lex iiitortfi 
 
 SEYMOUR DURST 
 
 
 
 
 
 FORT NEW AJASTERDAi^^^g^^^ (NEW YORK ) , 1651. 
 
 When you leave, piease leave this book 
 
 Because it has been said 
 " £ver'tbing comes t' him who waits 
 
 Except a loaned book." 
 
 Avery Architectural and Fine Arts Library 
 Gift of Seymour B. Durst Old York Library 
 
A Serpent's Feast 
 
 PEN PICTURES OF ACTUAL LIFE IN 
 NEW YORK TENDERLOIN 
 
 BY 
 
 SIDNEY ALLEN DEQUESNE 
 
 INTRODUCTION BV 
 
 JOSEPH TYLER BUTTS 
 
 THE MANUSCRIPT COMPANY 
 
 114 Fifth Avenue 96 Queen Street 
 
 NEW YORK LONDON 
 
Copyright, 1901, 
 by 
 
 SIDNEY ALLEN DEQUESNE, 
 in the 
 United Stateg 
 
 and 
 Great Britain. 
 Entered at Stationer's Hall, 
 London. 
 
 All Rights Reserved. 
 
 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
PUBLISHER'S NOTE. 
 
 The lines of public thought are just now so 
 closely drawn about the moral question, that any 
 excuse for publishing such a story which delves so 
 deeply into the most intricate question of the age 
 would seem to be entirely unwarranted. 
 
 The dallying with facts which in an ordinary 
 work of fiction might be considered commendable, 
 would be altogether unfeasible in a publication 
 dealing so thoroughly and directly with the "red 
 light" question. 
 
 The publication of a series of events taken from 
 the records of the notorious Knockabout Club, 
 pointing inferentially as they do to the unwhole- 
 some conditions permeating the life of our metrop- 
 olis should serve a useful purpose, however ap- 
 palling and salacious they may be. 
 
 The state of degradation which a certain portion 
 of humanity in Xew York has reached, was re- 
 cently demonstrated by the report of Eev. Dr. 
 Paddock, rector of the pro-Cathedral, New York, 
 which handles this nauseous question without any 
 false delicacy. 
 
 iii 
 
iv 
 
 Publisher's Note. 
 
 In his statement, Eev. Mr. Paddock paints a 
 picture of the latest iniquity which bears out all 
 the terrible revelations outlined. 
 
 The report, which we clip from the Mail and 
 Express, is as follows: "In a brief walk from the 
 pro-Cathedral it soon became painfully apparent 
 to me that women were publicly soliciting in 
 their shameful traffic day and night. They were 
 soliciting not only men, but boys, and they were 
 soliciting men even when they were walking along 
 the street in company with their wives, their 
 daughters or their sisters. Repeatedly these wo- 
 men solicited me, although I always wore my cleri- 
 cal garb, which one might assume would be a pro- 
 tection against such insults. 
 
 "I hated, as any pure-minded man might hate, 
 to enter into an open conflict with these flagrant 
 conditions of vice. I presume that any man with 
 a regard for his own feelings and any apprecia- 
 tion of the forces arrayed behind systematic crime, 
 would prefer to stay out of such a combat. In- 
 deed, I was much tempted to refrain from a con- 
 test to which duty seemed to call me. I hoped 
 for some time that some one else would feel called 
 upon to volunteer for this purpose. But I waited 
 in vain. It seemed as if no one would take the 
 initiative. 
 
 "I determined to act myself, only after much 
 
Publisher's Note. 
 
 v 
 
 deliberation and only when boys and girls, as 
 well as their parents, came to me and begged me 
 to do something for their protection from aggres- 
 sive vice. Many of these boys and girls were con- 
 nected with the work of the pro-Cathedral, but 
 not all of them. There were not a few, entirely 
 outside of the pro-Cathedral work, who had 
 learned that I was interested in young people, and 
 came to me for that reason. 
 
 "Other appeals came to me from girls who had 
 escaped from dens of horrible slavery; places of 
 almost incredible degradation and cruelty; places 
 in which these girls were confined almost as if 
 they were in chains; places where they were com- 
 pelled to yield every cent gained in their dreadful 
 subjection to their masters; places in which they 
 were abused horribly, even beaten and kicked, in 
 addition to the unspeakable atrocities to which 
 they were compelled to submit, until they were 
 nearly dead. 
 
 "I remember one case in particular. It was the 
 case of a girl who had fled from one of these dens. 
 Her condition was such at that time that she was 
 sent to BlackwelPs Island, where she lay a long 
 time in the hospital. When she was released she 
 came back to this part of the city, looking for her 
 former master and receiver of the wages of her 
 shame. She was looking for that master to kill 
 
vi 
 
 Publisher's Note. 
 
 him. Her story came to me, and as a result she 
 found her former master, not to kill him, but to 
 send him to the penitentiary by her evidence in a 
 court of justice. 
 
 "I learned also that respectable people, dwell- 
 ers in the tenements, had exhausted every con- 
 ceivable resource to protect themselves from the 
 vice surrounding them. They had appealed to 
 the janitors of the tenements, then to the agents, 
 then to the landlords, then in succession to the 
 patrolmen, the roundsmen, the sergeants at the 
 station house, the captain, the inspector, the chief 
 of police. In short, these respectable people had 
 made every effort from the bottom to the top of 
 every kind of authority to rescue their families 
 from a sea of corruption that surged up to the 
 very thresholds of their homes. 
 
 "Their appeals were in vain ; conditions steadily 
 grew worse. Complaints at the station house 
 were ignored; tenants who complained were told 
 by the police that this was a free country. If 
 they did not like the conditions surrounding 
 them, they could get out." 
 
 A volume could not explain more clearly the 
 necessity for a thorough exposition of this shame- 
 ful condition, which is not by any means peculiar 
 to New York on this continent. 
 
AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The facte contained in this narrative are not 
 jotted down with any precision as to dates, hav- 
 ing been copied by me from numerous notes taken 
 during the existence of one of the most notorious 
 clubs which ever sprang into existence in the City 
 of New York. 
 
 As a charter member of the club, I was con- 
 versant with everything that was going on there, 
 and, as I generally had the greatness thrust upon 
 me of recording the proceedings of the more inter- 
 esting of the meetings, the only trouble I have 
 had in putting the narrative together was in weed- 
 ing out a lot of extraneous matter which would 
 have interested no one, and would have marred 
 the faint attempt at proper sequence which I have 
 made in forming the narrative. 
 
 The incidents and characters brought in are all 
 actual facts and people, and there will be little 
 difficulty experienced in discerning the silhouettes 
 of some of our well known characters about town. 
 I cannot call them more than silhouettes, for there 
 has been no attempt made at character drawing, 
 
viii 
 
 Author's Introduction. 
 
 merely an effort to preserve in permanent form a 
 record of a few of the doings of one of the most 
 peculiar institutions ever founded in New York. 
 
 The story of Marian Heath, which is as true 
 as are the storyettes included in the Tenderloin 
 Symposium, suggested a thread upon which the 
 other incidents of the club might be hung in a 
 natural manner, as all the male characters 
 connected with that interesting young person were 
 members of the club. 
 
 I may add, in conclusion, that the Knockabout 
 Club has now been for several years out of exist- 
 ence. L. G. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction xi 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 In the New York Tenderloin 1 
 
 CHAPTER Hi 
 Taking the Third Degree 9 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 At the Station-House 20 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 Rivals Weighed by Woman 24 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A Modern Duel 34 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A Roof Garden Conversation % 51 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Marian's Dark Hour 56 
 
 ix 
 
x Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Banquet 79 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 An Experience in Chinatown 85 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A Cad's Courtship 106 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 The Cynic in Love 115 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 Turning Down a Cad 123 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 The Tenderloin Symposium 130 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Love Lost and Found 164 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 A Farewell Stag 177 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 This book, by Sidney Allen Dequesne, stamps 
 him as the American Zola. It should command 
 universal attention, for it teems with the fire of 
 genius, the force of intelligence, and the power of 
 a gifted mind. He is one of the first authors to 
 ably grasp a great social problem, and by sur- 
 rounding it with a halo of romance, force upon the 
 reader the facts concerning the terrible and grow- 
 ing evils which are sapping the life blood of our 
 moral system. 
 
 In all the realm of literature, there never was 
 an author so widely read as Entile Z >la, whose early 
 writings were on the same subject. The first edi- 
 tions of Zola's books were over one hundred thou- 
 sand copies in France alone. He did more to en- 
 lighten, educate, and improve social conditions 
 than all other writers combined. His name was 
 on every lip and his books in every home. The 
 world stood aghast at the truths he so courageouslv 
 told. 
 
 What an ironical fate, that his later book:;, 
 "Lourdes," "Rome" ard "Paris" are scarcely 
 read, and his first book> almost forgotten. 
 
xii 
 
 Introduction. 
 
 It is a strange fact that great moral and social 
 questions are seldom comprehended, until the pen 
 of some genius weaves fiction about stolid truths, 
 and thus brings them before the vivid light of 
 realism. 
 
 How meagre would have been our knowledge of 
 slavery had Mrs. Stowe not given us a simple story 
 which set the world aflame by its power and ve- 
 racity. 
 
 There is no greater philanthropist in the world 
 than the author of "How the Other Half Lives." 
 By this one work, Mr. Eiis has helped the con- 
 dition of the poor and brought the tenement 
 house problem nearer solution than any other 
 agency that has ever been employed. 
 
 Vice and crime, in the so-called "red light dis- 
 tricts" of New York, grew to outrageous propor- 
 tions during the recent local administration, and 
 made other nations marvel at our seeming help- 
 lessness. 
 
 The united effort and the just indignation of a 
 righteous people found measures to improve these 
 conditions, but no Hercules was found with suf- 
 ficient strength to completely change this malig- 
 nant state. Now, however, all must see and know; 
 that within these pages is the magic weapon which 
 will fitly equip the public for a potent battle. 
 Through knowledge, which is power, an issue mus? 
 
Introduction. 
 
 xiii 
 
 be forced, and victory proclaimed over disease and 
 destitution. 
 
 The writer of this wonderful book has given an 
 honest record of dishonest deeds, and, by the charm 
 of his pen has covered the rough edges of vul- 
 garity. He has described his characters in all 
 their realism, but encircled them by such sympathy 
 and pathos that their unwholesome environments 
 are almost overlooked. 
 
 There could be no greater charity than bring- 
 ing before the reading world the truth concerning 
 these evils. No laurels could be too great to fi t the 
 brow of such a public benefactor as the author of 
 this book, for by it, he has implanted a foundation 
 upon which should grow health, self-respect, and 
 happiness. 
 
 The world cannot read of his characters without 
 the broadest sympathy for their misfortunes and 
 the heartiest applause and good wishes to an 
 author who has had the courage and intelligence 
 to give to literature such an unusually instructive 
 and most graphic narrative. 
 
 Joseph Tyler Butts. 
 
A SERPENT'S FEAST. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IN THE NEW YORK TENDERLOIN". 
 
 The colored bootblack, who was dozing in his 
 chair, as she passed, suddenly awakened from his 
 nap to notice her, as she stepped gracefully along, 
 picking her way through a heap of children gath- 
 ered at the mouth of an alleyway, which led to a 
 rear tenement house. 
 
 A colored woman, peering through the lattice 
 of an open window, craned her neck to watch her. 
 
 The man and woman wondered at the dainty 
 creature, as she moved on gently down West Thir- 
 tieth street. A clubman in evening dress, who 
 walked behind her, glanced sharply at her, and 
 might have accosted her but for the conflicting 
 evidence which her attire, conduct and demeanor 
 gave as to who or what she might be. Finally 
 he cast a half contemptuous, half admiring glance 
 
2 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 at the trim figure and passed her by, as if she 
 were too much of a conundrum to trouble about. 
 
 The bootblack finally left his stand and walked 
 over to the woman at the window, smiling to male 
 passers by. 
 
 "I wonder what brings such as she around here 
 at this time of night ?" remarked the woman, nod- 
 ding in the direction of the object of their joint 
 attention. 
 
 "Business of some private kind, I suppose," re- 
 plied the man thoughtfully. "She's way out of 
 her element here. See ! she's turned into the police 
 station — mebbe she's lookin' for a lost brother 
 or husband — an' mebbe lots o' things." 
 
 "She walks as if she was afraid any of the 
 Tenderloin mud 'd stain her dainty shoes, but 
 it ain't so far from Fifth avenue to West Thir- 
 tieth street when you count it in morals. Half 
 of them's no better than ourselves. 99 
 
 The bootblack shrugged his shoulders. "That 
 chile's all right," he said, speaking up with the 
 natural gallantry of his own weaker sex. "She's 
 come out of the station-house an' is crossin' the 
 street. Mebbe she's goin' to the Knockabout Club. 
 I kinder guess she's in a leetle difficulty." 
 
 This ended the colloquy between the two. 
 
 The bootblack's surmise was correct. The young 
 woman went directly from the police sta- 
 
In the New York Tenderloin. 3 
 
 tion to the Knockabout Club, which notorious 
 institution was situated but a short distance away. 
 
 Since in the elaboration of this story it will de- 
 velop that the young woman's destiny became 
 strangely interwoven with that of several of the 
 members, it may be fitting at this point to briefly 
 describe the club. 
 
 Bizarre as may have been other institutions 
 that have sprung into existence at times in New 
 York, Chicago and other cities, the Knockabout 
 Club is credited with having out-ranked all of 
 them, and certainly, if the material which went 
 to its make-up were not sufficient to produce such 
 a result, it would be difficult to give the reason 
 why. Its membership included a remarkable 
 variety of men about town, furnishing such a class 
 of types as it would be difficult to duplicate. 
 
 In almost every particular, it was the antithesis 
 of the conventional club. Its furnishings were 
 either plain to severity or ornate to the point of 
 the fantastic. For instance: its ordinary smok- 
 ing room was the counterpart of a pioneer cross- 
 roads taproom, with its plain deal tables, sawdust- 
 covered floor and unpainted rocking-chairs ; while, 
 on the other hand, its Hall of Mysteries, used for 
 the purpose of initiations, private symposiums and 
 entertainments of various kinds connected with 
 the club, was a perfect phantasmagoria of quaint 
 
4 A Serpant's Feast. 
 
 furnishings, collected, regardless of cost, on ac- 
 count of their fitness for the purpose. Here and 
 there carved ivory images from Delhi, totem poles 
 from Alaska, stuffed alligators and snakes from 
 Brazil, an Aztec mummy, wild birds, scorpions 
 and queer-looking stuffed beasts and skeletons 
 of all conceivable kinds — a melange of all sorts 
 of odd and peculiar notions from everywhere, 
 with background of costly curtains and screens 
 from China and Japan, and rich floor coverings 
 from Bokhara. 
 
 In the rear of this hall, was a place set apart, 
 it was intimated, for the convenience of such of 
 the members as wished to commit suicide. The 
 assumption that the place was devoted to such pur- 
 poses was based upon the fact that the room was 
 the secret initiating chamber, in which the Third 
 Degree was administered, an honor equal to some 
 of the highest graduations in masonry. It is true, 
 there were in this room all the appliances necessary 
 for self-destruction, but they were used only at 
 the ordeals through which initiates had to pass 
 to become members of the inner circle of the club. 
 
 The reception and reading-rooms were large 
 cheerful apartments, furnished in modern style, 
 and with some pretence to luxury. 
 
 The main reception chamber was a scene of in- 
 cessant life and activity. The - clubhouse, being 
 
In the New York Tenderloin, 5 
 
 situated within easy distance of all the theatres, 
 and at what is practically the hub of the social 
 life of the town, was a refuge for flaneurs, musi- 
 cians, artists and all sorts of people, who have 
 need of a halting place in the vicinity at occasional 
 times. Here could be seen men connected with 
 all the professions, coining and going at various 
 times of the day and night — for the doors of the 
 club were never closed. 
 
 The reading-room was one of the favorite loung- 
 ing spots in the building. Its walls were lined 
 with well-fitted bookcases and its tables covered 
 with periodicals in every language. 
 
 Beyond the dining-room, which was a snug salle- 
 a-manger, with separate tables and screens, came 
 the smoking-rooms and buffet. On the table in 
 the smoking-rooms trays of tobacco and long pipes 
 were always to be found, while the large German 
 steins for beer were there de rigueur. It was a 
 club in which the well-dressed inpecunious could 
 be as much at ease as the men who were enjoying 
 their heyday of prosperity — a sort of social re- 
 public, a little niche of abandon, chiselled out of 
 of the stuccoed front of every-day metropolitan 
 conventionality. 
 
 Its location conformed well with its bizarre 
 character. Across the street from the front en- 
 trance, flashed the lights of one of the principal 
 
6 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 gambling houses in the Tenderloin precinct. The 
 windows in the rear commanded a view of the 
 backs of a row of houses whose occupant s, to judge 
 from scenes silhouetted on the shades, led a life 
 of extreme freedom and little applied religion. 
 It had been rightly said that in whichever direc- 
 tion one tried to leave the club, the devil barred 
 the way. 
 
 Upon this evening, a large crowd has assembled 
 in the smoking-room, and, in the reception chamber 
 there was another motley collection of people gath- 
 ered. It was about ten o'clock, and the men from 
 the newspaper offices were crowding in, many of 
 them having concluded their assignments for the 
 day. 
 
 Probably some two hundred or more persons 
 were seated at the tables, talking, laughing, look- 
 ing indolent or bored or feeling as the circum- 
 stances might occasion, when into that bachelor 
 stronghold, unannounced and unattended, sudden- 
 ly walked the young woman whose appearance in 
 its precincts had somewhat already startled the 
 Tenderloin. 
 
 The men stopped yawning or talking, to stare 
 questionably at the newcomer, while a couple of 
 the younger members left their seats and advanced 
 to meet her. The door-boy, meanwhile, had fol- 
 lowed the intruder, and it was soon learned that 
 
In the New York Tenderloin. 7 
 
 she was looking for one Fenelon Despard, who, 
 she had been told, was a member of the club. 
 
 Harry Taylor and Jack Harding, two young 
 members of the club, came forward to learn the 
 cause of this sudden invasion of beauty, and im- 
 mediately set the young woman at her ease by 
 procuring her a seat and offering to make inquiry. 
 Taylor started to find the steward, while Harding 
 questioned the other members present. Neither 
 of the young men could gather any information 
 about Fenelon Despard, and both returned to ex- 
 press their regret at having been unable to do so. 
 
 The young woman appeared to be much dis- 
 appointed, but thanked the two clubmen pleasant- 
 ly, at the same time expressing regret at the neces- 
 sity of her unceremonious intrusion. 
 
 "Won't you allow me to call a cab for you, 
 madame?" asked Harry Taylor. 
 
 "Oh, no, thank you,'' said the young woman. 
 "I have only to cross Fifth avenue, and it is not 
 far. I am very much obliged to you." Then, 
 hesitatingly, she presented two neat little cards, 
 saying: "I am staying with friends at this ad- 
 dress. If you care to call, I am sure they will 
 thank you heartily for your courtesy." 
 
 She bowed her adieu to the young men and 
 tripped lightly away. On the cards was the name 
 
8 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 "Miss Heath/' beneath which was written "Mrs. 
 Williams/' and the address cf the latter. 
 
 "Well ! ,? exclaimed Harry Taylor, "what does 
 the young lady wish to see ns again for? Purely 
 politeness — desire to find Fenelon Despard — 
 
 After a little bantering between the friends, 
 the case was dismissed from their minds, and they 
 soon after left the club for their lodgings. Xat- 
 urally, Miss Heath was the subject of part of their 
 talk on the way. Jack Harding, the younger and 
 more impressionable of the two, declared that Miss 
 Heath had an absolutely perfect face. 
 
 "Xice girl, apparently," replied Harry Taylor, 
 older, more world-wise and less inclined to en- 
 thuse, "but what the devil has a fellow named 
 Despard got to do with her, that's the conundrum, 
 and I wonder if it's worth while solving? This 
 excess of civility in giving us invitations to call 
 on herself or friends I am inclined to think is 
 merely due to an idea that we can help her to gain 
 some trace of the man in whom she appears 
 to be so deeply interested. The question is 
 whether it would be worth while to aid her in solv- 
 ing her little difficulty. I judge Miss Heath to 
 be a stranger in New York." 
 
Taking the Third Degree. 9 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 TAKING THE THIRD DEGREE. 
 
 On the evening following the appearance of Miss 
 Heath at the Knockabout, there was more or less 
 movement in the club, owing to the fact that an 
 initiation to the Third Degree was pending and 
 those affairs were generally of a highly interesting 
 character. 
 
 On this occasion, they were to take on an air of 
 added interest in view of the fact that Kat Sunvidi, 
 the mysterious Hindu, who claimed to have discov- 
 ered the Fourth Dimension, was to participate in 
 the ceremony. 
 
 Sunvidi was a subject of general discussion at 
 this time in the various clubs and in the public 
 press, and his participation in the evening's event 
 was expected to be productive of something unique. 
 
 The first test of courage given the initiate was 
 the Duel to the Death, and this was always fought 
 in the Hall of Mysteries. The best swordsman in 
 the club was selected to defend the mysteries 
 
10 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 against the attempt of the initiate to penetrate 
 them, and if the latter failed to place his adversary 
 in a position where his life was at his mercy, he was 
 disqualified for the time being and the trial of 
 courage went no further. 
 
 When the time for commencing the ceremony 
 arrived, the Hall of Mysteries was already packed 
 with a large crowd of members of the club, and it 
 was soon mooted around that the Hindu was to 
 be the new initiate's contestant in the forthcoming 
 duel. 
 
 The new candidate for First Degree honors was 
 known at the club as Jules Latimer. He was a 
 Frenchman and an accomplished swordsman, but 
 beyond that, little else was known about him. 
 
 At half-past eight o'clock, the principal officers 
 of the club were assembled on the dais at the end 
 of the hall. With them was seated the famous 
 Hindu Mahatma, his head surmounted by a high 
 white turban, and his form wrapped in the usual 
 flowing oriental robe. Latimer shortly appeared 
 and made his way to the dais. After a few usual 
 cmestions had been put to him, it was formally 
 announced that Mr. Sunvidi had been selected to 
 defend the sacred mysteries of the Third Degree. 
 
 The announcement seemed to somewhat un- 
 nerve the Frenchman, who paled visibly, when it 
 was made, and betrayed symptoms of nervousness. 
 
Taking the Third Degree. 
 
 11 
 
 It was useless to object to the selection of his ad- 
 versary, however, as he well knew; the manage- 
 ment having acted strictly within its prerogative 
 in this matter. 
 
 When Latimer took the sword from his seconds, 
 after rolling back his shirtsleeves and throwing 
 his chest forward, a hum of admiration passed 
 through the crowd of spectators, for the French- 
 man looked every inch an athlete. 
 
 Throwing off his loose robe, the Hindu also dis- 
 played an equally lithe and sinewy figure. There 
 was little doubt that he would be able to acquit 
 himself satisfactorily in the duel. 
 
 The salute given, a couple of swords were soon 
 circling and parrying and counter-parrying in the 
 space between the two men. From the first, it was 
 observed that the tactics of the Hindu were more 
 aggressive than those of the Frenchman, re- 
 sembling more nearly those of the Italian swords- 
 men. 
 
 In height and weight, too, the Hindu had rath- 
 er the advantage. That both were masters of the 
 art of swordsmanship, soon became obvious, and 
 that the mysteries of the Third Degree would be 
 well defended was equally certain. 
 
 Several times the Hindu, by a thrust in quarte, 
 which seemed almost savagely made, appeared as 
 if certain to break the Frenchman's guard, but 
 
12 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 the latter, confining himself more to attacks in 
 sixte and tierce, parried always carefully, cunning- 
 ly and coolly, until after about twenty minutes 
 of the most exhausting exercise, Latimer had ad- 
 vantage of one of the Hindu's missing thrusts in 
 quarte and pricked him lightly in tierce. 
 
 "Hurrah for Latimer!" shouted the members, 
 and several were rising, evidently with the inten- 
 tion of shaking the intended candidate's hand, 
 when, to their horror, they saw the Hindu, who 
 had evidently waited until his opponent had re- 
 moved his guard, deliberately run his sword clear 
 through the Frenchman's body. 
 
 The action was so sudden that, for a moment, 
 men sat almost speechless, unable to move a hand 
 to arrest what appeared to be wanton murder, and, 
 before any attempt was made to reach the dais, 
 the two men disappeared as completely as if the 
 floor had swallowed them. 
 
 The clubmen instantly recognized that they were 
 now witnessing, or rather had witnessed, one of 
 the occult manifestations of the Hindu, instead of 
 a deliberate and cold-blooded murder. The revul- 
 sion of feeling, caused by the discovery, made them 
 applaud enthusiastically and, upon this, what 
 seemed to be a (loud of mist settled down on the 
 dais, from which shortly emerged the figures of 
 the two men, Latimer evidently none the worse 
 
Taking the Third Degree. 13 
 
 for his skewering, and only a trifle paler than he 
 had been before the contest began. 
 
 While they were discussing the rare skill of 
 the Hindu, the cloud again formed on the dais, and 
 the men completely disappeared from sight. 
 
 "That's the Fourth Dimension, the best thing 
 I've ever seen. Nothing but mathematics could 
 do it !" exclaimed one learned sybarite. 
 
 "Pshaw! didn't you ever get hypnotized at a 
 materializing seance ?" piped a long-nosed skeptic, 
 with a chronic jangle in his voice. 
 
 "You must judge for yourself what it is," re- 
 marked Sunvidi, suddenly appearing, to the aston- 
 ishment of every one, at the opposite end of the 
 room, in company with his duelling companion, 
 and, without further comment, the two men made 
 their way back to the platform, from which they 
 had so inexplicably disappeared. 
 
 The eating of the sacred muffin and the taking 
 of the terrible oath of Thibet were the only other 
 public ceremonies requisite; after these were duly 
 completed, the ordinary members dispersed to other 
 parts of the clubhouse. 
 
 But, if Jules Latimer had satisfactorily passed 
 the first test, there yet remained much for him to 
 encounter in the "Suicide" Chamber, where the 
 final tests of fitness for receiving the Third De- 
 gree awaited him. 
 
14 
 
 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 Into the secret panelled chamber, of whose con- 
 tents none knew except those who had actually 
 'taken the Third Degree, the candidate, now pale 
 and trembling, as if Lorn some sudden unhinging 
 of the nerves, was led by De Marville, the president 
 of the club, and another member qualified by ad- 
 mission to the inner circle to assist in administer- 
 ing the rites. The initiate was first led to the elec- 
 tric chair, an arrangement which formed, as nearly 
 as possible, an ex? t counterpart of the one used 
 for the execution of murderers in the State's prison 
 at Sing Sing. The manner of working the elec- 
 tric button, which would enable him to tick him- 
 felf off into eternity, was explained carefully to 
 Latimer, but the fact that the voltage produced 
 by the current would be so heavy as to leave him 
 unharmed was judiciously omitted; the Spartan 
 ceremony having been planned solely to test the 
 courage and confidence of applicants for the degree. 
 
 From the death chair, Latimer was led to the 
 arsenal, a small cabinet, containing a collection of 
 revolvers. The candidate was informed that each 
 of the pistols was loaded ; to emphasize which, De 
 Marville picked up what was apparently the first 
 of the weapons th^t came to hand and, setting a 
 tumbler up at a distance of about, twelve paces, 
 fired at it, shivering the target to atoms at the 
 Hrst shot. As this was the only loaded pistol in 
 
Taking the Third Degree. 15 
 
 the collection, the risk left to the candidate was 
 not great, but of that fact, he was also left in bliss- 
 ful ignorance. 
 
 From the arsenal, Latimer was led to the poison 
 cabinet, a neatly arranged affair in which were 
 placed a number of bottles, labelled plainly with 
 the names of ordinary poisons and carefully 
 marked with the dose requisite to produce a fatal 
 result. Beside the cabinet was a pair of apothe- 
 cary scales, and every detail seemed to have been 
 considerately arranged for the convenience of the 
 victim. A close observer would have noticed that 
 the list of poisons, although including none that 
 was not deadly, contained none that were imme- 
 diate in their effect. In addition to this, the 
 strength of the poisons was so arranged that serious 
 results could not have been obtained, by using 
 the dose specified, and moreover, in a secret drawer 
 of the cabinet were emetics, antidotes and a stom- 
 ach-pump, ready for any emergency. 
 
 As has been said, this room was the supreme 
 test of courage and faith in fraternity. Of the 
 precautions taken to prevent injury to himself, 
 nothing whatever was known or suggested to the 
 initiate. It was for him to divine how to act, 
 to trust, and to do as he deemed best for his own 
 welfare. 
 
 Having carefully explained to Latimer the time 
 
A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 required for the poisons to take effect, De Marville 
 and his assistant led him to a catafalque, which 
 occupied the centre of the chamber. Beneath this 
 gruesome receptacle, reposed a costly rosewood 
 coffin, which appeared as inviting a domicile as 
 one could wish to tenant upon departure for the 
 long journev. 
 
 Beside the catafalque, De Marville paused. "The 
 brother now faces death/' he said, solemnly. "Let 
 him take his choice between it and the vanities 
 and vexations of mortal existence. There is no 
 good cause for which death should not willingly be 
 faced. Jules Latimer, are you prepared to die?" 
 
 The blood-curdling accents of De Marville at 
 this juncture were calculated to momentarily ter- 
 rify even the bravest, coupled as they were with the 
 dismal accessories of the Suicide Chamber. Paus- 
 ing for an instant, as if to gain additional impres- 
 siveness for the coming feature of the ceremony, 
 he fixed his eyes upon Latimer and asked, in a 
 funereal voice : 
 
 "Jules Latimer, are you now prepared for 
 death?" 
 
 For a moment Latimer hesitated. The cere- 
 monial seemed to have temporarily bewildered 
 him. Then he answered in his usual tone of 
 voice, repeating from the stereotyped ritual: 
 
 "I am prepared for death." 
 
Taking the Third Degree. 
 
 17 
 
 "Bring hither the shroud and the wreath of 
 laurel. We will now crown our brother a knight 
 of the noble Order of Death." 
 
 De Marville's companion produced the articles 
 called for. Nothing could have been more real- 
 istically significant of the actual presence of the 
 grand denouement. De Marville might have been 
 a Torquemada, and his companion an executioner 
 of the Middle Ages. 
 
 "Kindly disrobe, brother, and assume the garb 
 of immortality. Your present clothes will be sent 
 to your friends when you shall have passed away. 
 Eetain only your underclothes to wear beneath the 
 shroud." 
 
 Latimer mechanically obeyed these instructions. 
 The shroud and gown were then adjusted. Lati- 
 mer's clothes were then folded up and taken in 
 charge, and De Marville said: 
 
 "We will now give you final instructions, 
 brother. Yonder you see a timepiece, which we 
 will request you to watch in case you should select 
 poison as the means by which to make your exit 
 from the world. By disposing of yourself in 
 your coffin before the fatal moment arrives, you 
 will spare us unnecessary bother. Should you use 
 one of the pistols, as a means of happy dispatch 
 from your present troubles, you will find a mirror 
 opposite to the coffin, which will enable you to 
 
18 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 take accurate aim as soon as you have placed 
 yourself comfortably within it. Adieu, brother! 
 This is our last mortal farewell. May you have 
 courage to face the ordeal before you and acquit 
 yourself so as to become one of the great souls 
 who rule this order from the vantage ground of 
 a higher plane of existence." 
 
 De Marville and his companion then withdrew, 
 leaving Latimer to his own deliberations. 
 
 They did not go far. The walls of the Suicide 
 Chamber were pierced with minute holes, which 
 permitted those on the outside to watch closely 
 what was going on within. To stand here and 
 "watch the fun begin" was the next number on the 
 programme. Several of the members of the 
 Third Degree had already posted themselves there 
 in readiness for any untoward event that might 
 occur inside the chamber. 
 
 After walking around the room for some time 
 in an apparently dazed condition, Latimer went 
 over the possibilities so considerately furnished to 
 further his hasty exit from existence, examining 
 the chair, the poisons, the pistols and the coffin, 
 carefully, each in turn. The examination seemed 
 to give him little satisfaction, for he put his hand 
 to his head several times, as if suffering from 
 some abnormal pressure on his brain. 
 
 In the rear of the room, facing the backs of the 
 
Taking the Third Degree. 
 
 19 
 
 row of houses on the street below, was a large 
 window which had been glazed with ground glass. 
 It was to this window that Latimer's attention was 
 suddenly directed. He now commenced to be 
 excited and his eyes glared with a strange fierce- 
 ness, as if the ceremonies had almost unseated his 
 reason. Finding that the window did not open, 
 his excitement increased, and those who were 
 watching him, saw him stand for a moment as if 
 facing prison-bars, or like a madman surveying 
 the walls of his padded cell. Thus momentarily 
 he paused and then flung himself with all his force 
 against the thick glass, shattering it and falling 
 through the sash to the yard below. Without 
 waiting to see whether he were pursued, he fled 
 down the garden and quickly scaled the wall divid- 
 ing the two rows of houses. 
 
 Amazed at the sudden and unexpected turn 
 affairs had taken in the Suicide Chamber, the 
 clubmen were for a moment too confounded to act, 
 but, after a momentary stupefaction, a number of 
 them promptly decided to go at once to the 
 station-house, where, in all probability, the crazy 
 Latimer was likely to arrive. The sacred muffin 
 and the fatal potion had, alas, phased one more 
 candidate for admission to the highest honors of 
 the Knockabout organization. Had they trans- 
 formed Jules Latimer into a madman? 
 
20 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AT THE STATION-HOUSE. 
 
 Some two hours subsequent to the duel between 
 the Hindu and Latimer, Harry Taylor and Jack 
 Harding decided that things were getting slow at 
 the club and started for their apartments. 
 
 After leaving the Knockabout, they had tra- 
 versed about two blocks when their attention was 
 attracted by a crowd following in the wake of a 
 policeman and his prisoner. Mingling with the 
 crowd, the young men learned that the man 
 arrested was apparently insane. He had rushed 
 out of a house of doubtful reputation in Twenty- 
 ninth street, unconventionally clad, and had run 
 directly into the arms of a policeman. The case 
 was one by no means uncommon in that part of 
 the city. The man had either entered or been 
 taken to an illegal resort. There he had been 
 the victim of harpies or perhaps of a panel game, 
 having been drugged, robbed, beaten and finally 
 turned out half naked into the streets. So ran 
 
At the Station-House. 21 
 
 the ready story of that master fictionist, the Crowd. 
 
 Curiosity impelled the two clubmen to follow 
 the rest into the station-house. They saw that 
 the man in custody was Jules Latimer, and they 
 also noticed several of the leading members of the 
 Knockabout fighting their way to the sergeants 
 desk. 
 
 Captain Chapman himself came forward to take 
 a hand in the examination of the prisoner. The 
 man was under the influence of a drug and spoke 
 never a word in reply to the sergeant's question- 
 ing, and the famous Tenderloin captain fared no 
 better. The officer, searching the prisoner's 
 pockets, produced a cardcase and, from one of the 
 cards, read out the name "Fenelon Despard." 
 
 Harding and Taylor exchanged significant 
 glances, when they heard the name, but neither 
 spoke. Two of the other Knockabout men pres- 
 ent stepped up and shook hands with Captain 
 Chapman. They told him the prisoner was an ac- 
 quaintance of theirs, that he had been drinking 
 heavily for a few days past. They urged his re- 
 moval to Bellevue, from whence they promised to 
 take him to his home the following day, in case 
 he had sufficiently recovered. To this the captain 
 readily agreed, and the prisoner was led into the 
 officer's quarters, after which the curious crowd 
 dispersed. 
 
22 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 Jack Harding and Harry Taylor were about to 
 follow, when the clubmen detained them. Al- 
 though unwilling to be mixed up in such an affair, 
 from motives which they could not have easily 
 defined just then, the two friends were persuaded 
 to remain. 
 
 "We asked you to stay," spoke one of the club- 
 men, "in order that we might make an explana- 
 tion. This little incident, of which you have been 
 a witness here, was unfortunately the result of an 
 unforeseen effect which the initiation ceremonies 
 produced upon the nervous organization of our 
 friend Latimer. In reality, he rushed out of the 
 back door of the club, escaping thence across the 
 wall to the houses in the rear which front on 
 Twenty-ninth street. His semi-nude condition so 
 frightened the inmates of the house, that they were 
 unable to prevent him from rushing through into 
 the street and into the policeman's arms. We 
 thought it would be best to let him be registered 
 under a false name and to allow the police to be- 
 lieve that he had escaped from this house, in order 
 to avoid bringing any notoriety to the club, which 
 is already sufficiently advertised. Your absolute 
 silence on this subject is, of course, indispensable, 
 gentlemen." 
 
 "We pledge our word readily to that !" exclaimed 
 Jack Harding, adding, "only kindly give us some 
 
At the Station-House. 23 
 
 idea of what caused such a tremendous upset to 
 Latimer's mind, if by so doing you do not violate 
 the by-laws of the club." 
 
 "I can only say," replied De Marville, "that the 
 ceremony of the Third Degree is somewhat grue- 
 some in some of its details, and that our friend's 
 nerves broke down completely under the strain. 
 We hear also that he is a morphine eater, which 
 would explain the cause. You will, undoubtedly, 
 some day, have an opportunity to learn what the 
 Third Degree is for yourselves, if you remain mem- 
 bers of the club." 
 
 The party then left the station-house together, 
 Jack and Harry pursuing their interrupted home- 
 ward journey. As soon as they were alone, Harry 
 emitted an odd whistle and, turning to his friend, 
 remarked : 
 
 "What do you think of our friend's alias? Are 
 you going to say anything to Miss Heath about it 
 when you see her ?" 
 
 "Certainly not," replied Jack, decisively. "We 
 are unfortunately prevented from doing so by the 
 promise we have just given." 
 
 "Well," answered Taylor, "it is an unmitigated 
 nuisance, but we can nevertheless watch develop- 
 ments, even if our tongues are tied for the time 
 being." 
 
24 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 RIVALS WEIGHED BY WOMAN. 
 
 The male neophyte in love is a creature to be 
 pitied. His emotions so far dominate his entire 
 personality as to throw everything else for the 
 moment into an absurd disproportion. He be- 
 comes so immoderately self-conscious that it is 
 with difficulty, hardened as he may be to the usages 
 of civilization, that he retains the aplomb which 
 characterizes him in the ordinary concerns of life. 
 
 Harding found himself, for the first time in the 
 course of his existence, as he thought, really in love, 
 or at least most vividly impressed by a woman. 
 
 The impression which she had created upon his 
 thoughts, in so brief an interview as he had en- 
 joyed, was sufficiently strong to make him desire to 
 renew the acquaintance as soon as possible. 
 
 He therefore decided to lose no time in calling 
 upon Miss Heath, and, the following evening with 
 that intention, dressed himself most carefully and 
 made his way to the Williams' residence. 
 
 A young man of the stamp of Jack Harding 
 
Rivals Weighed by Woman. 25 
 
 could scarcely have been suspected of diffidence, 
 yet when he faced the vision of loveliness, which 
 crossed the drawing-room to meet him, with radi- 
 ant smile and hand extended, he became percepti- 
 bly overwhelmed. Pretty as Miss Heath had 
 seemed on a previous evening, he was completely 
 overpowered by her appearance now. Gowned in 
 vestal white, the soft clinging material of her robe 
 permitted the free display of contours and also the 
 easy grace of deportment which added to her at- 
 tractions. Miss Heath was certainly an extraordi- 
 narily beautiful woman — girl would scarcely have 
 been the correct word — although there was a depth 
 of apparently child-like innocence in those lumi- 
 nously dark violet eyes, fringed with long black 
 lashes, which beamed upon him. 
 
 Harding had only a moment or two to take in 
 the picture before they met. He saw that, over a 
 broad white forehead, curled the softest chestnut 
 hair, forming part of the frame of a dainty but 
 abundant coiffure. The nose was extremely deli- 
 cate, with a retrousse tendency, while the red lips 
 parted in a smile, which was bewitchingly piquant. 
 
 "I am glad you came/' she said. 
 
 "I was almost beginning to feel lonely in this 
 big, big city of yours." 
 
 There was a mischievous smile, half veiled, with 
 the savoir faire of a well-bred woman. 
 
26 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 "I am afraid that I ventured very much into the 
 lion's den in coming into that great club of yours," 
 she remarked, with the ingenuousness of a child, 
 "but, like all women, you know, I am a little im- 
 petuous, and Mr. Despard is an old friend of mine, 
 whom I was most anxious to see, during my present 
 trip to New York. 
 
 "I will bring Mrs. Williams and present you to 
 her," said Miss Heath, rising and excusing herself. 
 
 For a few moments, Jack was left to his own 
 thoughts. 
 
 Miss Heath soon returned, bringing with her a 
 tall, matronly, gray-haired woman to whom Jack 
 was presented as "Mr. Harding, the gentleman who 
 kindly made inquiries for me at the club, respect- 
 ing Mr. Despard's whereabouts." 
 
 Mrs. Williams bowed and thanked Mr. Hard- 
 ing for his kindness, to which J ack replied that it 
 had merely been an act of passing civility and 
 that he regretted having been absolutely of no 
 assistance. He was, nevertheless, glad to have 
 made Miss Heath's acquaintance, and hoped that 
 he would some time be able to render the young 
 lady some service, adding, that with Mrs. Williams' 
 acquiescence, he hoped he might be permitted to 
 continue the acquaintance. 
 
 "You will be very welcome any time that you 
 may wish to call/' responded Mrs. Williams. Then 
 
Rivals Weighed by Woman. 27 
 
 excusing herself on the ground of household du- 
 ties, Mrs. Williams bade the caller adieu and left 
 the young people again to themselves. 
 
 Miss Heath was disposed to be quite amiable 
 and pressed Jack to stay longer, when he remarked 
 that he thought the purpose of his visit had been 
 accomplished. 
 
 The conversation, mainly led by Miss Heath, ex- 
 tended into various channels and the young lady 
 proved herself an excellent hostess. She described 
 her travels with a maiden aunt in such a vivid and 
 picturesque way that time seemed to fly at light- 
 ning pace, and when Jack arose to go, it was with 
 a feeling that he was leaving the nearest approach 
 to paradise with which he had thus far come in 
 reach on earth. With a promise to soon call again, 
 he left, turning over in his mind, during his home- 
 ward walk, the many things that occur to a young 
 man when he feels that the first crisis of his life 
 has arrived. 
 
 But, alas ! How few of the dreams we dream in 
 the delightful period of our adolescence ever come 
 true ! 
 
 Closely connected, although strongly differen- 
 tiated, were the characters of the two young men, 
 who had formed such a hard and fast friendship. 
 They were ordinary types — in their class — of life 
 in Chicago and New York: commonplace people, 
 
28 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 agreeable, but never distingue. The friendship of 
 Harding and Taylor was clearly a case of opposites 
 proving mutually attractive. The nature of Jack 
 Harding was ingenuous in the extreme, and the 
 mere thought of doing a mean, unmanly action 
 could not possibly have been entertained by him. 
 
 While the same might, perhaps, have been said 
 of Harry Taylor, he was far from possessing a sim- 
 ple nature. He came of that type of modern 
 American, which considers over-reaching the acme 
 of cleverness and of business tact; whose ideal of 
 life is always to be scoring points on any and 
 everything, from those of the smallest to those of 
 the greatest magnitude. Such is the new order of 
 self-worshippers whose creed is: "The Devil take 
 the hindmost." Harry Taylor, in fact, possessed 
 the selfishly aggressive characteristics, which 
 philosophical deduction tells us have, in the main, 
 led to the creation of our millionaires and social 
 autocrats. 
 
 Hitherto, there had not arisen a question of 
 rivalry between the two friends, but it was a cer- 
 tainty, that should such an eventuality result, there 
 would be no self-sacrifice shown on the part of 
 Harry Taylor. In fact, with his cynical nature, 
 it is doubtful if h3 would ever have thought of 
 calling upon Miss Heath, had not the thought that 
 his friend was in love with her whetted his appe- 
 tite. 
 
Rivals Weighed by Woman, 29 
 
 Jack said nothing to Harry, upon returning to 
 their bachelor quarters, on the night of his visit 
 to Miss Heath, concerning the occurrence, but 
 the other, nevertheless, suspected where the ab- 
 sentee had been and determined to lose no time in 
 covering the same ground. 
 
 On the evening following that upon which Jack 
 made his debut at the Williams* home, Harry ac- 
 cordingly presented himself there, induced, it must 
 be admitted, more by a highly piqued curiosity 
 than by any embryo infatuation for the fair visi- 
 tant at the Knockabout Club. 
 
 Mr. Taylor was extended fully as cordial a wel- 
 come as had been his friend, and did not fail to 
 note the extreme beauty and chic of what he had 
 mentally classified as "the Fair Mystery." 
 
 Miss Heath observed at a glance that her visitor 
 had not spent as much time upon his toilet as had 
 her caller of the evening previous and mentally 
 drew her deductions from the circumstance. In- 
 deed, when her eyes rested upon those of her 
 vis-a-vis, she saw in their sparkling depths, she 
 thought, the symptoms of a challenge. 
 
 Here was one who had come to her to question 
 ra/ther than to surrender, to pique a curiosity or 
 indulge a penchant rather than to tender a gentle 
 homage or a genuine admiration. 
 
 Harry Taylor was a little conceited, as he proba- 
 
30 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 bly had a right to be, for the young man was a 
 fair type physically, while mentally he was what 
 might be termed "bright." To these advantages, 
 he added the further one of possessing a few ac- 
 complishments. 
 
 Mrs. Williams was not at home on the occasion 
 of his call, but Miss Heath apologized for her ab- 
 sence and promised that at some future time she 
 would be there to thank him for his kindness at 
 the Knockabout Club. 
 
 Assuring his hostess that "the absence of Mrs. 
 Williams didn't particularly trouble him," Taylor 
 asked if he would be permitted to render a few 
 selections on the piano, a proposition to which Miss 
 Heath readily assented. 
 
 The young man played several "coon" songs and 
 ditties, accompanying them with a rather rich, 
 melodious voice. A love song and a ragtime crea- 
 tion were included in his somewhat versatile reper- 
 toire and he wound up the performance with a well 
 satisfied banging of the keys, and Miss Heath ap- 
 peared to be delighted. It was clear that although 
 she found herself in the presence of a young man 
 who had not come to throw himself at her feet, 
 Miss Heath enjoyed his company much more than 
 she had that of her preceding visitor. 
 
 "Now," said Harry, turning from the piano and 
 in the most familiar tone that could possibly have 
 
Rivals Weighed by Woman. 31 
 
 been based upon so brief an acquaintance, "let me 
 hear what your impressions of New York are, 
 Miss Heath ?" He settled himself in an easy-chair, 
 with an air of absolute proprietorship, which it 
 appears quite natural for some men to assume 
 without seeming to presume. 
 
 "The most noticeable thing in Xew York, is that 
 disagreeable spirit of 'rash/ which destroys the 
 beauty of everything it affects. Why, Mr. Taylor, 
 do New Yorkers hurry about as if the passing day 
 were the last they had to live on earth, or, in fact, 
 each hour the last one allotted to their existence?" 
 said Miss Heath. 
 
 "You must attribute this, I think/' said Mr. 
 Taylor, authoritatively, "to our natural and un- 
 diluted energy and to our firm belief in the fact, 
 that the first to come should be the first served. 
 In the Temple of Success which is our great shrine 
 to-day, there are places for only a few. and those 
 who want to get them must hustle. We are the 
 fastest people on earth, and like to see things fly 
 along. We want the fastest trains, the fastest 
 yachts, the fastest automobiles, the fastest horses, 
 the fastest everything. We want it fast or noth- 
 ing — even in the ways of fortune or of love." 
 
 His eye swept the mobile face before him, as he 
 uttered the last word, but he saw no evidence that 
 his finishing touch had been heeded. Then, as if 
 
32 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 checked by this incident, he added in a graver 
 manner : 
 
 "Truly, I do not think this is always the best, 
 but who wants to be left? Our big cities really 
 only reflect the strenuous, vibrant life of the age. 
 They are the hearts of our great country, where 
 the blood pumps and throbs at the highest pres- 
 sure. It is our country towns, redolent of culture 
 and philosophy, where poets and thinkers of all 
 classes are made. You will get used to the hustle, 
 Miss Heath, if you remain long in Xew York, 
 which, by the way, do you contemplate doing or 
 are you expecting soon to deprive us of the pleas- 
 ure of meeting you again ?" 
 
 Miss Heath, who had been listening to this 
 rather trite and withal forceful explanation of Xew 
 York's code of hurry, was recalled to herself in- 
 stantly by the query as to her future plans. 
 
 "I am not likely to leave the city for a month 
 or two, at least," she replied, "and in the mean- 
 time. I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you 
 often." 
 
 The young woman's expression of feeling was 
 evidently unfeigned and, Harry, perceiving that 
 the length of his call had quite reached, if not 
 somewhat exceeded the customary latitude, arose 
 and bade Miss Heath adieu, promising to call as 
 
Rivals Weighed by Woman. 33 
 
 often as possible to help her "kill time," while she 
 remained in New York. 
 
 After Mr. Taylor had taken his departure, Miss 
 Heath remembered that he had made no allusion to 
 the visit of his friend on the preceding evening 
 and concluded therefrom that her two new ac- 
 quaintances did not confide such matters to each 
 other, deciding in that case to also maintain a dis- 
 creet silence on the subject. 
 
34 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A MODERN DUEL. 
 
 Jack Harding did not fail to call soon again 
 upon Miss Heath. The young woman had quickly 
 discerned how easy it was to exercise over him that 
 fascination of which she was a complete mistress. 
 
 Jack was not able to determine into what 
 channel the acquaintance was drifting, nor did he 
 really attempt to analyze the situation very closely. 
 To most of the men whom Miss Heath encountered, 
 she was a decided riddle. Her freedom of action 
 and manner sometimes suggested the probability 
 of little liberties, but at the very moment when 
 the opportunity seemed ripening, a subtle intima- 
 tion dawned that they might not be agreeably re- 
 ceived and the Venus froze into a Virginia. This 
 tantalizing uncertainty discouraged some alto- 
 gether, while others it led on to the maddest kind 
 of infatuation. As Miss Heath's past was a mys- 
 tery which she did not seem anxious to explain, 
 the interest in her very charming personality was 
 naturally enhanced. 
 
A Modern Duel. 35 
 
 Jack Harding was not exactly a novice in 
 amours, but his experience had never yet placed 
 him in contact with a nature like that of Miss 
 Heath, who, though not exactly profound, was 
 clever, cultivated and a mistress of the art of 
 charming. 
 
 While, with some young women of his acquaint- 
 ance, Harding would have led the conversation or 
 have exhibited some dash and freedom, he felt re- 
 stricted and abashed in the presence of this fin- 
 ished coquette. While his ideas halted and his 
 tongue tarried, Miss Heath's persiflage kept up a 
 running fire of little nothings that made her seem 
 an oracle of brightness. She talked of politics, 
 the latest books, New York as she saw it — its 
 naughtiness and frivolity, its grandeur and its, 
 abject meanness and poverty— and about a thou- 
 sand things that seemed to gain an added interest 
 as she talked. 
 
 So far had this gone — the lady's small talk and 
 the young man's pleased presence and unfeigned 
 attentiveness to every tone, look, gesture, and 
 changing manner — so far indeed had the entente 
 cordiule between the two progressed that the 
 theatre-visit, as an expression of the amative mood, 
 was reached, with an intimation on the part of Miss 
 Heath, that there was a certain play she was 
 anxious to see. 
 
36 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 When Jack had closed this episode in the love- 
 making by arranging for the following Friday, a 
 visitor was announced. Any caller, at such a time, 
 would have seemed an intruder to Jack Harding. 
 
 The one announced at the moment was Mr. Clif- 
 ford St. John, who had been introduced to Miss 
 Heath on the first night of her arrival in New 
 York, and who had been very marked in his at- 
 tentions to her on that occasion. He was the son of 
 a New York banker, the possessor of an ancestral 
 tree, one of those abnormal productions of a free 
 country that have been noted with some curiosity 
 by students of social development. St. John had 
 picked up abroad somewhat of the manner of the 
 foreign autocrat, but it was a gilt imitation and 
 fitted him much as a hired ducal coronet might sit 
 on a cockney tradesman. In spite of this, on ac- 
 count of his family connections and wealth, well- 
 bred women flattered him and encouraged his im- 
 ported airs. 
 
 Miss Heath introduced the men and then found 
 herself faced by the difficult task of entertaining 
 two such entirely dissimilar characters. 
 
 After the introduction, the young millionaire 
 was soon asking Harding as to his acquaintances 
 in the social swim and, receiving negative answers 
 to most of his queries, coldly dismissed him from 
 the conversation and turned to Miss Heath. The 
 
A Modern Duel. 37 
 
 young Knockabout man shortly after took his 
 leave. 
 
 St. John began at once to pay Miss Heath the 
 most audacious compliments and to disclose the 
 vein of imbecility that was one of the predominat- 
 ing features in his character. 
 
 "Do you know, Miss Marian," commenced the 
 poor, simple-minded, little chappie, looking Miss 
 Heath over, as if she had been a filly which he 
 was contemplating buying for his stables, "do you 
 know that I have made up my mind you are 
 awfully pretty !" 
 
 "Do you know, sir," responded the young wo- 
 man, with a slight air of mimicry, "that you are 
 actually becoming very familiar on very short ac- 
 quaintance ?" 
 
 St. John laughed. He thought he had scored 
 a point. 
 
 "Oh, that's all right. I'm awfully rapid. You 
 can get square by calling me Cliff right away, if 
 you choose. All the pretty girls do that, don't you 
 know I" 
 
 Strange to say, this exhibition of nerve cleared 
 the atmosphere. Apologies, sincerity, sense of hu- 
 mor, reparation, the highest expression of genuine 
 courtesy between man and woman are oftentimes 
 powerless — make bad instances worse, indeed — but 
 give us effrontery at the right time, and in a cer- 
 
38 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 tain environment, and all is well and as right and 
 proper as before the amazing incident. 
 
 "That's a very good idea/' said Marian Heath, 
 after a moment's reflection. "You are indeed a 
 dear, droll fellow, Cliff." 
 
 The subtle sarcasm of the young woman's tone 
 was lost upon the monumental cub. 
 
 "That's what they all seem to think, for the girls 
 laugh at everything I say," said St. John in a tone 
 so pleased and, withal, so apparently sincere, that 
 the young lady w T ondered, amusedly, whether this 
 young blood could really be in earnest about it. 
 
 "Yes, Cliff, I am sure they do. But I could 
 not laugh at you, you know," she said, caressingly, 
 and the pained look of some inward emotion 
 aroused the young man like an electric shock. 
 
 St. John began to explain what an outrageously 
 wicked fellow he had been until, with a blase, 
 deprecatory shrug, he hoped that he was near the 
 end of it all, at last. 
 
 "You are really, aren't you, Cliff?" exclaimed 
 Miss Heath, enthusiastically, as if anxious to have 
 his salvation assured for her own sake. 
 
 Transported into a state of ecstacy by this ap- 
 parently easy conquest, the unconscious cad at once 
 proposed a visit to the opera together. Friday 
 night was suggested, but Miss Heath stated she 
 had an engagement for that evening, and another 
 
A Modern Duel. 39 
 
 date was decided on, after which, St. John ex- 
 pressed a wish that he might meet Miss Heath at 
 an affair to be given at the house of a mutual ac- 
 quaintance a few days later. He then took his 
 departure like a conquering hero, wrapped in a 
 cloud of ecstatic vanity. 
 
 Friday night arrived and with it Jack Hard- 
 ing. Miss Heath was ready and gave him a hearty 
 reception. As they were leaving the house, the 
 maid entered with a box containing a bunch of 
 violets. To the flowers was pinned a card, at 
 which Miss Heath glanced and blushed slightly. 
 Harding did not notice the blush, but he recog- 
 nized the fact that he had made a bad social blun- 
 der in not providing the flowers himself. The re- 
 sultant feeling was unpleasant. But that was 
 destined not to be the only event of the evening to 
 cloud his happiness. True lovers are reputed to 
 get their full share of vicissitudes. 
 
 After they were comfortably seated in their box 
 at the theatre, Jack ventured to look around him, 
 recognizing many faces and bowed to a number of 
 acquaintances. The play was "The Taming of the 
 Shrew/' and it riveted Miss Heath's attention from 
 the start, this being the first performance of it 
 that she had seen. 
 
 When, at the drop of the curtain, her eye 
 glanced over the boxes, it alighted upon St. John. 
 
40 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 Harding, seeing him there, knew that his own 
 projected night of happiness was ended. Of 
 course, as on a former occasion, St. John would 
 make the best of his chance to interrupt his tete-a- 
 tete with Miss Heath. 
 
 There was a mild glare in Jack's eye when St. 
 John entered the box, for he had mentally credited 
 him with being the sender of the violets. Miss 
 Heath received the banker's son very cordially, 
 finally remarking with that honeyed cruelty, pecu- 
 liar to women : 
 
 "Oh, Clifford — or Cliff, I mean — here is a vacant 
 chair." 
 
 Jack glared, but Clifford ignored the compli- 
 ment, and waited for no second bidding. He drew 
 the proffered chair up to Miss Heath and remaii*ed 
 there throughout the performance, entirely monop- 
 olizing the young woman's attention. 
 
 When the play ^*as over, Harding was ready to 
 say, "Won't you come with us to supper, also?" but 
 Miss Heath dismissed Clifford with a "sorry to 
 say, we must part here," and the inflated insig- 
 nificance disappeared. After he had gone, how- 
 ever, Jack found courage to express the taunt to 
 his companion, for which thrust he received a 
 woman's answer — a disdainful laugh. The laugh 
 struck him as heartless, and gave him his recoil. 
 He wondered all the rest of the evening where 
 
A Modern Duel. 41 
 
 he had heard such a laugh before. The incident 
 made the subsequent supper cheerless and paved 
 the way for another awakening. 
 
 The restaurant, which they entered, a fashiona- 
 ble one on Fifth avenue, was well filled with men 
 and women. 
 
 While waiting to be served, J ack noticed a young 
 woman enter and seat herself at the table near by. 
 She bowed to him rather coldly and at once turned 
 to her escort, engrossed apparently in his conversa- 
 tion. Miss Heath, whose vigilant eyes never lost 
 a point, observed that this seemed to chagrin her 
 companion, who suddenly became absorbed in a 
 study of his napkin and water glass. Jack was 
 really facing a difficult situation. 
 
 The young woman, whose appearance on the 
 scene had so sensibly affected him, was the daugh- 
 ter of his father's old friend, Mr. Van Duyne, and 
 the two had been playmates in childhood. When 
 Jack attained to manhood, he had still continued 
 his attentions to her, until the time when he had 
 met Marian Heath, since when he had neglected 
 the young woman entirely. Her coldness now 
 affected him so that he commenced, as well as a 
 young man of his age can do, to analyze his feel- 
 ings, instead of discussing the dishes placed before 
 him, with the usual interest. His self-absorption 
 did not affect Marian at all, for, between study of 
 
42 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 her supper and the people who surrounded her, 
 she found plenty of the very best diversion she 
 could desire. 
 
 "These people apparently do not eat to live, 
 but rather live to eat," she exclaimed, after a 
 lengthy study of the scene. "By the way, Mr. 
 Harding, you do not seem to have a very keen ap- 
 petite this evening." 
 
 "Sometimes," retorted Jack, rather fiercely, 
 "people have something more important to think 
 of than eating, but I presume that moment never 
 comes to a woman" — more fiercely still — "a wo- 
 man's stomach is to her what a man's heart is to 
 him. A man is a fool to care a rap, either. He is 
 a fool to lose his heart, especially to a heartless 
 flirt. You must excuse me, I cannot help saying 
 what I feel so strongly." 
 
 "How absurd you are," replied Marian, in the 
 tone of a senior sister. "There are oceans of other 
 girls around you if you are not satisfied with one. 
 Why not give your flirting friend a Eoland for 
 her Oliver?" 
 
 "A man does not play fast and loose with a 
 woman's feelings, if she does with his. He isn't 
 built that way. Coquetry is not an instinct with 
 him. He loves and loses — or wins." 
 
 "How solemn," replied Marian, in a half ban- 
 
A Modern Duel. 43 
 
 tering tone. "Is this the first serious case of 
 heart-sickness you have had, Jack?" 
 
 "Jack! Had she called him Jack?" The 
 young man's heart throbbed violently. He threw 
 her a look of gratitude and sighed audibly. He 
 had not noticed the mischievous feeling that 
 prompted Marian to address him by his first name, 
 nor the fact that the words were spoken in a tone 
 loud enough to be heard at the next table; nor 
 had he noticed the sharp significant glances ex- 
 changed between the two women. 
 
 "Let us talk commonplace now," she continued, 
 satisfied with her strategy. "You haven't told 
 me yet, which University you claim as your Alma 
 Mater. Talk to me about your college days." 
 
 Marian was interested in his personality at last. 
 A touch of a new self-confidence streaked the 
 young man's face as he answered: 
 
 "Chicago University, of course. Didn't you see 
 that I was from Chicago? I was born there and 
 did not come East until about six years ago. 
 Harry Taylor, my particular friend, whom you 
 met on the first night that we made your ac- 
 quaintance, also hails from there. We are old 
 college chums." 
 
 Marian smiled slightly at the mention of Tay- 
 lor's name. The smile was enigmatical to Jack, 
 so he did not question it. 
 
44 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 "You were fond of athletics, I suppose?" pur- 
 sued Marian. 
 
 "I am ashamed to say that I never shone in the 
 field of sport. I used to read a good deal rather 
 than play. You see, I was compelled to work for 
 a living. It was different with Harry. He had 
 nothing to worry about and was a prominent mem- 
 ber of the baseball and football teams, in which 
 he had any number of records." 
 
 This intelligence seemed to please Miss Heath, 
 as Harding observed with some chagrin, and the 
 incident practically closed the tete-a-tete, for they 
 soon afterwards drove home. During the drive, 
 Jacked melted and, taking the hand of Miss Heath 
 in his own, pressed it to his lips. Why he did 
 so, he did not know. Her glance seemed to burn 
 into his very soul, and he could have thrown him- 
 self at her feet at the moment. 
 
 "Yes, you may kiss me once and forget it," she 
 said, as the cab rolled on. 
 
 She had alluded to the kiss he had taken, but 
 Jack misunderstood her and soon had thrown 
 his arms around her. Truth to tell, he had taken 
 a great deal of wine partly to cover his mortifica- 
 tion, and to eke out the supper he did not eat. 
 
 Miss Heath tried to resist his embrace, but he 
 was too powerful for her. Once in his arms, her 
 fair face was showered with kisses. 
 
A Modern Duel. 45 
 
 "Oh, you must not," she protested. But the 
 warning was unheeded. 
 
 When the cab rolled up to the Williams' resi- 
 dence, Jack seemed to regain his senses. He 
 hastily assisted Miss Heath to smooth out her 
 opera cloak and adjust her hat, apologizing whilst 
 assisting her to alight. His brain was yet a whirl, 
 when he left her with a brief good-night at the 
 door. 
 
 "Remember," she said, with a little gasp, before 
 
 he went, "it is silence, or " her companion 
 
 heard no more. 
 
 Jack reached his room in a fever. To his in- 
 finite relief, Harry Taylor had not yet arrived. 
 Taylor, the once boon companion, now the hated 
 rival, the traitor! Strange thoughts were seeth- 
 ing in his brain as he threw himself on to the 
 lounge. He had passed the Eubicon most unex- 
 pectedly. But, whither was he drifting? Was he 
 only the tool, the toy of a coquette, who had en- 
 snared him and yet loved another? 
 
 These thoughts w T ere suddenly interrupted by 
 the entrance of the hated rival, Harry himself, 
 much in the manner in which clowns make their 
 opening entrance on the stage in pantomime or 
 burlesque. Harry's condition was unmistakable,, 
 but it did not prevent Harding from uttering the 
 stereotyped exclamation : 
 
46 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 "Why, what on earth has happened to you, old 
 man?" 
 
 "<31ub racket — too many highballs! Don't 
 bother me. Fm not drunk — it's you — you're 
 standing upside down — must feel awfully uncom- 
 fortable. Why don't you reverse yourself?" was 
 Harry's rejoinder. 
 
 Jack Harding awoke in the morning to find his 
 friend Harry still fast asleep and, as they gen- 
 erally breakfasted together, he proceeded to awaken 
 him. 
 
 When Harry was finally aroused, he seemed to 
 be laboring under some heavy anaesthetic. He 
 made an attempt to leave the bed, only to tum- 
 ble back again. 
 
 "That attack you had last night has not quite 
 worn off yet," remarked Jack, as he fixed his col- 
 lar on and cast a despairing glance at his room- 
 mate. 
 
 "Don't insult me or you'll regret it," replied 
 Harry testily. 
 
 "Sit up and look around, old man," was the 
 rejoinder. "Look where you put your clothes, feel 
 your head, open your eyes and don't be soft as well 
 as full. Take this towel and wrap your head up 
 for awhile," said Jack, handing his friend the arti- 
 cle, well soused in cold water, "and as you do not 
 need to work for an income, I'll breakfast alone." 
 
A Modern Duel. 47 
 
 "Go to Hades, if you want to, but don't stand 
 there looking as wise as a parrot and preaching 
 at me, or FU take some of the starch out of you, 
 drunk or not drunk," said Taylor, with a sullen 
 petulance. 
 
 This remark stung Jack Harding, who generally 
 was an extremely amiable being, especially to his 
 fides Achates. 
 
 The unexpressed jealousy between the two men 
 over Marian Heath was simmering in the minds 
 of both, threatening to upset what had promised 
 to be a lifetime friendship. The evident delight 
 which the young woman had shown, on learning of 
 Harry's skill as an athlete, determined Jack to 
 throw down the gauntlet which his friend's brutal 
 remark had evoked. With defiant glance he faced 
 the disgruntled Taylor. 
 
 "I hope you didn't call in that condition upon 
 Miss Heath last evening." 
 
 The fury of Harry Taylor was aroused in an 
 instant. The towel was tossed aside and he was 
 on his feet in an instant, facing Harding. 
 
 "Dare to mention that lady's name in connec- 
 tion with a scene like this," hissed Taylor, shak- 
 ing his finger menacingly in Jack's face. 
 
 "That's where I made the only mistake, I guess," 
 replied Jack, coolly, "but take your paw off my 
 nose or I'll thrash you, athlete or no athlete. I'm 
 
48 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 not going to be bulldozed if I am run out by a 
 sneaking friend." 
 
 "Take that, then/' was Taylor's response, catch- 
 ing J ack a neat blow on the neck and sending him 
 sprawling on all fours. 
 
 "Biff !" J ack was on his feet in an instant. He 
 was not a fighter, but he had pluck and a little 
 training. "Look out now/' he said, thoroughly 
 enraged, "you've drawn first blood and I'm going 
 to lick you." 
 
 "Biff!" again. Taylor left his left guard un- 
 covered while defending a feint on his right and 
 received a terrible blow, which sent him down 
 like a log onto the floor. 
 
 He did not attempt to rise, so Jack sprang for- 
 ward, drew him up on to the bed and, as he showed 
 signs of fainting, sprinkled some cold water on his 
 face. 
 
 Seeing that he had really hurt his friend, Jack 
 was sorry at once, and would rather have sub- 
 mitted to any amount of pummeling than return 
 another blow, especially as he knew that it was 
 his own words which had first provoked the 
 wrangle. 
 
 "Here, sit up, old man," he said in his rather 
 gruff, but kindly way. "HI bathe your head a bit. 
 I'm awfully sorry that I got fooling, and shall 
 never forgive myself if you think hardly of it. 
 
A Modern Duel. 49 
 
 What's a woman's smile to a man's friendship, 
 anyway. Get up and kick me from here to Hali- 
 fax, if you will. I wish I could kick myself all 
 over. I was a coward to hit a man in your con- 
 dition." 
 
 "That's all right," exclaimed Harry, putting out 
 his hand, with a rather sickly smile, "you winded 
 me good enough at the first tap. I guess HI have 
 to go into training again. This dissipated life is 
 playing the deuce with me." 
 
 With the aid of a wet towel and a little pull 
 out of a flask which the friends kept in the room 
 in case of emergency, Jack soon had his friend in 
 shape for breakfast and, not being young men of 
 the sorehead variety, whatever their shortcomings 
 might be, they went down to the table together the 
 best of friends. 
 
 After J ack had gone "downtown," although feel- 
 ing anything but "a winner," Harry also went to 
 his office. He was rather dizzy all that morning 
 and, as noon arrived, decided to leave earlier than 
 usual for a walk, realizing that the fresh air would 
 brace him up considerably. 
 
 In accordance with this resolution, he started 
 about one o'clock for a walk up Broadway. When 
 nearing Twenty-third street, to his pleasurable 
 astonishment, he saw Marian Heath approaching. 
 
 In the presence of such inspiration, Harry Tay- 
 
50 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 lor soon forgot his upset, and, accompanying Miss 
 Heath for a little distance on the way to the 
 shopping district, soon recovered his natural 
 spirits. 
 
 "By the way/ 5 he said, before leaving her, "did 
 you ever visit a roof garden, Miss Heath, or would 
 such a place be too plebeian for your tastes ?" 
 
 "Nothing would please me better, because it 
 would be such a novelty," said she, and an appoint- 
 ment was made for the following evening. 
 
A Roof Garden Conversation 51 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A ROOF GARDEN CONVERSATION. 
 
 Roof gardens are an ancient institution. The 
 hanging gardens of Babylon remind us of that. 
 In them — one of the seven wonders of the world — 
 doubtless were enacted scenes differing little from 
 those we see on our theatre roofs to-day. There 
 were the magicians, cleverer than our own proba- 
 bly; the acrobats, the dancers, the singers, the 
 same rampant gaiety of early hot-house civiliza- 
 tion, all there, in that past fin-de-siecle age ! 
 
 In Harry's company, Miss Heath, by a strange 
 revulsion, began to find a vague delight. The 
 garden visited by them was the roof of a music 
 hall situated on the verge of the Tenderloin, its 
 roof commanding an excellent view of that piquant 
 district. 
 
 "From here/' said Harry, when they had seated 
 themselves comfortably at a spot commanding a 
 good view of the stage and also of the lights and 
 
52 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 shadows in the town below, "we can moralize on 
 the vanity of the two stages within our scope of 
 vision — one more or less mirrors the other, I pre- 
 sume." 
 
 At the time this remark was passed, a famous 
 trapeze performer was doing a disrobing act from 
 her perilous position above, which was exceedingly 
 suggestive and which feature alone was drawing 
 large audiences to the place. 
 
 Miss Heath did not blush or turn away from 
 the stage, as the woman gradually undressed until 
 she was apparently nude. 
 
 "I wonder how many men are fascinated nightly 
 by that simple performance," the young woman re- 
 marked, coolly. "I suppose she receives a dozen 
 offers of marriage a night. Men are very easily 
 led; that is why marriage is so great a failure. 
 Civilized people are growing more aud more, each 
 year, to regard it as a social convenience than as 
 a sacred bond. I think they are very right. The 
 Pagan philosophy is growing fast among us. We 
 shall never revert to the real coarseness of the 
 ancient Greek and Egyptian, but we shall graft a 
 domestic philosophy upon it very little at variance 
 with its principles. Man was made for woman 
 and woman for man, but neither to be a slave. 
 When love flits away, the marriage bond is broken 
 and the communion between the two is mere adul- 
 
A Roof Garden Conversation. 53 
 
 tery. A brilliant, passionate woman like Bern- 
 hardt coiild not stand the absurdity of the con- 
 venances. Even a Patti only tolerated a husband 
 as long as she would. Women must be worshipped 
 with all the force of a man's nature, if they are 
 to be held. They have no use for lukewarm affec- 
 tion. They will not tolerate infidelity, even in 
 thought, and though they may practice it them- 
 selves, for that is a woman's privilege, being the 
 weaker and more emotional sex, because they can 
 sin and forget, being, as the Englishman says, 
 rakes at heart/' 
 
 Harry Taylor looked appalled. Was it the wine 
 his companion was sipping that brought out all 
 these odd thoughts or was she merely leading him 
 on to see what he would answer. But he gave no 
 sign of replying. His companion continued: 
 
 "Men of the present day are so tame, flat, inane. 
 They neither control a woman nor let themselves 
 be held in her leash. . Better the old feudal times, 
 when woman had to bow to an apparent rule and 
 trust to her own sagacity for having her own way. 
 To-day, men are weak, vacillating. They marry 
 one woman and spend their money on another. I 
 am questioning whether, after all, marriage is not 
 simply a farce." 
 
 "Your ideas are certainly original, Miss Heath," 
 interposed Harry Taylor, at last, venturing to in- 
 
54 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 terject a word, "but I do not see that you make any 
 attempt to live up to them, therefore why pro- 
 mulgate such radical theories." 
 
 "Only one philosopher in a million tries at all 
 to live up to his or her theories and then fails/' 
 replied Miss Heath. "We feel these things in a 
 vague way. Some day they will become realities 
 and then we shall see many changes. I suppose 
 that you are mortally offended because I have 
 spoken so plainly, but remember, women are think- 
 ing to-day side by side with men. We are no 
 longer dragging at their heels." 
 
 Miss Heath seemed to be transformed with 
 something entirely foreign to herself, during this 
 discourse and, although her words certainly were 
 not approved by Harry Taylor, yet, as he looked 
 at her tense expression and viewed the flashing 
 of her magnificent eyes, he felt more than ever 
 enthralled by her masterful personality. 
 
 "Women have changed greatly, it is true, but 
 thank heaven, they are still wonderfully charm- 
 ing," he replied in a calm manner, struggling to 
 suppress the story of love which was fighting hard 
 to pass his lips. 
 
 Marian saw her moment of triumph, saw that 
 she had mastered the man who was more to her, 
 perhaps, than any one yet had been and, then, 
 turning her lorgnette on the stage, she seemed to 
 
A Roof Garden Conversation. 55 
 
 forget everything else in the mimic scenes being 
 enacted there. 
 
 "I am only sorry that I am not a free-thinker," 
 Taylor said to her that night at a farewell taking. 
 
 "Forget that," she answered with a new soft- 
 ness, "sometimes a woman talks at random." 
 
 His eyes followed the graceful silhouette as it 
 disappeared in the house. 
 
 "A Josephine or a Montespan?" he muttered. 
 Then he crushed in his hand one of the roses she 
 had worn and thrust it into his bosom. 
 
56 A Serpent's Feast 
 
 CHAPTER 711. 
 
 Marian's dark hour. 
 
 How many women in one little day come to that 
 crisis in their lives at which Marian Heath had 
 arrived ! 
 
 To man there seems a constant and easy means 
 of escape from the penalties which should be felt 
 equally by one sex as by the other ; but to woman 
 there is none. 
 
 Like many another American woman, Marian 
 had imagined her sex to be a palladium which se- 
 cured her safety upon any and all occasions. She 
 had thought that it was easy to toy with forbidden 
 fruit and yet leave it untasted — that she might al- 
 low the viper to feed from her hand without any 
 risk of it attempting to inoculate her with its virus. 
 
 Experience alone teaches us the fallacy of such 
 assumptions. 
 
 Since the night when Jack Harding had 
 offered her such a grievous insult, Marian had 
 been a changed being. Whatever experiences she 
 might have gone through in life before the episode 
 
Marian's Dark Hour. 57 
 
 in the cab, she had never known the blight of a 
 real indignity. 
 
 The occurrence had shocked her to such an ex- 
 tent, that she had grown morbid over it; her 
 natural vivacity had deserted her and she was fast 
 drifting into a perilous position; had drifted into 
 it, in fact, and was now already standing upon 
 the brink of the great precipice. 
 
 The thoughts to which she had given expression 
 to Harry Taylor on the roof garden would never 
 have been uttered had she not been in this ab- 
 normal condition of mind. 
 
 How bitter the situation was that she now 
 faced, none but an intellectual woman could have 
 understood. She had learned to love the man 
 whose most intimate friend had been her Nemesis, 
 and, who even now, perhaps, was making light 
 of her name in some heartless jest. 
 
 And this was to be the price a woman must 
 pay for having sought a little, harmless amuse- 
 ment, a few hours' distraction, in which to drive 
 away the clouds of morbidity which had darkened 
 a young and promising life ! 
 
 How reckless a woman becomes when she feels 
 that her first misstep has been taken, or, at least, 
 when she appreciates that she has placed herself 
 in that position of doubt which in the eyes of the 
 world means one and the same thing? 
 
58 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 It was the evening following her visit to the 
 roof garden, and Marion was at home alone. The 
 Williams family had gone to the theatre and she 
 had refused to acccompany them, preferring to 
 stay at home and nurse her own unpleasant 
 thoughts, under the plea of having a headache. 
 
 The mistake was a fatal one. Had she gone 
 to the play her downcast spirits might have been 
 cheered up and the hour of bitterness have passed 
 away. 
 
 As the minutes glided by, the spell of despair 
 fastened more deeply upon her. The painted 
 demon that her imagination conjured up grew 
 momentarily more horrible. 
 
 Oh, for a friend to counsel the young woman 
 in that fearful crisis — a mother's bosom for her 
 to rest that shapely head upon while sobs might 
 lighten the tension of an overburdened heart ! 
 
 Marian had sought her own room to brood over 
 her troubles and as she sat there crushed and hope- 
 less, the voice of the tempter came to her. It was 
 his opportunity. He saw and utilized it. The 
 look of despondency gradually wore away from 
 her countenance and an artificial brightness took 
 its place. 
 
 Desperation leads to one of two extremes — sui- 
 cide or abandon. The serpent had conquered. 
 He had conjured up to her an alluring vision. 
 
Marian's Dark Hour. 59 
 
 This is what he had said: "You are beautiful. 
 Men will risk everything for a smile from a woman 
 like you. The world is yours. Go out and con- 
 quer it. You have only to command and every- 
 thing you want will be given you." 
 
 Yes; she knew that she could magnetize men, 
 for once some one had called her a magnet. Xow 
 let the men beware. She would toy no longer with 
 small pawns. When one gambles he may as well 
 play the game to its limit. Such were her 
 thoughts. She would no longer be the shuttlecock 
 of fate; she would be the battledore; let despair 
 be the portion of some one else. 
 
 Once her mood had veered it took Marian but a 
 few minutes in which to change her evening dress 
 for a street toilet. Her trim figure was soon en- 
 veloped in a neat tailor-made gown. 
 
 Marian had determined to visit the roof garden 
 alone, to taste its atmosphere of careless abandon, 
 to drive remorse behind her with the aid of a few 
 glasses of wine. What else? Cut bono! When 
 none cares for us, why should we care for our- 
 selves ? 
 
 So Marian stole quietly from the house with- 
 out even notifying the servants, and turned her 
 footsteps in the direction of — the Tenderloin. 
 
 Once out in the air she felt exhilarated and re- 
 lieved from her despondency, for she had de- 
 
60 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 termined, as had many a woman before her, that 
 if one had passed the Kubicon one might as well 
 drift. If hope were gone then carelessness might 
 take its place — if the lights of Eden were lost, 
 there yet were the lights of the Plutonian plains 
 to enjoy. 
 
 Her mind, in fact, was in a state of hysterical 
 convulsion, and she was too absorbed in herself to 
 notice that as she passed along Broadway she was 
 the object of many covert glances. 
 
 Finally Mi^s Heath arrived at what she thought 
 was the entrance through which Harry Taylor and 
 herself had passed to go to the roof garden. 
 
 A long line was formed in the box office, which 
 she joined, finally reaching the ticket window in 
 her turn and securing the certificate of admission. 
 It seemed strange, too, buying her own ticket and 
 entering a theatre alone. As she ascended in the 
 elevator it seemed to Marian that it was not the 
 same place she had visited the night before with 
 Harry Taylor, and as she stepped onto the roof, she 
 soon discovered her mistake. Instead of the gay 
 scene which had greeted her vision the night before, 
 she found herself with an audience of a totally dif- 
 ferent type. 
 
 It was too late, however, to turn back. An 
 usher had taken her ticket and Marian perforce 
 followed him to a seat, As soon as she had suf- 
 
Marian's Dark Hour. 61 
 
 ficiently recovered from her surprise, she picked up 
 a leaflet from a vacant seat, from which she learned 
 that instead of having paid for admission to a 
 vaudeville performance, the roof was devoted that 
 evening to a lecture by one of the leading speakers 
 connected with the Tenderloin Eescue Mission, to 
 which habitues of the neighborhood had been espe- 
 cially invited. 
 
 For a moment or two Marian was undecided as 
 to what she should do ; whether to seek the diver- 
 sion which she had started in search of, or remain 
 for awhile and listen to the discourse. 
 
 Before she had settled the point the lecturer ap- 
 peared on the platform. He was a man of im- 
 pressive appearance, and strong, though rough 
 physiognomy. He abruptly introduced himself by 
 stating that he had been a lay worker connected 
 with the Eescue Mission for several years and in- 
 tended to tell the round, unvarnished truth about 
 what he had seen, however much it might shock 
 delicate ears. 
 
 He had scarcely spoken a dozen words before 
 Marian decided to stay and hear his lecture. It 
 would doubtless be a novel experience and might 
 yield some hints that would be useful later on. 
 Like most people, Marian knew little of what Ten- 
 derloin life really meant. She had not yet learned 
 to differentiate between the Butterfly Carnival 
 
62 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 and the Serpent's Feast. So she listened as did 
 the rest of the audience almost spellbound by the 
 speaker's eloquent but awful story. 
 
 "One hears much in snatches/' he commenced in 
 a sonorous voice, in which pathos was the ruling 
 note, "about that marvelous, iniquitous and mys- 
 terious Tenderloin ; but how few have traversed its 
 evil mazes into their most labyrinthine depths? 
 Let us take a glance, in which imagination plays 
 but little part, from the roof of this building to- 
 night, looking east, west, and north and south. 
 Let us look clearly and fearlessly at the hideous 
 pictures spread before us, for there are many 
 lessons to be learned even from the pages of the 
 Book of Shame. 
 
 "Yonder, across in West Twenty-ninth street, 
 the bedizened courtesan sits at the bagnio window, 
 listening for the step of the stranger — which can 
 be heard half a block away — to learn if it be that 
 of male or female, a fact her trained ear soon de- 
 tects. If it is the male, she prepares to throw 
 out her most alluring glance, her most seductive 
 smile. Does he stay, or does he pass on? What 
 matter? Thousands more of her class await him 
 — lingering for a moment on the street corners 
 or pretending to examine the contents of store 
 windows — anywhere and everywhere here, through 
 street after street, for mile upon mile. 
 
Marian's Dark Hour. 63 
 
 "What is that sound we hear from over in 
 Thirty-first street? A sob? Ah, yes, for sobs 
 and sneers mingle oddly here. It comes from a 
 daintily dressed girl, standing hesitatingly at the 
 door of a brownstone-fronted house, fumbling 
 with her key. Her face has a look of alarm. She 
 sobs and descends the steps. A well-dressed man 
 comes along and enquires what the trouble is. 
 Oh, how demurely that little harpy tells her tale. 
 She has just arrived in the city and has lost the 
 address of her newly-acquired boarding-house. 
 'Where can she go for the night?' 
 
 "The man looks up and down the neatly-clad 
 figure and quickly decides that such an oppor- 
 tunity should not be lost. If she does not become 
 his plaything for a night, she will fall into the 
 hands of some other lucky fellow. He tells her 
 that he will take her to a respectable hotel, where 
 she can stay until the morning, when search can 
 be made for the boarding-house. Poor child, she 
 hesitates awhile and then throws her hand trust- 
 ingly into his, as she might do into that of a 
 father. We will pass over the rest — the awaken- 
 ing in the morning, the missing ingenue and the 
 departed pocketbook, the disillusionment of one 
 more 'Good Samaritan V 
 
 "Let the kaleidoscope revolve westward over 
 the riverside, where the monotonous lapping of the 
 
64 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 slimy waters at the piers can be heard, as if in- 
 viting victims. The long rows of railroad sheds 
 and the freight wharves, the groups of grimy- 
 looking freight-cars and the dingy malthouses. 
 From the platform in front of these — from be- 
 hind a load of bales, emerges a lurking figure, a 
 man, one of the worst features of Tenderloin life. 
 This creature walks across to Tenth avenue and, 
 after waiting for awhile, espies a victim approach- 
 ing — a man, who appears to be sober, and scarcely 
 a denizen of this vicinity. The creature from the 
 malthouse accosts him, asking for the price of a 
 drink. The stranger stops, hesitates, and is lost. 
 The fellow pockets the coin and starts a conversa- 
 tion. He is grateful for the drink and, in return, 
 will put the stranger on to a special 'graft" that 
 he has — a respectable ( ?) married woman, the wife 
 of a conductor (engineer, truckman, yardmaster, 
 or some mechanic) who, occasionally, is absent 
 from home and who is away for this night. The 
 bait tempts. The idea of twice forbidden fruit 
 raises an alluring vision and the two start for the 
 place where the woman is supposed to be — chatting 
 gaily as they go along. They enter a dark hall- 
 way, leading to the respectable woman's rooms. 
 Here, two or three brawny toughs appear on the 
 scene and it is well if the stranger has a revolver 
 with him, or else it is robbery, with perhaps mur- 
 
Marian's Dark Hour. 65 
 
 der to crown it, for few policemen hear the cries 
 of the victim long enough to remain within ear- 
 shot. 
 
 "In this Gehenna of the West Side, haunted by 
 such beasts of prey, of how many does the life 
 tragedy wind up? Here, the well-dressed man 
 meets his doom too often, the ex-ballet favorite 
 and the ex-soubrette queen whose time has arrived 
 to go. Here is the unutterable pathos of the so- 
 cial derelict, whose childhood was of the parochial 
 school, or the leading class of the high school of 
 some provincial town, or possibly of Xew York 
 City itself. Think of it ! The life of a woman 
 who had once been a fair and pure girl-child, now 
 the accursed of all outcasts, winding up in an 
 abandoned freight-car in West Thirtieth street, or 
 even on a mud scow, a stone's throw out in the 
 river — dissolute debauchee ! Think of it — the 
 misery of it, the pity of it all ! 
 
 "Speak to that policeman, guardian of the law, 
 with shield and helmet, idly twirling his club at 
 the corner, a block or two above. In a way, he is 
 not so bad as some of his class. He has saved a 
 human life in a murderous brawl in Hell's 
 Kitchen, half a mile to the south. He is married 
 and has children, but has the vanity of a Lothario. 
 He knows that his superiors indulge in such traits. 
 His present mistress is soon to become a mother. 
 
66 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 She was the daughter of a respectable tradesman 
 in the ward and his peccadillo is known to most 
 people here, but, he has determined to 'stand by 
 the girl/ and, so, all is right. 
 
 "Two blocks away is another type of the official 
 hero. A man has just come out of a house whore 
 he has been robbed. He is telling the 'cop' his 
 trouble, but he has fallen into evil hands. The 
 woman who robbed him pays tribute to the police- 
 man, consequently the victim is ordered sharply 
 away, under pain of arrest. 
 
 "Let us turn the flashlight across town. An- 
 other specimen of noble manhood — a twenty-five 
 cent race-track sport, steps out of a cigar store 
 and accosts a woman, who is passing. She is a 
 respectable mother going home from her day's 
 work. The man tugs at her shawl, but she takes 
 no notice of him, finally escaping his attentions 
 and reaching her home and children — his chil- 
 dren. Yes ! This beast is so debased that he 
 wants his own wife to take the downward step so 
 that he may get more money from her than her 
 honest work brings in ! Even then he has a man 
 waiting to take her to a den of infamy. How 
 many such creatures, known as sports, bookmakers 
 and men-about-town, are there not, who live lives 
 of ease in the Tenderloin on the wages of their 
 wives' shame? Small wonder the woman called 
 
Marian's Dark Hour. 67 
 
 no one's attention to the man's conduct, but, swal- 
 lowing a sob, passed quietly onward. 
 
 "Let us cross town. Who are these two men 
 stepping so lightly from the Grand Central Depot ? 
 One is gray-haired and smooth shaven; while 
 the other, a man of thirty, is of stockier build. 
 Father and son ? Oh, no ! Listen to their con- 
 versation. Hear that old sport talk ! The young 
 man is a well-known pander and the old man a 
 prosperous banker from out-of-town. They have 
 met on the cars. They step into the hotel across 
 the way to take a drink. The younger man is 
 hard-headed and knows town like a book; but the 
 gray-haired old sinner is ready for him or any 
 other pander in the city, in a drinking bout or con- 
 test with the other element, any time of the night 
 or day. Men about town have for years tried, 
 and still are trying, to make a good thing of this 
 gray-haired roue, whom all the girls like, al- 
 though he squanders little of his bank's wealth 
 upon them. 
 
 "Let us turn to a well-known gambling head- 
 quarters on Broadway, only a few blocks away. 
 Here a familiar scene is being enacted. A man, 
 well known in manufacturing circles, owner of a 
 big mill, is winding up a four or five days' debauch. 
 Ostensibly, he has been busy for his firm, during 
 the period that has elapsed since he bade his 
 
68 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 young wife farewell.. He is not over thirty years 
 of age, looks strong-headed, but has a weak chin. 
 He has been winning heavily each day at poker 
 and his pockets are stuffed with hundred-dollar 
 bills. The proprietor of the place has invited him 
 to take a farewell drink and the young man reels 
 up to the bar beside him. The two men are left 
 alone for a second, during which the sound of a 
 fall is heard. The young man has fallen forward 
 onto the footrail, cutting his head badly. An 
 ambulance is called, but before it reaches the 
 hospital with its occupant, he has died of a frac- 
 tured skull. What became of his thousands V 
 one asks. No one will ever know. They disap- 
 peared quickly and mysteriously. 
 
 "Do not tire yet nor let these scenes pall upon 
 you, for the Tenderloin is a vast theatre. 
 
 "Glance into the fine apartment on Thirty- 
 fourth street, between Fourth and Fifth avenues, 
 where yon see every sign of luxury, and learn the 
 story of a sister's shame. The two most elegantly 
 attired and most stylish looking women there own 
 the house and the bodies and souls of the other 
 inmates. Less than a year ago, the elder of the 
 two was the wife of a respectable clerk, and the 
 younger an innocent country girl. The city sis- 
 ter is very handsome, too handsome for a poor 
 clerk, by far. At least she thought so. A beauti- 
 
Marian's Dark Hour. 69 
 
 ful woman is worth money in Xew York. When 
 the younger sister came to the city on a visit, the 
 married sister planned her downfall. The young 
 girl took the fancy of one of the wife's admirers. 
 He offered to start them in the Thirty-fourth 
 street place if the younger one could be secured 
 for him, and her sister carried out the plot suc- 
 cessfully. The poor clerk now struggles on alone, 
 and sometimes wife and sister, in a handsome 
 carriage, pass him by, with a contemptuous smile. 
 "Such is Tenderloin life. 
 
 "Glance for a moment into West Sixteenth 
 street, near Fifth avenue, for a 'finished touch' of 
 Tenderloin vice. In front of a substantial-looking 
 mansion, at the door of which is a small brass 
 modiste's sign, stops a carriage. It is that of the 
 wife of a Xew York busy man of wealth, a man 
 who is piling up millions to provide for this 
 woman's pleasures. The woman is no longer 
 young and attractive, but she is richly dressed, 
 although her dresses are not made by Madame 
 Dell (short for Delilah). A boy in buttons an- 
 swers the ring and the caller enters a richly fur- 
 nished parlor. On the tables are a couple of 
 albums, containing the portraits of numerous 
 young men, all more or less good-looking. 
 
 "When Madame Dell enters the room, she bows 
 
70 A Serpent s Feast. 
 
 familiarly to her guest, who, pointing to one of 
 the photographs says quietly : 
 " 'Is he in town ? 
 
 "Madame consults a diary and answers in the 
 affirmative. 
 
 "The matronly lady smiles a pleased smile. She 
 can have her first selection. The canons of deli- 
 cacy forbid the pursuance of this case any further. 
 Enough has been told to show how far this social 
 stain penetrates. 
 
 "On yet ! We must pass further on to reach all 
 the subtleties of the Serpent's Feast. 
 
 "Let us glance into this apparently respectable 
 saloon, enticed to do so by the song and laughter 
 from within. We are on Eighth avenue now, 
 where honest and good folks live on every block. 
 The bar in front is a mere pretence, a veil sup- 
 posed to save the real character of the place from 
 suspicion. We pass the bar and enter a> large 
 hall, aglare with lights and with a platform in 
 the rear. An orchestra, composed of a pianist 
 and a fiddler, is creating a din supposed to repre- 
 sent melody. On the stage, a young girl is sing- 
 ing in about the same grade as the orchestra is 
 playing. But she is singing a song that no respec- 
 table woman can listen to without a blush. The 
 audience seated at tables, is concerning itself but 
 little with the stage. The different persons are 
 
Marain's Dark Hour. 71 
 
 seated at small tables, employing themselves vari- 
 ously. A gray-haired old farmer is gaping at the 
 picture of paint and short skirts on the stage, who 
 is trying to sing, while a young girl of fourteen, 
 who has seated herself opposite to him, is trying 
 to attract his attention. An old and giddy fanner 
 is always 'good graft/ Two women are seated 
 at the next table, one of whom is also ogling the 
 old man. The younger of the couple is a married 
 woman, whose husband had gone out of town for 
 the night. She has come with a friend, a woman 
 who is a little fast, to see what the concert hall 
 is like. She is told by her friend that she can 
 make a few dollars to buy some knick-knacks with, 
 if she desires, and she is nibbling at the serpent's 
 bait. Her husband is away and may be enjoying 
 himself similarly, so she thinks perhaps it may 
 be just as well to have her own good time and fall. 
 She is married — who will know the difference? 
 Her little children are tucked away snugly in bed 
 and she needs a new dress. Why 'not'? Cui 
 bono? She is breathing the atmosphere of hell, 
 has listened to the serpent's first whisper. 
 
 "At another table, men and women are sitting. 
 The women proclaim themselves. Suddenly there 
 is a string of oaths pealing out — one of the men 
 has missed his watch and is accusing his com- 
 panions of having taken it. He did not know that 
 
72 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 the man who had invited him to take a drink was 
 a crook and the women his confederates. The 
 discussion becomes lively and a big heavily-built 
 fellow, with the eye and look of a bully, ap- 
 proaches. He is told what the object of the dis- 
 cussion is and, without a word, grabs the accuser 
 — not the accused — by the collar and marches him 
 to the door. If the victim struggles, he is given 
 a good kick, which sends him rolling out beyond 
 the curb. The policeman on the corner walks 
 quickly away down a side street, while the 
 'bouncer' waits at the door to administer another 
 kick, if the man attempts to return. 
 
 "But this victim is lucky. Eighth avenue is sev- 
 eral grades above Tenth, socially, although not 
 morally. Over there, a crowd of men and women 
 have been drinking in a corner saloon of the cheap- 
 est description. Some of the men and women are 
 black and some white. A white man has, been 
 drinking with a woman for some time. He is a 
 brawny looking young longshoreman. A man en- 
 ters and calls to the woman to come out. She is 
 his wife, but she laughs at his suggestion. He 
 commences to create a disturbance. The young 
 fellow, assisted by the half-intoxicated barkeeper, 
 'go for him/ One strikes and the other kicks 
 him. He falls outside with a fractured skull and 
 dies before the ambulance arrives. What of it? 
 
Marian's Dark Hour. 73 
 
 Cui bono? This is the offscourings of the Ser- 
 pent's Feast. 
 
 "Turn whichever way you will, the venom is 
 pouring from his fangs to poison and sadden the 
 fair strong germs of human life. That Serpent's 
 Feast once tasted, joy is gone, love is blighted, 
 the dream of beauty shattered as by a demon 
 spell. 
 
 "I will conclude this lecture/' said the speaker, 
 "by telling a hideous, but true, story, and I shall 
 tell it in all its hideousness of detail in order that 
 my words may leave a more lasting impression 
 on your minds. 
 
 "Aimee ! litle Aimee ! what a story was yours," 
 and the strong man's voice quivered and almost 
 broke into sobs. 
 
 "I went to the Morgue one morning not long 
 ago, having been notified that one of our women 
 was there. I wondered as I walked along which 
 one had been the last to take the Eiver route to 
 eternity. 
 
 "Perhaps you have never seen the rough, dirty, 
 loathsome boxes, half-filled with ice, into which 
 the bodies of those dragged out of the river are 
 thrown, and left in their tawdry finery, or what- 
 ever it may be, for the short time they are kept 
 awaiting identification. It is a dreadful sight, 
 and so many, unfortunately, are women, of our 
 
74 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 class, who have brought their short, hapless lives 
 to a close, to escape a worse ending. 
 
 "I passed along the row of iced boxes in the dead 
 house, until I came to a face I knew, passing many 
 women who had once been fair, and some 
 even who had preserved through all their shocking 
 experience the freshness and fairness of youth. 
 
 "It was Aimee, as I had feared. Poor child, 
 for she was nothing more. She lay as calm and 
 peaceful in the dirty box as if her mother had 
 soothed her to sleep in the old Norman farmhouse 
 whence she had come. 
 
 "Two years I had known Aimee, and that is 
 usually the tenure for the very young who enter a 
 life of shame. 
 
 "She drifted into the mission one night and that 
 was when I first heard her awful story. 
 
 "She was a beautiful, rosy-cheeked girl, with 
 dark, laughing eyes, and beautiful dark-brown 
 hair, teeth like pearls, and a figure like a Psyche. 
 
 "She was well educated. Had been a teacher 
 in the cure's family. 
 
 "One day at Dieppe, she met a fascinating 
 woman, who laughed at the idea of Aimee remain- 
 ing a poor governess, with such beauty — such 
 beauty ! — ah ! what a lure it is for the serpent 
 whose trail is over us all. 
 
 "Aimee was crazy to go on the stage. What 
 
Marian's Dark Hour. 75 
 
 she had read of actresses had convinced her they 
 led uvea to which those of the angels were merely 
 commonplace. 
 
 "The handsome woman told her that any beauti- 
 ful girl in America could become a famous ac- 
 tress. There never were enough beautiful ac- 
 tresses to fill the American theatres, because the 
 women there were so homely. 
 
 "One day Aimee was missing from the cure's 
 house. The next she was on board an American 
 bound steamer from Havre, with a number of 
 other girls who were going to become actresses 
 and owners of boundless wealth, which would 
 enable them to buy chateaus and diamonds for all 
 the poor friends they had left behind. 
 
 "To make the story short, they arrived in Xew 
 York, and were taken direct to a house in West 
 Third street, a dingy-looking place, where they 
 were told they would only have to stay a few days 
 until arrangements could be made for them at the 
 hotel. 
 
 "Once at this Inferno, Aimee was told that she 
 would have to learn to dance, and was taken into 
 a room where a lot of girls in flimsy attire were 
 dancing the can-can. Poor child ! She put her 
 hands before her eyes at the hideous sight. She 
 looked despairingly at her patroness ; but her tim- 
 idity was met with only a hard smile. 
 
76 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 " 'You must learn it, too, or you can never be- 
 come a great actress/ was the only solace she re- 
 ceived from Madame. 
 
 " 'What, here ? In this room alone V 
 
 " 'Oh, no. Xot unless you like. Alone with 
 the dancing master upstairs!' 
 
 "The child began to sob. 
 
 " 'Take her upstairs to her room/ said Madame 
 to one of the girls. 
 
 u 'Xever mind, you will soon get used to it/ 
 said this girl, as she led the way for Aimee, and 
 left her in a room, carefully locking the door and 
 bringing the key back to Madame. 
 
 "A little later the dancing master arrived. 
 
 "Madame led the way upstairs to Aimee' s room. 
 Aimee had thrown herself sobbing on the bed. 
 
 " 'Oh, she is only a litle homesick/ said Ma- 
 dame, as she ushered the dancing master in, care- 
 fully hiding a rawhide behind her as she deftly 
 closed and locked the door. 
 
 " 'Aimee, the dancing master ! You must take 
 your first lesson, for your engagement at the the- 
 atre will soon begin. There is no time to be lost/ 
 
 "Aimee tremblingly arose and came forward. 
 
 "'You must tak-> off those clothes and put on 
 this/ said Madame, stiffly handing the trembling 
 girl one of the roles de chambre, worn by the 
 women below. 
 
Marian's Dark Hour. 77 
 
 " 'But, Madame, the dancing master V 
 " 'Oh, he is used to these things, and you soon 
 will be. Take off those things V 
 
 "Madame's voice was harsh and rasping. 
 " 'I cannot/ sobbed Aimee. 
 " Take them off/ 
 " 'I cannot/ 
 
 "In a minute the rawhide descended on Aimee's 
 shoulders. 
 
 "Her sobs stopped. She realized at last. 
 
 " 'Now take them off. I shall leave the dancing 
 master to assist you, and N if I hear a sound, you 
 will get more of this/ and Madame swished the 
 rawhide menacingly in the air. Then she went 
 out alone and closed the door. 
 
 "In an hour the dancing master descended. 
 
 " 'Is it all right V asked Madame. 
 
 " 'Yes/ replied the man. 'I told her it was no 
 use to try to oppose you, as you usually killed 
 troublesome cases, and buried them in the cellar/ 
 
 " 'She has no more pipe dreams of the stage/ 
 
 " 'I scarcely think so/ said the man, with a 
 grin. 
 
 "That night three other dancing masters were 
 sent to Aimee's room." 
 
 After a few closing words the speaker finished, 
 and people left their seats. 
 
 Marian looked at her watch. It was half-past 
 
78 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 ten. As she passed down among the crowd of 
 Tenderloin denizens and others, whom curiosity 
 had drawn to the meeting, she moved like a person 
 in a dream. 
 
 What mysterious hand had directed her foot- 
 steps to that roof on that particular evening? 
 She wondered. Was it the spirit of a mother in 
 heaven watching over her orphan child? 
 
 Marian Heath walked directly home. 
 
 Fortunately she arrived before the theatre party 
 had returned, therefore her absence could not be 
 noted and commented upon. 
 
 For one night the tempter had been foiled — a 
 victim spared from the Serpent's Feast. 
 
A Banquet. 79 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 A BANQUET. 
 
 The initiation of Jules Latimer had become 
 practically forgotten at the Knockabout Club, for 
 the occurrences centering around one individual 
 seldom hold the public long, either in or out of club 
 life. 
 
 In order to carve his way to immortality, accord- 
 ing to his lights, St. John, in conjunction with the 
 Hindu, Sunvidi, who was still a member of the 
 Knockabout, conceived a brilliant scheme. A 
 rival to the "Silly Dinner," to be called "Feast 
 of Satyrs" was the result of their joint delibera- 
 tions, and it was promised that it should far eclipse 
 in realism the notorious banquet of almost a dec- 
 ade since, which was given by a prominent mem- 
 ber of New York's Four Hundred to a number of 
 his bachelor friends. 
 
 It was even hinted that this might be a fare- 
 well bachelor dinner for St. John, as it was said he 
 
80 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 had announced his intention of joining the noble 
 order of benedicts. 
 
 When the evening arrived, Harry Taylor and 
 Jack Harding found themselves among the invited, 
 St. John having by some queer caprice decided to 
 include them among his guests, entirely disdaining 
 to consider them as rivals. They had accepted, 
 as much fun was promised. 
 
 Every one was on the tiptoe of excitement and 
 wondering what the Feast of Satyrs would turn 
 out to be. The banquet was in charge of Sunvidi, 
 and was to be given in the Hall of Mysteries, a 
 stipulation being that all who participated in it 
 were bound to the closest secrecy concerning the 
 proceedings. 
 
 It had come to be accepted as an axiom by this 
 time, that Sunvidi could accomplish anything and 
 everything. Therefore, those who entered the Hall 
 of Mysteries, on the night of the Feast of Satyrs, 
 and paused delighted at the magnificent spectacle 
 spread before them, only echoed the universal 
 opinion concerning that gentleman's capabilities. 
 
 The Feast of Belshazzar would probably have 
 appeared a tame affair in comparison with this 
 splendidly evolved conception, and, at any rate, 
 would have been lacking in some of the recherche 
 features. Flowers, perfumes, music, houris, 
 wines of the rarest, dishes of the daintiest abandon 
 
A Banquet. 81 
 
 of the kind that made, the feasts of the Ancient 
 Greeks one wild long revel. Such was the Feast 
 of the Satyrs. 
 
 Behind the chair of each guest stood a Persian 
 dancing girl, red-lipped, voluptuous, lithesome, 
 languishing and unspeakably beautiful, ready to 
 replenish or replace the dishes that followed one 
 another with marvelous rapidity. But the cyno- 
 sure of all eyes, the crowning point of all the ar- 
 tistic revelry, was one fairer and more voluptuous 
 than all the rest, who reposed upon the dais where 
 the duel between Sunvidi and Latimer had been 
 fought. 
 
 The feast was half over before her presence was 
 noticed, and then men began to think that they 
 had drunken too deeply of the delicious wines and 
 that their senses were betraying them into Oriental 
 illusion. 
 
 But there was no mistake about the woman. 
 She lay there on a couch, half smothered in roses 
 — dark red roses, that matched so well with 
 her creamy complexion a«id wonderful blue-black 
 eyes. 
 
 Had the mysterious Hindu reserved this dainty 
 creature for his own delectation? Was she to be 
 the partner of the host himself, or for what pur- 
 pose had the dazzling temptation been provided ? 
 
 The banquet proceeded. It seemed as if the 
 
82 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 courses to be served were infinite. Each dish 
 seemed to surpass its predecessor. Who was the 
 mysterious caterer that could supply a banquet be- 
 side which the best efforts of the Waldorf chefs 
 would have paled into insignificance ? 
 
 The only answer was — "Sunvidi." 
 
 From some unseen source, the handmaidens 
 frequently replaced the goblets of rare wine. The 
 air reeked with perfumes, dispensed from censers 
 swinging in the softly mellowed light. It was 
 a dream of the Orient — rich, radiant, sensuous and 
 overwhelming. 
 
 The high seasoning of the viands and the in- 
 toxicating effect of the drinks were beginning to 
 affect some of the banqueters. Suddenly a con- 
 cealed orchestra started up, playing some ravishing 
 air, to which the serving maids kept time with 
 their prettily sandaled feet, as if longing to dance, 
 and, at a signal from Sunvidi, they began to 
 gyrate around the room. What those Oriental 
 dances are all men know. 
 
 But the woman on the rug still riveted the at- 
 tention of almost all the guests. Burning eyes 
 blazed upon her from every point to which she 
 replied with the most languishing glances. 
 
 Then every one became conscious of the presence 
 of an enormous mastiff in the room. The brute 
 first appeared at the end of the hall to where the 
 
A Banquet. 83 
 
 woman lay, but he gradually, almost imperceptibly 
 drew nearer to her and finally crouched at a point 
 about half way down the long banquet chamber. 
 
 The dog and the woman soon divided the atten- 
 tion of every one in the assemblage. The eyes of 
 the animal had become fixed upon the beauty, and 
 she seemed to yield slowly and reluctantly to this 
 strange obsession, her glances towards the men in 
 the room changing, until they took upon them more 
 the form of an appeal than of an attempt to fas- 
 cinate. 
 
 Every one felt that the mastiff was exercising 
 some baleful influence over the woman. Sudden- 
 ly the spell was broken, she looked caressingly 
 towards the dog and smiled. Almost with one 
 bound, the huge beast reached her, and, seizing 
 the trembling form in his massive jaws, dashed out 
 of sight between the portieres. 
 
 As the horrified spectators sprang to their feet, 
 with the intention of rescuing the woman, they 
 saw that each of the dancing girls had disappeared 
 and was replaced by a trim, snug-looking, con- 
 ventional colored waiter. 
 
 Their chagrin can be easily imagined. Turning 
 to Sunvidi for explanation, they found that he had 
 disappeared together with their host, and several 
 of the guests averred that they heard the cynical 
 
84 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 laugh of the Hindu follow them as they left the 
 banquet chamber. 
 
 While some of the participants in the banquet 
 claimed that they had been the victims of a 
 hypnotic illusion, others stoutly maintained that 
 they were perfectly sure that they had eaten enough 
 food for several days to come, and so the great 
 Feast of the Satyrs passed over and was regarded 
 fitly as the most unique dinner that Xew York 
 had ever known. The transformation of the houris 
 into black waiters was the most amusing climax 
 Sunvidi had yet consummated. 
 
An Experience in Chinatown. 85 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AX EXPERIENCE IN CHINATOWN. 
 
 Two days had passed since the eventful episode 
 in the cab, and Jack Harding had not made a 
 call upon Marian Heath. Had he been asked to 
 explain his reason for not having done so, he could 
 have given no rational answer. 
 
 Was he afraid of the consequences of his rash 
 conduct, or had his love for the beautiful coquette 
 died out in that one wild cyclonic outburst of pas- 
 sionate vehemence ? 
 
 All men are cowards where a woman is con- 
 cerned, and Jack was probably frightened at the 
 possibly tragic significance of what Miss Heath 
 might have meant to say to him, after the impru- 
 dence into which he had permitted himself to be 
 betrayed. 
 
 Not daring for a moment to call upon one young 
 woman, Jack adopted what probably was a most 
 unwise expedient. He called upon another young 
 woman, casting himself, as it were, from the horns 
 of one dilemma upon those of another. It did 
 
86 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 not surprise him to find himself rather formally 
 and even coldly received by Helen Van Duyne, 
 when he made his first appearance after an absence 
 of weeks. 
 
 Having suddenly stopped visiting the young wo- 
 man altogether, after being a regular caller and 
 almost something more, certainly was an inex- 
 plicable piece of conduct and admitted of but one 
 explanation. 
 
 "It seems to me, Mr. Harding, that you forget 
 old friends very easily," said Helen, with more 
 acerbity than Jack had ever expected her to be 
 capable of. 
 
 Jack muttered some marvelous invention in ex- 
 tenuation of his conduct, which threw the blame 
 upon club life and dissipations, and moreover 
 presented such a dismal picture of contrite sub- 
 missiveness that the gentle heart of Helen was 
 immediately touched. 
 
 Helen Van Duyne was a delightful expression 
 of that true and unsullied young womanhood, 
 which is the crowning glory of civilization, and 
 under the spell of her good-natured forgiveness, 
 Jack Harding soon found himself making com- 
 parisons between her and Marian Heath, which, 
 while they were not perhaps entirely odious, were 
 very much in favor of the gentle Helen. 
 
 But, alas, had the gates of Paradise closed to 
 
An Experience in Chinatown. 87 
 
 him? Too late, perhaps, he had discovered the 
 difference between the true and the false, and 
 sacrificed the joys of pure affection for that Dead 
 Sea fruit, which is the delusion of so many. 
 
 It seemed like the awakening from a nightmare. 
 Had he yet shaken off the influence of Marian? 
 One never knows until the temptation is faced 
 anew, if they will fall again. 
 
 Let such thoughts pass. Jack was young and 
 volatile, and unpleasant thoughts are not, hap- 
 pily, much cultivated whilst we are in the twen- 
 ties, so that for the nonce, he basked in the smiles 
 of a woman whom he now believed regarded him 
 sincerely, if not with a degree of tenderness. 
 
 Before he left, Jack proposed a visit to the opera 
 to Helen, who accepted the invitation as naturally 
 and pleasantly as if no break had occurred in their 
 friendly intercourse. 
 
 Another two days passed and Jack still absented 
 himself from Marian Heath, a vague fear possess- 
 ing him that he would soon see some evidence of 
 her resentment at his neglect. 
 
 But how little does a man, especially a young 
 man, know a woman. 
 
 The evening when he was to take Miss Van 
 Duyne to the opera arrived, and as yet no thunder- 
 bolt had fallen. 
 
 That young lady, for some reason or other, 
 
88 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 which, perhaps, she would not have cared to tell, 
 was in exuberant spirits and she was wearing a 
 superb bunch of roses, which Jack had sent her, 
 his previous lesson in etiquette having taught him 
 not to make a mistake a second time. 
 
 As soon as they had taken their seats at the 
 Metropolitan Opera House, Jack, who felt some 
 mysterious warning, used his opera-glass to effect 
 in a rapid survey of the house. To his intense re- 
 lief, he saw no one that he knew. 
 
 A moment later, however, his heart leaped to 
 his throat. Coming towards them, were Marian 
 Heath and Clifford St. John. The latter, recog- 
 nizing Miss Van Duyne, whom he knew, bowed 
 and introduced the two young women. 
 
 In Miss Heath's manner, there was no sign of 
 feeling as she bowed to Harding, while Jack acted 
 in as stereotyped a manner as possible. Neverthe- 
 less, as he watched the first act of the play, he 
 was the object of very conflicting emotions. The 
 coincidence of meeting was one than which he 
 could have conjectured nothing more disagreeable. 
 It was worse than that, it was exasperating, and 
 so jarred Jack's nerves for a few moments, that he 
 was meditating a sudden departure from New 
 York forever, when the curtain went down, and 
 his companions immediately dropped into discus- 
 sion of the performance. 
 
An Experience in Chinatown. 89 
 
 The two women appeared to be very agreeably 
 disposed towards each other, and, after a few 
 moments, Jack's restraint wore off and he joined 
 in the criticism. 
 
 Jack Harding had no sooner regained his equi- 
 librium, than he noticed a look of anxiety, if not 
 of alarm, overspreading the usual simian-like 
 placidity of St. John's pudgy countenance. The 
 young aristocrat had, in fact, discovered his father, 
 mother and sister seated quite near them. Upon 
 recognizing him, they had looked sharply and 
 scrutinizingly at his companion, with whom they 
 had met him driving on a recent afternoon. Their 
 constant fear was that Clifford, owing to his er- 
 ratic nature, would contract a mesalliance. They 
 were, consequently, very anxious concerning the 
 social standing of the young women with whom 
 he appeared in public. With the warning of sev- 
 eral similar experiences of a like nature, the bank- 
 er's son knew what awaited him at home the fol- 
 lowing morning. 
 
 At the suggestion of St. John, the party upon 
 leaving the theatre, proceeded to a prominent hotel 
 for supper. During the progress of the meal, Miss 
 Van Duyne extended an invitation to Miss Heath 
 to a musicale, which was promptly accepted. St. 
 John was then invited to take part in the function 
 and to act as Miss Heath's escort. To Jack, Miss 
 
90 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 Van Duyne simply said, with the air of an inti- 
 mate: 
 
 "It is unnecessary to extend a special invitation 
 to you, as that is of course understood." 
 
 The long lashes fringing Miss Heath's violet 
 eyes swept downward for a moment at this little 
 sally, but that was the only sign she gave of hav- 
 ing fully unmasked Jack's perfidy. That gentle- 
 man himself looked like a small section of a poppy 
 field, for a few seconds, and inwardly felt as com- 
 fortable as a man might, sitting between the 
 mouth of Sheol and the Tarpeian Eock or Cha- 
 rybdis. 
 
 St. John came to the relief, as commonplace or 
 disagreeable persons often do, by making a simple 
 suggestion. 
 
 "I do not know how you will like the idea," he 
 said, addressing himself to the two women, "but I 
 am acquainted with a certain party who is thor- 
 oughly familiar with every corner of Xew York 
 City, and, in response to a 'phone call, can be here 
 in a few minutes. He will safely pilot us through 
 Chinatown, and point out to us everything of in- 
 terest, if you would care to see it." 
 
 Miss Heath immediately expressed herself as 
 being delighted with the proposal, but Miss Van 
 Duyne hesitated. The hour was already late, and 
 her parents would wonder what had become of her, 
 
An Experience in Chinatown. 91 
 
 The matter was settled by a message being sent, 
 both to Mrs. Van Duyne and to Mrs. Williams, 
 stating that the young women had joined a party 
 who were going slumming to Chinatown. 
 
 St. John then telephoned the guide, who prom- 
 ised to be on hand at once. 
 
 It was not long before Mr. Michael Hogan ap- 
 peared, and as he told them he knew China- 
 town thoroughly, and nothing skould harm them, 
 the young women felt assured, and carriages were 
 ordered without delay. 
 
 Shortly after they arrived in the Celestial dis- 
 trict and stopped before the Chinese theatre. 
 
 The place was filled with Mongolians, who sat 
 on long wooden benches, placed across the entire 
 width of the theatre, leaving a small aisle in the 
 centre. 
 
 "I suppose you have not noticed that they have 
 all removed their shoes, which may be seen under 
 the benches, and are sitting on the backs of their 
 seats," said the guide. 
 
 "Why, no; how curious !" replied Helen. "Why 
 is that?" 
 
 "It's simply one of their customs," responded 
 Mr. Hogan. "You will observe," he continued, 
 "that the costumes rf the actors are very grotesque, 
 and, in fact, the entire arrangement of their play 
 is different from ours. For instance, only those 
 
92 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 occupying the front of the stage take an active 
 part in the performance, while those in the rear, 
 although in plain view of the audience, are await- 
 ing their turn. The entire object of the play 
 seems to be to make as much noise as possible. 
 These plays are not finished in a night, but con- 
 tinue for three or four months, with the audience 
 in nightly attendance." 
 
 "I wonder how it is that they don't tire of it," 
 said Marian. "It must grow terribly monotonous." 
 
 "Not at all," answered the guide, "they have 
 never seen anything different, and if they had, 
 would probably prefer their own, and now I think 
 you have all seen enough here; ten minutes of 
 this show ought to satisfy any one with the excep- 
 tion of a Chinaman. 
 
 "The next place I am going to show you is the 
 Chinese house of worship, the Joss house. ,The 
 Chinese Sabbath falls on Monday, and on that day 
 the Temple is crowded." 
 
 He thereupon led the way upstairs and the party 
 at once began inspection of the various points of 
 interest. The altar was a small raised platform 
 at the front of the room, and upon it stood three 
 red jars filled with earth, in which were placed 
 burning sticks of incense, which sent forth a pleas- 
 ant aroma. 
 
 "Come to the rear of the room," said Mr. Hogan, 
 
An Experience in Chinatown. 93 
 
 "and I will show you some fine wood carvings. 
 The Chinese are experts in this." 
 
 The carving consisted of Chinese idols and 
 strange Oriental scenes, vividly pictured and en- 
 cased in a frame about ten feet in width. 
 
 Next to this carving stood a bell-shaped canopy, 
 draped with opaque cloth, and, in answer to the 
 ladies' surprised inquiry, Mr. Hogan explained: 
 
 "When two Chinamen quarrel, they are com- 
 pelled to go under the canopy and forgive each 
 other, and it is also used when there is business 
 competition between two. They walk under the 
 canopy behind the curtain, continuing to change 
 places, with the object of hiding their identity 
 from onlookers. You will notice that the opaque 
 cloth falls to within a few inches of the ground, 
 and that it is therefore impossible for outsiders 
 to distinguish those inside. Upon a given signal, 
 each points to the supposed man of his choice, 
 and he who receives the greatest support, wins; 
 his opponent being forced to move his place of 
 business. 
 
 "A curious arrangement, isn't it?" said Jack; 
 which was agreed to unanimously. 
 
 "That book next to the altar," continued Mr. 
 Hogan, "is said by the Chinese to be a couple of 
 thousand years old, and as no living man can 
 
94 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 prove to the contrary, we will have to take their 
 word for it." 
 
 After having seen everything of interest, Jack 
 and Cliff bought various novelties from the sex- 
 ton, and the party decided to take its departure. 
 
 "Are you ladies very much afraid of rats?" in- 
 quired the guide, smiling. 
 
 "Why do you ask?" said Marian. 
 
 "Because, if you are not, I will show you a sight 
 you have never seen before." 
 
 He led the way into an adjacent building, and, 
 having procured a lantern, opened a small door 
 and descended a few steps, calling to the others 
 to follow. 
 
 "Oh, isn't this horrible !" suddenly cried Helen, 
 with a shudder. 
 
 Her exclamation was not to be wondered at, 
 for there, in the glow of the lamplight, hundreds 
 of rodents, nearly as large as ferrets, could plainly 
 be seen running to and fro, the light no doubt hav- 
 ing caused consternation in their ranks. 
 
 Needless to say, the party did not tarry long, 
 and as soon as they had again reached the street, 
 Mr. Hogan said : 
 
 "Now that we are once more in the fresh air, I 
 want to tell you a little story. A few months 
 ago, a drunken man, who had heard of that cellar, 
 descended into it alone, with a lamp in his hands, 
 
An Experience in Chinatown. 95 
 
 and, losing his balance, fell to the bottom of those 
 stairs, where he lay unconscious until devoured by 
 the rats. When found, only his skeleton was left 
 the rats having picked the bones perfectly clean. 
 
 "The next thing on the programme," said the 
 guide, "is a beetle fight, an exceptional perform- 
 ance, rarely witnessed by any but Mongolians. 
 Come right in here with me, but be careful, as 
 the hall is dark, and we will be compelled to grope 
 our way up another flight of stairs." 
 
 Upon arriving at the top of the landing, the 
 door was opened by one of the Celestials, who, 
 upon recognizing the guide, grinned a pleasant 
 greeting. 
 
 The room was full of men, perched on high 
 chairs, around a long, oval table. The party 
 hardly had time to take in these surroundings, 
 when two men entered the room, each bearing a 
 small dish, the contents of which proved to be 
 two beetles, which, the guide explained, had been 
 starved for the occasion. These were thrown into 
 a large low jar, the cover of which was a magni- 
 fying glass, which enlarged the size of the in- 
 sects to great proportions. Being crazed by 
 hunger, the beetles immediately began to tear at 
 each other. In spite of its ghastliness, the sight 
 seemed to possess a fascination for all ; the Chinese 
 freely betting on their favorite and chattering 
 
96 A Serpent's Feast 
 
 incessantly, with evident delight. Finally one of 
 the contestants wa» mortally wounded, and the 
 victor ate all that remained of its body. 
 
 "Well, that's the limit," said St. John. "The 
 most bloodthirsty individual couldn't wish for any- 
 thing worse than that !" 
 
 "Now we will look at something of a different 
 nature/' said Mr. Hogan, as he led the way up- 
 stairs. 
 
 After some difficulty in gaining admittance, he 
 finally persuaded the guard to allow his party to 
 enter. There were about fifty Chinamen in the 
 room, and almost all were engaged in playing 
 fan-tan. All displayed the keenest interest in 
 the game, but appeared good natured, and there 
 was no sign of quarreling. 
 
 Here, the party had an excellent opportunity 
 for studying faces. A great many, people are 
 under the impression that all Chinamen look alike, 
 but, upon closer observation, one can readily dis- 
 tinguish a difference in features as marked as in 
 members of the Caucasian race. Apparently the 
 players did not notice the presence of the intrud- 
 ers, but with stolid indifference confined their at- 
 tention strictly to the cards, which were longer 
 and narrower than the usual playing cards. 
 
 The next point where the party directed their 
 steps was a typical Bowery resort, having a bar- 
 
An Experience in Chinatown. 97 
 
 room on the ground floor, and a fairly large danc- 
 ing-room on the floor above to where the party 
 made their way and seated themselves at a table. 
 A number of men and women, of the class nat- 
 urally congregating here, were enjoying the danc- 
 ing, some of the women being white, their com- 
 panions being whites or Chinamen. It goes with- 
 out saying that the dance and all surrounding 
 circumstances afforded great amusement to Helen 
 and Marian, presenting to them as it did some- 
 thing so radically different from anything they 
 had ever witnessed. After they had satisfied their 
 curiosity and love for the unique, the guide said: 
 "I will now conduct you to the room of a 
 woman of about twenty-five years of age, who has 
 not been outside of its walls for four month?. 
 She is a perfect opium fiend and cannot live with- 
 out it." 
 
 He led the way through a dark hall, and, after 
 turning to the right, they found themselves in a 
 long tunnel, after traversing which, they arrived 
 at the foot of a dangerous-looking staircase. As 
 they ascended, the boards, owing to age, creaked 
 with the weight of the sightseers. In answer to 
 their knock, a young and rather refined-looking 
 girl admitted them. 
 
 She was attired in a loose-fitting garment, and 
 did not show the effects of her horrible cravings 
 
98 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 as much as might have been expected. Upon her 
 couch stood a lighted lamp of sweet oil and several 
 Chinese nuts filled with a substance resembling 
 tar, which the guide said was opium. 
 
 The girl unconstrainedly lay down upon the 
 couch, and, with a long piece of steel, shaped 
 something like a hatpin, took a small portion of 
 opium, about twice the size of a cherry pit, out 
 of the nut shell. This, with the aid of the steel, 
 she held over the flame of the lamp, continually 
 turning the pill so that the heat might touch 
 every part of it, the object being, the guide ex- 
 plained, to extract the poison from the opium. 
 After she had treated the pellet thus for a few 
 moments, she picked up a pipe, about as long as 
 an ordinary flute, with twice its circumference, in 
 the centre of which was a slight elevation, which 
 they remarked looked like a miniature pilot-house. 
 This elevation is called the head of the pipe, and 
 in its centre is an opening, which continues 
 through the interior to the mouth-piece. 
 
 The woman now began to rub the opium against 
 the polished top of the headpiece, which Mr. Hogan 
 explained was an additional precaution for the 
 removal of the poisonous matter. Then, placing 
 the opium at the hole in the pipe and holding the 
 latter in one hand and the steel in the other, she 
 laid on her side, keeping the pipe in such a posi- 
 
An Experience in Chinatown. 99 
 
 tion that the opium was acted upon by the flame, 
 enabling her to enhale its vapors, and causing white 
 smoke to issue from her mouth. In a few min- 
 utes, the pill had spluttered itself out, without ap- 
 parently having affected the smoker in the least, 
 for she now unconcernedly unscrewed the head of 
 the pipe and knocked out the ashes. She repeated 
 this performance twice more, without being any 
 more affected than at first. While the woman re- 
 mained so occupied, Mr. Hogan whispered to the 
 visitors : 
 
 "She has become so habituated to the drug, 
 that it no longer affects her in the usual manner. 
 She simply absorbs it. She smokes many of those 
 pellets every day, and each contains a large amount 
 of opium. But look at her e} r es, the pupils are 
 enlarged to almost twice their normal size, and the 
 eyes have a watery appearance, the drug invariably 
 producing those effects. The woman obtains the 
 opium with the money given her by slumming 
 parties, which are generally quite liberal with 
 her, as they know should she be unable at this 
 late stage to procure the drug, she would lose her 
 reason." 
 
 The party now left the room to enter another 
 and larger one filled with smokers of both sexes, 
 mostly Chinese, but many of the women and some 
 of the men were white. The smokers were lying 
 
100 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 in bunks, placed along the side of the walls, and 
 were in various stages of coma. These bunks — the 
 regular Chinese bed — consist of a long board cov- 
 ered with straw matting, but the occupants seem 
 as comfortable as persons on the downiest couches. 
 
 "What a terrible picture of depravity/' said 
 Helen. "It is too dreadful to think that men and 
 women can become such slaves to so pernicious a 
 habit." 
 
 "That is true/' said the guide, "but still worse 
 to know that some of them, more especially the 
 white people, took their first straw out of mere 
 curiosity, and, finding the sensation agreeable, 
 took a few more pulls, came again, and ended in 
 the lamentable condition in which you now see 
 them." 
 
 Chinese attendants were in readiness to prepare 
 the pipes for the uninitiated, while the habitues 
 boiled their own pills. 
 
 "Come to the other end of the room, and I 
 will show you the worst case of all. Look at the 
 ceiling, you see it is of wood, which is simply 
 the floor of the garret above, about four feet in 
 height, where the unfortunates sleep for hours at 
 a time. Now that you have reached the end of it, 
 you can just catch a glimpse of a man in the first 
 bunk up there — the garret is reached by a ladder." 
 
 Curiosity impressed the female members of the 
 
An Experience in Chinatown. 101 
 
 party to demand a look at these "worst cases." 
 All, therefore, pressed their way up the ladder to 
 take a glimpse at the human wreck deposited in 
 the different bunks. 
 
 Simultaneously, Harding and Marian discov- 
 ered an individual, who lay apparently in a deep 
 stupor in one of the nearest bunks. Jack was 
 about to exclaim "Jules Latimer !" when, turning, 
 he beheld the eyes of Marian Heath riveted upon 
 the individual. Her face was blanched and her 
 eyes appeared to glitter strangely in the dusky 
 light, but a minute later her nerve returned and 
 she said to Helen with apparent gaiety : 
 
 "Let us go; this place is enough to give one a 
 fit of the blues !" 
 
 As the two men followed the others down the 
 ladder, Jack wondered what the mysterious tie 
 could be that bound the fair Marian to the unfor- 
 tunate Latimer, or Despard. 
 
 "And now, how would you like to taste a Chin- 
 ese meal ?" inquired Mr. Hogan. 
 
 "I must confess/' replied Marian, rather du- 
 biously, "at the present moment, the idea is not 
 an agreeable one. The scenes we have just wit- 
 nessed, together with the atmosphere and odor, 
 are not conducive to an overwhelming appetite, 
 but, as we want to see and know even-thing there 
 is to be learned, we will make the attempt." 
 
102 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 The guide conducted them to a Chinese restau- 
 rant, "the swellest," as he said, and they were soon 
 seated. There were a number of Chinamen, as 
 as well as several Americans in the place, and all 
 seemed to enjoy the peculiar food set before them, 
 especially the Celestials. 
 
 Approaching the table at which the party was 
 seated, an attendant, bowing a welcome, placed 
 tissue-paper napkins and menus before them. 
 Upon opening the latter, such delicacies as 
 bird's nest pudding, shark's fins, etc., stared the 
 diners in the eye. 
 
 "Guess you don't know what to order," said the 
 guide. "Try chicken chop suey." 
 
 "And what is that?" inquired Marian, laugh- 
 ingly. 
 
 "It's a combination, one might say, of hashed 
 chicken, pork, celery, onions, Chinese herbs and 
 vegetables, and is the dish most in favor by slum- 
 ming parties." 
 
 "I have tasted it," said St. J ohn, "and although 
 personally not favorably impressed by it, we might 
 as well try that as anything. You'll have to taste 
 their rice, too," he continued, "for that I'll war- 
 rant will be better than any you have ever eaten." 
 
 In accordance with these recommendations, they 
 ordered the above mentioned dishes, supplemented 
 by a pot of tea, after which they turned their at- 
 
An Experience in Chinatown. 103 
 
 tention to other matters immediately under their 
 observation. The first thing they noticed was the 
 absence of tablecloths and also the very peculiar 
 manner in which the Chinese took their food. 
 One, seated at an adjoining table, was regaling 
 himself with rice, by holding the bowl containing 
 it very near his mouth, with one hand, with the 
 other he diligently shoveled in the rice with the 
 chop-sticks. 
 
 "Isn't that horrid ?" cried Marian. 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Hogan, "it does not seem very 
 elegant, but, as the chop-sticks are their only table 
 utensils for eating, they cannot very well manage 
 otherwise." 
 
 The waiter finally appeared, carrying the chop 
 suey, with also a spiced sauce, somewhat resem- 
 bling Worcestershire, and, after some small plates 
 had been placed before them, the girls began to 
 eat, though rather gingerly. 
 
 "Don't be afraid," said Mr. Hogan. "There's 
 nothing in the food that can possibly harm you." 
 
 After a little, the waiter again appeared, and, 
 placing dainty cups before them, poured out the 
 tea. 
 
 "He has forgotten the milk and sugar," said 
 Helen. "I would like them for my tea." 
 
 "The Chinese never take either with theirs, as 
 they think the purity of the tea would be impaired 
 
104 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 by these ingredients. Try it and I do not think 
 you will find the taste at all disagreeable/' 
 
 "But he surely has forgotten bread, butter and 
 water/' said Marian. 
 
 "No, you will have to do without them here, 
 as the Chinese never serve them with meals/' 
 
 "This certainly seems to be an incomplete ar- 
 rangement/' said Marian, who, like almost all 
 Americans, had been accustomed to eat bread with 
 every article of food except pastry. 
 
 "We must abide by the customs of the people 
 with whom we are eating/' said J ack, "and I think 
 we will live through it." 
 
 "Chop suey is really not so bad," said Helen, 
 "but I have eaten other things I prefer," she ad- 
 ded, smiling. 
 
 "Now, try your rice, girls," said St. John. "It 
 is really very fine." And each, thinking that this 
 dish at least was prepared in the manner to which 
 they were accustomed, took a mouthful of it with- 
 out hesitation. 
 
 "Goodness!" exclaimed Marian. "Is this rice 
 or cotton? It is so dry, I can hardly sw r allow it. 
 I guess ril pass the rest of it. It is scarcely fair, 
 Mr. St. John, to play such a trick on unsuspecting 
 girls," she added, with a smile. 
 
 "I didn't mean it as such," said St. John, laugh- 
 ing. "I really like it better than ours at home." 
 
An Experience in Chinatown. 105 
 
 Marian shook her head in protest, while Jack 
 said : "I do not want to hurry you, but it is rather 
 late, and I propose our going home." 
 
 After the gentlemen had taken the guide aside 
 and liberally compensated him for his services, 
 they bade him good-night, and, entering their 
 carriages were soon at their respective abodes, all 
 heartily agreeing that they had spent a most en- 
 joyable evening. 
 
106 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 a cad's courtship. 
 
 To those who imagine that, in the great Ameri- 
 can republic, social distinctions are merely a prop- 
 er barrier, protecting the morally elect and finan- 
 cially successful from the depredations of their 
 more poorly equipped brethren, or the undesirable 
 presumption of the "scum of Europe," which has 
 been allowed to deport itself on these shores, the 
 character of a being like Clifford St. John will 
 appear an anomaly. 
 
 To those who know the calibre of the majority 
 of the better-class residents of the United States, 
 the idea that the euphonious phrase "Liberty, 
 equality, fraternity" means anything more than a 
 far-fetched sentiment would, of course, appear 
 ridiculous. 
 
 The character of St. John was in no way an 
 anomaly, for there are thousands of his type to be 
 found scattered throughout this country who are 
 the offshoot of families just like the St. Johns — 
 wealthy and cultivated people, who find, in raising 
 
A Cad's Courtship. 107 
 
 class-distinctions, the only satisfaction to be got- 
 ten out of their artificial lives. 
 
 As Clifford St. John sat at the breakfast table, 
 on the morning following his visit to Chinatown, 
 his mother suddenly inquired who the young lady 
 was with whom she had seen him at the opera the 
 previous evening. 
 
 "Oh, that is a particular friend of mine. Didn't 
 you admire her splendid style ?" replied St. John 
 complacently, as he slipped down a piece of but- 
 tered toast and adjusted his napkin more pre- 
 cisely. 
 
 "I have nothing to say about the young woman's 
 style/' replied Mrs. St. J ohn, decisively. "A f rienci 
 of mine who knows the Williams family, tells me 
 that she is stopping with them, and, by the way, 
 she said you attended a reception at her house. 
 I am informed that they are far beneath us so- 
 cially, and therefore desire you to discontinue your 
 visits at once and also your attentions to the young 
 lady, as you ought not to associate with those not 
 in your set, and more especially not to be seen 
 in public with them. Furthermore, as you know, 
 I suffer with insomnia, and consequently was 
 awake and heard you come in at three o'clock this 
 morning, which does not speak well for the com- 
 pany you were in until such an unearthly hour." 
 
 Clifford, who had no desire to relate the expe- 
 
108 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 riences of the previous evening, as he knew his 
 family viewed these matters in rather an old-fash- 
 ioned light, prudently remained silent, which 
 seemed to further incense his mother. His sister, 
 too, had entered the room before Mrs. St. John 
 had ceased speaking, and began harping on the 
 same subject, remarking that it was hard to have a 
 brother who cared so little for their respected 
 name, as to be seen in public with a woman of 
 whom people knew little or nothing. 
 
 At this, Clifford flew into a violent passion, re- 
 torting that he was old enough to attend to his 
 own affairs, social or otherwise, and did not feel 
 it incumbent upon him to ask permission of any- 
 body, when he felt inclined to escort a young lady 
 to a place of amusement. This reply was produc- 
 tive of a greater rumpus, which was at length 
 brought to a close, by the voice of the elder St. 
 John shouting from above, that if Clifford did not 
 discontinue his insolence, "he would come down 
 and break his d — neck." 
 
 Although not exactly the style of speech one 
 would look for in "our set," it had the effect of 
 subduing the ladies, as they knew by sad experience 
 that there would be an exceedingly lively half hour 
 if the head of the house should come down, as he 
 was extremely hot-tempered and very apt to talk 
 and act, much as do some in a lower walk of life. 
 
A Cad's Courtship. 109 
 
 ( lifford, however, did not retract or apologize, 
 and, the ladies seeing a rather unusually deter- 
 mined look upon his face, thought "discretion the 
 better part of valor" and decided to drop the sub- 
 ject temporarily. 
 
 This quarrel did not in the least deter Clifford 
 in his pursuit of Marian. On the contrary, it only 
 served to strengthen his resolution, and, as he 
 was financially independent of his father, he de- 
 cided to propose marriage at once. 
 
 Clifford St. John was a long dream of undis- 
 turbed self-indulgence. His placid conceit and 
 self-satisfaction sat upon his stumpy figure and 
 almost imbecile countenance with an air of ex- 
 treme fitness. To him the feelings of a mother 
 or sister were of little consequence beside the pur- 
 suit of his own fleeting pleasures, and, as he felt 
 himself to be violently in love with Miss Heath, 
 he determined upon a tour de force in the pursuit 
 of his amour. 
 
 Of course, the young man had little doubt as 
 to the outcome of his suit, for, although he could 
 discern signs that others were working in the same 
 direction, were not the St. Johns people with whom 
 a connection could not be ignored, and was he, 
 the traveled and cultured young aristocrat, likely 
 to be "turned down" for plebeian rivals? 
 
110 
 
 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 At the same time, St. John decided to consult 
 his valet on the situation. 
 
 The standard of the valet's intelligence was 
 about on a par with that of his master, and con- 
 sequently there was possible a complete interchange 
 of thought between them, a happy condition of 
 things, which was often found by St. John to be 
 of the greatest convenience to himself. 
 
 To John Parsons, his English valet, St. John 
 had already confided the fact of his intense ad- 
 miration for Miss Heath. The valet was a typi- 
 cal lackey and a person well adapted to the pur- 
 poses for which St. John used him. The young 
 aristocrat devoted the major part of his time to 
 making love to actresses and such other women as 
 pleased his fancy, or with whom he could manage 
 to get in contact. As a go-between in these 
 amours, it is true that Parsons had been unable to 
 achieve much success for his master,, but he had 
 not up to the present time met with any such 
 severe contretemps as to cause him to lose his con- 
 fidence. 
 
 After listening to an enthusiastic recital by St. 
 John of Miss Heath's manifold charms and graces, 
 Parsons had seen at once that he would soon be 
 called upon to act the role of Cupid's messenger 
 again and become the daily bearer of flowers, bil- 
 let doux, or other emblems of an absorbing passion. 
 
A Cad's Courtship. Ill 
 
 He also commenced to figure upon what chances 
 he might have with the young lady's maid, a per- 
 sonage with whom he would doubtless be com- 
 pelled to intrigue 10 learn for his master the real 
 state of Miss Heath's feelings towards him, such 
 being the usual tactics pursued by St. John, when 
 he was contemplating a new conquest. The valet 
 was therefore not at all surprised to be summoned 
 on this particular morning, after his master had 
 left the breakfast table, and addressed in the fol- 
 lowing strain : 
 
 "Parsons, you have heard me speak of Miss 
 Heath on several occasions: it will therefore not 
 surprise you to hear that I intend making the 
 young lady my wife. This is no joking matter, 
 as you may suppose, having heard me express ad> 
 miration for different young ladies at different 
 times, — but my whole future happiness depends 
 upon this. I therefore want you to make an ef- 
 fort to discover her true sentiments regarding me. 
 Purchase a handsome bouquet of roses this after- 
 noon, attach my card, take them to the house your- 
 self, hand them to the maid at the door, request- 
 ing her to give them to Miss Heath. Try to gain 
 the good will of the servant by money or other- 
 wise, so that through her you may obtain the de- 
 sired information. I know that it is unnecessary 
 to give you these minute instructions, owing to 
 
112 
 
 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 the proofs you have given me in the past as to 
 your accomplishments in this line, but for the first 
 time, I feel extremely nervous about the result." 
 
 "Very well, sir," said Parsons. "I understand 
 exactly what you wish me to do, sir, and am sure 
 I will have no difficulty in carrying out your 
 wishes; but where shall I report progress to you, 
 sir?" 
 
 "I will await you in my den at home." 
 
 According to instructions, Parsons purchased 
 a magnificent bunch of American Beauty roses and 
 then proceeded to carry them to the Williams' 
 residence. 
 
 The maid answered his ring, and, upon inquir- 
 ing for Miss Heath, she informed him that the 
 young lady had gone out. He requested her to 
 "kindly give the flowers to Miss Heath upon her 
 return" and, handing them to her, turned as if to 
 go, but suddenly retraced his steps, saying: 
 
 "I have heard that Miss Heath is very pretty, 
 is that so ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," the maid replied, simply. "Miss 
 Marian is both very pretty and very popular." 
 
 "Is she as good-looking as you are?" asked the 
 lackey, with a cockney drawl, "for if she is, she 
 certainly must be a stunner." 
 
 "Oh, what a jollier you are," answered the girl, 
 grinning and giggling, but none the less pleased, 
 
A Cad's Courtship. 113 
 
 and added coyly, "you don't expect me to believe 
 anything you say after that ?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't see why/' said Parsons, "the look- 
 ing-glass does not lie, and I guess you have seen 
 your reflection there occasionally ; but, by the way," 
 and the lackey slipped a bill into her hand, "have 
 you ever heard Miss Heath mention Mr. St. 
 John?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, several times; Miss Heath remarked 
 that he was very attentive to her." 
 
 "But does Miss Heath seem to have a preference 
 for any one among her numerous admirers ? Per- 
 haps she has spoken on this matter to some friend 
 or relative, which conversation you might have 
 accidentally overheard," and the smirking Par- 
 sons gave the maid a sly jab. 
 
 "Can't say that I have, besides I do not make 
 my mistress' business mine," replied the girl, be- 
 ginning to look suspicious. 
 
 "Oh, well, my dear girl," answered Parsons, 
 suavely, "don't let us quarrel. I have taken a 
 strong fancy to you and would like to become fast 
 friends with you in future. My master is awfully 
 liberal and there is no reason why some of his 
 coin should not find its way into your pocket. Be- 
 sides, something serious may take place between my 
 master and Miss Heath, so it will certainly be to 
 your advantage to supply me with a little in- 
 
114 
 
 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 formation, if you can." Then after a pause, he 
 asked insinuatingly: "Are you sure there is noth- 
 ing you can tell me?" 
 
 "Nothing at all," she answered. 
 
 "Promise me one thing, then," said Parsons, 
 "do not mention a word of this conversation to 
 anybody." 
 
 "I certainly shall not, and I am not really angry 
 at you. I only pretended to be so, and if I can let 
 you into an interesting secret at any time, you 
 can depend upon my doing it." 
 
 Bidding her good-bye, Parsons hurried home to 
 impart this very meagre intelligence to his mas- 
 ter The latter, on hearing Parson's step upon 
 the stairs, impatiently went out into the hall to 
 meet him, querying: 
 
 "What news ?" 
 
 "Nothing much, sir," answered Parsons, "but 
 what little there is seems satisfactory enough. 
 It appears that Miss Heath does not discuss her 
 affairs downstairs, and the servants know little 
 about them." 
 
 He then related all that had transpired. 
 
 Naturally, Clifford was not satisfied, as he had 
 received but little information. He swore that 
 the suspense was killing him, and forthwith de- 
 cided to bring the matter to a climax the fol- 
 lowing evening at the musicale. 
 
The Cynic in Love. 115 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 THE CYNIC IN LOVE. 
 
 Harry Taylor had not met Marian since the 
 revelation she had made to him of her opinions, 
 on the roof garden. It was not because he had 
 felt any lack of desire for her company, but be- 
 cause he feared to tire her with too much of 
 his own, and thus commit that fatal fault of most 
 lovers, the making of oneself stale. 
 
 To Harry Taylor had come the first love of his 
 manhood, a strong, all-absorbing passion, which 
 those who looked upon his muscular build and de- 
 termined countenance could well have understood. 
 
 It is true that he had commenced to toy with 
 the fire which might be destined to scorch him, 
 to pique a very trifling curiosity and to kill a few 
 idle moments at a pleasant pastime. Xo one could 
 have felt more indifferent to Marian at first than 
 he had done, especially as there was more than a 
 suspicion in his mind that between her and Jules 
 Latimer some peculiar tie existed. 
 
116 
 
 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 He had divined correctly, that his friend, Jack 
 Harding, was pursuing the same trail as himself, 
 but the fact that he might embitter his friend's 
 happiness had not a particle of significance with 
 him now. Love is the most selfish of sports, for it 
 is a game at which the best or luckiest player 
 wins, and, as at the card table, one's best friend 
 must be sacrified for the passion of the play. 
 
 It is in just such men as Harry Taylor that love 
 strikes the strongest note, effects the strangest 
 change. The erstwhile cynic and Bohemian, the 
 man whose heart had always throbbed to market 
 reports before, was completely transformed by the 
 new influence which had come over him. The 
 careless college man and business student, who had 
 flirted and jilted perhaps twenty love-sick girls 
 in his time, was now caught in the current of 
 love's temptuous stream, and, unfortunately for 
 lack of training, he was proving a poor swimmer. 
 
 Finally, after having stayed away three days, 
 Harry made up his mind to call on Miss Heath 
 and even went to the trouble of dressing very care- 
 fully before presenting himself at the Williams' 
 drawing-room. 
 
 Miss Heath, as it happened, was at home; her 
 visit to Chinatown, the previous evening, having 
 failed, notwithstanding its one sinister episode, to 
 break that sprightly charm and piquancy which, 
 
The Cynic in Love. 
 
 117 
 
 with beauty and grace, constituted her great at- 
 tractiveness. 
 
 She greeted Harry with a pleased smile and there 
 was an air of sincerity in her welcome, which 
 seemed to disclose a more than ordinary interest in 
 her caller. All this was particularly pleasing to 
 the caller himself. Had he been a witness to the 
 proceedings on the previous evening and seen the 
 evident cut which his friend Harding had given 
 Marian, by his attentions to Miss Van Duyne, he 
 might have divined that to have been at the bot- 
 tom of Miss Heath's present cordiality. Of that 
 point, however, he was ignorant, and even had he 
 made the conjecture, it is possible that he might 
 have been in error. The situation would only have 
 been rendered more puzzling by the encouragement 
 Marian had, on that occasion, seemed to be giving 
 to Clifford St. John. 
 
 He who can precisely sound the depths of wo- 
 man's nature has not yet been born, according to 
 the prophets. She is born to love and hate, to 
 exact and to endure, without any earthly reason 
 than that furnished by her own impetuous notions. 
 She is to the social economy what the rushing cy- 
 clone, the caressing zephyr or the mystic moon- 
 light are to the terrestrial. We know not whence 
 their potency comes, or how their influence works; 
 
118 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 we only feel and enjoy, or dread, but cannot 
 avoid. 
 
 One of the first things that caught the quick 
 eye of Marian was that Harry Taylor seemed less 
 self-possessed than usual. 
 
 "What is the matter with you this evening, mon 
 cher?" she asked, coquettishly. "You do not 
 seem in good spirits. Does my company bore 
 you?" 
 
 Harry's dark eyes flashed the answer that his 
 lagging tongue so poorly conveyed, replying al- 
 most tragically : 
 
 "Miss Heath, when that time comes, I think I 
 shall have become another person." 
 
 Then he added after a slight pause, speaking 
 very tenderly: "Have you never listened to music 
 which made you feel quiet and almost sad, al- 
 though it gave you inexpressible delight? You 
 have never loved — had you done so, you would un- 
 derstand." 
 
 The coquette was silenced, almost awed by this 
 seriousness on the part of one who had hitherto 
 affected to treat all such matters lightly. She 
 could see that some great change had come over 
 her visitor ^and slowly the thought dawned upon 
 her brain, that he was in love with herself. Her 
 manner at once became more subdued. 
 
 From Jack Harding, as from Clifford St. John, 
 
The Cynic in Love. 
 
 119 
 
 such suggestions would not have produced the 
 effect upon her that they did coming from Harry 
 Taylor. Marian already felt a thrill vibrating 
 through her being, as if some hidden chord had 
 been touched, which stirred her inmost nature. 
 
 But she made a master effort to hide this feel- 
 ing, for she saw beyond the point that this young 
 man saw. Other figures and scenes, than the ones 
 now in her view, flitted between herself and the 
 sincere, earnest face of her visitor. She saw an 
 episode in a cab between herself and this man's 
 friend, and which had occurred but a few nights 
 previous. She saw a shrunken, pallid face, in the 
 bunk of the opium den, "one of the worst cases," 
 that had horrified her vision only the night before. 
 It seemed as if Fate were pursuing her relentlessly 
 now, and it was not strange that the young wo- 
 man remained silent and self-absorbed for a few 
 seconds. 
 
 "I hope that my words have not caused you any 
 pain?" said Harry, pleasantly, and with no trace 
 of his former audacity or cynicism. 
 
 "Indeed, no. Why should they? If one is in 
 love, they should have sympathy. God pity them 
 though, for love is a strange phantasy. It either 
 leads to paradise or hell. There is no middle 
 course, when it seizes those who know how to love 
 and how to feel." 
 
120 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 It was now Harry's place to look surprised. 
 Here was another phase of the ever-changing char- 
 acter of this strange and fascinating woman. No 
 one could have spoken such words, who had not 
 felt the thrall of love, or at least was even now 
 under its developing spell. 
 
 Quick as a flash, Harry's mind reverted to the 
 Latimer incident. But his vanity came to his 
 rescue there. A woman of Marian's type could 
 never have loved such a man as that. Had there 
 been some other, deeper and more crucial experi- 
 ence in her life — some early heart episode? To 
 look at the innocent, even girlish lines of that 
 pink face belied the suspicion. 
 
 "Was she then only now reaching that vortex, 
 where she found herself in love with one although 
 tied to some other by chains which condemned her 
 soul to the torture of a hopeless passion ? 
 
 "Surely no woman would have spoken to a man, 
 as she just had done, unless he formed one actor 
 in that tragedy which was passing in her soul!" 
 
 The thought gave him hope. "Even if there 
 were ties, could not they be set aside ? Were not 
 such things being done every day to suit the con- 
 venience of hearts that had found stronger affilia- 
 tions ? Had a foreshadowing of this situation, this 
 crisis, inspired the strange current of thought to 
 which Marian had given expression on the roof 
 
The Cynic in Love. 
 
 121 
 
 garden ? The intuitions of a woman are very much 
 keener than those of a man. Had she already di- 
 vined his love for her before speaking as she had 
 done, and had she spoken as she had to see what he 
 would say to such views — to feel, as it were, if his 
 heart could stand such a shock as the revelations 
 she might have to make, would come to him? 
 If so, she must have learned to love him already — 
 and " 
 
 The young man's thought stopped there. He 
 lifted his eyes to hers. Whatever doubt he might 
 have felt for an instant, it was dispelled. Never 
 mind what might have happened, he would take 
 her and shield her from even 7 storm and stress 
 of the world. 
 
 "Mr. Taylor, I must object. This is becoming 
 simply a Quaker's meeting, and I don't enjoy it 
 at all. Please be yourself, or I shall go to the 
 piano." 
 
 The words, spoken in her old, bantering tones, 
 dissipated his dreams and brought back all the 
 prosaic surroundings of every-day life. 
 
 "I think HI do a little of that kind of thing 
 myself," answered Harry. "I believe I picked up 
 one of those ragtime ditties they played on the roof 
 garden the other night. Ill try at any rate. It 
 had a peculiarly fascinating jingle," and, suiting 
 the action to the word, Harry went to the piano, 
 
122 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 with all his old-time spirit, and commenced to 
 
 hammer the keys. 
 
 The ragtime ditty was followed by another, 
 equally riotous, meaningless, musicless jingling, 
 but they cleared the air of sentiment and swept 
 back, at least for awhile, what seemed at one 
 time like the oncoming flood of a cloudburst of 
 passion. 
 
 Ah, Fate ! By what trivial tricks doth thou 
 sometimes sweep the flood of apparent destiny 
 aside ! 
 
 When Harry Taylor left Marian that evening, 
 their hearts were yet, apparently, sealed books to 
 one another. 
 
Turning Down a Cad. 123 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 TURNING DOWN A CAD. 
 
 Harry Taylor of course was not invited to the 
 Van Duyne function, as he did not possess an 
 acquaintance with the family. He was, therefore, 
 left to his own reflections, on the evening in ques- 
 tion, and the distractions offered by the Knock- 
 about Club, whilst his rival, Clifford St. John, 
 escorted the object of his devoted thoughts to the 
 affair. 
 
 Upon arriving at the Van Duyne mansion, Misg 
 Heath and St. John found it brilliantly illumi- 
 nated and filled with an animated and exclusive 
 crowd, awaiting with eagerness the appearance of 
 the artists, whom Mrs. Van Duyne had engaged 
 as entertainers. 
 
 Jack Harding had arrived rather late and, upon 
 entering, found some difficulty in paying his re- 
 spects to his hostess, as Helen was almost com- 
 pletely surrounded by her friends. Seeing a 
 young lady, whom he knew, sitting alone with her 
 mother, he advanced and greeted them. Miss 
 
124 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 Hathaway seemed pleased to meet him and, in 
 answer to his queries, the ladies communicated 
 their views upon the merits of the respective per- 
 formers. 
 
 "Do you know the young lady over there, who 
 is about to leave the room with Mr. St. John?" 
 asked Miss Hathaway. 
 
 "Yes" answered Harding, "that is Miss Heath. 
 But why do you single her out ? Is there anything 
 unusual about her, and do you know her?" 
 
 "What an avalanche of questions," replied Alice 
 Hathaway, with a shrug of her shoulders. "But, 
 if you'll be patient, I will tell you all about her." 
 
 "You know I was born in Buffalo, and I have 
 known Marian Heath ever since childhood, in fact, 
 we were intimate friends, confiding all things to 
 each other, until a few years ago, when she did 
 something of which I disapproved so strongly that 
 I have never spoken to her since." 
 
 "You certainly have aroused in me a strong curi- 
 osity," said Jack. 
 
 "Oh, fie !" laughed Alice, "only women are sup- 
 posed to allow their curiosity to get the better of 
 them. I scarcely think I'll tell you after all. 
 There is more fun in holding a secret that one 
 would like to know." 
 
 Jack had not approved of the rather slighting 
 tone she had used in speaking of Marian, and 
 
Turning Down a Cad. 125 
 
 now said gravely : "Miss Hathaway, do you think 
 it right to insinuate so much without enlightening 
 me further?" 
 
 After a moment's deliberation, the young wo- 
 man said : "I will tell you, on your solemn promise 
 not to divulge one word to anybody." 
 
 To this Jack unhesitatingly agreed, and inclined 
 his head toward her to receive her information. 
 What he heard, seemed to affect him greatly, for 
 he turned very pale and, at the conclusion only 
 said, with an attempt at levity: 
 
 "Thank you for complying with my request, and 
 I promise that any gossip I may ever have on hand, 
 will be at your disposal." 
 
 Seeing Helen more at leisure, Jack excused 
 himself to go to her and was greeted with: 
 
 "Why have you neglected me so long this even- 
 ing, Jack ?" 
 
 "I did not mean to do so," he responded ear- 
 nestly, "but you were so surrounded by your 
 friends, I deemed it best to wait until the fates 
 were more propitious." 
 
 "Your excuses are always so ingenious, Jack, 
 that it is impossible to convict you, but, under- 
 stand this, I think we are intimate enough, or 
 ought to be after all these years, for me to frankly 
 tell you that I expect to see more of you in the 
 future, than has been the case during the last few 
 
126 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 weeks/' To this sally he responded satisfactorily, 
 although to a keen observer his manner would 
 have appeared rather abstracted. 
 
 "By the way," said Helen, "where are Miss 
 Heath and Mr. St. John? I have not seen them 
 in some time. Why, there they are !" she ex- 
 claimed, almost immediately, "coming out of the 
 library. Look at Miss Heath," she continued in 
 some surprise, "Tier face is flushed, and his, on 
 the contrary, is very pale, while an air of dejec- 
 tion is in his entire manner. I wonder whether 
 chey have quarrelled ?" 
 
 "I guess not," said Jack. "They seem to be 
 growing better and better friends." 
 
 "That proves nothing," said Helen, "the best 
 of friends quarrel occasionally," looking roguishly 
 at him. 
 
 Mrs. Van Duyne now approached, causing a 
 change in the conversation, and the -host shortly 
 after joining them, he and Jack conversed on 
 Chicago matters for a time, after which the latter 
 took his departure for home. 
 
 Here it is necessary to revert to what had oc- 
 curred between Miss Heath and St. J ohn. 
 
 Clifford, who had been sitting next to Marian 
 during the performance, suggested to her im- 
 mediately afterwards the advisibility of taking a 
 stroll through the adjoining rooms, away from 
 
Turning Down a Cad. 127 
 
 the crowd, which invitation Marian had accepted. 
 
 After entering the library, they seated them- 
 selves on one of the settees and Marian at once 
 noticed in her escort an unusual and excited agi- 
 tation. For a few seconds neither spoke, then he 
 broke the silence by saying: 
 
 "Marian, what I am about to say may take you 
 by surprise, owing to our rather recent acquaint- 
 ance, but my heart is filled to overflowing, and 
 I can no longer withhold my secret thoughts from 
 you, without suffering the keenest mental anguish. 
 Marian, I love you, have loved you from the first 
 moment of our acquaintance and, although I dare 
 not hope that at present you are willing to en- 
 trust your future to my keeping, I pray that you 
 give me some words of encouragement. I confess 
 to having been foolish and fickle in the past, yet 
 I swear by all I hold sacred, that if you promise to 
 be mine, I will be faithful to you forever, and pro- 
 tect and cherish you to the utmost of my power/' 
 
 After regarding him silently for a moment, 
 Marian replied in a most icy tone : "Your proposal 
 has affected me deeply, but only with an ever in- 
 creasing astonishment at your audacity. This 
 harsh language in answer to your honeyed declara- 
 tion, may surprise you, but my contempt for you 
 is far beyond that which mere words can express. 
 How you could become so low as to send your 
 
128 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 servant to the house, with instructions to question 
 Mrs. Williams' maid, regarding my sentiments to- 
 ward you, is more than the average mind can com- 
 prehend. If you had any idea of what love is, on 
 which you so volubly hold forth to me, you could 
 not have discussed me with your servant or mine ; 
 and now, the sooner this interview is closed, the 
 better for both. When I learned of the contempti- 
 ble means you had employed to further your in- 
 terests, I had intended to remain silent, but, under 
 the circumstances, deem it better to tell you my 
 real opinion of you and your conduct." 
 
 "Oh, Marian," piteously cried the astonished 
 and almost dumbfounded Clifford, "you judge me 
 too har:hly. I did not know whether you cared 
 for me and, thinking no harm, sought in that 
 manner to avoid suffering the humiliation of a 
 refusal." 
 
 "There is nothing to be gained by explanations 
 or remonstrances," responded Marian. "It will 
 not help your cause in the slightest degree. I go 
 to rejoin the merrymakers. For the sake of ap- 
 pearances, you had better accompany me, so that 
 none will suspect that anything extraordinary has 
 occurred." 
 
 Which sensible advice the disappointed suitor 
 sulkily followed. 
 
 The explanation of Miss Heath's attitude to- 
 
Turning Down a Cad. 129 
 
 ward St. John is simple. Surprised, by a slip 
 of the tongue, into a confession of what had tran- 
 spired at Parson's visit with the flower?. Mrs. Wil- 
 liams' maid had made a clean breast of the whole 
 matter to Miss Heath and, as that young lady 
 had already made up her mind in what direction 
 she felt her real feelings drifting, she had de- 
 termined to seize the opportunity and give the in- 
 sufferable little dude his conge at once. Marian 
 had only been amusing herself at his expense and 
 had begun to find him a tiresome bore, even be- 
 fore he committed the faux pas, which hastened 
 her decision. 
 
 In spite of this, however, Marian's pretty head 
 tossed upon its pillow that night more than it had 
 ever, perhaps, done before. Play we never so 
 nervy a game, Fate once in a while overtakes and 
 overwhelms us. We never know how near we are 
 to the abyss, until, swaying upon its brink, we re- 
 alize the slender hold that restrains us from a 
 fall into the cavernous depths whither we may be 
 precipitated by the loosening of a single stone. 
 
130 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 THE TENDERLOIN SYMPOSIUM. 
 
 It was decided that things were getting too 
 slow around the Knockabout Club for the red 
 corpuscles of that virile organization, and the En- 
 tertainment Committee was instructed to think up 
 some novel and strenuous kind of an entertain- 
 ment to liven them up a little. 
 
 That indefatigable body finally decided that 
 the novelty should take the shape of a Tenderloin 
 symposium, at which each member should relate 
 some interesting incident, observed or experienced 
 by him in the Tenderloin district. 
 
 "That'll be breezy enough to keep our coffin- 
 nails from rusting," said Captain De Marville, 
 when the Committee's report was received. Then 
 every one started in to try and think of something 
 piquant in the way of Tenderloin experiences, with 
 which to regale his auditors at the symposium. 
 
 For Harry Taylor and Jack Harding, the affair 
 proved an agreeable diversion from the tournament 
 of love in which they were now so hotly engaged, 
 
The Tenderloin Symposium. 131 
 
 and although they had not been long enough resi- 
 dent in New York to have any experiences of their 
 own worth relating, they were none the less in- 
 terested in hearing those of the other members 
 of the club. 
 
 The evening for holding the symposium arrived, 
 bringing together an unusually large number of 
 members. 
 
 After the meeting had been called to order and 
 contributions requested, Sylvester, the melodra- 
 matic villain, was first to respond with a piece of 
 rhyme which he said was based upon a real inci- 
 dent of Tenderloin life, and whicb he had entitled, 
 "A Ditty of the Tenderloin." 
 
 In his broad Western dialect, Sylvester then 
 read: 
 
 A DITTY OF THE TENDERLOIN. 
 
 This is the tale of a man who waxed fat, 
 In the heyday of life and deservd it at that; 
 He had money to burn and he still wanted more, 
 He had houses and lands and had good friends 
 galore. 
 
 He was married and happy and still in his prime, 
 He worVd hard and prospered, and had a good 
 time; 
 
132 A Serpent's Feast 
 
 Respected and bow'd to, he felt that the earth 
 Was the best of good places for life and for mirth. 
 
 His wife was a model of all that is good, 
 The queen of Ids household, serenely she stood; 
 And a half-dozen bright little angels were born, 
 On whom Fortune with lavish hand emptied her 
 horn. 
 
 It was prosper and prosper and prosper still more. 
 Gift piled high upon gift at the lucky one's door; 
 No clouds could draw near; for, where wealth has 
 a hand, 
 
 Fate may menace in vain, with her sinister wand. 
 
 But misfortune may come in a lifetime to all, 
 The surest foundations may tremble and fall; 
 And so it occurred — there were small drops at 
 first, 
 
 But the storm in full fury at last on them burst. 
 
 Though o'er clouded his fate, the man still strug- 
 gled on, 
 
 For how could he lose who had constantly won? 
 But alas! When the tide of ill luck starts our 
 way 
 
 It is useless to struggle and hopeless to pray. 
 
The Tenderloin Symposium. 133 
 
 Things seenid to be tloom'd by a singular curse 
 And everything went on from bad unto worse. 
 The man took to drinking to bury his woes, 
 And when that once starts then all finally goes. 
 
 At length the last home, a small, humble abode, 
 That held them together, was lost, when the load 
 Of grief, for the woman, proved too hard a blow 
 And she went the way many unfortunates go. 
 
 The children were seiz'd, in the name of the law, 
 And saw neither father nor mother the more. 
 The woman sank into the mire to her neck, 
 And the man was a mental and physical wreck. 
 
 He liv'd on the chances that come to lost men, 
 And once or twice fell in the prisoner's pen. 
 Where she went, God knows! — to some pestilent 
 dive, 
 
 Where only the wrecks of our bodies survive. 
 
 The end came at last to the man, who went in 
 To beg for a solace in poisonous gin; 
 For the bartender only could grimace and mock — 
 So he walked out and stealthily dropped off the 
 dock. 
 
134 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 After the handkerchiefs had been wrung out, 
 the old politician from the worst ward on earth — 
 the man who usually saw, heard and said nothing, 
 and whose face bore the hall-mark of ingrafted 
 knowledge, said: 
 
 "I will tell you a pathetic story, which is known 
 to but few around the precinct. The plot of the 
 tragedy is much the same as that which inspired 
 the ditty, but the end is quite sufficient. 
 
 "We used to call the woman 'Flash Kate/ and 
 she had been a stunner in her time. Her husband 
 was a brute and left her for another woman — left 
 her to take care of five little children. 
 
 "Somehow or other, the Sisters got hold of these 
 children one day, and told them a few things that 
 are in the Bible, among them the fact that Christ 
 died to save sinners. It's a shame to bring His 
 name into a story like this, but even He pitied the 
 Magdalen. 
 
 "Well, some one else, some busybody, of course, 
 told the children that their mother was a pretty 
 bad sinner and the two things together puzzled 
 their little minds tremendously. They were all 
 little tots and, when their mother was out one 
 evening at the Empire, or some other place, they 
 put their small heads together and talked the mat- 
 ter over. They were very fond of their mother, 
 those poor, fatherless little ones, for 'Flash Kate" 
 
The Tenderloin Symposium. 135 
 
 was always kind to the kids and — well, to make a 
 long story short, what do you think was the up- 
 shot of the children's deliberations ? Xever before 
 in my life heard I such a strange decision for 
 childish minds to arrive at ; but you see, they were 
 reared in the Tenderloin. Those poor, fatherless 
 little wretches, into whose lives little brightness 
 stole, loved their mother so deeply that they de- 
 cided to die for her as Jesus had done for the 
 world, although they did not comprehend at all 
 what it meant. Children of the Tenderloin soon 
 learn everything connected with crime and these 
 knew enough to blow out the light and leave the 
 gas full on, so that they should be suffocated. 
 
 "No one would ever have known but that their 
 deaths were accidental, except for a little scrawl 
 written on a piece of paper by one of the kids, 
 under which the names of those who could write 
 were signed. On the paper were found these 
 words : 
 
 " 'Dear Mama : We have died to save you as 
 you are a sinner. Your loving Katie, Jimmy, 
 Mamie, Johnny/ 
 
 "As soon as the funeral was over, 'Flash Kate* 
 committed suicide. 
 
 "The case is in the records of the Thirtieth 
 
136 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 Street Police Station. Any one can look it up 
 who chooses to do so." 
 
 "Let's have something lively, now, for a change," 
 suggested De Marville, whose eyes were a little 
 blurred over the old politician's story, as were those 
 of several others. 
 
 "Ill give you something lively," said Dan Eoot, 
 the wholesale liquor man. "It's a bird, and it's 
 just hot off the coals, too. 
 
 "I happened into the Haymarket one night. 
 You know, of course, that being a married man, I 
 wouldn't have gone there had not business called 
 me. I chanced to supply the place with most of 
 its liquor. 
 
 "When I dropped in, there were three new girls 
 in the place, just up from Louisville, and they 
 were topliners, every one of them. Their father 
 had been connected with a distillery down there, 
 and I pretended that I had known him. 
 
 "This put us in good touch, immediately, and 
 when the proprietor and myself opened a few 
 bottles of wine — merely for business sake, you 
 know — the girls began to feel full of the devil. 
 
 "They wanted to do something excruciatingly 
 funny and each bet the others that she would do 
 the funniest thing of all. 
 
 "The girls were dead game sports, handsome as 
 anything I ever saw, and looked 'straight goods' — 
 
The Tenderloin Symposium. 137 
 
 very stylish and polished — could have passed for 
 anything anywhere, if they had a mind to. 
 
 "Well, hir, I was just dead interested to see 
 what those girls would do. They were to be al- 
 lowed a week or two to work up their acts in, and 
 they kept us guessing lively in the interval. Would 
 you believe it, each girl got the same idea into 
 her head concerning what would be the funniest 
 thing to do under the circumstances? 
 
 "Each decided that the funniest thing she could 
 do would be to get married and fool some one. 
 In less than two weeks, all three girls were spliced. 
 I don't wonder at it, for I came near eloping with 
 one of 'em myself. Well, this is how they paired 
 off. One caught an old roue at the theatre, with 
 her ingenue ways. Another went to church and 
 pretended she wanted to get religion. A young 
 clergyman fell in love with and married her as 
 soon as she was converted. The other caught on 
 to an all-around sport, at the race-track, by know- 
 ing so much about horseflesh, which, of course, is 
 only natural with a Kentucky girl. It was a grim 
 joke on their husbands, I imagine. 
 
 "Of course they were soon all back at the Hay- 
 market. Xothing in married life for them, at 
 their age, you know ; and the tales those girls told 
 about getting married kept the Haymarket in a 
 roar for weeks after." 
 
138 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 "I'll tell you an odd little thing about the Ten- 
 derloin/' chimed in Delamotte, the Sixth avenue 
 dry goods man. 
 
 "Did any one ever hear of the house of the 
 Seven Sisters? No? Well, that was the slickest 
 fake I ever saw worked and Fve seen a few. The 
 inmates of the house dressed as Sisters of Charity, 
 quite an original idea, wasn't it? And one that 
 proved deucedly attractive. 
 
 "All the girls had such sweet, pious faces, you'd 
 have thought that they were sprouting wings and 
 might fly away to heaven any minute. I got onto 
 their racket first, through selling them their 
 clothes, but they deluded me for a long time, until 
 one of them asked me one day, very quietly, if I 
 didn't want to go to paradise. Then the game 
 was up, of course. I don't believe that half the 
 fellows who went there suspected they were not 
 genuine Sisters. They were always pledged to 
 secrecy and concluded that the girls were actually 
 what they pretended to be, but liked a good time on 
 the sly. Holy angels! The Mother Superior, as 
 she had the audacity to call herself, was one of 
 the most dangerous women in town. I caught her 
 one day in the store trying to proselytize among 
 my girls and I think that was about the last I saw 
 of the Seven Sisters. They may have been un- 
 frocked nuns, for all I know, and probably were, 
 
The Tenderloin Symposium. 139 
 
 for there are such creatures. But the idea was 
 fascinating to men. Forbidden fruit, you know, 
 always has a more delicious flavor. Next !" 
 
 "Well, I'm going to tell you a story now of how 
 a young and pretty girl, who lived in one of the 
 worst of the bad houses, went unscathed through 
 the Tenderloin/' said Dooley, the comic part man. 
 "It's rather long, but you'll have to excuse that. 
 Better get Oscar to fill up the steins in the in- 
 terval. 
 
 "I happened to be in one of the Broadway music 
 stores one day and noticed a new song announced. 
 I read the words and found that they were very 
 suggestive, and was more surprised than ever when 
 I saw that they had been written by a lady whom 
 I knew very well. 
 
 "The next time I met Leontine Stanfield, I 
 asked her w T hat could possibly have induced her 
 to write such a song, which was out of her line 
 altogether, and — thereby hangs the tale. 
 
 " 'Yes,' said she, Til tell you all about it. I 
 wrote that "blue" song, and it is forever cropping 
 up and disgracing me. There's a story goes with 
 the song which might interest you. 
 
 " 'We were playing "McSweeny's Nomination' 5 
 in Philadelphia. Maley had the title role and I 
 of course was the soubrette. We had just done our 
 double dance, which was a rock-bottom winner, 
 
140 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 and had rushed into the wings to make 1 a quick 
 change and come back for our first encore, when 
 we discovered a girl standing in the entrance, 
 where our props and things were laid out on chairs, 
 ready for use. Now, we took five encores every 
 night, coming back in a different character each 
 time. No one was allowed to ever look in that 
 entrance while our staff was there, for fear of dis- 
 arranging something and thereby queering our 
 act. The girl stood motionless, until we were off 
 for the last time, and then Maley jumped on her. 
 He did not say much, but it was the tone he said 
 it in that seemed to frighten her. 
 
 " The girl appeared to be about fifteen years 
 old, a slight, trim little figure, with a face like 
 a delicate flower and big eyes of deepest sapphire 
 hue. 
 
 " ' "Please forgive me/' she said, "they told me 
 I would find you here and I wanted to see you so 
 much !" 
 
 " 'Maley stopped short and for the first time 
 really looked at her. He had supposed her to be 
 one of the extra girls, who had got out of her 
 place. 
 
 " ' "Ahem !" he exclaimed, and his manner be- 
 came respectful and attentive at once. I got my 
 cue and went on again and heard no more. 
 
The Tenderloin Symposium. 141 
 
 "'She was gone when the act was over and I 
 had no time to look around for her. 
 
 " 'A couple of days later, Maley came to me 
 with that "blue" title and asked me if I'd write 
 a song for him. I never ask questions about other 
 people's affairs, when I'm not interested in them 
 personally, so nothing was said about the girl and 
 he did not tell me what he intended doing with 
 the song, but in my mind I somehow connected the 
 tw r o. 
 
 " 'About that time, I began to notice a single 
 rose or a pink or some fresh cut flower, lying on 
 my make-up box every night, when I reached the 
 theatre. It was no unusual thing to find flowers 
 or a box of bon-bons in my dressing-room, from 
 some member of the company, or the manager of 
 the house, but this single flower every night struck 
 me as odd. 
 
 " 'Going to the theatre early one evening, I 
 caught the culprit in the act. It was the girl who 
 had called to see Maley on the opening night. 
 She almost cried w T hen she found I had discovered 
 her. I asked her why she had taken so much 
 trouble on my account and she replied: 
 
 " ' "It made me happy to do something for you, 
 that was all. I've raised every one of those flowers 
 myself. I have quite a window full of plants at 
 home." 
 
142 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 " ' Yes/ I replied, 'but why give them to me ? 
 
 " ' "I think you are so nice/' she said, "and Mr. 
 Maley says you are good." 
 
 " 'What is Mr. Maley to you?' I asked. 
 
 " ' "He was the friend and partner of my hus- 
 band/' she replied, the tears coursing down her 
 cheeks. "He was the best man for Bert/' she 
 added, "and knows all about our affairs." 
 
 " 'The idea of a child like you having a hus- 
 band. Where is he?' 
 
 " € "I doir t know. That is why I came to see 
 Mr. Maley. I thought he might know. My hus- 
 band left three months ago, saying that he had a 
 good engagement in St. Louis, in a stock company. 
 Since then I can get no word from him. He has 
 never written once or sent me any money, and he 
 knows how much we need it." 
 
 " 'Alma stayed with me that evening in the 
 dressing-room. After the performance, Maley and 
 I took her home. She asked me to take dinner 
 with her in her flat the next day, which I did. 
 I found her in small, but very neat quarters, keep- 
 ing house with her mother and a tiny boy, which 
 she did not need to tell me was her own. The 
 mother was a woman of refinement and education, 
 and the girl, though shy and retiring, had all the 
 earmarks of good breeding. 
 
 " 'Bert, the husband, it seems, had nearly run 
 
The Tenderloin Symposium. 143 
 
 her down with his wheel one day, as she was cross- 
 ing a street. Although no bones were broken, 
 she had a hard fall and a kid bruise. He had 
 called at the house to enquire after her, the next 
 day, and that was the beginning. He was playing 
 a date in the city at the time, and Maley was his 
 partner in a vaudeville sketch. It was the old 
 story of love at first sight, and they were soon 
 married. 
 
 " 'All went well for a time and they were very 
 happy. Then Bert's bad side began to show. He 
 got hold of all the money he could and left his 
 wife and her mother destitute. He seemed to 
 care for his child but not enough to take care of 
 him. Now he had been gone months and no one 
 knew what had become of him. Maley had sepa- 
 rated from him at the time of his marriage. The 
 girPs last hope seemed to go when she found 
 Maley could tell her nothing. She was obliged 
 to do something to support herself and the child, 
 while her mother was also depending upon her. 
 
 " 'Alma had a sweet voice and played the piano 
 with a good deal of skill, but was not in any way 
 fitted for the stage. I became so much interested 
 in her that, before I left town, with the aid of 
 Maley, I managed to get a nice little purse to- 
 gether for her. Soon after that I was down with 
 the rheumatism and couldn't dance. 
 
144 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 " 'Well, the next I heard of Alma, came about 
 through the Tenderloin. My own troubles had 
 made me temporarily forget the poor girl. 
 
 " 'A man, named Harold, was on from Chicago 
 entertaining friends who were about to sail for 
 Australia, I was invited to join a box-party, 
 that he was giving one night. 
 
 " 'After hearing Calve, we left the opera house 
 and w r ent to Sector's. While there, it was pro- 
 posed that we go and see the town — "go slum- 
 ming/' as they called it. Every one seemed to ap- 
 prove the idea and we started out in two automo- 
 biles. This was about one o'clock. We did the 
 Tenderloin pretty thoroughly, in a rapid way, 
 and the east was beginning to show streaks of day- 
 light, when we brought up at a place kept by a 
 woman named Diamond Kate. The door was 
 opened by a boy in buttons. Harold had evidently 
 been known there at some time, for he had no 
 difficulty in getting in. 
 
 " 'We were ushered into a large well-furnished 
 room. In one corner was a little alcove with an 
 upright piano, standing so that the player was 
 unseen, and screens closed her in besides. 
 
 " 'There were six girls lounging about, and 
 Diamond Kate herself came in and undertook to 
 entertain us. While the wine was being served, 
 some one called for a song. 
 
The Tenderloin Symposium. 145 
 
 * *Kate spoke to the hidden singer and in a mo- 
 ment a clear, fresh yoting voice began to sing the 
 words of that wretched old blue song of mine, that 
 I had written for Maley. I was curious to know 
 who the singer was, but Diamond Kate said "it was 
 only a party who came of an evening to play by 
 the hour, no one that could in any way interest 
 me. She never sees any one who comes into the 
 house," she added. 
 
 " That made me the more determined to know 
 who she was, and I deliberately went over and 
 pushed past one of the screens. 
 
 " ' "Alma !" I gasped, too stunned by the sight of 
 her to say another word. 
 
 " 'She had not changed in any way in her looks, 
 having only grown a little paler and, perhaps, a 
 trifle thinner. 
 
 " 'Diamond Kate hovered about and seemed to 
 feel much concerned at my having unearthed the 
 girl. I asked Alma what she was doing there, and 
 she answered: 
 
 " ' "Earning the only honest living that I know 
 
 of r 
 
 " 'Alma had a little dark room under a stairway. 
 I let the others go home without me, while I went 
 with her to talk matters over. 
 
 " 'She told me she had tried to get work in Phila- 
 delphia, where she thought to earn money enough 
 
146 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 to keep her child and mother with her, but had 
 been obliged to leave a number of places because 
 it was not work her employers wanted, but "a 
 sociable friend." As a last resort, she had come 
 to Xew York and gone into a lady's hairdressing 
 establishment, where she acquired a great deal of 
 useful knowledge but got little pay. She was 
 sent to Diamond Kate's one day to dress a girl's 
 hair. Kate had taken a fancy to her and when 
 she heard how things stood with Alma, she told 
 her just what kind of a place she was in. She 
 informed Alma that, if she didn't mind, she could 
 come there and stay from Monday morning till 
 Saturday night, and spend Sunday in Philadelphia. 
 Alma would have to play the piano and sing when 
 needed and have charge of the hairdressing of all 
 the boarders. She would also have to look espe- 
 cially after Kate's own wardrobe and other minor 
 matters. 
 
 " 'Alma had told her that if she could be pro- 
 tected against insult and not be obliged to meet 
 or drink with visitors, she would avail herself of 
 the opportunity. 
 
 " 'At first it was very strange to her, and she 
 was too frightened to be of much use as a singer, 
 but every one was kind and Kate allowed no one 
 to go near her in the parlor. She had now become 
 used to the surroundings and was happy to be 
 
The Tenderloin Symposium. 147 
 
 earning so much money and could go home once 
 a week. Her mother knew nothing about it, still 
 thinking her at the hairdressing establishment. 
 She was able now to keep her child and mother 
 comfortably and lay by a little beside. Her hus- 
 band had never returned to her, having taken up 
 with another woman, who worked with him on 
 the stage. 
 
 " 'She had told me just this much when the bell 
 rang and back came Harold after me. I intro- 
 duced him to Alma and told him the whole story. 
 Now, Harold, you know, is an old rounder, he's 
 on toward forty, and was married once in his early 
 days. Every mother with a marriageable daugh- 
 ter on her hands in Chicago had paid court to 
 Harold, because he comes of a good family, has no 
 end of money and is in every way "a great catch." 
 Harold had come to think all women designing 
 or bad, and had little or no use for most of them, 
 so I was surprised to see him take so much interest 
 in Alma. 
 
 " 'He came up to my flat, a day or two after- 
 ward, to ask more questions and get my advice — 
 somehow he considered that he had a right to, on 
 the score of old friendship. 
 
 " 'Harold and I went to Philadelphia with Alma 
 the next Sunday and spent the day. The boy and 
 his grandmother were both so lovable, that I was 
 
148 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 not astonished when Harold proposed freeing 
 Alma from her worthless husband and taking her, 
 the boy and the grandmother to Chicago. 
 
 " 'What's that ? Did he do it ? Well, say ! If 
 you go to Chicago, you'll see Harold and his wife 
 spinning around the park in their handsome auto- 
 mobile. Their children are always with them. 
 One of them is his own and the other "Bert's boy," 
 but that cuts no ice. Harold is as fond of him as 
 if he were "flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone." 
 
 " 'Ahna can have what she likes and do anything 
 she sees fit. Harold delights in lavishing his 
 money on her; but her wants are few; all she 
 cares for is to watch over her little ones and to 
 see that Harold has everything he wishes. Grand- 
 mother looks on contentedly and there is joy in 
 every heart. 
 
 " 'Many questions have been asked as to who 
 Alma was and where Harold met her, but no one 
 has ever discovered that at one time she was in 
 Diamond Kate's house. Diamond Kate was a 
 brick and so was every one of her girls. They 
 never opened their mouths about Alma. Diamond 
 Kate got into trouble with the police not long ago 
 and had to move. A big check came from Chicago 
 just at the right moment and Kate knew who sent 
 it. Women are not all bad who are immoral, by 
 
The Tenderloin Symposium. 149 
 
 any means, and the Tenderloin is not the worst 
 place in the world/ 
 
 "There, boys, that's the story of a blue song, 
 as Leontine Stanfield tells it, and I guess it's a 
 irofc blue at that." 
 
 "Fm going to tell a story on myself, now," said 
 Gus Eenhardt, the champagne agent. "There 
 isn't much in it, but it shows another of the varied 
 phases of Tenderloin life, and it pictures bad 
 people who are bad and not simply immoral. 
 Such an experience, as I am about to relate, serves 
 to steel the hearts of men against doing kind ac- 
 tions when, otherwise, they would continue cast- 
 ing their bread upon the waters all their lives. 
 Well, that's moralizing enough. 
 
 "One day, as I was passing down a certain 
 street in the Tenderloin district, I was stopped by 
 a woman, who told me the usual tale of woe — hus- 
 band out of work, children starving, rent unpaid, 
 and a whole lot of other heartbreaking stuff. She 
 was pretty, of course, and pleaded with tears in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " 'Its just up here/ she said, simply enough. 
 'Come up to the rooms and I'll show you the chil- 
 dren starving and my poor husband, who, I think, 
 is going into decline/ All this was duly inter- 
 spersed with sobs. 
 
 "Well, who can refuse beauty in distress? I 
 
150 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 went up to the rooms. Ah ! there's the rub. I 
 went, and don't you forget it, boys, I was up 
 against the neatest little panel game you ever saw. 
 Children ! Abcr nit, but a big burly fellow, ready 
 with a gun, like a small howitzer. Well; they 
 bled me and I got away unavenged, but I had 
 them in the net within half an hour. Most men 
 let such things pass, because they are afraid of 
 seeing their names in a Tenderloin story in the 
 newspapers, but they had no such graft with me. 
 
 "When the poor, starving woman was searched, 
 what do you think they took off her? Nothing 
 less than a couple of revolvers, a stiletto and a neat 
 little Mexican dagger — nice little mother, wasn't 
 she?" 
 
 "Well/* said Nat Turner, the baseball' man, "I 
 am a great church-goer, queerly enough, and prob- 
 ably knock around the town as little as anybody, 
 but, even in connection with church matters, one 
 gets a glimpse of the redlight life once in a while. 
 
 "One of the members of our church had a sis- 
 ter, who belonged to the Tenderloin, and this wo- 
 man was always trying to induce her to reform 
 and lead a good life. With all her trying, she was 
 unable to effect any good results and the matter 
 caused the good woman an endless amount of 
 worry. 
 
 "One day the sister was taken very ill and, in- 
 
The Tenderloin Symposium. 151 
 
 stead of letting her be sent to a hospital, the 
 woman had her brought tc her home in the Xinth 
 Ward and there gave her good nursing. 
 
 "After a long siege, she was finally restored 
 to health, but not before she had managed to con- 
 tract a liaison with her sister's husband, whom she 
 had managed in some way to entangle during her 
 sickness. Strange to say, when the wife fcmnd 
 this out, she turned completely against religion, 
 left her husband and his paramour to enjoy the 
 home, went deliberately down to the Tenderloin 
 herself, and became notorious for her debaucher- 
 ies. 
 
 '"Moral. If you have a sister who is 'so so/ 
 never introduce her to your husband. This advice 
 is intended for the ladies, who, I presume, will 
 never hear it, after it gets buried in the archives 
 of the Knockabout Club/' 
 
 "One of the funniest things I ever heard of in 
 the Tenderloin," said Bagshot, the operatic tenor, 
 "was Yellow Jane's revenge on a certain police 
 captain of the district, whose name shall be name- 
 less. 
 
 "Yellow Jane was an awful nuisance for a long 
 time to this Captain's precinct, and he finally de- 
 cided to give her a few weeks on the Island, for 
 the good of her health. 
 
 "Jane knew where the blow came from, although 
 
152 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 she received her sentence from the police magis- 
 trate, of course. When she was going off in the 
 Maria, Jane told the Captain she'd get square, if 
 it took her a lifetime to do it. Such promises are 
 made so often by women of her class, that little 
 notice was taken of her threat, and, as Jane had 
 disappeared after serving her sentence, every one 
 around the police station had forgotten about the 
 woman. 
 
 "One day there arrived at the station-house, ad- 
 dressed to the Captain, a trunk. The expressman 
 who delivered the freight had a grin all over his 
 face, when he dropped it against the desk and, 
 when the squealing of what sounded like a half- 
 dozen puppies was heard, proceeding from the 
 trunk, all the boys around became interested. 
 Later in the day the Captain came in and unsus- 
 pectingly gave orders for the trunk to be opened. 
 In it were found three little pickaninnies — trip- 
 lets of course — three shades lighter than Yellow 
 Jane, and all looking a little bit like the Captain^ 
 as everybody averred. 
 
 "Attached to one of the triplets was a letter to 
 the Captain, written in terrible English. It was 
 signed 'Yellow Jane* and ran something like the 
 following : 
 
 " Take your brats and bring them up, as I can't 
 
The Tenderloin Symposium. 153 
 
 afford the expense of doing it. Everybody can 
 see they're yours, and you ought to be sent up for 
 taking advantage of a poor colored girl as you 
 have done. Fll take care your family knows all 
 about the matter. You thought by railroading me 
 to the Island, you could get out of your scrape, but 
 I've managed to get ahead of you and escape your 
 clutches. See what your friends will think of it 
 now. 
 
 " Tour old love, 
 
 "'Yellow Jane/ 
 
 "My! But wasn't the Captain mad, clean 
 through. He was in just the nastiest position im- 
 aginable. He was afraid to burn the letter that 
 came with the children, as there were too many 
 witnesses of its existence, so he just pledged us all 
 to secrecy and shipped his babies off in double- 
 quick order to the foundling asylum. No news- 
 paper reporter was ever to know anything of the 
 occurrence, of course. Oh, no ! under no circum- 
 stances. 
 
 "But, Yellow Jane hadn't planned things that 
 way, had she ? Not quite ! Somehow, she had se- 
 cured a photograph of the Captain and had her 
 own taken with the triplets, all put together in a 
 combination, which photographers get up like an 
 actual group photograph. Copies of these pic- 
 
154 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 tures and of her letter to the Captain had been 
 sent to every newspaper in New York, and the re- 
 porters soon began to pour in and question the 
 Captain on the subject. 
 
 "When the Captain strenuously denied that the 
 triplets had been sent to him, they trooped off to 
 the foundling asylum and found out that he had 
 been lying to them. Then, of course, they didn't 
 do a thing to the story. Every newspaper had a 
 column or two on the affair, most of them humor- 
 ous, of course, and they used the pictures. As it 
 happened, the Captain wasn't over popular with 
 the reporters. The Captain was transferred from 
 the precinct and, I believe, his wife got a divorce 
 from him. 
 
 "It was the deadliest joke I ever heard of be- 
 ing played on any one and nobody but a durned 
 low-down yellar nigger could ever have thought 
 out such a mean scheme of revenge, as did that 
 unconscionable mulatter." 
 
 "Now, I'll give you something about Tender- 
 loin marriages that will be amusing, I think," 
 said St. Rue, the champion sword swallower. 
 "Among my acquaintances I once counted a young 
 English pianist, who was about as dashing a fel- 
 low as ever came across the Atlantic. He could 
 play like an angel, but only when he was under 
 the influence of the divine, or the liquid afflatus. 
 
The Tenderloin Symposium. 155 
 
 Women ran after him like flies after a sugarbowl, 
 but the pianist had only one use for them ; if they 
 had money, he wanted it to spend, and then — the 
 rest can easily be imagined. 
 
 "At the time when he dawned upon Xew York, 
 the young musician was under the wing of a harpist 
 of national repute, a woman old enough to be his 
 mother, and yet willing to spend most of her large 
 earnings in supporting his little vices. 
 
 "One fateful day, a rather good-looking sou- 
 brette bewitched the pianist. She had a number 
 of children and a husband somewhere, but that 
 didn't count. She wanted the pianist just then 
 and she meant to have him. 
 
 "Money ! If the other woman gave him a hun- 
 dred a week, she would double the allowance. Of 
 course, the pianist was willing to become a victim. 
 
 "The soubrette, who, herself, had fooled many 
 a man in her time, acted like a lunatic. She 
 bought her idol jewelry, she gave him hundred- 
 dollar bills as often as he asked for them, and she 
 just made that harpist lady feel like a lost broncho, 
 strayed into the Arizonian desert. Then the harp- 
 ist raised the ante and got him back for a few 
 days, but the soubrette determined to outflank 
 her. 
 
 "One evening, she succeeded in getting the pian- 
 ist into a very mellow and comfortable condition. 
 
156 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 Then she coaxed and cajoled him into getting 
 married to her and actually succeeded in taking 
 him to the Little Church Around the Corner with 
 her and going through the marriage ceremony. 
 
 "Then followed the honeymoon — a long cham- 
 pagne delirium, during which, the harpist, of 
 course, discovered what had happened. 
 
 "First, she determined upon publicly horsewhip- 
 ping her rival. Then she thought over the 
 chances that would result from bringing a charge 
 of bigamy against her, but unfortunately, the 
 harpist had a past of her own. A little bit of re- 
 flection decided her upon the step she would take. 
 
 "One night, about twelve o'clock, shortly after 
 the soubrette and the pianist had retired to the 
 nuptial chamber, there was a violent tugging at 
 their doorbell. The pianist jumped out of bed 
 and learned through the speaking-tube that a 
 friend of his was in a cab below, sick and most 
 anxious to speak with him. The name given was 
 that of one of his most intimate acquaintances. 
 
 "The bait caught ! In a loose robe de chambre, 
 he hastily descended to the vehicle. The door of 
 the cab was open and a push from the coachman 
 sent the half-awakened pianist headforemost into 
 the harpist's arms. Then the door was snapped 
 to and the cab drove off at a rapid rate across 
 town. 
 
The Tenderloin Symposium. 157 
 
 " 'Ambushed !' exclaimed the* pianist, when he 
 discovered his predicament. 
 
 " Redeemed !' replied the harpist. 'I came to 
 take you out of pawn from that wretched creature. 
 She will have to answer to a charge of bigamy to- 
 morrow and you would have been locked up as a 
 witness/ 
 
 "In vain the pianist protested. He was taken 
 to the harpist's apartments in his robe de chambre 
 and there he was left for a week without clothes to 
 put on, until Madame was ready to start for the 
 West. That woman didn't give him a chance to 
 breathe fresh air until he was aboard the Chicago 
 Limited. 
 
 "The soubrette was out about a thousand dollars, 
 a fine diamond ring and the rest, but she had his 
 clothes as a memento. 
 
 "I wonder if that trio ever crossed lines again; 
 if they did, there was fun !" 
 
 "These stories are getting into a rut," remarked 
 Tomlins, the athlete. "I'll give you something 
 that occurred to me once in the Tenderloin. You 
 won't believe it, but I'll stand for every word and 
 produce proof as well, if necessary. 
 
 "Did you ever hear of vampires in the Tender- 
 loin — the real, genuine article? Well, we have 
 them, anyway. They develop the taste from the 
 hot-blood-drinking habit and, after awhile, they 
 
158 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 want a man's blood, not an animal's, and they want 
 an athlete's at that — none of your puny, wizened- 
 up men will suit them. Mysterious disappear- 
 ances! Yes, I rather think so. The vampires 
 will account for any number of them. But, I'll 
 simply confine myself to my own experience. 
 
 "One day, I happened to be walking along some 
 street in the Tenderloin quarter, which one, ex- 
 actly, I have vainly endeavored since to remem- 
 ber, but for the purposes- of the story, that doesn't 
 matter a jot. 
 
 "As I walked along,, a woman passed me. She 
 was about the height and build of Lily Langtry 
 and was a good deal better-looking. Our eyes 
 met, as she turned towards me at passing and from 
 that moment I was completely under her control. 
 To offer an explanation of why it was so, would 
 be ridiculous, for that would prove nothing. I 
 only know that I was hurrying to an important 
 engagement, at one of the big hotels on Broadway, 
 when she crossed my path, and from the moment 
 I met the woman's eyes, the business I was en- 
 gaged upon dropped completely out of my mind. 
 I suppose I was what they call 'obsessed.' Heaven 
 only knows what it was. I just walked along 
 beside the woman as if I had been a dog, wearing 
 her collar ; and when she tripped lightly up a flight 
 
The Tenderloin Symposium, 159 
 
 of brownstone steps, I followed as a matter of 
 course. 
 
 "She led the way into a richly furnished parlor, 
 and, with a most gracious smile, turned to me, 
 asking if I would not be seated and rest for a 
 little while. She appeared to act quite naturally, 
 but my eyes seemed to be glued to her, and a 
 strange thing about the matter was that she 
 seemed to be growing more entrancingly beauti- 
 ful every minute. 
 
 "After she had removed her street attire, she 
 looked ten times more dazzlingly beautiful than I 
 had imagined she could possibly look before. Her 
 eyes held mine as a strong magnet will hold steel 
 filings. 
 
 "For awhile she toyed with me as a cat will 
 play with a mouse, evidently enjoying as much of 
 her lust for blood by anticipation as by posses- 
 sion. 
 
 "In the course of her play, she led me from 
 room to room, growing more and more lovely, 
 to my hypnotized vision, as she moved, making me 
 ever and ^anon kneel and kiss her daintly sandled 
 feet, her hand, the hem of her most dainty rai- 
 ment. 
 
 "I obeyed all her desires, precisely as an automa- 
 ton would have done. Finally, she was convinced 
 that she had annihilated my will completely, that 
 
160 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 I was as passive as an infant in her hands. Then 
 she led me to a lounge and I laid down as obedi- 
 ently as a child might have done — the slave of 
 her diabolical will. But she had waited long for 
 her gratification, her impatience was now aroused 
 and her manner took on the ferocity of the tiger. 
 She could scarcely wait to unloosen my clothing, 
 and« cut open my shirt-front with a knife, so fierce 
 was the thrall of her hideous passion. Then I 
 felt the sharp prick of a small weapon near one 
 of the arteries in my bosom and became uncon- 
 scious. Hours must have passed. The vampire's 
 horrible appetite must have been sated. 
 
 "But her fascinating influence was still over me. 
 I felt no repugnance toward her. Even though 
 she had taken my heart's blood, I was still en- 
 thralled by her beauty or by the fatal 'obsession/ 
 I dimly remember kissing her hand as she pushed 
 me into a cab late at night and gave the driver 
 instructions as to where he was to take me. 
 
 "When I awoke the next morning, I found my- 
 self in bed in an uptown hotel, which I had never 
 before patronized. There was a sharp pain in my 
 chest and, upon examining the spot, I found a 
 small wound, which had been neatly sutured. 
 
 "As to the address of the place, where I had 
 been the previous day, I could remember nothing. 
 My money and jewelry were intact, but I was al- 
 
The Tenderloin Symposium. 161 
 
 most too weak to move, and could not leave the 
 hotel until the afternoon. 
 
 "When I related the occurrence to the police, 
 they told me that I had had a 'pipe dream/ No one 
 yet seems to have been convinced of the truth of 
 my story, and I fear, gentlemen, neither are you, 
 but I'll prove it right here,'' and Tomlins made a 
 feint to unbutton his vest. 
 
 "Oh, a scar would prove nothing," said young 
 Rooney. 
 
 Tomlins looked disheartened, but kept quiet. 
 He evidently was trying hard to retain his belief 
 in his own story. 
 
 "Well, boys, it's getting late and we'll soon have 
 to close up shop, but I'll tell you just one little 
 short experience that will cap this rake's garland 
 off all right and save us from Anthony Comstock's 
 attentions/' said Yanderloop, the orchestra leader. 
 "Mind you, too, the story is true to the smallest 
 detail. 
 
 "Nina was one of the queens of the Tenderloin, 
 in the old professional days, and she was a beauty 
 if ever there was one. It happened that Nina was 
 going to the opera one night. Some rich swell 
 had invited her, and she was expecting a bouquet 
 of Jacqueminot roses to wear on the occasion, 
 which he had promised to send her. 
 
 "The roses were very slow arriving and Xina 
 
162 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 sent around to the district messenger office to 
 learn if anything had been heard about them. 
 Word came back that they should have been de- 
 livered an hour before, as they had left the office. 
 As Nina was already dressed, she thought she 
 would just step over to the messenger office, which 
 was in an adjoining street, and make further in- 
 quiries. When she arrived there, it was to learn 
 that the messenger, who had been sent with the 
 roses, had stepped on a live wire and had been in- 
 stantly killed. The roses were missing. 
 
 "Nina became interested in the matter and in- 
 quiries were started. Some of the boys around the 
 office said that the dead messenger boy had a little 
 sick brother, whom he supported and with whom 
 he often left flowers for a few moments, while on 
 his way to deliver them, or obtain for him some 
 little thing that he needed. Nina listened to the 
 story with the deepest interest and, as the tene- 
 ment house, where the children lived, was in the 
 immediate vicinity, she went over to see how the 
 little fellow was faring. 
 
 "Alas ! It had been a double tragedy. The 
 neighbors soon told her the brief sad story. 
 
 "When the messenger boy had called to learn 
 how his little brother was feeling, he had found 
 him dying and had rushed off for a doctor, leav- 
 ing the roses by the bedside. On his way for 
 
The Tenderloin Symposium. 163 
 
 medical aid, the messenger had met his own fate 
 by stepping on the fallen wire. The two boys 
 must have died almost simultaneously, the little 
 invalid all alone in the gloomy room, lightened 
 only by the perfume and beauty of Nina's jacque- 
 minots, whose fragrance he had been inhaling 
 when the angel of death beckoned him beyond. 
 
 "Nina never wore those roses. They were 
 buried with the two boys, and Nina paid all the 
 funeral expenses. 
 
 "That's a true chapter out of Tenderloin life, 
 boys. I wonder if the florist was ever paid for the 
 roses." 
 
 This was the last story told that night, and the 
 curtain was rung down on the Tenderloin Sym- 
 posium. 
 
164 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 LOVE LOST AND FOUND. 
 
 Two men were never more of a mystery to one 
 another than Jack Harding and Harry Taylor 
 had become of late. From being almost insepara- 
 ble companions, and the mutual receptacle for 
 confidences, they had, while still rooming together, 
 become almost insensible to each other's existence 
 and indifferent to each other's plans and prospects. 
 
 Thus had the upas-tree of jealousy overshadowed 
 the tender plant of boyhood friendship and 
 poisoned its tendrils at a time when they were 
 twining up around the boles of strong young man- 
 hood. 
 
 There had been no misunderstanding on the 
 part of the two friends, but rather a quiet and 
 tacit agreement that each was hunting the same 
 quarry and must depend upon his own exertions 
 for success or defeat. 
 
 The old form of camaraderie was maintained in 
 many ways, but the real spirit of the feeling 
 seemed to have vanished for the nonce at least. 
 
Love Lost and Found. 165 
 
 Both now stood waiting and watching for final 
 results. To Harry, the idea was dawning that 
 he had outstripped his friend in the race, but 
 had he known all about a certain incident which 
 had taken place in a cab one evening not so long 
 past, he would not have congratulated himself so 
 prematurely. 
 
 On the other hand, Jack Harding was a torrent 
 of mixed emotions from which he would have 
 given anything to have escaped. It would be idle 
 to say that the face of so beautiful and fascinating 
 a woman as Marian Heath did not haunt him still, 
 but, on the other hand, he also felt the growing 
 influence of Helen Van Duyne's gentler beauty 
 and more delicate womanhood. Indeed, Helen 
 predominated very much in his thoughts and, when 
 he compared the fact that in that field he probably 
 had no rival, whilst in the other he knew not how 
 many there might be, Jack determined to take a 
 bold step. The character of Helen Van Duyne, 
 like his own, was simple and ingenuous, and he 
 felt that in her hands his fate would be in safe 
 keeping. He recalled the pleasant fact that she 
 had always been sweet and obliging to him and 
 ready to do at any time for him what a sister 
 might do for a brother. This, of course, was no 
 assurance that she entertained more than a friendly 
 feeling for him, and of late, as he remembered, on 
 
166 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 second thought, he had noticed that she had been 
 receiving marked attention from other men, one 
 of whom, perhaps, might be her accepted suitor. 
 While it would not be extremely pleasant to learn 
 from Helen's lips that she would always be to him 
 what she had been, a sister, he determined to put 
 matters to the test by visiting the young lady and 
 ascertaining — if such a feat could be accomplished 
 — the real state of her feelings toward him. 
 
 Miss Van Duyne received Jack with a smile 
 and a rather boyish greeting, as she entered the 
 parlor. 
 
 About the most helpless creature in the world is 
 the man who, for the first time, essays to ask of a 
 woman that difficult question whose answer will 
 have so much influence upon the future destiny of 
 both. In nine cases out of ten, the woman knows 
 from the halting manner and awkwardness of the 
 man just w r hat is coming and endeavors to add to 
 his embarrassment as much as possible, by pre- 
 tending not to do so. This is not real unkindness 
 on her part, but simply coquetry. 
 
 After fidgeting with a number of topics, the 
 discussion of which seemed to furnish no ostensi- 
 ble reason for his call, Jack suddenly gathered 
 up courage enough to grasp the young lady's hand. 
 This proceeding naturally caused her to blush 
 deeply and, while she was palpitating and trem- 
 
Love Lost and Found. 167 
 
 bling like a fawn, which the hunter has at last 
 brought to bay, Jack said, with as much steadi- 
 ness of tone as he could command : 
 
 "Helen, from our earliest childhood, we have 
 been constant companions, and I now know that I 
 must have loved you even in those youthful days, 
 and that this love has grown with our growth. I 
 never stopped to analyze my feelings, however, 
 until a short time ago, when I imagined myself 
 infatuated with another. When seriously compar- 
 ing my feelings toward both, I discovered, with- 
 out the shadow of a doubt, that you, and you alone 
 have held my heart enthralled and awakened 
 all that is best and noblest within me. Helen, 
 dear, can you return my love and entrust your 
 future to my keeping?" 
 
 Helen had listened in silence, but the hand 
 which he held trembled violently. When he ceased 
 speaking, she looked up into his face, w T ith a new 
 sweet shyness, and said: 
 
 "Jack, what you have told me just now, makes 
 me very, very happy. I have thought that you 
 loved me and have always known for years what 
 was the nature of my own feelings toward you, 
 but I feared, by reason of our constant and inti- 
 mate companionship, you would never realize the 
 true state of your feelings for me." 
 
 After conversing for nearly an hour, as only 
 
168 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 lovers do, Jack suggested that he would like to 
 speak to Helen's parents as he could not feel that 
 she was truly his until their engagement had re- 
 ceived her father's sanction. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Van Duyne evinced little surprise, 
 but considerable pleasure at Jack's proposal, hav- 
 ing always felt that the two would one day become 
 man and wife. They gave their blessing freely 
 and gladly, feeling that their daughter's future 
 was in good hands. 
 
 "Helen," said Jack later in the evening, "there is 
 a favor I would like to ask at your hands." 
 
 "What is it?" asked Helen. "You're begin- 
 ning to make requests rather early." 
 
 "All I ask, dear, is that our engagement may not 
 be a long one. I have been a rover so long, that I 
 yearn for a home of my own, and with you as 
 its queen, it will be little less than paradise." 
 
 Helen hesitated a little, making the usual objec- 
 tion of the impossibility of the trousseau being 
 ready in time ; but was finally induced to consent, 
 on Jack's promise to procure apartments in the 
 immediate vicinity of the parental home. 
 
 When Jack reached his home that evening, at a 
 rather late hour, of course, he found Harry in 
 bed, but not asleep, so decided to break the news 
 at once. 
 
 "Harry/' said he abruptly, "I have done some- 
 
Love Lost and Found. 169 
 
 thing out of the ordinary this evening and have to 
 ask for your congratulations." 
 
 ''What the dickens do I care," growled Harry. 
 "You have been going your own way so much 
 lately, that I am beginning to lose all interest in 
 your movements." 
 
 The fact was that Harry imagined Jack had 
 stolen a march on him by proposing to Marian 
 Heath, and to ask for his congratulations in such 
 event was enough to test the fastest friendship. 
 
 "Don't be such a boor, Harry. You'll be 
 ashamed of your words when you hear all I have 
 to tell you. Harry, I'm engaged to be married 
 to Helen Van Duyne. You have heard me speak 
 of her frequently; in fact, I have often tried to 
 induce you to accompany me there — if my memory 
 does not deceive me — but my efforts in that direc- 
 tion always proved futile." 
 
 "Forgive me, old man," said Harry, rather 
 huskily, "you've taken my breath away. I con- 
 gratulate you with all my heart, Jack, but won't 
 I be lonely without you !" 
 
 "Why don't you go and do likewise, Harry? 
 After all, a home and wife is the only life for a 
 man, worth living." 
 
 "I don't know a girl foolish enough to marry 
 me," replied Harry modestly. 
 
 "In that rather unlikely case, there will always 
 
170 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 be a room in my future home at your disposal." 
 "Thanks for your kind offer, old man, we'll 
 
 see/' 
 
 Harry lay awake for a long time that night. 
 Events seemed to be forcing him to take some un- 
 usual step. He and Jack had been constant com- 
 panions for years, and now, in a month, it would 
 all be over with, and he would be left alone in 
 the room where until recently the two had en- 
 joyed so many happy and few unhappy hours to- 
 gether. The reverie into which he fell resulted 
 in strengthening his decision, already half formed, 
 of at once proposing marriage to Marian Heath 
 and, before he dropped asleep that night, he had 
 resolved to put his fate to the test the following 
 evening. 
 
 In the morning's light, things took on a brighter 
 hue. He planned the life he and Marian would 
 lead together, with such vividness, it seemed almost 
 an impossibility that all his fair dreams could 
 come to naught, and he be doomed to struggle 
 through the remaining years of his life without 
 her. 
 
 That evening he called upon Marian somewhat 
 earlier than was his wont and assumed a rather 
 jovial humor, while she, on the contrary, was 
 quieter than usual. 
 
Love Lost and Found. 171 
 
 "Have you heard the latest?" asked Harry, 
 gaily. 
 
 "No, what is it?" 
 
 "My friend, Jack Harding, whom you met with 
 me on the evening of your arrival, is engaged to 
 Miss Van Duyne, a lovely girl, if one can judge 
 by her fiance's description." 
 
 "She is, indeed," answered Marian. "I have 
 met her on several occasions, during my stay in 
 Xew York." 
 
 "I really feel that I am selfish," said Harry, 
 "in thinking so sadly of my lonely condition, 
 after my friend has decided to get married, but, 
 there's one way that has suggested itself to me to 
 counteract this melancholy, namely, to become a 
 Benedict myself. Xow I think you wish me well, 
 and as you are the only woman in the world whom 
 I love and desire to marry, if you could persuade 
 yourself to marry me, I would be your debtor for 
 life." Then, continuing more seriously: "Do not 
 think, Marian, because I have spoken thus lightly, 
 that I feel less deeply and do not fully realize 
 how much I am asking of you, but I feared that 
 if I spoke as I really feel, my emotions would 
 overpower me, and that I would therefore appear 
 to you more like a child than a man. Do not keep 
 me in suspense, Marian, but answer frankly as is 
 your nature — will you be my wife ?" 
 
172 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 Marian seemed strangely agitated. Her breath 
 came and went quickly and her face had turned 
 very pale, but, before she could summon calmness 
 enough to reply, he had caught her in his arms 
 and covered her with caresses. 
 
 "Well, we're in for it," said Harry, laughing 
 a little nervously, after they had resumed their 
 normal positions. 
 
 "I suppose so," answered Marian, simply. 
 
 The rest of the evening was spent in a manner 
 well known to all lovers — in the condition of sub- 
 limated aphasia in which we seem to forget our 
 own identity — merging it into that of that other 
 one — and revel in the unspeakable oblivion and 
 self-effacement of adoration. 
 
 When Harry finally bade Miss Heath good-night, 
 his feelings were beyond description. He felt as 
 if a great load had been removed from his heart, 
 and the world seemed , all beauty and brightness 
 now that she was actually his own. He fully re- 
 alized how deeply he loved her and what life would 
 have meant to him had she refused him. 
 
 At the door of the house Harry met Jack, and 
 they mounted the steps together. As soon as they 
 had gained their room, Harry said abruptly but 
 gaily: 
 
 "Jack, Fve taken your advice." 
 
 "What advice? I've given you so many since 
 
Love Lost and Found. 173 
 
 our acquaintance began that I fail to guess what 
 you particularly refer to." 
 
 "I've contracted to get spliced, and no man 
 ever felt happier in his life than I do at this mo- 
 ment." 
 
 "I congratulate you, old fellow/" said Jack, 
 really moved by his friend's rapture. "Who's the 
 lucky girl?" 
 
 "That's telling," answered Harry, "I'll intro- 
 duce you to her to-morrow evening." 
 
 "That's mean," said Jack. "I told you all 
 about my affair without reserve." 
 
 "But to-morrow evening is not so far off," said 
 Harry, gaily, "then we'll let you into everything." 
 
 "I guess Fll have to wait then. Do I know the 
 young lady?" 
 
 "Can't tell, I'm sure," said Harry, with a 
 twinkle in his eye. "You know so many girls." 
 
 After dinner, the next evening, Harry and Jack 
 started for the abode of Harry's fiancee, the 
 latter having explained to Helen the cause of 
 his possible non-appearance. Jack had just re- 
 marked to his friend: 
 
 "I think the joke has been kept up long enough, 
 and you had better tell me the young lady's name 
 before I meet her," when Harry slapped him on 
 the back, turned sharply and mounted the steps 
 
174 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 of the house Jack was about to pass, calling his 
 friend to follow. 
 
 For a moment, Jack did not notice where he 
 was, but when he realized that the house they 
 were about to enter was the abode of Marian 
 Heath, he grabbed his friend violently by the 
 arm, just as the latter rang the bell. 
 
 "My God, man ! don't tell me Marian Heath is 
 the girl !" gasped he. 
 
 "Why, yes," Harry responded, smiling. "But 
 how did you guess?" 
 
 Before Jack could reply, the door was opened, 
 and Harry, inquiring for Miss Heath, entered, 
 Jack following in a dazed way. 
 
 "Miss Heath is not in, Mr. Taylor," said the 
 maid, "but here is a letter," and she handed him 
 one from a card tray. "Miss Heath directed me 
 to deliver it to you when you called." 
 
 Harry hastily snatched the note with the be- 
 loved handwriting, opened it and read as follows : 
 
 "Dear Harry: — Eather than meet you face to 
 face, after the sin I have committed, I have igno- 
 miniously taken flight, and when you receive this 
 I will be speeding toward Buffalo. 
 
 "Harry, I am not what you thought me, and bit- 
 ter as it is for me to let you see me as I am, I feel 
 that you are entitled to know the whole truth. 
 
Love Lost and Found. 175 
 
 "Three years ago, I met a plausible, fascinating 
 man of the world, named Fenelon Despard, and, 
 as my parents, wiser than I, discerned his real 
 character and forbade my further acquaintance 
 with him, I eloped and married him clandestinely. 
 The fate which almost invariably overtakes such 
 unions, where respect for and trust in each other 
 is impossible, did not spare us, and, after a few 
 months of misery and recrimination, w T e parted 
 forever, although neither took legal steps to be 
 free. 
 
 "I came to New York, determined to enjoy my- 
 self, not caring if in so doing, I trampled a few 
 hearts under foot, but I never dreamed that our 
 intimacy would culminate in this, and such would 
 not have been the case had I not truly learned to 
 love you. When this knowledge came to me, I 
 thought it too late to draw back, and, therefore, 
 when you so unexpectedly proposed last evening, 
 I drowned conscience for awhile and resolved at 
 all hazards to have a few hours of happiness. 
 
 "Can you forgive me, Harry? I know I can 
 offer no excuse which would palliate my sin, but 
 if you can bear to think of me at all, remember 
 that your agony is nothing to that which I suffer, 
 knowing as I do, that it was my hand which in- 
 flicted the wound ; and endeavor to give one kind, 
 pitying thought to me ; and, after time may have 
 
176 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 mitigated your pain, may you be able to say, 'It 
 is better to have loved and lost, than never to have 
 loved at all/ as does your sorrowing and repentant 
 
 "Marian/' 
 
 Jack, watching Harry's face, during the perusal 
 of this missive, saw him turning gradually paler. 
 Conjecturing the cause, he waited, until his friend 
 had finished reading, and then approaching him 
 with outstretched hand, said sympathetically: 
 
 "I know all, Harry." 
 
 Harry lifted his eyes, full of mute despair, to 
 his friend's face, then silently grasped his hand, 
 turned, and the two left the house and slowly 
 walked to their home. 
 
 Although Harry spoke no word, he could not 
 help, through all his pain, recalling the words of 
 a German song he once had heard : 
 
 "Es war so schon gewesen, es hat nicht sollen 
 sein." 
 
A Farewell Stag. 177 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A FAREWELL STAG. 
 
 Harry Taylor was not one of those morbid na- 
 tures which mourn over a lost cause long. Senti- 
 ment with him was not so deeply ingrained that a 
 disappointment in love could turn the well-spring 
 of all his youthful hopes to bitterness and gall. In 
 Other words, he did not allow his heart to be 
 rapped so hard that a disappointment would in- 
 terfere with his digestion very long. To prove this 
 and to shake off the little cloud of gloom which he 
 could not disperse immediately, Harry decided to 
 have a jollification on his approaching birthday, in 
 which his friend Harding should participate. The 
 celebration, a "stag," of course, he mentally re- 
 solved should serve to mark epochs in the careers 
 of both. On the part of Jack, it should mean an 
 eternal farewell of bachelorhood, and on his own 
 part, the dedication of himself to single-blessedness 
 and the enjoyment of those pleasures which do not 
 go so well with the tranquil current of a benedict's 
 
178 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 existence. As it happened, the affair formed a 
 fitting finale to this little serio-comic romance. 
 
 A number of invitations had been issued to such 
 men as the friends more particularly knew, and 
 the affair was to be — as Harry said — "without 
 frills." 
 
 "Just a good time, that's all. Drink all we've 
 a mind to, and cut up all the capers we can, just 
 like in the old days at college, only a trifle hotter." 
 
 So the preparations were accordingly made and 
 the friends were busy until late the night before, 
 completing them and getting all things in readi- 
 ness. 
 
 The stag was to be given in one of the private 
 dining-rooms of the club, more suitable for quiet, 
 snug affairs than the large Hall of Mysteries. 
 Jack had excused himself to his fiancee for the oc- 
 casion, and early the next evening, the two friends 
 started for the club to be ready for the arrival of 
 Harry's guests. These comprised a few members 
 and many outsiders, the friends having invited as 
 many of their old classmates and Chicago friends 
 as it had been possible to find in the city. 
 
 The guests soon began to make their appearance. 
 They made a lively lot of young fellows, brimming 
 over with the devil, and, even on a first glance at 
 their merry faces, there was evidence that there was 
 going to be a hot time in the old club that night. 
 
A Farewell Stag. 179 
 
 Harry was absent from the reception room for 
 a moment, when a batch of his old college chums 
 arrived. 
 
 "Where is the leading member of this bright lit- 
 tle Sunday-school class?" inquired one of these. 
 
 Just then Harry entered, and the boys made one 
 mad rush for him, grabbing his hands, ears or 
 hair, not caring which, in their efforts to be first in 
 offering congratulations ; Harry meanwhile, laugh- 
 ing and exclaiming: 
 
 But the boys waited for no fine speeches, and 
 all aided in carrying him upstairs, en passant, pok- 
 ing his shoulders through a transom and finally 
 placing him on his feet on top of a radiator. 
 
 "Speech ! speech !" shouted the boys, "or you're 
 a dead one." 
 
 "Well," said Harry, "considering the pressing 
 nature of your request, I will say a few 'well 
 chosen' words. Before I begin, however, I would 
 beseech some one among you to hand me a cake of 
 ice, as I am a pretty warm baby in my present 
 position; but, as I was saying " 
 
 "What the deuce were you saying?" came from 
 a corner of the room. 
 
 "Oh, this is so embarrassing; you ought to be 
 more considerate of my feelings than to guy me 
 before this august company. 
 
 "Now, boys, with your kind attention, I will 
 
180 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 tell you the history of my life, and I know you will 
 
 be intensely interested, but then it is so d 
 
 warm up here that 1*11 omit a few of the less im- 
 ^ portant features." 
 
 "Thank heaven," murmured another. 
 
 "You know that I was foolish enough to be born 
 twenty-four years ago, thereby inflicting an in- 
 cubus on my folks, and misery on my friends, all 
 of whom have rued the occurrence ever since. 
 Those who reared me never dreamed that I would 
 live to reach such a height as that on which I am 
 now poised, and, although I am sufficiently con- 
 ceited to claim the honor for myself, still I owe 
 all to my friends, who have given me a helping 
 hand. Boys, I thank you for the gentle treatment 
 accorded me to-night, for, as far as I can judge, 
 no bones have been broken, and, barring a slight 
 fracture of the skull, I am still in the best of 
 health, only becoming hungrier every moment; 
 so, hoping that you are content with this burst of 
 eloquence, I remain, your genial host, Harry/' 
 
 Here, amid the tumultuous applause of his 
 guests, he jumped from the radiator, and, shout- 
 ing: "Come on, boys, let's get to business," led the 
 way to the dining-room. 
 
 "Harry's such a good fellow, it's a pity his cele- 
 bration comes but once a year," one of the boys re- 
 marked. 
 
A Farewell Stag. 181 
 
 "Guess I'd be living on hardtack the rest of my 
 da) T s if it didn't," was the response of the jovial 
 Harry. 
 
 The waiters busily replenished the glasses as soon 
 as emptied, the boys taking no note of what enor- 
 mous quantities they were consuming. 
 
 After several toasts had been hilariously drunk, 
 the variety performers arrived, one of whom upon 
 entering the room, walked to the table at which 
 the boys were seated. He was a tall, lanky sort of a 
 man, with smoothly shaven face, large nose, rather 
 high forehead and black hair, a la pompadour. An 
 apparently irresistible smile, which overspread 
 his countenance, gave him a comical and taking 
 expression. From the head of the table, he ad- 
 dressed the party as follows : 
 
 "Gentlemen, I am suspected of being a humor- 
 ist, but that's a mistake. I will tell you in strict 
 confidence, that on the contrary, I am a tragedian, 
 that is to say, every time I attempt to be humorous 
 a tragedy is sure to be enacted, and I am generally 
 the victim. My jokes are usually rather dry. 
 You, gentlemen, are the contrary, so that I think 
 by amalgamating matters, we might be able to get 
 along nicely." 
 
 He continued his remarks in a similar strain for 
 some time, proving his success, as he kept the boys 
 in a constant uproar of laughter. 
 
182 A Serpent's Feast, 
 
 He was followed by two girls, who were the pos- 
 sessors of rather poor voices, but extremely limber 
 feet, and, finding this to be the unanimous verdict 
 of the audience, judging by the lavish applause of 
 the latter and the faint appreciation shown for 
 the former, they wisely confined themselves to the 
 terpsichorean accomplishment. 
 
 They were succeeded by four coons, who sang 
 quartettes with really melodious voices, but when 
 the refrains were taken up by some of the least 
 sober of the party, some sounds, the like of which 
 was never heard in a concert room, were the re- 
 sult. 
 
 The company at this stage presented a rather 
 amusing spectacle; many had sunk pretty low in 
 their chairs, with their limbs stretched before 
 them, looking thoroughly dopey. Two had fallen 
 asleep in spite of the noise, and others, oblivious of 
 the affairs of their entertainers, were attempting 
 to waltz at the further end of the room, the mo- 
 tion naturally making them more dizzy every mo- 
 ment, so that they swayed from side to side, like a 
 ship sailing through heavy seas. 
 
 One of the boys took up the Worcestershire sauce 
 and was about to drink from it when his neighbor, 
 who was a little less under the influence, snatched 
 it from him, and remained deaf to the pleadings 
 of the other for the return of the bottle. 
 
A Farewell Stag. 133 
 
 At this point, one of those still at the table be- 
 gan to relate rather racy stories, and was quickly 
 joined by the dancers. Soon tiring of this, how- 
 ever, and the timepieces showing the wee sma' 
 hours, some one suggested going home, and cabs 
 were promptly put into requisition, several of the 
 party requiring the services of two servants at least 
 to get them into the vehicles. 
 
 Among the guests that evening was Clifford St. 
 John, who had been invited as a return compli- 
 ment, owing him from the friends, for his invite to 
 the "Silly" dinner. 
 
 Clifford, always on the qui vive for a good time, 
 felt no scruples about accepting the invitation, al- 
 though knowing that he would meet there at least 
 two men who had been suitors for the same hand 
 that he had himself been refused. 
 
 At a jolly party of bachelors, Clifford could 
 make as good showing as the average one if he 
 tried to do so, and knew enough to bury his snob- 
 bishness on such an occasion. 
 
 When fully half the guests had departed and the 
 others were rapidly preparing to follow them, one 
 of those odd things happened which always lend 
 such a fitting climax to affairs, that they half 
 make one believe in predestination. 
 
 Every one was in that sublime condition which 
 is but one step from the ridiculous, when into the 
 
184 A Serpent's Feast. 
 
 room uninvited and unexpected, walked an indi- 
 vidual whom at least two persons instantly rec- 
 ognized as Fenelon Despard. 
 
 The newcomer was in excellent shape to join the 
 assembled group, for, although irreproachably clad 
 in evening attire, he had some difficulty in steer- 
 ing his way up to the table, at which he seated 
 himself as nonchalantly as if he had been an old 
 friend and a specially invited guest. 
 
 "Shay, old boy/' he commenced, addressing him- 
 self to the. host, who, by some inscrutable instinct 
 he recognized in the person of Harry Taylor, 
 "'scuse my interruption. Just got back from San 
 Francisco, and heard you were having a good time, 
 s'thought 'd drop in. Heard just now, too, a lady 
 had been here looking for me. Tell me on y J honor 
 is that true? If so, ? m going pretty soon." 
 
 "You needn't hurry on that account/' replied 
 Harry, his features expanding into a voluminous 
 smile at the absurdity of the situation. "The lady 
 to whom you refer called for you some weeks ago, 
 and I learn left a week ago for Buffalo. The same 
 I think I am correct in presuming is your wife." 
 
 "Eight again; shake hands on that, old man. 
 Best wife I ever had. But I don't want to meet 
 her to-night, anyhow. Going to sober up and 
 look after her s'm other day. Thanks for your 
 
A Farewell Stag. 185 
 
 information. It's a great relief. FH retire now. 
 Please 'xs'cuse the interruption/' 
 
 "Oh, don't hurry away, Despard," said Harry. 
 "Just make yourself at home now you're here. I'll 
 order up some more wine." 
 
 The humor of the situation was growing on the 
 host, as he thought over the events of the past few 
 weeks, his experience with Marian Heath having 
 had its beginning in the same building and its 
 culmination in this farcical manner with her hus- 
 band, in at the death of the stag. 
 
 "You needn't get fidgety," added Harry. 
 "Women are barred here, at least for this evening. 
 So, while we may drink their health and sing 
 their praises, we need not fear their untimely ap- 
 pearance, and you'll have plenty of time for good 
 resolutions to-morrow. Ah, here's the wine. 
 Drink, Despard ! Clink, Jack ! St. John, touch 
 glasses ! Here goes ! Here's to the fairest woman 
 each one knows and to her the best of fortune !" 
 
 The glasses clinked and the revelry went ob- 
 liviously on until gray dawn crept through the 
 blinds of the Knockabout Club. Then* four men 
 who had been scorched in one flame, four men 
 who had seen fascination in the same eyes, for- 
 got, forgave and laughed, perhaps, at their folly, 
 for that is the way of men the wide, wide world 
 over.