«The Bishop of Long Island,» said Morley, «was to meet me here at 8 to dine with me at the Kingfishers' Club. But I can't leave the father of my friend Sol Smothers alone on the street. By St. Swithin, Mr. Smothers, we Wall street men have to work! Tired is no name for it! I was about to step across to the other corner and have a glass of ginger ale with a dash of sherry when you approached me. You must let me take you to Sol's house, Mr. Smothers. But, before we take the car I hope you will join me in»—
An hour later Morley seated himself on the end of a quiet bench in Madison Square, with a twenty–five–cent cigar between his lips and $140 in deeply creased bills in his inside pocket. Content, light–hearted, ironical, keenly philosophic, he watched the moon drifting in and out amidst a maze of flying clouds. An old, ragged man with a low–bowed head sat at the other end of the bench.
Presently the old man stirred and looked at his bench companion. In Morley's appearance he seemed to recognize something superior to the usual nightly occupants of the benches.
«Kind sir,» he whined, «if you could spare a dime or even a few pennies to one who»—
Morley cut short his stereotyped appeal by throwing him a dollar.
«God bless you!» said the old man. «I've been trying to find work for»—
«Work!» echoed Morley with his ringing laugh. «You are a fool, my friend. The world is a rock to you, no doubt; but you must be an Aaron and smite it with your rod. Then things better than water will gush out of it for you. That is what the world is for. It gives to me whatever I want from it.»
«God has blessed you,» said the old man. «It is only work that I have known. And now I can get no more.»
«I must go home,» said Morley, rising and buttoning his coat. «I stopped here only for a smoke. I hope you may find work.»
«May your kindness be rewarded this night,» said the old man.
«Oh,» said Morley, «you have your wish already. I am satisfied. I think good luck follows me like a dog. I am for yonder bright hotel across the square for the night. And what a moon that is lighting up the city to–night. I think no one enjoys the moonlight and such little things as I do. Well, a good–night to you.»
Morley walked to the corner where he would cross to his hotel. He blew slow streams of smoke from his cigar heavenward. A policeman passing saluted to his benign nod. What a fine moon it was.
The clock struck nine as a girl just entering womanhood stopped on the corner waiting for the approaching car. She was hurrying as if homeward from employment or delay. Her eyes were clear and pure, she was dressed in simple white, she looked eagerly for the car and neither to the right nor the left.
Morley knew her. Eight years before he had sat on the same bench with her at school. There had been no sentiment between them—nothing but the friendship of innocent days.
But he turned down the side street to a quiet spot and laid his suddenly burning face against the cool iron of a lamp–post, and said dully:
«God! I wish I could die.»
THE BUYER FROM CACTUS CITY
It is well that hay fever and colds do not obtain in the healthful vicinity of Cactus City, Texas, for the dry goods emporium of Navarro & Platt, situated there, is not to be sneezed at.
Twenty thousand people in Cactus City scatter their silver coin with liberal hands for the things that their hearts desire. The bulk of this semiprecious metal goes to Navarro & Platt. Their huge brick building covers enough ground to graze a dozen head of sheep. You can buy of them a rattlesnake–skin necktie, an automobile or an eighty–five dollar, latest style, ladies' tan coat in twenty different shades. Navarro & Platt first introduced pennies west of the Colorado River. They had been ranchmen with business heads, who saw that the world did not necessarily have to cease its revolutions after free grass went out.
Every Spring, Navarro, senior partner, fifty–five, half Spanish, cosmopolitan, able, polished, had «gone on» to New York to buy goods. This year he shied at taking up the long trail. He was undoubtedly growing older; and he looked at his watch several times a day before the hour came for his siesta.
«John,» he said, to his junior partner, «you shall go on this year to buy the goods.»
Platt looked tired.
«I'm told,» said he, «that New York is a plumb dead town; but I'll go. I can take a whirl in San Antone for a few days on my way and have some fun.»
Two weeks later a man in a Texas full dress suit—black frock coat, broad–brimmed soft white hat, and lay–down collar 3–4 inch high, with black, wrought iron necktie—entered the wholesale cloak and suit establishment of Zizzbaum & Son, on lower Broadway.
Old Zizzbaum had the eye of an osprey, the memory of an elephant and a mind that unfolded from him in three movements like the puzzle of the carpenter's rule. He rolled to the front like a brunette polar bear, and shook Platt's hand.
«And how is the good Mr. Navarro in Texas?» he said. «The trip was too long for him this year, so? We welcome Mr. Platt instead.»
«A bull's eye,» said Platt, «and I'd give forty acres of unirrigated Pecos County land to know how you did it.»
«I knew,» grinned Zizzbaum, «just as I know that the rainfall in El Paso for the year was 28.5 inches, or an increase of 15 inches, and that therefore Navarro & Platt will buy a $15,000 stock of suits this spring instead of $10,000, as in a dry year. But that will be to–morrow. There is first a cigar in my private office that will remove from your mouth the taste of the ones you smuggle across the Rio Grande and like—because they are smuggled.»
It was late in the afternoon and business for the day had ended, Zizzbaum left Platt with a half–smoked cigar, and came out of the private office to Son, who was arranging his diamond scarfpin before a mirror, ready to leave.
«Abey,» he said, «you will have to take Mr. Platt around to–night and show him things. They are customers for ten years. Mr. Navarro and I we played chess every moment of spare time when he came. That is good, but Mr. Platt is a young man and this is his first visit to New York. He should amuse easily.»
«All right,» said Abey, screwing the guard tightly on his pin. «I'll take him on. After he's seen the Flatiron and the head waiter at the Hotel Astor and heard the phonograph play 'Under the Old Apple Tree' it'll be half past ten, and Mr. Texas will be ready to roll up in his blanket. I've got a supper engagement at 11:30, but he'll be all to the Mrs. Winslow before then.»
The next morning at 10 Platt walked into the store ready to do business. He had a bunch of hyacinths pinned on his lapel. Zizzbaum himself waited on him. Navarro & Platt were good customers, and never failed to take their discount for cash.
«And what did you think of our little town?» asked Zizzbaum, with the fatuous smile of the Manhattanite.
«I shouldn't care to live in it,» said the Texan. «Your son and I knocked around quite a little last night. You've got good water, but Cactus City is better lit up.»
«We've got a few lights on Broadway, don't you think, Mr. Platt?»
«And a good many shadows,» said Platt. «I think I like your horses best. I haven't seen a crow–bait since I've been in town.»
Zizzbaum led him up stairs to show the samples of suits.
«Ask Miss Asher to come,» he said to a clerk.
Miss Asher came, and Platt, of Navarro & Platt, felt for the first time the wonderful bright light of romance and glory descend upon him. He stood still as a granite cliff above the cañon of the Colorado, with his wide–open eyes fixed upon her. She noticed his look and flushed a little, which was contrary to her custom.
Miss Asher was the crack model of Zizzbaum & Son. She was of the blond type known as «medium,» and her measurements even went the required 38–25–42 standard a little better. She had been at Zizzbaum's two years, and knew her business. Her eye was bright, but cool; and had she chosen to match her gaze against the optic of the famed basilisk, that fabulous monster's gaze would have wavered and softened first. Incidentally, she knew buyers.