The Dark Star

"How?"

"--Or shoot you up. She's some schutzen-fest, you know, when she

turns loose----"

"Ah, I tell you she wants the divorce. Abe Grittlefeld's crazy about

her. He'll get Abe Gordon to star her on Broadway; and that's enough

for her. Besides, she'll marry Maxy Venem when she can afford to keep

him."

"You never understood Minna Minti."

"Well, who ever understood any German?" demanded Brandes. "She's one

of those sour-blooded, silent Dutch women that make me ache."

Doc pushed the self-starter; there came a click, a low humming.

Brandes' face cleared and he held out his square-shaped hand: "You fellows," he said, "have put me right with the old folks here.

I'll do the same for you some day. Don't talk about this little girl

and me, that's all."

"All the same," repeated Doc, "don't take any chances with Minna.

She's on to you, and she's got a rotten Dutch disposition."

"That's right, Doc. And say, Harman,"--to Quint--"tell Ben he's doing

fine. Tell him to send me what's mine, because I'll want it very soon

now. I'm going to take a month off and then I'm going to show Stein

how a theatre can be run."

"Eddie," said Quint, "it's a good thing to think big, but it's a damn

poor thing to talk big. Cut out the talk and you'll be a big man some

day."

The graceful car moved forward into the moonlight; his two friends

waved an airy adieu; and Brandes went slowly back to the dark verandah

where sat a young girl, pitifully immature in mind and body--and two

old people little less innocent for all their experience in the ranks

of Christ, for all the wounds that scarred them both in the over-sea

service which had broken them forever.

"A very handsome and distinguished gentleman, your friend Dr.

Curfoot," said the Reverend Mr. Carew. "I imagine his practice in New

York is not only fashionable but extensive."

"Both," said Brandes.

"I assume so. He seems to be intimately acquainted with people whose

names for generations have figured prominently in the social columns

of the New York press."

"Oh, yes, Curfoot and Quint know them all."

Which was true enough. They had to. One must know people from whom one

accepts promissory notes to liquidate those little affairs peculiar to

the temple of chance. And New York's best furnished the neophytes for

these rites.