Arms and the Woman

The foreman in the composing room waited some time for that required

column and a half of editorial copy. I lit my pipe; and my thoughts

ran back to the old days, to the many times Dan had paid my debts and

to the many times I had paid his. Ah, me! those were days when love

and fame and riches were elusive and we went in quest of them. The

crust is hyssop when the heart is young. The garret is a palace when

hope flies unfettered. The most wonderful dreams imaginable are dreamt

close to the eaves. And when a man leaves behind him the garret, he

also leaves behind the fondest illusions. But who--who would stay in

the garret!

And as my thoughts ran on, the question rose, Whom would they send in

his place--Dan's? I knew London. It was familiar ground. Perhaps

they might send me. It was this thought which unsettled me. I was

perfectly satisfied with New York. Phyllis lived in New York. There

would be time enough for London when we were married. Then I began to

build air castles. A newspaper man is the architect of some splendid

structures, but he thoughtlessly builds on the sand when the tide is

out. Yes, foreign corresponding would be all well enough, I mused,

with Phyllis at my side. With her as my wife I should have the envy of

all my fellow craftsmen. We should dine at the embassies and the

attaches would flutter about us, and all London would talk of the

beautiful "Mrs. Winthrop." Then the fire in my pipe-bowl went out.

The copy boy was at my elbow again.

"Hang you!" said I.

"The foreman says he's coming down with an axe," replied the boy.

It was like churning, but I did manage to grind the copy. I was

satisfied that the United States and Great Britain would not go to war

over it.

The late afternoon mail brought two letters. I opened the one from

Phyllis first. It said:

"DEAR JACK--Uncle Bob has a box for the opera to-night, but he has been

suddenly called to Washington; politics, possibly, but he would not

say. Aunty and I want you to go with us in his stead. Ethel and her

fiance, Mr. Holland, will be together, which means that Aunty and I

will have no one to talk to unless you come. Carmen is to be sung.

Please do not fail me.

"PHYLLIS."

Fail her! I thought not.

Then I read the second letter. I read it three or four times, and even

then I was not sure that I was not dreaming. I caught up my pipe

again, filled it and lit it. I read the letter once more. I was

solemnly informed that my uncle was dead and that I was mentioned in

the will, and that if I would kindly call at the Hoffman House the

following morning a certain sum of money would be given to me. I

regretted that I had reached that age when a man's actions must be

dignified, although alone; otherwise I dare say I should have danced

the pas seul. Whatever my uncle's bequest might be, I believed that it

would make me independently rich. I am ashamed to admit that I did not

feel sorry at the news of his sudden departure from this life. It is

better to be rich than to be ambitious. It is better to have at hand

what you want than to work for it, and then not get it. Phyllis was

scarcely an arm's length away now. I whistled as I locked up my desk,

and proceeded down stairs and sang a siren song into the waxen ears of

the cashier.