"I work," declared Mr. Parkenstacker, "in a res-
taurant."
The girl
shrank slightly.
"Not as a
waiter?" she said, a little imploringly.
"Labor is noble, but personal attendance, you
know -- valets and -- "
"I am not a
waiter. I am
cashier in" -- on the
street they faced that bounded the opposite side of
the park was the
brilliant electric sign "RESTAU-
RANT" -- "I am
cashier in that
restaurant you am
there."
The girl consulted a tiny watch set in a
bracelet of
rich design upon her left wrist, and rose, hurriedly.
She
thrust her book into a glittering reticule sus-
pended from her waist, for which, however, the book
was too large.
"Why are you not at work?" she asked.
"I am on the night turn," said the young man;
it is yet an hour before my period begins. May I
not hope to see you again?"
"I do not know. Perhaps - but the whim may
not seize me again. I must go quickly now. There
is a dinner, and a box at the play -- and, oh! the
same old round. Perhaps you noticed an automobile
at the upper corner of the park as you came. One
with a white body
"And red
running gear?" asked the young man,
knitting his brows reflectively.
"Yes. I always come in that. Pierre waits for
me there. He supposes me to be shopping in the de-
partment store across the square. Conceive of the
bondage of the life
wherein we must
deceive even our
chauffeurs. Good-night."
"But it is dark now," said Mr. Parkenstacker,
"and the park is full of rude men. May I not
walk -- "
"If you have the slightest regard for my wishes,"
said the girl,
firmly, "you will remain at this bench
for ten minutes after I have left. I do not mean to
accuse you, but you are probably aware that autos
generally bear the monogram of their owner. Again,
good-night"
Swift and
stately she moved away through the
dusk. The young man watched her
graceful form
as she reached the
pavement at the park's edge, and
turned up along it toward the corner where stood the
automobile. Then he treacherously and unhesitat-
ingly began to dodge and skim among the park trees
and shrubbery in a course
parallel to her route, keep-
ing her well in sight
When she reached the corner she turned her head
to glance at the motor car, and then passed it, con
tinuing on across the street. Sheltered behind a con-
venient
standing cab, the young man followed her
movements closely with his eyes. Passing down the
sidewalk of the street opposite the park, she entered
the
restaurant with the blazing sign. The place was
one of those
frankly glaring establishments, all white,
paint and glass, where one may dine cheaply and
conspicuously. The girl penetrated the
restaurant to
some
retreat at its rear,
whence she quickly emerged
without her bat and veil.
The
cashier's desk was well to the front. A red-
head girl an the stool climbed down, glancing
pointedly at the clock as she did so. The girl in
gray mounted in her place.
The young man
thrust his hands into his pockets
and walked slowly back along the
sidewalk. At the
corner his foot struck a small, paper-covered volume
lying there, sending it sliding to the edge of the
turf. By its
picturesque cover he recognized it as
the book the girl had been
reading. He picked it up
carelessly, and saw that its title was "New Arabian
Nights," the author being of the name of Stevenson.
He dropped it again upon the grass, and lounged,
irresolute, for a minute. Then he stepped into the
automobile, reclined upon the cushions, and said two
words to the chauffeur:
"Club, Henri."
A COMEDY IN RUBBER
One may hope, in spite of the metaphorists, to
avoid the
breath of the
deadly upas tree; one may, by
great good fortune, succeed in blacking the eye of the
basilisk; one might even dodge the attentions of Cer-
berus and Argus, but no man, alive or dead, can es-
cape the gaze of the Rubberer.
New York is the Caoutchouc City. There are
many, of course, who go their ways, making money,
without turning to the right or the left, but there is a
tribe
abroadwonderfullycomposed, like the Martians,
solely of eyes and means of locomotion.
These devotees of
curiosity swarm, like flies, in a
moment in a struggling,
breathless
circle about the
scene of an
unusualoccurrence. If a
workman opens
a manhole, if a street car runs over a man from
North Tarrytown, if a little boy drops an egg on
his way home from the
grocery, if a
casual house or
two drops into the
subway, if a lady loses a nickel
through a hole in the lisle thread, if the police drag
a telephone and a racing chart forth from an Ibsen
Society
reading-room, if Senator Depew or Mr.
Chuck Connors walks out to take the air - if any of
these incidents or accidents takes place, you will see
the mad,
irresistible rush of the "rubber" tribe to
the spot.
The importance of the event does not count. They
gaze with equal interest and
absorption at a cho-
rus girl or at a man
painting a liver pill sign. They
will form as deep a cordon around a man with a club-
foot as they will around a balked automobile. They
have the furor rubberendi. They are optical glut-
tons, feasting and fattening on the misfortunes of
their fellow beings. They gloat and pore and glare
and squint and stare with their fishy eyes like goggle-
eyed perch at the book baited with calamity.
It would seem that Cupid would find these ocular
vampires too cold game for his calorific shafts, but
have we not yet to discover an immune even among
the Protozoa? Yes, beautiful Romance descended
upon two of this tribe, and love came into their
hearts as they
crowded about the
prostrate form
of a man who had been run over by a brewery wagon.
William Pry was the first on the spot. He was an
expert at such gatherings. With an expression of in-
tense happiness on his features, be stood over the vic-
tim of the accident, listening to his groans as if to
the sweetest music. When the crowd of spectators
had swelled to a closely packed
circle William saw a
violent
commotion in the crowd opposite him. Men
were hurled aside like ninepins by the
impact of some
moving body that clove them like the rush of a tor-
nado. With elbows,
umbrella, hat-pin, tongue, and
fingernails doing their duty, Violet Seymour forced
her way through the mob of onlookers to the first row.
Strong men who even had been able to secure a seat
on the 5.30 Harlem express staggered back like chil-
dren as she bucked centre. Two large lady spectators
who bad seen the Duke of Roxburgh married and
had often blocked
traffic on Twenty-third Street
fell back into the second row with ripped shirtwaists
when Violet had finished with them. William Pry
loved her at first sight.
The
ambulance removed the
unconscious agent of
Cupid. William and Violet remained after the crowd
had dispersed. They were true Rubberers. People
who leave the scene of an accident with the
ambulancehave not
genuine caoutchouc in the cosmogony of
their necks. The
delicate, fine
flavor of the affair is
to be bad only in the after-taste - in gloating over
the spot, in gazing fixedly at the houses opposite, in
hovering there in a dream more
exquisite than the
opium-eater's
ecstasy. William Pry and Violet Sey-
mour were connoisseurs in
casualties. They knew bow
to
extract full
enjoyment from every incident.
Presently they looked at each other. Violet had a
brown birthmark on her neck as large as a silver
half-dollar. William fixed his eyes upon it. William
Pry had inordinately bowed legs. Violet allowed her
gaze to
linger unswervingly upon them. Face to face
they stood thus for moments, each staring at the
other. Etiquette would not allow them to speak; but
in the Caoutchouc City it is permitted to gaze with-
out stint at the trees in the parks and at the physi-
cal blemishes of a fellow creature.
At length with a sigh they parted. But Cupid had
been the driver of the brewery wagon, and the wheel
that broke a leg united two fond hearts.
The next meeting of the hero and
heroine was in
front of a board fence near Broadway. The day had
been a disappointing one. There had been no fights
on the street, children had kept from under the wheels
of the street cars, cripples and fat men in negligee
shirts were
scarce; nobody seemed to be inclined to
slip on
banana peels or fall down with heart disease.
Even the sport from Kokomo, Ind., who claims to
be a cousin of ex-Mayor Low and scatters nickels
from a cab window, had not put in his appearance.
There was nothing to stare at, and William Pry had
premonitions of ennui.
But he saw a large crowd scrambling and pushing
excitedly in front of a billboard. Sprinting for it,
he knocked down an old woman and a child carrying
a bottle of milk, and fought his way like a demon into
the mass of spectators. Already in the inner line
stood Violet Seymour with one
sleeve and two gold fill-
ings gone, a
corset steel puncture and a sprained
wrist, but happy. She was looking at what there
was to see. A man was
painting upon the fence:
"Eat Bricklets - They Fill Your Face."
Violet blushed when she saw William Pry. William
jabbed a lady in a black silk raglan in the ribs, kicked
a boy in the shin, bit an old gentleman on the left ear
and managed to crowd nearer to Violet. They stood
for an hour looking at the man paint the letters.
Then William's love could be repressed no longer.
He touched her on the arm.
"Come with me," he said. "I know where there
is a bootblack without an Adam's apple."
She looked up at him shyly, yet with unmistakable
love transfiguring her countenance.
"And you have saved it for me?" she asked,