PAGE 11
Eleanore Cuyler
by
Miss Cuyler looked puzzled and said “Certainly,” though she failed to see why Mr. Travers should want his head broken, and then she thanked Van Bibber again and nodded to the officer and went in-doors.
The policeman, who had listened to the closing speeches, looked at Van Bibber with dawning admiration.
“Now then, officer,” said Van Bibber, briskly, “which of the saloons around here break the law by keeping open after one? You probably know, and if you don’t I’ll have to take your number.” And peace being in this way restored, the two disappeared together into the darkness to break the law.
Van Bibber told Travers about it the next morning, and Travers forgot he was not to mention it, and told the next man he met. By one o’clock the story had grown in his telling, and Van Bibber’s reputation had grown with it.
Travers found three men breakfasting together at the club, and drew up a chair. “Have you heard the joke Van Bibber’s got on me?” he asked, sadly, by way of introduction.
Wainwright was sitting at the next table with his back to them. He had just left the customs officers, and his wonder at the dirtiness of the streets and height of the buildings had given way to the pleasure of being home again, and before the knowledge that “old friends are best.” He had meant to return again immediately as soon as he had arranged for the production of his play in New York; his second play was to be brought out in London in a month. But the heartiness of his friends’ greetings, and the anxiety of men to be recognized who had been mere acquaintances hitherto, had touched and amused him. He was too young to be cynical over it, and he was glad, on the whole, that he had come back.
His mind was wide awake, and shifting from one pleasant thought to another, when he heard Travers’s voice behind him raised impressively. “And they both went at Van hammer and tongs,” he heard Travers say, “one in front and the other behind, kicking and striking all over the shop. And,” continued Travers, interrupting himself suddenly with a shrill and anxious tone of interrogation, “where was I while this was going on? That’s the pathetic part of it–where was I?” His voice rose to almost a shriek of disappointment. “I was sitting in a red-silk box listening to a red-silk opera with a lot of girls–that’s what I was doing. I wasn’t in it; I wasn’t. I–“
“Well, never mind what you were doing,” said one of the men, soothingly; “you weren’t in it, as you say. Return to the libretto.”
“Well,” continued Travers, meekly, “let me see; where was I?”
“You were in a red-silk box,” suggested one of the men, reaching for the coffee.
“Go on, Travers,” said the first man. “The two men were kicking Van Bibber.”
“Oh, yes,” cried Travers. “Well, Van just threw the first fellow over his head, and threw him hard. He must have broken his ribs, for the second fellow tried to get away, and begged off, but Van wouldn’t have it, and rushed him. He got the tough’s head under his arm, and pummelled it till his arm ached, and then he threw him into the street, and asked if any other gentleman would like to try his luck. That’s what Van did, and he told me not to tell any one, so I hope you will not mention it. But I had to tell you, because I want to know if you have ever met a harder case of hard luck than that. Think of it, will you? Think of me sitting there in a red-silk box listening to a–“
“What did the girl do?” interrupted one of the men.
“Oh, yes,” said Travers, hastily; “that’s the best part of it; that’s the plot–the girl. Now, who do you think the girl was?” He looked around the table proudly, with the air of a man who is sure of his climax.