, but from the indefinable 
 but overwhelming testimony of airy nothings. 
 That she had grown to care for him, Richard 
 Stoughton, a youth who had brought some 
 thing into her life the lack of which she had 
 long felt, he could well imagine without, per 
 haps, a too excessive egotism. But from what 
 ever point of view he considered the matter, 
 the more it seemed to him best that the ocean 
 should roll between them for a time. Richard 
 Stoughton, as the reader has long since ob 
 served, was a youth extremely sensitive to his 
 surroundings. The decision he had come to 
 might never have been reached in the Percy-
 
 212 The Manhattaners. 
 
 Bartletts' music-room. In Fenton's parlor, and 
 in the presence of a man who had made, in 
 Richard's sight, a great renunciation, it was 
 not so hard to live up to his highest ideals. 
 
 " And so," said Fenton as he arose to bid 
 his guest good-night, " and so, Richard, our 
 problems are solved at last. Come to my room 
 at three o'clock on Monday and we will go 
 up and have a talk with Mr. Robinson. Good 
 night, my boy, and good luck. I have much 
 to thank you for, Richard but never mind 
 about it now. Good-night."
 
 The Manhattaners. 213 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE Percy-Bartletts were dining with Ger 
 trude Van Vleck and her father. Cornelius Van 
 Vleck was a man sixty years of age, whose life 
 had been spent, for the most part, in maintain 
 ing the traditions of his family. As the Van 
 Vlecks had been prominent in the city since 
 the year 1636, the number of these traditions 
 that he had been called upon to cherish ren 
 dered his task no sinecure. 
 
 Cornelius Van Vleck had good reason to be 
 proud of his ancestors. They had possessed 
 a combination of foresight and conservatism 
 that had conferred on their posterity the 
 blanket-blessing of vast wealth. The man who 
 is a landed proprietor on Manhattan Island 
 need never fear want. Banks may fail, the 
 credit of the country may be threatened, rail 
 roads may dodge their dividends, and hard times 
 may cast their shadow over a long-suffering
 
 214 The Manhattaners. 
 
 people, but the New York landlord is in 
 trenched behind a financial Gibraltar. How is 
 he to blame if his ancestors were thrifty and 
 far-seeing ? Render to Caesar the things that 
 are Caesar's, ye grumbling and restless tenants, 
 and accept the world as you find it. Cornelius 
 Van Vleck could no more help being rich than 
 you can avoid being poor. Wherever the blame 
 may lie for the inequalities that exist in the 
 distribution of wealth, surely Cornelius Van 
 Vleck cannot be held responsible. He is as 
 much the victim of a system as you are. But 
 he bears his burden without a protest. Never 
 during his long life as a man of great financial 
 and social importance has Cornelius Van Vleck 
 been heard to reproach his ancestors for the 
 load of responsibility that they placed upon his 
 shoulders. He has lived up to his position in 
 the community with an almost heroic devotion 
 to his lofty duties ; and in his old age he is 
 still inspired by that fine old motto of noblesse 
 oblige. 
 
 One of the hereditary obligations to which 
 he has always conformed, for the honor of his
 
 The Manhattaners. 215 
 
 forefathers and his own satisfaction, consists 
 in dining well. Cornelius Van Vleck has the 
 reputation of giving the most artistic dinners 
 in the city. But he never casts pearls before 
 swine. His guests must be worthy of his chef. 
 The hospitable but somewhat testy old gentle 
 man demands from those who sit at his board 
 an appreciation as keen as his own of the gas 
 tronomic excellence of the entertainment pro 
 vided. It is for this reason that he always 
 enjoys having the Percy-Bartletts at his table. 
 Whether Mrs. Percy-Bartlett fully appreciates 
 the delicate lights and shades of the epicurean 
 masterpieces produced by the Van Vlecks' chef, 
 the host has never been quite certain. But he 
 has no doubt of Mr. Percy-Bartlett's ability to 
 understand and rejoice in the fine touches that 
 the artist below stairs so deftly makes. 
 
 " I have my doubts, my friend," he is saying 
 to Percy-Bartlett, as they puff their cigars and 
 sip a liqueur after the ladies have retired to the 
 drawing-room, " I have my doubts that a woman 
 can ever become a thoroughly equipped connois- 
 seuse at the dinner-table. I know that there is
 
 216 The Manhattaners. 
 
 no line of endeavor in which the new woman 
 does not feel competent to shine; but," and 
 here the old gentleman waved his liqueur-glass 
 at Percy-Bartlett with a stately and hospitable 
 gesture, "but they haven't that delicate sense 
 of taste, that sensitiveness to the most refined 
 and elusive flavors that we men possess. Do 
 you know, there are some dishes that I can't 
 make Gertrude eat at all ! Just imagine, sir, a 
 woman, an intellectual woman, who takes pride 
 in shocking her old father with her advanced 
 ideas and theories, and who has had every 
 advantage of travel and instruction, who ab 
 solutely refuses to eat terrapin in any form. 
 How, sir, can woman expect us to acknowledge 
 her equality when she boldly admits that she 
 doesn't like terrapin ? " 
 
 Percy-Bartlett smiled ; but his eyes were rest 
 less, his face pale, and his manner that of a 
 man who is making an effort to be sociable 
 against his inclinations. 
 
 " I think, Mr. Van Vleck," he replied, " that 
 you and I are in close sympathy regarding the 
 absurd pretensions made by women to-day.
 
 The Manhattaners 217 
 
 Do you know, sir, I have grown very weary 
 of the whole thing. There is a restlessness, a 
 pushing, discontented, crude, and i'mfeminine 
 spirit abroad among the women of our set 
 that has actually had a crushing effect upon 
 me. I think that it is responsible for the con 
 stantly recurring fits of the blues that have 
 bothered me so much of late." 
 
 Cornelius Van Vleck, whose heavy but not 
 unsymmetrical features lacked mobility, gazed 
 at his guest with some concern in his bluish- 
 gray eyes. 
 
 "You aren't looking quite fit, young man, 
 that's a fact. Take some of that brandy. It's 
 something very fine, I assure you. By the 
 way, why don't you knock off a bit, and run 
 over to the other side with us ? Gertrude and 
 I are going over at once. She needs a change, 
 a great change. There's something wrong with 
 the girl. She has grown morbid and flighty, 
 sir. I can't understand it unless these new 
 ideas that are floating around have struck 
 in. She has been asking me some very em 
 barrassing questions of late, sir, some very
 
 2i 8 The Manhattaners. 
 
 embarrassing questions. I even suspect that 
 Gertrude has been visiting some of my tenants 
 on the East Side, and distributing alms. As 
 if organized charities were not sufficient to 
 relieve the distress in the city ! I have remon 
 strated with her, sir ; but what can you do with 
 a woman to-day? Whose authority do they 
 respect, sir ? A father's ? a husband's ? " 
 
 Percy-Bartlett sipped his brandy nervously, 
 while a slight flush arose to his pallid cheeks. 
 
 " I thoroughly sympathize with you, Mr. 
 Van Vleck. We are almost powerless to check 
 this rebellious spirit. There is a limit, of 
 course, to protest beyond which a gentleman 
 cannot go. I fully realize that. There have 
 been many things to disturb us of late ; we, I 
 mean, who cling to the old ideas and the best 
 traditions of our set. And, do you know, I 
 hold the newspapers responsible for a good 
 deal of the harm that has been done." 
 
 " You are right, Percy-Bartlett ! you are 
 right ! " cried his host with more animation 
 than he usually displayed. " There have been 
 those among us who seemed to actually crave
 
 The Manhattaners 219 
 
 notoriety. It has been shocking shocking ! 
 I really don't know what we're coming to. Do 
 you know, I gave a small dinner-party last 
 night, twelve at the table, you know, and, 
 will you believe me, a reporter came to the 
 house and asked for a list of my guests. 
 That's a straw that shows which way the wind 
 blows. When I was young, sir, a man could 
 dine at home without awakening the curiosity 
 of the public. But, tell me, aren't you well ? 
 You look very pale. I am worried about you, 
 my friend." 
 
 Percy-Bartlett was leaning back in his chair, 
 a gray pallor on his face, and his lips almost 
 colorless. Leaning forward with an effort, 
 he swallowed the remaining drops of brandy 
 in his glass. 
 
 " It is nothing, Mr. Van Vleck," he said, 
 after a moment's silence ; " I have been doing 
 too much work and worrying of late. I really 
 believe I need a vacation." 
 
 " You do indeed, sir," remarked his host 
 emphatically. " Come, young man, listen to 
 reason. The one great privilege that wealth
 
 22O The Manhattaners. 
 
 grants is that it gives us our freedom. Come 
 over to London with us. We sail Wednesday 
 morning. Drop your work right here and take 
 a rest. If you don't, you'll break down, Percy- 
 Bartlett, and all the king's horses and all 
 the king's men won't be able to pull you 
 together again." 
 
 Percy-Bartlett looked at his elderly compan 
 ion gratefully. It was a novel and welcome 
 sensation to have some one take an interest 
 in his welfare. There was silence for a time. 
 Then he said, as he arose slowly, as though his 
 head felt giddy, 
 
 " Perhaps you are right, Mr. Van Vleck. 
 Come into the drawing-room with me. I'll 
 ask Harriet what she thinks of the scheme."
 
 The Manhattaners. 221 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 " EVEN if it turns out happily, Harriet, I will 
 always feel that she did an unwomanly thing." 
 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett and Gertrude Van Vleck 
 were seated en tete-ti-tete in the drawing-room, 
 talking of a quiet wedding that had taken place 
 recently in the inner circle. This matrimonial 
 event had possessed peculiar features. It was 
 rumored, on evidence more conclusive than 
 gossip often enjoys, that the bride had done 
 the larger part of the wooing and had actually 
 proposed to the man of her choice. What the 
 circumstances were that had led to this reversal 
 of ancient custom on the part of people to 
 whom time-honored precedents are especially 
 dear nobody but the high contracting parties 
 knew ; but it was well understood that the 
 woman had taken the initiative, and had been 
 successful in her egotistic match-making. 
 There were a good many spinsters in society
 
 222 The Manhattaners. 
 
 who approved of her course, but Gertrude Van 
 Vleck was not among them. 
 
 "But," argued Mrs. Percy-Bartlett, "I 
 thought, Gertrude, that you were progressive. 
 You seem to accept many of the new ideas, 
 but reject others. I am sure I can't see why 
 she did an unwomanly thing. In these days 
 there is hardly anything that can be called 
 unwomanly if it is done gracefully." 
 
 Gertrude smiled sadly as she looked into her 
 friend's sympathetic eyes. They both realized 
 that the problem they were discussing was not 
 an abstract question, but that, on the contrary, 
 it possessed a concrete and vital significance 
 for one of them. 
 
 "I'm afraid, Harriet," said Gertrude mus 
 ingly, " that I cannot keep up with women who 
 are determined to be in the front ranks of the 
 new movement. I have too many conservative 
 characteristics in my make-up, inherited from 
 my father." 
 
 She looked about her with restless eyes, her 
 glance seeming to appeal to the spirit of the 
 room in which they sat for strength and com-
 
 The Manhattaners. 223 
 
 fort. There are many drawing-rooms in New 
 York that combine luxury with taste. Not a 
 few are actually regal in their magnificence. 
 But a drawing-room that indicates ancestral 
 glories, that seems to rejoice in the fact that 
 it is the storehouse of patrician memories, is 
 a rarity. The Van Vlecks' drawing-room was a 
 shrine sacred to the cult of true American aris 
 tocracy. You might pooh-pooh the Van Vlecks' 
 coat-of-arms, their family livery, or other out 
 ward manifestations of ancestral pride, but only 
 an iconoclast deluded by delirium could enter 
 that drawing-room without feeling the subtle 
 influence that it exerted in opposition to the 
 image-breakers of to-day. 
 
 Suddenly Mrs. Percy-Bartlett broke the si 
 lence that had followed Gertrude's last remark. 
 
 "You sail Wednesday. You do not expect 
 to see him before you go ? " 
 
 " No. Why should I ? He will not come 
 to me again." 
 
 "Tell me, Gertrude, how you know," said 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett gently, taking the girl's 
 cold hand in hers.
 
 224 The Manhattaners. 
 
 "It is hard to explain," remarked Gertrude 
 wearily. "I understand him so well, Harriet. 
 He is very proud, and has such queer ideas \ 
 He he don't think me awfully conceited, 
 Harriet he I'm sure he likes me. But I 
 never expect to see him again." 
 
 There was the suspicion of a sob in her 
 voice. Mrs. Percy-Bartlett gazed earnestly 
 into her friend's eyes. 
 
 " Tell me, Gertrude," she said beseechingly, 
 "what has happened. You are concealing 
 something from me." 
 
 
 
 " Nothing, truly," exclaimed Gertrude, a 
 frank smile on her lips. "There has been 
 absolutely nothing between Mr. Fenton and 
 myself that you do not know about, Harriet." 
 
 "But why, my dear, do you say that you 
 never expect to see him again ? I can't un 
 derstand it." 
 
 " I hardly know how to explain it to you, 
 Harriet. I am not in the habit of placing 
 too much confidence v in intuition and inex 
 plicable impressions, but I feel certain that 
 he will never come to me again unless I 
 send for him."
 
 The Manhattaners. 225 
 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett was silent for a time. 
 Things seemed so fatally wrong in the world 
 at that moment. She felt confused, discon 
 tented, wholly unfit to give comfort or ad 
 vice to her unhappy friend. And yet why 
 should she not urge her to take a step that 
 might lead to happiness ? Why should pride 
 and precedent be permitted to stand between 
 John Fenton and Gertrude Van Vleck when 
 the very spirit of the age was teaching men 
 and women to be broad-minded and reason 
 able, and, perhaps, more natural ? Impulsively 
 she turned to Gertrude and bent very close 
 to her. 
 
 " My dear girl, you are doing him and your 
 self a great wrong. You should write to him 
 and ask him to come to you. It is the only 
 way." 
 
 "And when he comes?" asked Gertrude in 
 a whisper. 
 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett bent and kissed the pale 
 cheek of the trembling girl. 
 
 " Tell him that you love him, Gertrude." 
 
 A flush overspread Gertrude's face and her
 
 226 The Manhattaners. 
 
 eyes flashed. She arose and looked down at 
 her friend. 
 
 " I cannot, Harriet. When you put it into 
 words, it scares me. It is horrible to talk of 
 such a thing. I am sorry so sorry, that 
 you said it." She reseated herself and looked 
 into the sad, brown eyes that gazed at her 
 almost reproachfully. 
 
 " I know that you meant it for the best, 
 Harriet, but it can never be. And, now, 
 promise me that you will never refer to this 
 again. You know my secret. Let us go on 
 as though I had never told you." 
 
 They were silent for a time, their cold hands 
 clasped in a contact that expressed more than 
 words. After a time Gertrude spoke, 
 
 "I am so sorry to go away from you just 
 now, Harriet. I never needed you so much 
 before." 
 
 Mrs. Percy-Bartlett sighed wearily. 
 
 "I am so tired, Gertrude. When you are 
 gone I don't know what I shall do. Life 
 is such a weird and wearisome affair. I am 
 young, and the world has given me every-
 
 The Manhattaners. 227 
 
 thing that I ought to ask of it but 
 but" 
 
 She hesitated. Gertrude bent toward her. 
 
 "I think I understand, my dear. I am so 
 sorry." 
 
 There was a note of sympathetic pity in 
 her voice that was sweet and soothing in 
 her hearer's ear. They were both tasting 
 the bitter cup that every man and woman 
 must sometime hold to the lips, and in the 
 moment of their sorrow their friendship for 
 each other became more precious than it 
 had ever been. It was hard to part at the 
 greatest crisis in their lives, to say farewell 
 when they needed from each other the in 
 spiration that the closest intercourse could 
 give. 
 
 Cornelius Van Vleck and Percy-Bartlett en 
 tered the drawing-room. 
 
 " I have great news for you both," cried 
 the former as he came forward, his phleg 
 matic face more animated than usual. 
 
 They looked up at him inquiringly. 
 
 "Your husband and I have a secret, Mrs.
 
 228 The Manhattaners. 
 
 Percy-Bartlett," he went on playfully. "Are 
 you not curious to know what it is?" 
 
 "Of course I am, Mr. Van Vleck. Am I 
 not a woman ? " 
 
 The glimpse she caught of her husband's 
 face startled her. There was an unnatural 
 flush in his cheeks, and his eyes were fever 
 ishly bright. 
 
 "What is it, dear?" she exclaimed, rising 
 and putting her hand on his arm. Percy- 
 Bartlett smiled reassuringly. 
 
 "Nothing serious," he answered. "I dis 
 obeyed the doctor and smoked one of Mr. 
 Van Vleck's cigars. Furthermore," and he 
 looked at his host knowingly, " I fear that I 
 am threatened with an attack of mal-de-mer" 
 
 Gertrude Van Vleck sprang up in excite 
 ment. 
 
 " Do you mean it ? " she cried. " O Har 
 riet ! don't you understand ? You are going 
 with us. Am I not right, papa?" 
 
 Cornelius Van Vleck smiled benignantly. 
 
 " I have become your husband's medical 
 adviser," he remarked, turning to Mrs. Percy-
 
 The Manhattaners. 229 
 
 Bartlett, " and have ordered him to take a 
 sea-voyage for his health." 
 
 "And you have agreed?" asked Mrs. Percy- 
 Bartlett of her husband, her voice cold, almost 
 harsh, from the excitement that she restrained. 
 
 " If you wish," he answered, seating himself 
 wearily, and looking up at his wife with an 
 affectionate gleam in his eyes. 
 
 " It is almost too good to be true," cried 
 Gertrude Van Vleck, trying to meet Harriet's 
 averted gaze. " I am so happy." 
 
 " Is it not charming, Gertrude ? " said Mrs. 
 Percy-Bartlett, seating herself by her husband's 
 side and speaking with as much enthusiasm as 
 she could summon to her aid. But she was not 
 an actress, and to her husband and her con 
 fidante there seemed to be an unconvincing 
 note in her voice, a suggestion that she was 
 accepting the inevitable with a protest that 
 vainly craved expression.
 
 230 The Manhattaners. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 MRS. PERCY-BARTLETT was seated at the 
 piano, idly striking chords that seemed to 
 vibrate with the melancholy of her mood. It 
 was Tuesday evening, and her husband had 
 gone to his club to attend to several matters 
 that required settlement before his departure. 
 They were to sail for Europe early on the 
 following morning, and Mrs. Percy-Bartlett's 
 revery was one of mingled apprehension and 
 regret. Her mind assured her that the exile 
 before her was the best possible solution of 
 a problem that had forced itself upon her; 
 her heart revolted against the thought of a 
 difficult but imperative step that she must 
 take. She had sent a note that morning to 
 Richard Stoughton, telling him that she was 
 to leave for Europe on Wednesday and that 
 she would be glad to see him in the evening, 
 if he was at leisure. The messenger had re-
 
 The Manhattaners. 231 
 
 turned with an answer to her note that had 
 filled her with surprise and consternation. 
 
 " I will call this evening," Richard had writ 
 ten, "not to say adieu to you, but to bid us 
 both bon voyage. I am overjoyed at the out 
 look." 
 
 What these enigmatical words meant she 
 had been unable to determine. He seemed 
 to imply that he, too, was to sail for Europe 
 in the morning. If that were the case, she 
 realized that she had a hard task before her. 
 Her instinct told her that it would be fatally 
 unwise for them to make the voyage together. 
 In the first place, the presence of Richard 
 Stoughton on the steamer would look very 
 queer to Percy-Bartlett. Surely the increase 
 of his jealousy was not the line of treatment 
 likely to restore her husband to health. Fur 
 thermore, she longed for rest and peace. She 
 had rebelled in her heart at first against the 
 idea of running away from the one great pleas 
 ure of her life, the comradeship of Richard 
 Stoughton ; but later on her mood had changed, 
 and she had begun to take a melancholy satis-
 
 232 The Manhattaners. 
 
 faction in the thought that if absence might 
 mean pain and longing it would also beget 
 its own anaesthetic. 
 
 And now she sat awaiting Richard's coming, 
 her heart beating feverishly, her face pale and 
 her eyes restless and brilliant. She had deter 
 mined, if the worst came to the worst, that she 
 would ask him to make a great sacrifice for 
 her on the altar of friendship. She had not 
 reached this decision without a struggle. It 
 would be so pleasant to have him with her on 
 the voyage ! She had grown to take so much 
 pleasure in his companionship that it seemed 
 almost sacrilege to place any obstacle in the 
 path of events that conspired to prolong their 
 intimacy. And it was chance, not design, that 
 was responsible for the fact if it were a fact 
 that they were to sail for the Old World to 
 gether. But Mrs. Percy-Bartlett was too clever 
 a woman to allow the tempting fallacies that 
 beset her mind to long have sway. She rea 
 lized that it is very easy to find arguments to 
 defend and justify almost any course of action ; 
 but she still retained her confidence in that
 
 The Manhattaners. 233 
 
 vague, indefinable, but insistent guide that is 
 generally called conscience, and when she was 
 weary of inward debate she always fell back 
 on it for the final word, the motive-power that 
 should carry her in the right direction. In 
 this instance, conscience whispered to her that 
 either Richard Stoughton or herself must re 
 main in New York when the Majestic left the 
 pier in the morning. That it would be well 
 nigh impossible for her to make a change in 
 her plans without undergoing many embarrass 
 ing questions from her husband, she well 
 knew. Her ultimate hope lay in Richard 
 Stoughton's unselfishness. If he cared for 
 her " in the right way," as she put it to her 
 self, he would alter his movements for her 
 sake. 
 
 The portiere was pushed back, and a servant 
 announced " Mr. Stoughton." Richard entered 
 the music-room, a flush of pleasure and ex 
 citement on his cheeks and the joy of youth 
 ful enthusiasm in his eyes. 
 
 As she gave him her hand it felt as cold 
 as marble in his grasp, and he saw that her
 
 234 The Manhattaners. 
 
 face was pale and her expression one of appre 
 hension rather than delight. 
 
 " Something is worrying you," he said, as 
 he seated himself where he could look into 
 her face. "Did you not understand my 
 note?" 
 
 She smiled sadly. " I fear that I did," 
 she answered in a low voice. " You sail on 
 the Majestic to-morrow morning ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I am very sorry," she faltered, feeling that 
 it was harder to obey the voice of conscience 
 than she had thought it would be. 
 
 The light in his face died out and he looked 
 at her with mingled surprise and regret. 
 
 " I had thought," he said, almost bitterly, 
 "that you would be pleased to have me for 
 a fellow-traveller." 
 
 How could she explain to him her feelings 
 in the matter ? His very youth made it diffi 
 cult. It would be so easy for him to misunder 
 stand her. At that moment she felt that she 
 was years older than this man whose birthday 
 was in the same month as her own. And in
 
 The Manhattaners. 235 
 
 his presence it was harder to make the sacri 
 fice she had determined upon than it had ap 
 peared to be an hour before. She looked up 
 at him shyly. His face had grown pale and the 
 smile had died away from his lips. A woman 
 never knows how much she really cares for a 
 man until she is obliged to ask of him a great 
 renunciation for her sake. It is in the nature 
 of a generous and affectionate woman to confer 
 favors, not to plead for them. 
 
 The silence in the room had grown embar 
 rassing. She turned and almost impatiently 
 struck a few sombre chords on the piano. She 
 feared that he would see the tears that had 
 gathered in her eyes. 
 
 Richard arose and walked to the farther 
 end of the room, then turned and approached 
 her. Her golden-brown hair, the whiteness 
 of her neck, and the rounded outlines of her 
 shoulders thrilled him with mingled delight 
 and despair. He was vaguely conscious of 
 the fact that this woman was asking of him 
 a sacrifice that he would find it hard to make. 
 He understood her well enough to realize that
 
 236 The Manhattaners. 
 
 in his own inherent generosity she was placing 
 a confidence that demanded on his part both 
 reticence and renunciation. She had said that 
 she was sorry that they were to be companions 
 on an ocean voyage. Feverishly his mind en 
 deavored to grasp the full significance of her 
 words. He could not at that moment weigh 
 them in all their bearings, but it was enough 
 that she had expressed regret at the coinci 
 dence that had turned their faces toward 
 Europe at the same moment. It would be 
 cruel, unnecessary, to make her explain her 
 self more fully. One thought overshadowed 
 all others in his mind. If she did not care 
 for him, why should he mince words ? did 
 not love him, she would not admit that she 
 was sorry that he was to be by her side for 
 so long a time. She had confessed to him 
 that the shadow of self-distrust was on her 
 soul. He could not ask for more. All men 
 may be selfish, but at a great crisis there are 
 those who can be chivalric. 
 
 Richard reseated himself and looked at her 
 mournfully.
 
 The Manhattaners. 237 
 
 "You have a favor to ask of me," he ven 
 tured after a time. 
 
 She turned and glanced at him, with a gleam 
 of merriment in her changeful eyes. 
 
 "You sometimes seem to me to have clair 
 voyant power," she remarked. " Yes, I have a 
 request to make but it seems so selfish of 
 me ! It is the hardest thing I ever had to 
 do." 
 
 He arose and stood looking down into her 
 face. 
 
 "Please don't feel that it is difficult," he 
 said gently. " I think I know what you would 
 ask. If you wish, I will put off my departure 
 until Saturday. No, don't thank me. I shall 
 find my reward in the thought that that " 
 
 He hesitated, and she raised her face until 
 their eyes met. He bent toward her. 
 
 "In the thought that you may realize how 
 hard it is for me to let you go." 
 
 He had taken both her hands, and the tears 
 in her eyes made it well-nigh impossible for 
 her to see how close his lips were to hers. 
 
 "You are a noble fellow," she whispered.
 
 238 The Manhattaners. 
 
 Richard was torn with the tempest of love 
 and desperation that filled his soul. The in 
 cense of her hair, the warm caress of her 
 breath as it touched his face, the sad, white 
 misery of her trembling lips seemed to mad 
 den him. He hesitated an instant, while the 
 spirits of light and darkness warred within him. 
 Then a strange thing happened. He heard, as 
 though the speaker stood close to his ear, the 
 ringing voice of the preacher who had stirred 
 his soul amid the solemn shadows of a church 
 some weeks before, and it seemed to say : " Be 
 true to your manhood ; for the light that is 
 within you is divine." 
 
 Richard turned on the instant, unconscious 
 that his overwrought nerves had worked what 
 seemed at the moment to be a miracle. White 
 and trembling, he sank into the chair by the 
 side of the sobbing woman, whose icy hand 
 still rested wearily in his. 
 
 As he had turned, it had seemed to him that 
 the portieres at the end of the room were fall 
 ing into place, as though they had been sud 
 denly disturbed ; but as he looked at them
 
 The Manhattaners. 239 
 
 again, hanging heavy and quiet in the shadows, 
 he felt that the fever that had caused him to 
 hear a stranger's voice had cast its delirious 
 witchery upon his vision. But the truth was 
 that his ears had played him false, while his 
 eyes had not.
 
 240 The Manhattaners. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 IN certain respects Percy-Bartlett was an 
 ideal clubman. He was a member of several 
 exclusive clubs, but he frequented only one. 
 He took more interest in the welfare of this 
 organization than he did in the growth of the 
 West or the opening of Africa to civilization. 
 Philanthropists might have called him narrow- 
 minded. He would have been astonished at 
 the accusation. He subscribed liberally to the 
 fund of his church for foreign missions and had 
 once helped to equip a Polar expedition. A 
 man who could open his purse to enterprises 
 of this character would never look upon him 
 self as an individual restricted in his sym 
 pathies. Cannot a man be a broad-minded 
 benefactor of his race without seeking the 
 companionship of those beneath him in the so 
 cial make-up ? Percy-Bartlett never imagined 
 for a moment that in confining his intercourse
 
 The Manhattaners. 241 
 
 to those whom he considered his equals, he 
 was putting himself out of touch with the age 
 and world in which he lived. Theoretically, 
 he acknowledged the brotherhood of man. 
 Practically, he found satisfaction only in the 
 companionship of men who were eligible to 
 membership in his favorite club. He devoted 
 a tithe of his fortune to charity ; why should 
 he not have the privilege of giving most of his 
 time to clubdom ? Percy-Bartlett, like a good 
 many Americans, acknowledged the grandeur 
 of the Declaration of Independence, but did 
 not feel that that instrument had established a 
 ritual. 
 
 It is said that a man cannot serve both God 
 and Mammon. However this may be, and 
 there are clever individuals who seem to fight 
 under both banners, it is certain that it takes 
 genius for a man to do his duty equally well to 
 his club and to his home. Percy-Bartlett was 
 not a genius. He was a thorough gentleman, 
 of fair ability, who had found himself inclined, 
 at one time, to sacrifice his club for the sake 
 of his home. But, other things being equal,
 
 242 The Manhattaners. 
 
 a man, in the long run, will take the path in 
 which he finds the readiest and most pro 
 nounced sympathy. Percy-Bartlett was appre 
 ciated at his true worth at his club. He 
 realized vaguely that at his home he was in an 
 atmosphere that was not wholly congenial, and 
 that he did not hold the high place in the 
 bosom of his family that assures to a husband 
 the domestic felicity that is, in the end, fatal to 
 prominence in club life. A companionable 
 husband, like anything else worth having, is 
 the product of assiduous cultivation. The 
 converse is also true; and a man cannot enjoy 
 the intercourse of a thoroughly congenial 
 woman unless he has the tact and perseverance 
 necessary to the production of this rare and 
 priceless blossom of the social flora. Marriage 
 is like a garden, in which two plants are set 
 aside to tend each other. If one of them is 
 neglectful of the task, imposed upon it, they 
 both suffer equally; and the garden in which 
 they have been placed grows narrow and dis 
 tasteful in their sight. If you grasp the full 
 significance of this illustration, O gentle reader,
 
 The Manhattaners. 243 
 
 you will be able to understand why it is that in 
 these progressive times not only married men 
 but married women have their clubs. We all 
 crave sympathy, and an outlet for the unrest 
 that is in us. If we cannot find them at home, 
 we must go to our club, where we may meet 
 some one who understands us, and who will 
 offer us a relief-pipe for the pent-up individu 
 ality that so sorely chafes us. And thus it is 
 that both men and women need their clubs to 
 day. The end of the last century found the 
 world emphasizing the brotherhood of man. 
 The end of the present century is busy under 
 scoring the sisterhood of woman. Is it strange 
 that the last years of the eighteenth century 
 were not more disturbing to the institution of 
 marriage than are the closing days of the nine 
 teenth century ? The only conclusion that 
 seems deducible to the student of contemporary 
 social unrest is that the millennium will not 
 be reached until the problem of how to make 
 a home a club is solved. 
 
 Percy-Bartlett was not especially happy, al 
 though such an admission was the last that
 
 244 The Manhattaners. 
 
 he would willingly have made to himself. He 
 had grown accustomed to deceiving himself 
 into the belief that he thoroughly enjoyed 
 life. Surely it had done much for him. He 
 had wealth, position, friends, and a beautiful 
 and accomplished wife. But slowly the fine 
 flavor of existence had passed away, and some 
 times the unwelcome thought would force it 
 self upon him that he was a tired and lonely 
 man. Never by word or look did he hint at 
 this suspicion, even to his most intimate friends. 
 They had noticed of late that he had lost his 
 spirits and looked ill and weary; but he had 
 spoken of his recurrent attacks of indigestion, 
 and they had seen that he had become very 
 abstemious in the us# of alcohol and tobacco. 
 That there was anything radically wrong with 
 him neither he nor they suspected. 
 
 Percy-Bartlett was in a more cheerful mood 
 than usual when he left his club on Tuesday 
 evening at an earlier hour than was his wont 
 to return home. The future looked brighter 
 than it had appeared for some time past. He 
 had placed his affairs in such shape that he
 
 The Manhattaners. 245 
 
 could take a long vacation without worrying 
 about the details of his personal interests. He 
 walked rapidly down the avenue, anxious to 
 have a long chat with his wife before retiring. 
 They would be obliged to rise early in the 
 morning to take the steamer, which left her 
 pier at eleven o'clock. 
 
 There was a smile of contentment on his 
 face as he thought that a change of scene and 
 the excitement of travel might do much to 
 draw his wife closer to him. She would have 
 no time on the journey, he reflected, to become 
 wholly absorbed in her musical pursuits. That 
 he had grown jealous of Richard Stoughton he 
 had never acknowledged to himself, but he had 
 long resented the rivalry of his wife's piano, 
 and he rejoiced at the fact that she could not 
 take it with her. 
 
 Furthermore, he realized that his precarious 
 health demanded from him a long rest and a 
 thorough change of scene. He was not over- 
 fond of travel, but in these days the possession 
 of wealth insures to the tourist an amount of 
 comfort that is almost equal to that obtained
 
 246 The Manhattaners. 
 
 from his club. From all points of view, the 
 immediate future looked bright to Percy-Bart- 
 lett as he slowly mounted the steps of his 
 house, and puffing slightly from the exertion, 
 quietly opened the hall-door with a night-key. 
 He would come upon his wife quietly and 
 enjoy the expression of surprise on her face 
 at his early return. That there would be a 
 warm welcome in her smile he hardly dared to 
 hope. But it is very easy to fall into the habit 
 of expecting from those we love the reflection 
 of the mood that we happen to be in. That 
 Percy-Bartlett had often been disappointed in 
 obtaining from his wife the sympathy he craved 
 had not made him despair of sometime winning 
 from her the response to his affection that 
 he knew she had the power to give. 
 
 The moment seemed to him to be favorable 
 for breaking down the barriers that had so 
 long appeared to separate him from his wife. 
 He would find her in the music-room. Dip- 
 lomate that he was, he would ask her to sing 
 one or two of her own songs to him, and then 
 he would tell her of the outlines of their jour-
 
 The Manhattaners. 247 
 
 ney that he had prepared, and would make 
 whatever changes in the itinerary that she 
 suggested. He could see her, in imagination, 
 closing her piano for the last time, and turning 
 to him with a bright smile on her face when 
 she had locked the instrument and put the 
 key in her pocket. 
 
 His heart beat with stifling rapidity as he 
 quietly entered the drawing-room. He smiled 
 as the thought flashed through his mind that 
 he was more in the mood of a young lover, 
 staking his life's happiness on a few burning 
 words, than in that of a middle-aged husband 
 about to discuss the prosaic details of a Euro 
 pean trip with his wife. 
 
 The drawing-room was dimly lighted, and 
 the portieres at the entrance to the music- 
 room were closely drawn. He approached 
 them noiselessly, somewhat surprised that his 
 rival, the piano, was not taking advantage of 
 his absence to strengthen its hold upon his 
 wife. 
 
 Gently he laid his trembling hand upon 
 the heavy hangings, and looked into the music-
 
 248 The Manhattaners. 
 
 room. Then he dropped the portiere and 
 turned away, his face ghastly in its pallor, and 
 his eyes wild with sudden pain. He staggered 
 forward across the drawing-room, making an 
 heroic effort to avoid stumbling against the 
 furniture. Strangely enough, the one over 
 powering fear that possessed him at the mo 
 ment was that, by some accident, he should 
 make his presence known in the music-room. 
 He looked, as he actually skulked toward the 
 hall, like a man who had committed some 
 awful crime, and who was making a desperate 
 effort to avoid detection. Great beads of per 
 spiration had broken out upon his brow. His 
 face was drawn and set, and his lips were 
 pressed against his teeth in a way that gave 
 his countenance an expression of ghastly mirth. 
 The dread that beset him was that in the 
 hall he would attract the attention of one of 
 the servants. Trembling with cold, he crept 
 into his overcoat and tip-toed to the door. All 
 was silent in the house. Out into the night he 
 stole, glancing furtively up and down the avenue 
 like one who dreads detection. He reeled with
 
 The Manhattaners. 249 
 
 dizziness as he reached the sidewalk and leaned 
 for a moment against a railing. The night air 
 seemed to revive him after a time ; for pulling 
 himself together with a mighty effort, he moved 
 on toward his club like one who walks in sleep 
 and flees from the phantoms of his dream.
 
 250 The Manhattaners. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 " IT is hard, Gertrude ; very hard ! But I 
 must be in London a week from to-day." 
 
 Gertrude Van Vleck looked up at her father 
 as he uttered these words, and her face grew a 
 shade paler, while the tears started to her eyes. 
 She was clad in a travelling costume that was 
 extremely becoming to her tall and graceful 
 figure. In her hand she held an almost unde 
 cipherable scrawl. It was from Mrs. Percy- 
 Bartlett, and ran as follows : 
 
 "My DEAR GERTRUDE, Perhaps you have already 
 heard the awful news. My husband died suddenly at 
 the Union Club last night. I am so utterly stunned that 
 I cannot write coherently, but one insistent thought is 
 with me at this sad time. You must not change your 
 plans on my account. I long for you at this moment with 
 my whole heart, but my selfishness must have no weight 
 with you. If you really wish it, I will join you in London 
 soon ; but I can make no special arrangements just now.
 
 The Manhattaners. 251 
 
 I will write to you or send you a cable message as soon 
 as I have the strength and opportunity to think of the 
 future." 
 
 " Listen, Gertrude," continued Mr. Van Vleck, 
 almost sternly, " We have no time to lose. 
 Don't think me heartless, my child ; but I 
 must be in London on the date I have set, 
 for many reasons that would not interest you. 
 Sit down and write to Mrs. Percy-Bartlett at 
 once. Tell her that we will wait for her in 
 London, and take her to the Continent with us. 
 I absolutely cannot wait over a steamer at this 
 time. Poor little woman, I am sorry that there 
 is no other way." 
 
 With a heavy heart Gertrude Van Vleck 
 penned a note how inadequate, almost heart 
 less, it appeared to her as she re-read it and 
 despatched it by a messenger to Mrs. Percy- 
 Bartlett. The generous, affectionate heart of 
 the girl rebelled against the necessity that 
 compelled her to take this course ; but there 
 seemed to be, at the moment, no alternative. 
 
 Gertrude had had but little personal con 
 tact with that mysterious thing we call death.
 
 252 The Manhattaners. 
 
 The suddenness of her friend's bereavement 
 appalled her. There comes a time in every 
 one's experience, early or late, when the insig 
 nificance of one human life in the make-up of 
 the illimitable universe is emphasized with a 
 stunning force that leaves us wiser, perhaps, 
 but infinitely more sad. Gertrude Van Vleck 
 had thought much about the strange problems 
 that the life of the world presents, but the final 
 and most significant riddle that haunts the 
 mind of man, the awful question that death 
 asks, had never touched her deeply. But now 
 it had come to her in a new guise, and she felt 
 crushed and hopeless with the pitiless sudden 
 ness of the shock. 
 
 The drive to the steamer seemed almost in 
 terminable. The noises of the streets, the 
 disjointed exclamations of her father, the fever 
 ish throbbing in her head, caused Gertrude the 
 most acute suffering. The bustle and excite 
 ment at the pier aggravated the restlessness 
 and discontent that made her whole being 
 ache. There seemed to be something childish 
 in the vivacity of the men and women around
 
 The Manhattaners. 253 
 
 her, who came and went, laughed and cried, 
 were silent or loquacious, as if a voyage across 
 the Atlantic were a thing of great moment. 
 What was it compared with that mysterious 
 journey into the unknown that we must all 
 take to-day, or to-morrow, or a few years hence ? 
 It was not until the steamer was well down 
 the bay, and the cool, salt breeze that swept 
 the decks had begun to bring the color back to 
 Gertrude's cheeks, that she was able to throw 
 off the dreary thoughts that oppressed her. 
 And even then it was not with a cheerful gleam 
 in her eyes that she gazed out upon the throb 
 bing sea. Her heart cried out in revolt against 
 the fate that had followed her. She was leav 
 ing behind her all that had made life interesting 
 of late. The only woman she really cared for, 
 and the only man she had ever felt that she 
 could love, were going out of her life, as the 
 great city sank toward the horizon in the west. 
 It was very hard. She gazed down upon the 
 waters rushing backward in her sight, while 
 the hot tears filled her eyes, and the sea-breeze 
 kissed them cold against her cheek.
 
 254 The Manhattaners. 
 
 "This is a weird and inexplicable world," she 
 heard a voice that thrilled her with mingled 
 amazement and joy saying at her side. She 
 started, for the words seemed to give expression 
 to her very thought, and turning, she beheld 
 John Fenton, his face reflecting the wonder 
 and delight that filled her soul. Her hand 
 trembled as she placed it in his for a moment. 
 
 "I am so glad to see you," she said simply, 
 but her voice trembled with the nervous reac 
 tion that affected her. "I I did not know 
 that you were going abroad." 
 
 John Fenton kept her cold hand in his 
 much longer than perfect etiquette warranted. 
 Words come less readily to a man than to a 
 woman at a great and unexpected crisis, and 
 he was silent for some time. Finally he said, 
 as he leaned against the rail and looked at 
 her white face, that still bore traces of her 
 despairing mood, 
 
 " What is to be, will be. Tell me, are you a 
 fatalist ? " 
 
 " I hardly know," she answered. " Every 
 thing seems inexplicable and unnatural to me
 
 The Manhattaners. 255 
 
 at this moment. You have heard that Percy- 
 Bartlett is dead?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Fenton, gazing seaward for 
 a moment. "I received a note from Richard 
 Stoughton this morning. He was coming with 
 me, you know. He has postponed the voyage 
 for a week or so." 
 
 Gertrude's blue eyes looked into his ques- 
 tioningly. 
 
 " He was there last evening ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes. He was just leaving when Mrs. 
 Percy-Bartlett received a note from Buchanan 
 Budd saying that her husband had died sud 
 denly at tke club." 
 
 " I am very glad that Mr. Stoughton did not 
 sail," she said, more to herself than to Fenton. 
 It was strange how much the salt air had done 
 to restore the color to her face and the light of 
 contentment to her eyes. "She that is Mrs. 
 Percy-Bartlett, you know is coming over to 
 us at once." 
 
 There was silence for a time. As they 
 looked down at the surging waters, the strange 
 coincidence that had thrown them together
 
 256 The Manhattaners. 
 
 again seemed to them both to" take on a super 
 natural character. 
 
 " You were going away without bidding me 
 good-by," she said in a low voice. Her eyes 
 met his reproachfully. 
 
 " You do me an injustice," he returned. " I 
 wrote to you this morning." 
 
 She turned from him, and her eyes sought 
 the horizon. She felt that his words had 
 placed her in an embarrassing position. She 
 could not ask him what his letter said ; but 
 she longed to know. 
 
 They stood without speaking for some time. 
 He was gazing at her clear-cut profile, and, as 
 he looked, the scruples that had led him to 
 make a great renunciation for her sake seemed 
 to him at that moment to be strained and 
 illogical. Had he not made every sacrifice on 
 the altar of his Quixotic creed? And had not 
 fate rendered his efforts futile ? Surely he 
 and Gertrude Van Vleck would not be stand 
 ing together on the deck of an ocean steamer, 
 outward bound, if the stars in their courses 
 had not ordained that he should tell her what 
 was in his heart.
 
 The Manhattaners. 257 
 
 "I wish," he said at length, "that you 
 would do me a favor." 
 
 She turned to him with a puzzled smile on 
 her face. 
 
 " Promise me," he continued earnestly, " that, 
 if the letter I sent to you this morning ever 
 comes to your hand, you will destroy it un 
 opened." 
 
 The smile died away from her face. He saw 
 that he had placed himself in the position of 
 being misunderstood. What could he do but 
 explain himself? His face was pale with emo 
 tion, and he grasped the rail nervously. 
 
 "Gertrude," he said in a low voice, vibrant 
 with suppressed passion, " Gertrude, I love you ! 
 Tell me, will you can you give me hope?" 
 
 She was gazing seaward, with eyes that 
 were moist with the tears of happiness. 
 
 Presently he felt a cold, trembling hand in 
 his and the sun on the instant broke through 
 the clouds and kissed the smiling sea, as their 
 grasp grew firm with the fervor of their love. 
 
 THE END.
 
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