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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/33314-8.txt b/33314-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c326adb --- /dev/null +++ b/33314-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11988 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of H. R., by Edwin Lefevre + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: H. R. + +Author: Edwin Lefevre + +Release Date: August 1, 2010 [EBook #33314] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK H. R. *** + + + + +Produced by Annie McGuire. This book was produced from +scanned images of public domain material from the Google +Print archive. + + + + + + + + + +BOOKS BY +EDWIN LEFEVRE + + + SAMPSON ROCK OF WALL STREET. Illustrated. Post 8vo. + H. R. Illustrated. Post 8vo. + + * * * * * + +HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK + + + + +[Illustration: SHE PETRIFIED HERSELF WHEN SHE BEHELD THE MAN WHO HAD +MADE HER FAMOUS] + + + + +[Illustration: H. R.] + + +BY +EDWIN LEFEVRE + + +[Illustration] + + +HARPER & BROTHERS +NEW YORK AND LONDON +MCMXV + + + + +Copyright, 1915, by Harper & Brothers + + + + +TO ROBERT HOBART DAVIS + +_My dear Bob: In dedicating this book to you, I do more than follow the +selfish impulse of pleasing myself. It was you who warned me that none +of the usual fiction-labels would fit "H. R." To irritate the reader by +compelling him to think in order to understand was, you told me, both +unfair and unwise. But a writer occasionally may be permitted to please +himself, and if his experiment fails there remains the satisfaction of +having tried. I have not labelled my jokes explicitly nor have I written +a single foot-note in the middle of a page. I have endeavored to +reproduce a recognizable atmosphere by intentionally exaggerating +certain phases of the attitude of New York toward the eternal verities. +Not even for purposes of contrast have I felt bound to have a nice +character in the book. But if the reader fails to get what you so +clearly understood, and if the critics point out how completely I have +failed to write a Satirical Romance of To-day, I can at least make +certain of having one line in this volume with which none may find +fault. And that, Great and Good Friend, is the line at the top of this +page._ + + _E. L._ + _Dorset, Vt., June, 1915._ + + + + +H. R. + + + + +I + + +The trouble was not in being a bank clerk, but in being a clerk in a +bank that wanted him to be nothing but a bank clerk. That kind always +enriches first the bank and later on a bit of soil. + +Hendrik Rutgers had no desire to enrich either bank or soil. + +He was blue-eyed, brown-haired, clear-skinned, rosy-cheeked, tall, +well-built, and square-chinned. He always was in fine physical trim, +which made people envy him so that they begrudged him advancement, but +it also made them like him because they were so flattered when he +reduced himself to their level by not bragging of his muscles. He had a +quick-gaited mind and much fluency of speech. Also the peculiar sense of +humor of a born leader that enabled him to laugh at what any witty devil +said about others, even while it prevented him from seeing jokes aimed +at his sacred self. He not only was congenitally stubborn--from his +Dutch ancestors--but he had his Gascon grandmother's ability to believe +whatever he wished to believe, and his Scandinavian great-grandfather's +power to fill himself with Berserker rage in a twinkling. This made him +begin all arguments by clenching his fists. Having in his veins so many +kinds of un-American blood, he was one of the few real Americans in his +own country, and he always said so. + +It was this blood that now began to boil for no reason, though the +reason was really the spring. + +He had acquired the American habit of reading the newspapers instead of +thinking, and his mind therefore always worked in head-lines. This time +it worked like this: MORE MONEY AND MORE FUN! + +Being an American, he instantly looked about for the best rung of the +ladder of success. + +He had always liked the cashier. A man climbs at first by his friends. +Later by his enemies. That is why friends are superfluous later. + +Hendrik, so self-confident that he did not even have to frown, +approached the kindly superior. + +"Mr. Coster," he said, pleasantly, "I've been on the job over two years. +I've done my work satisfactorily. I need more money." You could see from +his manner that it was much nicer to state facts than to argue. + +The cashier was looking out of the big plate-glass window at the +wonderful blue sky--New York! April! He swung on his swivel-chair and, +facing Hendrik Rutgers, stared at a white birch by a trout stream three +hundred miles north of the bank. + +"Huh?" he grunted, absently. Then the words he had not heard indented +the proper spot on his brain and he became a kindly bank cashier once +more. + +"My boy," he said, sympathetically, "I know how it is. Everybody gets +the fit about this time of year. What kind of a fly would you use for-- +I mean, you go back to your cage and confine your attention to the K-L +ledger." + +A two hours walk in the Westchester hills would have made these two men +brothers. Instead, Hendrik allowed himself to fill up with that anger +which is apt to become indignation, and thus lead to freedom. Anger is +wrath over injury; indignation is wrath over injustice: hence the +freedom. + +"I am worth more to the bank than I'm getting. If the bank wants me to +stay--" + +"Hendrik, I'll do you a favor. Go out and take a walk. Come back in ten +minutes--cured! + +"Thanks, Mr. Coster. But suppose I still want a raise when I come back? + +"Then I'll accept your resignation." + +"But I don't want to resign. I want to be worth still more to the bank +so that the bank will be only too glad to pay me more. I don't want to +live and die a clerk. That would be stupid for me, and also for the +bank." + +"Take the walk, Hen. Then come back and see me." + +"What good will that do me?" + +"As far as I can see, it will enable you to be fired by no less than the +Big Chief himself. Tell Morson you are going to do something for me. +Walk around and look at the people--thousands of them; they are working! +Don't forget that, Hen; working; _making regular wages_! Good luck, my +boy. I've never done this before, but you caught me fishing. I had just +hooked a three-pounder," he finished, apologetically. + +Hendrik was suffocating as he returned to his cage. He did not think; he +felt--felt that everything was wrong with a civilization that kept both +wild beasts and bank clerks in cages. He put on his hat, told the head +bookkeeper he was going on an errand for Mr. Coster, and left the bank. + +The sky was pure blue and the clouds pure white. There was in the air +that which even when strained through the bank's window-screens had made +Hendrik so restless. To breathe it, outdoors, made the step more +elastic, the heartbeats more vigorous, the thoughts more vivid, the +resolve stronger. The chimneys were waving white plumes in the bright +air--waving toward heaven! He wished to hear the song of freedom of +streams escaping from the mountains, of the snow-elves liberated by the +sun; to hear birds with the spring in their throats admitting it, and +the impatient breeze telling the awakening trees to hurry up with the +sap. Instead, he heard the noises that civilized people make when they +make money. Also, whenever he ceased to look upward, in the place of the +free sunlight and the azure liberty of God's sky, he beheld the +senseless scurrying of thousands of human ants bent on the same golden +errand. + +When a man looks down he always sees dollar-chasing insects--his +brothers! + +He clenched his fists and changed, by the magic of the season, into a +fighting-man. He saw that the ant life of Wall Street was really a +battle. Men here were not writing on ledgers, but fighting deserts, and +swamps, and mountains, and heat, and cold, and hunger; fighting Nature; +fighting her with gold for more gold. It followed that men were fighting +men with gold for more gold! So, of course, men were killing men with +gold for more gold! + +So greatly has civilization advanced since the Jews crucified Him for +interfering with business, that to-day man not only is able to use +dollars to kill with, but boasts of it. + +"Fools!" he thought, having in mind all other living men. After he +definitely classified humanity he felt more kindly disposed toward the +world. + +After all, why should men fight Nature or fight men? Nature was only too +willing to let men live who kept her laws; and men were only too willing +to love their fellow-men if only dollars were not sandwiched in between +human hearts. He saw, in great happy flashes, the comfort of living +intelligently, brothers all, employers and employed, rid of the curse of +money, the curse of making it, the curse of coining it out of the sweat +and sorrow of humanity. + +"Fools!" This time he spoke his thought aloud. A hurrying broker's clerk +smiled superciliously, recognizing a stock-market loser talking of +himself to himself, as they all do. But Hendrik really had in mind bank +clerks who, instead of striking off their fetters, caressed them as +though they were the flesh of sweethearts; or wept, as though tears +could soften steel; or blasphemed, as though curses were cold-chisels! +And every year the fetters were made thicker by the blacksmith Habit. To +be a bank clerk, now and always; now and always nothing! + +He now saw all about him hordes of sheep-hearted Things with pens behind +their ears and black-cloth sleeve-protectors, who said, with the +spitefulness of eunuchs or magazine editors: + +"_You also are of us!_" + +He would _not_ be of them! + +He might not be able to change conditions in the world of finance, not +knowing exactly how to go about it, but he certainly could change the +financial condition of Hendrik Rutgers. He would become a free man. He +would do it by getting more money, if not from the bank, from somebody +else. In all imperfectly Christianized democracies a man must +capitalize his freedom or cease to be free. + +He returned to the bank. He was worth thousands to it. This could be +seen in his walk. And yet when the cashier saw Hendrik's face he +instantly rose from his chair, held up a hand to check unnecessary +speech, and said: + +"Come on, Rutgers. You are a damned fool, but I have no time to convince +you of it. You understand, of course, that you'll never work for us +again!" + +"I shall tell the president." + +"Yes, yes. He'll fire you." + +"Not if he is intelligent, he won't," said Rutgers, with assurance. + +The cashier looked at him pityingly and retorted: "A long catalogue of +your virtues and manifold efficiency will weigh with him as much as two +cubic inches of hydrogen. But I warned you." + +"I know you did," said Hendrik, pleasantly. + +Whereupon Coster frowned and said: "You are in class B--eight hundred +dollars a year. In due time you will be promoted to class C--one +thousand dollars. You knew our system and what the prospects were when +you came to us. Other men are ahead of you; they have been here longer +than you. We want to be fair to all. If you were going to be +dissatisfied you should not have kept somebody else out of a job." + +Hendrik did not know how fair the bank was to clerks in class C. He knew +they were not fair to one man in class B. Facts are facts. Arguments are +sea-foam. + +"You say I kept somebody out of a job?" he asked. + +"Yes, you did!" + +The cashier's tone was so accusing that Hendrik said: + +"Don't call a policeman, Mr. Coster." + +"And don't you get fresh, Rutgers. Now see here; you go back and let the +rise come in the usual course. I'll give you a friendly tip: once you +are in class C you will be more directly under my own eye!" + +Instead of feeling grateful for the implied promise, Hendrik could think +only that they classified men like cattle. All steers weighing one +thousand pounds went into pen B, and so on. This saved time to the +butchers, who, not having to stop in order to weigh and classify, were +enabled to slit many more throats per day. + +He did not know it, but he thought all this because he wished to go +fishing. Therefore he said: "I've got to have more money!" His fists +clenched and his face flushed. He thought of cattle, of the ox-making +bank, of being driven from pen A into pen B, and, in the end, +fertilizer. "I've got to!" he repeated, thickly. + +"You won't get it, take it from me. To ask for it now simply means being +instantly fired." + +"Being fired" sounded so much like being freed that Hendrik retorted, +pleasantly: + +"Mr. Coster, you may yet live to take your orders from me, if I am +fired. But if I stay here, you never will; that's sure." + +The cashier flushed angrily, opened his mouth, magnanimously closed it, +and, with a shrug of his shoulders, preceded Hendrik Rutgers into the +private office of the president. + +"Mr. Goodchild," said Coster, so deferentially that Hendrik looked at +him in surprise for a full minute before the surprise changed into +contempt. + +Mr. Goodchild, the president, did not even answer. He frowned, +deliberately walked to a window and stared out of it sourly. A little +deal of his own had gone wrong, owing to the stupidity of a subordinate. + +_He had lost MONEY!_ + +He was a big man with jowls and little puffs under the eyes; also +suspicions of purple in cheeks and nose and suspicions of everybody in +his eyes. Presently he turned and spat upon the intruders. He did it +with one mild little word: + +"Well?" + +He then confined his scowl to the cashier. The clerk was a species of +the human dirt that unfortunately exists even in banks and has to be +apologized for to customers at times, when said dirt, before arrogance, +actually permits itself vocal chords. + +They spoil the joy of doing business, damn 'em! + +"This is the K-L ledger clerk," said Coster. "He wants a raise in +salary. I told him 'No,' and he then insisted on seeing you." Years of +brooding over the appalling possibility of having to look for another +job had made the cashier a skilful shirker of responsibilities. He +always spoke to the president as if he were giving testimony under oath. + +"When one of these chaps, Mr. Coster," said the president in the +accusing voice bank presidents use toward those borrowers whose +collateral is inadequate, "asks for a raise and doesn't get it he begins +to brood over his wrongs. People who think they are underpaid +necessarily think they are overworked. And that is what makes socialists +of them!" + +He glared at the cashier, who acquiesced, awe-strickenly: "Yes, sir!" + +"As a matter of fact," pursued the president, still accusingly, "we +should reduce the bookkeeping force. Dawson tells me that at the +Metropolitan National they average one clerk to two hundred and +forty-two accounts. The best we've ever done is one to one hundred and +eighty-eight. Reduce! Good morning." + +"Mr. Goodchild," said Hendrik Rutgers, approaching the president, "won't +you please listen to what I have to say?" + +Mr. Goodchild was one of those business men who in their desire to +conduct their affairs efficiently become mind-readers in order to save +precious time. He knew what Rutgers was going to say, and therefore +anticipated it by answering: + +"I am very sorry for the sickness in your family. The best I can do is +to let you remain with us for a little while, until whoever is sick is +better." He nodded with great philanthropy and self-satisfaction. + +But Hendrik said, very earnestly: "If I were content with my job I +wouldn't be worth a whoop to the bank. What makes me valuable is that I +want to be more. Every soldier of Napoleon carried a marshal's baton in +his knapsack. That gave ambition to Napoleon's soldiers, who always won. +Let your clerks understand that a vice-presidency can be won by any of +us and you will see a rise in efficiency that will surprise you. Mr. +Goodchild, it is a matter of common sense to--" + +"Get out!" said the president. + +Ordinarily he would have listened. But he had lost money; that made him +think only of one thing--that he had lost money! + +The general had suddenly discovered that his fortress was not +impregnable! He did not wish to discuss feminism. + +Of course, Hendrik did not know that the president's request for +solitude was a confession of weakness and, therefore, in the nature of a +subtle compliment. And therefore, instead of feeling flattered, Hendrik +saw red. It is a common mistake. But anger always stimulated his +faculties. All men who are intelligent in their wrath have in them the +makings of great leaders of men. The rabble, in anger, merely becomes +the angry rabble--and stays rabble. + +Hendrik Rutgers aimed full at George G. Goodchild, Esq., a look of +intense astonishment. + +"Get out!" repeated the president. + +Hendrik Rutgers turned like a flash to the cashier and said, sharply: +"Didn't you hear? _Get out!_" + +"You!" shouted Mr. George G. Goodchild. + +"Who? _Me?_" Hendrik's incredulity was abysmal. + +"Yes! You!" And the president, dangerously flushed, advanced +threateningly toward the insolent beast. + +"What?" exclaimed Hendrik Rutgers, skeptically. "Do you mean to tell me +you really are the jackass your wife thinks you?" + +Fearing to intrude upon private affairs, the cashier discreetly left the +room. The president fell back a step. Had Mrs. Goodchild ever spoken to +this creature? Then he realized it was merely a fashion of speaking, and +he approached, one pudgy fist uplifted. The uplift was more for +rhetorical effect than for practical purposes, which has been a habit +with most uplifts since money-making became an exact science. But +Hendrik smiled pleasantly, as his forebears always did in battle, and +said: + +"If I hit you once on the point of the jaw it'll be the death-chair for +mine. I am young. Please control yourself." + +"You infernal scoundrel!" + +"What has Mrs. Goodchild ever done to me, that I should make her a +widow?" You could see he was sincerely trying to be not only just, but +judicial. + +The president of the bank gathered himself together. Then, as one flings +a dynamite bomb, he utterly destroyed this creature. "You are +_discharged_!" + +"Tut, tut! I discharged the bank ages ago; I'm only waiting for the bank +to pack up. Now you listen to me." + +"Leave this room, sir!" He said it in that exact tone of voice. + +But Hendrik did not vanish into thin air. He commanded, "Take a good +look at me!" + +The president of the bank could not take orders from a clerk in class B. +Discipline must be maintained at any cost. He therefore promptly turned +away his head. But Hendrik drew near and said: + +"Do you hear?" + +There was in the lunatic's voice something that made Mr. George G. +Goodchild instantly bethink himself of all the hold-up stories he had +ever heard. He stared at Hendrik with the fascination of fear. + +"What do you see?" asked Rutgers, tensely. "A human soul? No. You see +K-L. You think machinery means progress, and therefore you don't want +men, but machines, hey?" + +The president did not see K-L, as at the beginning of the interview. +Instead of the two enslaving letters he saw two huge, emancipating +fists. This man was far too robust to be a safe clerk. He had square +shoulders. Yes, he had! + +The president was not the ass that Hendrik had called him. His +limitations were the limitations of all irreligious people who regularly +go to church. He thus attached too much importance to To-day, though +perhaps his demand loans had something to do with it. His sense of humor +was altogether phrasal, like that of most multimillionaires. But if he +was too old a man to be consistently intelligent, he was also an +experienced banker. He knew he had to listen or be licked. He decided to +listen. He also decided, in order to save his face, to indulge in +humorous speech. + +"Young man," he asked, with a show of solicitude, "do you expect to +become Governor of New York?" + +But Hendrik was not in a smiling mood, because he was listening to a +speech he was making to himself, and his own applause was distinctly +enjoyable, besides preventing him from hearing what the other was +saying. That is what makes all applause dangerous. He went on, with an +effect of not having been interrupted. + +"Machines never mutiny. They, therefore, are desirable in your System. +At the same time, the end of all machines is the scrap-heap. Do _you_ +expect to end in junk?" + +"I was not thinking of _my_ finish," the president said, with much +politeness. + +"Yes, you are. Shall I prove it?" + +"Not now, please," pleaded the president, with a look of exaggerated +anxiety at the clock. It brought a flush of anger to Hendrik's cheeks, +seeing which the president instantly felt that glow of happiness which +comes from gratified revenge. Ah, to be witty! But his smile vanished. +Hendrik, his fists clenched, was advancing. The president was no true +humorist, not being of the stuff of which martyrs are made. He was ready +to recant when, + +"Good morning, daddy," came in a musical voice. + +Hendrik drew in his breath sharply at the narrowness of his escape. She +who approached the purple-faced tyrant was the most beautiful girl in +all the round world. + +It was spring. The girl had brought in the first blossoms of the season +on her cheeks, and she had captured the sky and permanently imprisoned +it in her eyes. She was more than beautiful; she was everything that +Hendrik Rutgers had ever desired, and even more! + +"Er--good morning, Mr.--ah--" began the president in a pleasant voice. + +Hendrik waved his hand at him with the familiar amiability we use toward +people whose political affiliations are the same as ours at +election-time. Then he turned toward the girl, looked at her straight in +the eyes for a full minute before he said, with impressive gravity: + +"Miss Goodchild, your father and I have failed to agree in a somewhat +important business matter. I do not think he has used very good +judgment, but I leave this office full of forgiveness toward him because +I have lived to see his daughter at close range, in the broad light of +day." + +The only woman before whom a man dares to show himself a physical coward +is his wife, because no matter what he does she knows him. + +Mr. Goodchild was frightened, but he said, blusteringly, "That will do, +you--er--_you_!" + +He pointed toward the door, theatrically. But Hendrik put his fingers to +his lips and said "Hush, George!" and spoke to her again: + +"Miss Goodchild, I am going to tell you the truth, which is a luxury +mighty rare in a bank president's private office, believe me." + +She stared at him with a curiosity that was not far from fascination. +She saw a well-dressed, well-built, good-looking chap, with particularly +bright, understanding eyes, who was on such familiar terms with her +father that she wondered why he had never called. + +"Let me say," he pursued, fervently, "without any hope of reward, +speaking very conservatively, that you are, without question, the most +beautiful girl in all the world! I have been nearly certain of it for +some time, but now I _know_. You are not only perfectly wonderful, but +wonderfully perfect--all of you! And now take a good look at me--" + +"Yes; just before he is put away," interjected the president, trying to +treat tragedy humorously before this female of the species. But for the +fear of the newspapers, he would have rung for the private detective +whose business was to keep out cranks, bomb-throwing anarchists, and +those fellow-Christians who wished to pledge their word of honor as +collateral on time-loans of less than five dollars. But she thought this +friendly persiflage meant that the interesting young man was a social +equal as well as a person of veracity and excellent taste. So she smiled +non-committally. She was, alas, young! + +"They will not put me away for thinking what I say," asserted Hendrik, +with such conviction that she blushed. Having done this, she smiled at +him directly, that there might be no wasted effort. Wasn't it spring, +and wasn't he young and fearless? And more than all that, wasn't he a +_novelty_, and she a New York woman? + +"When you hear the name of Hendrik Rutgers, or see it in the newspapers, +remember it belongs to the man who thought you were the only perfectly +beautiful girl God ever made. And He has done pretty well at times, you +must admit." + +With some people, both blasphemy and breakfast foods begin with a small +"b". The Only Perfect One thought he was a picturesque talker! + +"Mr. Rutgers, I am sorry you must be going," said the president, with a +pleasant smile, having made up his mind that this young man was not only +crazy, but harmless--unless angered. "But you'll come back, won't you, +when you are famous? We should like to have your account." + +Hendrik ignored him. He looked at her and said: + +"Do _you_ prefer wealth to fame? Anybody can be rich. But famous? Which +would you rather hear: _There goes Miss $80,000-a-year Goodchild or That +is that wonderful Goodchild girl everybody is talking about?_" + +She didn't know what to answer, the question being a direct one and she +a woman. But this did not injure Hendrik in her eyes; for women actually +love to be compelled to be silent in order to let a man speak--at +certain times, about a certain subject. Her father, after the immemorial +fashion of unintelligent parents, answered for her. He said, stupidly: +"It never hurts to have a dollar or two, dear Mr. Rutgers." + +"Dollar or two! Why, there are poor men whose names on your list of +directors would attract more depositors to this bank than the name of +the richest man in the world. Even for your bank, between St. Vincent de +Paul and John D. Rockefeller, whom would you choose? Dollars! When you +can _dream_!" Hendrik's eyes were gazing steadily into hers. She did not +think he was at all lunatical. But George G. Goodchild had reached the +limit of his endurance and even of prudence. He rose to his feet, his +face deep purple. + +However, Providence was in a kindly mood. At that very moment the door +opened and a male stenographer appeared, note-book in hand. Civilization +does its life-saving in entirely unexpected ways, even outside of +hospitals. + +"_Au revoir_, Miss Goodchild. Don't forget the name, will you?" + +"I won't," she promised. There was a smile on her flower-lips and firm +resolve in her beautiful eyes. It mounted to Hendrik's head and took +away his senses, for he waved his hand at the purple president, said, +with a solemnity that thrilled her, "_Pray for your future son-in-law!_" +and walked out with the step of a conqueror. And the step visibly gained +in majesty as he overheard the music of the spheres: + +"Daddy, who is he?" + +At the cashier's desk he stopped, held out his hand, and said with that +valiant smile with which young men feel bound to announce their defeat, +"I'm leaving, Mr. Coster." + +"Good morning," said Coster, coldly, studiously ignoring the +outstretched hand. Rutgers was now a discharged employee, a potential +hobo, a possible socialist, an enemy of society, one of the dangerous +Have-Nots. But Hendrik felt so much superior to this creature with a +regular income that he said, pityingly: "Mr. Coster, your punishment for +assassinating your own soul is that your children are bound to have the +hearts of clerks. You are now definitely nothing but a bank cashier. +That's what!" + +"Get out!" shrieked the bank cashier, plagiarizing from a greater than +he. + +The tone of voice made the private policeman draw near. When he saw it +was Hendrik to whom Mr. Coster was speaking, he instantly smelled +liquor. What other theory for an employee's loud talking in a bank? He +hoped Hendrik would not swear audibly. The bank would blame it on the +policeman's lack of tact. + +"_Au revoir._" And Hendrik smiled so very pleasantly that the policeman, +whose brains were in his biceps, sighed with relief. At the same time +the whisper ran among the caged clerks in the mysterious fashion of all +bad news--the oldest of all wireless systems! + +_Hendrik Rutgers was fired!_ + +Did life hold a darker tragedy than to be out of a job? A terrible +world, this, to be hungry in. + +As Hendrik walked into the cage to get his few belongings, pale faces +bent absorbingly over their ledgers. To be fed, to grow comfortably old, +to die in bed, always at so much per week. Ideal! No wonder, therefore, +that his erstwhile companions feared to look at what once had been a +clerk. And then, too, the danger of contagion! A terrible disease, +freedom, in a money-making republic, but, fortunately, rare, and the +victims provided with food, lodging, and strait-jackets at the expense +of the state. Or without strait-jackets: bars. + +Hendrik got his pay from the head of his department, who seemed of a +sudden to recall that he had never been formally introduced to this Mr. +H. Rutgers. This filled Hendrik at first with great anger, and then with +a great joy that he was leaving the inclosure wherein men's thoughts +withered and died, just like plants, for the same reason--lack of +sunshine. + +On his way to the street he paused by his best friend--a little old +fellow with unobtrusive side-whiskers who turned the ledger's pages over +with an amazing deftness, and wore the hunted look that comes from +thirty years of fear of dismissal. To some extent the old clerk's +constant boasting about the days when he was a reckless devil had +encouraged Hendrick. + +"Good-by, Billy," said Hendrik, holding out his hand. "I'm going." + +Little old Billy was seen by witnesses talking in public with a +discharged employee! He hastily said, "Too bad!" and made a pretense of +adding a column of figures. + +"Too bad nothing. See what it has done for you, to stay so long. I laid +out old Goodchild, and the only reason why I stopped was I thought he'd +get apoplexy. But say, the daughter-- She is some peach, believe me. I +called him papa-in-law to his face. You should have seen him!" + +Billy shivered. It was even worse than any human being could have +imagined. + +"Good-by, Rutgers," he whispered out of a corner of his mouth, never +taking his eyes from the ledger. + +"You poor old-- No, Billy! Thank you a thousand times for showing me +Hendrik Rutgers at sixty. Thanks!" And he walked out of the bank +overflowing with gratitude toward Fate that had hung him into the middle +of the street. From there he could look at the free sun all day; and of +nights, at the unfettered stars. It was better than looking at the +greedy hieroglyphics wherewith a stupid few enslaved the stupider many. + +He was free! + +He stood for a moment on the steps of the main entrance. For two years +he had looked from the world into the bank. But now he looked from the +bank out--on the world. And that was why that self-same world suddenly +changed its aspect. The very street looked different; the sidewalk wore +an air of strangeness; the crowd was not at all the same. + +He drew in a deep breath. The April air vitalized his blood. + +This new world was a world to conquer. He must fight! + +The nearest enemy was the latest. This is always true. Therefore Hendrik +Rutgers, in thinking of fighting, thought of the bank and the people who +made of banks temples to worship in. + +All he needed now was an excuse. There was no doubt that he would get +it. Some people call this process the autohypnosis of the great. + +Two sandwich-men slouched by in opposite directions. One of them stopped +and from the edge of the sidewalk stared at a man cleaning windows on +the fourteenth story of a building across the way. The other wearily +shuffled southward. Above his head swayed an enormous amputated foot. + +Rutgers himself walked briskly to the south. To avoid a collision with a +hurrying stenographer-girl--if it had been a male he would have used a +short jab--he unavoidably jostled the chiropodist's advertisement into +the gutter. The sandwich-man looked meekly into Rutgers's pugnacious +face and started to cross the street. + +Hendrik felt he should apologize, but before his sense of duty could +crystallize into action the man was too far away. So Hendrik turned +back. The other sandwich-man was still looking at the window-cleaner on +the fourteenth story across the street. Happening to look down, he saw +coming a man who looked angry. Therefore the sandwich-man meekly stepped +into the gutter, out of the way. + +It was the second time within one minute! Hendrik stopped and spoke +peevishly to the meek one in the gutter: + +"Why did you move out of my way?" + +The sandwich-man looked at him uneasily; then, without answering, walked +away sullenly. + +"Here I am," thought Rutgers, "a man without a job; and there he is, a +man with a job and afraid of me!" + +Something was wrong--or right. Something always is, to the born fighter. + +Who could be afraid of a man without a job but sandwich-men who always +walked along the curb so they could be pushed off into the gutter among +the other beasts? Nobody ever deliberately became a sandwich-man. When +circumstances, the police, hopeless inefficiency, or shattered credit +prevented a hobo from begging, stealing, murdering, or getting drunk, he +became a sandwich-man in order to live until he could rise again. +Whatever a sandwich-man changed himself into, it was always advancement. +Once a sandwich-man, never again a sandwich-man. It was not boards they +carried, but the printed certificates of hopelessness. + +Men who could not keep steady jobs became either corpses or +sandwich-men. The sandwich illustrated the tyranny of the regular income +just as the need of a regular income illustrated the need of +Christianity. + +The sandwich thus had become the spirit of the times. + +The spring-filled system of Hendrik Rutgers began to react for a second +time to a feeling of anger, and this for a second time turned his +thoughts to fighting. To fight was to conquer. There were two ways of +conquering--by fighting with gold and by fighting with brains. Who won +by gold perished by gold. That was why a numismatical bourgeoisie never +fought. Hendrik had no gold. So he would fight with brains. He therefore +would win. Also, he would fight for his fellow-men, which would make his +fight noble. That is called "hedging," for defeat in a noble cause is +something to be proud of in the newspapers. The reason why all hedging +is intelligent is that victory is always Victory when you talk about it. + +The sandwich-men were the scum of the earth. + +_Ah!_ It was a thrilling thought: To lead men who could no longer fight +for themselves against the world that had marred their immortal souls; +and then to compel that same world to place three square meals a day +within their astonished bellies! + +The man who could make the world do that could do anything. Since he +could do anything, he could marry a girl who not only was very +beautiful, but had a very rich and dislikable father. The early +Christians accomplished so much because they not only loved God, but +hated the devil. + +Hendrik Rutgers found both the excuse and the motive power. + +One minute after a man of brains perceives the need of a ladder in order +to climb, the rain of ladders begins. + +The chest-inflating egotism of the monopolistic tendency, rather than +the few remaining vestiges of Christianity, keeps Protestants in America +from becoming socialists. Hendrik filled his lungs full of self-oxygen +and of the consciousness of power for good, and decided to draw up the +constitution of his union. He would do it himself in order to produce a +perfect document; perfect in everything. A square deal; no more, no +less. That meant justice toward everybody, even toward the public. + +This union, being absolutely fair, would be more than good, more than +intelligent; it would pay. + +Carried away by his desire to help the lowest of the low, he constituted +himself into a natural law. He would grade his men, be the sole judge +and arbiter of their qualifications, and even of their proper wages. + +Hendrik walked back toward the last sandwich-man and soon overtook him. +"Hey, there, you!" he said, tapping the rear board with his hand. + +The sandwich-man did not turn about. Really, what human being could wish +to speak to him? + +Hendrik Rutgers walked for a few feet beside the modest artist who was +proclaiming to a purblind world the merits of an optician's wares, and +spoke again, politely: + +"I want to see you, on business." + +The man's lips quivered, then curved downward, immobilizing themselves +into a fixed grimace of fear. "I--I 'ain't done no-nothin'," he whined, +and edged away. + +This was what society had done to an immortal soul! + +"Hell!" said Hendrik Rutgers between clenched teeth. "I'm not a fly-cop. +I've just got a plain business proposition to make to you." + +"If you'll tell me where yer place is, I'll come aroun'--" began the +man, so obviously lying that Rutgers's anger shifted from society and +tyranny on to the thing between sandwich-boards--the thing that refused +to be his brother. + +"You damned fool!" he hissed, fraternally. "You come with me--now." + +The inverted crescent of the man's lips trembled, and presently there +issued from it, "Well, I 'ain't done--" + +Charity, which is not always astute, made H. Rutgers say with a kindly +cleverness to his poor brother, "I'll tell you how you are going to make +more money than you ever earned before." + +The prospect of making more money than he ever earned before brought no +name of joy into the blear and furtive eyes. Instead, he sidled, +crabwise, into the middle of the street. + +"No, you don't!" said Rutgers so menacingly that the sandwich-man +shivered. It was clear that, to feed this starving man, force would be +necessary. This never discourages the true philanthropist. Rutgers, +however, feeling that Christian forbearance should be used before +resorting to the ultimate diplomacy, said, with an earnest amiability: +"Say, Bo, d'you want to fill your belly so that if you ate any more +you'd bust?" + +At the hint of a promise of a sufficiency of food the man opened his +mouth, stared at Rutgers, and did not speak. He couldn't because he did +not close his mouth. + +"All the grub you can possibly eat, three times a day. Grub, Bo! All you +want, any time you want it. Hey? What?" + +The sandwich-man's open mouth opened wider. In his eyes there was no +fear, no hunger, no incredulity, nothing only an abyss deep as the human +soul, that returned no answer whatever. + +"Do you want," pursued the now optimistic Hendrik Rutgers, "to drink all +you can hold? The kind that don't hurt you if you drink a gallon! Booze, +and grub, and a bed, and money in your pocket, and nobody to go through +your duds while you sleep. Hey?" + +The sandwich-man spasmodically opened and closed his mouth in the +unhuman fashion of a ventriloquist's puppet. Rutgers heard the click, +but never a word. It filled him with pity. The desire to help such +brothers as this grew intense. Next to feeding them there was nothing +like talking to them about food and drink in a kindly way. + +"What do you say, Bo?" he queried, gently, almost tenderly. + +The man's teeth chattered a minute before he said, huskily, "Wh-what +m-must I do?" + +"Let's go to the Battery," said Rutgers, "and I'll tell you all about +it." + +The mission of history is to prove that Fate sends the right man for the +right place at the right time. While Hendrik Rutgers talked, the +sandwich-man listened with his stomach; and when Hendrik Rutgers +promised, the sandwich-man believed with his soul. Rutgers told Fleming +that all sandwich-men must join the union; that as soon as he and the +other present sandwichers were enrolled on its books no more members +would be admitted, except as a superabundance of jobs justified +additional admissions; and at that it would require a nine-tenths vote +to elect, thus preventing a surplus of labor and likewise a slump in +wages. The union would compel advertisers in the future to pay twenty +cents an hour and would guarantee both steady work and these wages to +its members; there would be neither an initiation fee nor strike-fund +assessments; the dues of one cent a day were collectible only when the +member worked and received union wages for his day's work. Any member +could lay off any time he felt like it, unmulcted and unfired. There was +only one thing that all sandwich-men had to do to be in good standing; +obey the secretary and treasurer of the union--Mr. H. Rutgers--in all +union matters. + +The sandwich business, once unionized, would become a lucrative +profession and therefore highly moral, and therefore its members would +automatically cease to be pariahs, notwithstanding congenital fitness +for same. Anybody who cannot only defy Nature, but make her subservient +to the wishes of an infinitely higher intelligence, is fit to be a +labor-leader. And he generally is. + +Fleming agreed to round up those of his colleagues whose peregrinations +extended south of Chambers Street. He would ask them to come to the +Battery on the next day at noon. + +So thrilled was Hendrik by his rescue-work among the wreckages that it +never occurred to him to doubt his own success. This made him know +exactly what to say to Fleming. + +"Don't just ask them to come. Tell them that there will be free beers +and free grub. Tell them anything you damn please, but bring them! _Do +you hear me?_" He gripped the sandwich-man's arm so tightly that +Fleming's lips began to quiver. "And if you don't bring a bunch, God +help you!" + +"Ye-yes, sir; I will. Sure!" whimpered Fleming, staring fascinatedly at +those eyes which both promised and menaced. + +And in Fleming's own eyes Hendrik saw the four "B's" which form the +great equation of all democracies: _Bread + Bludgeon = Born Boss!_ + +Such men always know how to _say_ everything. This is more important +than _thinking_ anything. + +"Remember the beer!" Brother Hendrik spoke pleasantly, and Fleming +nodded eagerly. "And get on the job," hissed Secretary Rutgers; and +Fleming shivered and hurried away before the licking came. + +Hendrik himself walked briskly up-town. When a man is pleased with +himself he can always continue in that condition by the simple expedient +of continuing to see whatever he wishes to see. Hendrik opened his eyes +very wide and continued to see the ladder of success that great men use +to climb to their changing heaven. Hendrik's heaven just then happened +to be one in which a man of brains could make the money-makers pay him +for allowing them to make money for him. After finding the ladder, all +that was necessary was for Hendrik to think of George G. Goodchild's +money. That made him see red; and whenever he saw red he could see no +obstacles whatever; and because of his self-inflicted blindness he was +intelligently ready to tackle anything, even the job of helping his +fellow-men. To be an efficient philanthropist a man must have not only +love, but murder, in his heart. That is one of the two hundred and +eighty-six reasons why scientific charities make absolutely no inroads +on the world's store of poverty. + +Mr. Rutgers met the charter members of his union at the time and place +indicated by Providence through the medium of Mr. Rutgers's lips. + +There were fourteen sandwich-men. + +Hendrik, not knowing what to say, gazed at the faces before him in +impressive silence. So long as you keep a man guessing, he is at your +mercy. Orators have already discovered this. + +"Holy smoke! What in the name of Maginnis do you call this?" shrieked a +messenger-boy. "Free freak show?" + +A crowd gathered about them by magic. Opportunity held out its right +hand and Hendrik Rutgers grasped it in both his own. If all New York +could be made to talk about him, all New York could be made to pay him, +as it always pays for the privilege of talking of the same thing at the +same time. You cannot get anybody to talk about the Ten Commandments; +therefore, there is nobody to listen; therefore nobody capitalizes them. + +It _is_ the first rung that really matters. All other rungs in the +ladder of success are easier to find and to fit. Hendrik could now +gather together his various impulses and thoughts and motives and +arrange them in their proper sequence, as great men do, to make easier +the work of the historian. It was a crusade that he had undertaken, for +the liberation of the most abject of all modern slaves; he had changed +the scum of the earth into respectable humanity. + +That was history. + +The facts, however, happened to be as follows: He threw up his job +because he wished to go fishing, which of course made him angry because +his fellow-clerks were slaves, and he therefore got himself discharged +by the president, which made him hate the president so that the hatred +showed in Hendrik's face and made two sandwich-men so afraid that he +couldn't help organizing the sandwich-men's union because he could boss +it, and that would make people talk about him, which would put money in +his pocket; and once he was both rich and famous he would be the equal +of the greatest and as such could pick and choose; and he would pick +Grace Goodchild and choose her for his wife, which would make him rich. + +In Europe the ability promptly to recognize the kindness of chance is +called opportunism. Here we boast of it as the American spirit. That is +why American bankers so often find pleasure in proudly informing you +that it pays to be honest! + +"Listen, you!" said Hendrik to the sandwich-men. These were the tools +wherewith he would hammer the first rung into place. + +They looked at him, incredulous in advance. This attitude on the part of +the majority has caused republics at all times to be ruled by the +minority. The vice of making money also arose from the fact that +suspicious people are so easy to fool that even philosophers succumb to +the temptation. + +"Just now you are nothing but a bunch of dirty hoboes. Scum of the +earth!" It would not do to have followers who had illusions about +themselves. This is fundamental. + +"Say, I didn't come here to listen to--" + +"You--!" said Hendrik Rutgers, and did not smile. "You came here just +exactly for that. See?" And he walked up to within six inches of the +speaker, not knowing that his anger gave him the fighting face. "You +came to listen to me just as long as I am talking--unless you are pining +to spend your last three hours in the hospital. Do you get me? Which for +yours?" + +"Listen!" replied the sandwich-man. He had been poor so long that from +force of habit he economized even in words. + +"By cripes! here I am spending valuable time so as to make you bums into +prosperous men--" + +"Where do you come in, Bill?" asked a voice from the rear. + +"I don't have to come in. I am in. You fellows have got to join the +union. Then you'll get good wages, easy hours, decent--" + +"Yeh; but--" + +Hendrik turned to the man who had interrupted--a short chap advertising +a chain of hat-stores and asked, "But what?" + +"Nutt'n!" The hatter had once helped about a prize-fighter's +training-quarters, hence the quick duck. + +"Also, you'll have easy--" + +"Easy!" The hatter had spoken prematurely again. + +"What?" scowled Hendrik. + +"Hours," hastily explained the man. + +"We ask only for fair play," pursued the leader. + +"Yeh; sure!" murmured Fleming, with the cold enthusiasm of all paid +lieutenants of causes. + +"And we must make up our minds to play fair with employers, so that +employers will play fair with us." + +"Like hell they will!" This was from a tall, thin, toothless chap. +Reason: Tapeworm and booze. Name: Mulligan. Recreation: Chiropodist's +favorite. + +"I'll prove it to you," said Hendrik, very earnestly. + +"Perhaps _to_ but not _by_ me," muttered Mulligan. + +"Union wages will be twenty cents an hour." + +"Never get it!" mumbled an old fellow with what they call waiter's +foot--flattened arch. "Never!" + +"Never," came in chorus from all the others, their voices ringing with +conviction. + +"I'll have the jobs to give out. I guess I know how much you'll get." +The flame of hope lit fourteen pairs of blear eyes. Maybe this boob had +the cash and desired to separate himself from it. All primitive people +think the fool is touched of God. Hunger makes men primitive. + +"I'll fix the wages!" declared Hendrik again. He saw himself feeding +these men; therefore he felt he owned them absolutely. It isn't, of +course, necessary actually to feed people, or even to promise to feed +them, to own them. Nevertheless, his look of possession imposed on these +victims of a democracy. They mutely acknowledged a boss. + +Instantly perceiving this, a sense of kindly responsibility came upon +Hendrik. These were his children. He said, paternally, "We'll now have a +beer--on me!" + +Fleming, to show his divine right to the place of vice-regent, led the +way to a joint on Washington Street. + +Hendrik saw, with carefully concealed delight, the sensation caused even +in the Syrian-infested streets of the quarter by the sight of a handful +of sandwich-men in full regalia. He heard the exclamations that fell +from polyglot lips. It was a foretaste of success, the preface of a +famous man's biography! + +The union drank fifteen beers, slowly--and quickly wiped the day's free +lunch from the face of the earth. The huskiest of the three bartenders +began to work with one hand, the other being glued to a bung-starter. He +felt it had to come. + +"I'm boss!" said Hendrik to his children as a preliminary to discussing +the by-laws. + +"I'm willin'!" + +"Same here!" + +"Let 'er go, cap!" + +"Suits _me_!" + +They were all eager to please him--too eager. It made him ask, +disgustedly: + +"Don't you fellows care who is boss?" + +"Naw! Don't we have to have one, anyhow?" + +"Yes. But to have one crammed down your throats--" + +"The beer helps the swallowing, boss," said the hatter with +conviction--and a fresh hope! + +"There doesn't seem to be a man among the whole lot of you," said +Hendrik. + +A young fellow of about twenty-eight, very pale, wearing steel-rimmed +spectacles, spoke back, "If you'd starved for three weeks and two days, +and on top of it been kicked and cheated and held up, there wouldn't be +a hell of a lot of fight in you, my wise gazabo." + +"That's exactly what would make me fight," retorted Hendrik, angrily. +"Each of you has a vote; each of you, therefore, has as much to say as +to how this country should be run as any millionaire. Don't you know +what to do with your vote?" + +"You're lucky to get a quarter and two nights' lodging nowadays," said +the old man with waiter's foot. "The time we elected Gilroy I made +fifteen bones and was soused for a mont'. Shorty McFadden made +thirty-five dollars--" + +"Any of you Republicans?" + +"No!" came in a great and indignant chorus. + +"I used to be!" defiantly asserted the young man with the spectacles and +the pale face and the beaten look. + +"And now?" + +"Just a lame duck, I guess." + +"Too much rumatism," suggested a husky voice, and all the others +laughed. The depths of degradation are reached when you can laugh at +your own degradation. + +"Are any of you socialists?" asked Hendrik. + +They looked at him doubtfully. They wished to please him and would have +answered accordingly if they had known what he wished to get from them. +What they wished to get from him, in the way of speech, was another +invitation to tank up. But when in doubt, all men deny. It is good +police-court practice. Three veterans, therefore, tentatively said: + +"No!" + +Hendrik was disappointed, but did not show it. He asked, "Are any of you +Christians?" + +The crowd fell back. + +"Is there one man among you who believes in God?" + +They stared at one another in the consternation of utter hopelessness. +Mulligan was the first to break the painful silence. He said, with a sad +triumph: + +"I knew it. Stung again! They'll do anything to get you to listen. We +fell for it like boobs." + +"What is that?" said Hendrik, sharply. + +"I was sayin'," replied Mulligan, grateful that he was one schooner +ahead, anyhow, "that I can listen to a good brother like you by the hour +when I ain't thirsty. The dryness in my throat affects my hearin'. If +you blow again I'll believe in miracles. How could I help it?" + +Fourteen pairs of eyes turned hopefully toward the wonder-worker. But he +said in the habitual tone of all born leaders: + +"You--bums, get around! I'm going to lick hell out of Mulligan. And +after that, to show I'm boss, I'll blow again. But first the licking." + +Hendrik gave his hat to Fleming to hold and began to turn up his +sleeves. But Mulligan hastily said, "I'm converted, boss!" and actually +looked pious. How he did it, nobody could tell, for he was not a +Methodist by birth or education. + +"Mulligan, the union wages will be forty schooners a day." Hendrik +said, sternly. Again it was genius--that is, to talk so that men will +understand you. + +"Kill the scabs!" shrieked Mulligan, and there was murder in his eyes. + +Hendrik Rutgers put his right foot firmly on the second rung of the +ladder. He did it by spending seventy-five cents for the second time. +Fifteen beers. + +"Everybody," he said, threateningly, "wait until the schooners are on +the bar!" thereby disappointing those who had hoped to ring in an extra +glass during the excitement. But all that Hendrik desired was to +inculcate salutary notions of discipline and obedience under +circumstances that try men's souls. He yelled: + +"Damn you, step back! All of you! _Back!_" + +They fell back. + +The quivering line, now two feet from the beer, did not look at the +glasses full of cheer, but at the eyes full of lickings. They gazed at +him, open-mouthed; they gazed and kept on gazing, two feet from the +bar--the length of the arm from the beer! + +Not obey? After that? There is no doubt of it; they are born! + +"To the union! All together! _Drink!_" They did not observe that this +man was regulating even their thirst. The reason they did not notice it +was that they were so busy assuaging it. + +They drank. Then they looked at Hendrik. He was a law of nature. He +shook his head. They understood his "No." It was like death. To save +their faces they began to clamor for free lunch. + +"Get to hell out of here!" said the proprietor. + +"Do you want your joint smashed?" asked Rutgers. He approached the man +and looked at him from across a gulf of six inches that made escape +impossible. Whatever the proprietor saw in Rutgers's eyes made him turn +away. + +"Come across with the free lunch," Hendrik bade the proprietor. To his +men he said, "Boys, get ready!" + +These men-that-were--miserable worms, scum of the earth, walking +cuspidors--began to take off their armor. The bartenders were husky, but +hadn't the boss commanded, _Get ready!_ and didn't all men know he +meant, _Get ready_ TO EAT? Moreover, each sandwich felt he might dodge +the bung-starters, but not the boss's right flipper! + +The union was making ready to fight with the desperation of men whose +retreat is cut on by a foe who never heard of The Hague Convention. + +"Hey, no rough-house!" yelled the proprietor. + +"Free lunch!" retorted Hendrik. Then he added, "_Quick!_" + +The sandwich-men's nostrils began to dilate with the contagion of the +battle spirit. One after another, these beasts of the gutter took off +the boards and leaned them against the wall, out of the way, and eyed +the boss expectantly, waiting for the word--_men once more!_ Hendrik, +with the eye of a strategist and the look of a prize-fighter, planned +the attack. Like a very wise man who lived to be the most popular of all +our Presidents, he did his thinking aloud. + +On occasions like this Hendrik's mind also worked in battle-cries and +best expressed itself in action. + +"Free lunch," said Hendrik, "is free. It is everybody's. It is therefore +_ours_!" + +"Give us our grub!" hoarsely cried the union. + +"Three to each bartender," said Hendrik. "When I yell 'Now!' jump in, +from both ends of the bar at once--six of you here; you six over there. +Fleming, you smash the mirrors back of the bar with those empty +schooners. Mulligan, you cop some bottles of booze, and wait outside--do +you hear? _Wait outside!_--for us. I'll attend to the cash-register +myself. Now, you," he said peremptorily to the proprietor, "do we get +the free lunch? _Say no; won't you, please?_" + +Hendrik radiated battle. The derelicts took on human traits as their +eyes lit up with visions of pillage. Fleming grasped a heavy schooner in +each hand. Mulligan had his eye on three bottles of whisky and, for the +first time in years, was using his mind--planning the get-away. + +The proprietor saw all this and also perceived that he could not afford +a victory. It was much cheaper to give them seven cents worth of spoiled +rations. Therefore he decided in favor of humanity. + +"Do what I told you, Jake," he said, with the smile of a man who has +inveigled friends into accepting over-expensive Christmas presents. "Let +'em have the rest of the lunch--_all they want_." He smiled again, much +pleased with his kindly astuteness. He was a constructive statesman and +would be famous for longevity. + +But the sandwich-men swaggered about, realizing that under the +leadership of the boss they had won; they had obtained something to +which they had no right; by threats of force they had secured food; the +boss had made men of them. They therefore crowned Hendrik king. The +instinctive and immemorial craving of all men for a father manifests +itself--in republics that have forgotten God--in the election of the +great promisers and the great confiscators to the supreme power. History +records that no dynasty was ever founded except by a man who fought both +for and with his followers. The men that merely fought for their +fellows have uniformly died by the most noble and inspiring death of +all--starvation. Names and posthumous addresses not known. + +When not a scrap remained on any of the platters, Hendrik called his men +to him and told them: + +"Meet me at the sign-painter's, corner Twenty-ninth Street and Ninth +Avenue next Friday night after seven. We'll be open till midnight. Be +sure and bring your boards with you." + +"We gotter give 'em up before we can get paid," remonstrated Mulligan. +"If we don't we don't eat." + +"That's right!" assented a half-dozen. + +"_Bring them!_" said Hendrik. The time to check a mutiny is before it +begins. + +"A' right!" came in a chorus of fourteen heroic voices. + +"Beginning next Monday, you'll get twenty cents an hour. I guarantee +that to you out of my own pocket. You must each of you bring all the +other sandwiches you run across. If necessary, drag them. We must have +about one hundred to start, if you want forty beers a day." + +"We do! We do!" + +"Then bring the others, because we've got to begin with enough men in +the union to knock the stuffing out of those who try to scab on us. Get +that?" + +"Sure thing!" they shouted, with the surprised enthusiasm of men who +suddenly understand. + +They were deep in misery and accustomed to a poverty so abject that they +no longer were capable of even envying the rich. They, therefore, could +hate only those who were poorer than themselves--the men who dared to +have thirsts that could be assuaged with less than forty beers per day. +Not obey the boss, when they already felt an endless stream trickling +down their unionized gullets? And not kill the scab whose own non-union +thirst would prolong theirs? + +No! A man owes some things to his fellows, but he owes everything to +himself. That is why, for teaching brotherhood, there is nothing like +one book: the city Directory, from a fourth-floor window. + +When the boss left them he was certain that they would not fail him. +Just let them dare try to stay away, after he had so kindly destined +them to be the rungs of the ladder on which he expected to climb to his +lady's window--and her father's pocket! As he walked away, his +confidence in himself showed in his stride so clearly that those who saw +him shared that confidence. It is not what they were when they were not +leaders, but what they can be when they become leaders, that makes them +remarkable men. + + + + +II + + +The next morning Hendrik went to his tailor. As he walked into the shop +he had the air of a man in whom two new suits a day would not be +extravagance. The tailor, unconscious of cause and effect, called him +"Mister," against the habit of years. Hendrik nodded coldly and said: + +"As secretary and treasurer of the National Street Advertising Men's +Association, I've got to have a new frock-coat. Measure me for one." + +Hendrik had the air of a man who sees an unpleasant duty ahead, but does +not mean to shirk it. This attitude always commands respect from +tailors, clergymen, and users of false weights and measures. + +"Left the bank?" asked the tailor, uncertainly. + +"I should say I had," answered Hendrik, emphatically. + +"What is the new job, anyhow?" asked the tailor, professionally. His +customers usually told him their business, their history, and their +hopes. By listening he had been able to invest in real estate. + +"As I was about to say when you _interrupted_ me"--Hendrik spoke +rebukingly. + +"I beg your pardon, Mr. Rutgers," said the tailor, and blushed. He knew +now he should have said "position" instead of "job." The civilization of +to-day--including sanitary plumbing--is possible because price-tags were +invented. This is not an epigram. + +"--the clothes must be finished by Thursday. If you can't do it, I'll go +somewhere else." + +"Oh, we can do it, all right, Mr. Rutgers." + +"Good morning," and Hendrik strode haughtily from the shop. + +To the tailor Hendrik had always been a clerk at a bank. But now it was +plain to see that Mr. Rutgers thought well of himself, as a man with +money always does in all Christian countries. Hendrik's credit at once +jumped into the A1 class. Some people and all tailors judge men by their +backs. + +Being sure of the guests, Hendrik Rutgers went forth in search of their +dinner. To feed fivescore starving fellow-men was a noble deed; to feed +them at the expense of some one else was even higher. So, dressed in his +frock-coat, wearing his high hat as though it was a crown, he sought +Caspar Weinpusslacher. The owner of the "Colossal Restaurant," just off +the Bowery, gave a square meal for a quarter of a dollar, twenty-five +cents; for thirty cents he gave the same meal with a paper napkin and +the privilege of repeating the potato or the pie. His kitchen +organization was perfect. His cooks and scullions had served in the +German army in similar capacities, and he ruled them like one born and +brought up in the General Staff. His waiters also were recruited from +the greatest training-school for waiters in the world. He operated on a +system approved by an efficiency expert. By giving low wages to people +who were glad to get them, paying cash for his supplies and judiciously +selecting the latter just on the eve of their spoiling, he was able to +give an astonishingly good meal for the money. His profits, however, +depended upon his selling his entire output. This did not always +happen. Some days Herr Weinpusslacher almost lost three dollars. + +No system is perfect. Otherwise hotel men would wish to live for ever. + +Hendrik stalked into the Colossal dining-room and snarled at one of the +waiters: + +"Where's your boss?" + +The waiter knew it couldn't be the Kaiser, or a millionaire. It must +therefore be a walking delegate. He deferentially pointed to a short, +fat man by the bar. + +"Tell him to come here," said Rutgers, and sat down at a table. It isn't +so much in knowing whom to order about, but in acquiring the habit of +ordering everybody about, that wins. + +Caspar Weinpusslacher received the message, walked toward the table and +signaled to a Herculean waiter, who unobtrusively drew near--and in the +rear--of H. Rutgers. + +Hendrik pointed commandingly to a chair across the table. C. +Weinpusslacher obeyed. The Herculean waiter, to account for his +proximity, flicked non-existent crumbs on the napeless surface of the +table. + +"Recklar tinner?" he queried, in his best Delmonico. + +"_Geht-weg!_" snarled Mr. Rutgers. The waiter, a nostalgic look in his +big blue eyes, went away. _Ach_, to be treated like a dog! Ach, the +Fatherland! And the officers! _Ach!_ + +"Weinpusslacher," said Rutgers, irascibly, "who is your lawyer and +what's his address?" + +C. Weinpusslacher's little pig-eyes gleamed apprehensively. + +"For why you wish to know?" he said. + +"Don't ask _me_ questions. Isn't he your friend?" + +"Sure." + +"Is he smart?" + +"Smart?" C. Weinpusslacher laughed now, fatly. "He's too smart for +_you_, all right. He's Max Ondemacher, 397 Bowery. I guess if you--" + +"All right. I'm going to bring him to lunch here." + +"He wouldn't lunch here. He's got money," said C. Weinpusslacher, +proudly. + +"He will come." Rutgers looked, in a frozen way, at Caspar +Weinpusslacher, and continued, icily: "I am the secretary and treasurer +of the _National_ Street Advertising Men's Association. If I told you I +wanted _you_ to give _me_ money you'd believe me. But if I told you _I_ +wanted to give _you_ money, you wouldn't. So I am going to let your own +lawyer tell you to do as I say. I'll make you rich--for nothing!" + +And Hendrik Rutgers walked calmly out of the Colossal Restaurant, +leaving in the eyes of C. Weinpusslacher astonishment, in the mind +respect, and in the heart vague hope. + +This is the now historic document which Hendrik Rutgers dictated in Max +Onthemaker's office: + + Hendrik Rutgers, secretary and treasurer of the National + Street Advertising Men's Association, agrees to make Caspar + Weinpusslacher's Colossal Restaurant famous by means of + articles in the leading newspapers in New York City. For + these services Hendrik Rutgers shall receive from said + Caspar Weinpusslacher, proprietor of said Colossal + Restaurant, one-tenth (1/10) of the advertising value of + such newspaper notices--said value to be left to a jury + composed of the advertising managers of the _Ladies Home + Journal_, the Jewish _Daily Forward_, and the New York + _Evening Post_, and of Max Onthemaker and Hendrik Rutgers. + It is further stipulated that such compensation is to be + paid to Hendrik Rutgers, not in cash, but in tickets for + meals in said Colossal Restaurant, at thirty cents per + meal, said meal-tickets to be used by said Hendrik Rutgers + to secure still more desirable publicity by feeding + law-abiding, respectable poor people. + +_Panem et circenses!_ He had made sure of the first! The public could +always be depended upon to furnish the second by being perfectly +natural. + +M. Onthemaker accompanied H. Rutgers to the Colossal. He had some +difficulty in persuading C. Weinpusslacher to sign. But as soon as it +was done Hendrik said: + +"First gun: The National Street Advertising Men will hold their annual +dinner here next Saturday, about one hundred of us, thirty cents each; +regular dinner. _That_ is legitimate news and will be printed as such. +It will advertise the Colossal and the Colossal thirty-cent dinner. You +won't be out a cent. We pay cash for our dinner. I'll supply a few +decorations; all you'll have to do is to hang them from that corner to +this. You might also arrange to have a little extra illumination in +front of the place. Have a couple of men in evening clothes and high +hats on the corner, pointing to the Colossal, and saying: +'_Weinpusslacher's Colossal Restaurant! Three doors down. Just follow +the crowd!_' Arrange for all these things so that when you see that I am +delivering the goods you won't be paralyzed. Another thing: There will +be reporters from every daily paper in the city here Saturday night. +Provide a table for them and pay especial attention to both dinner and +drinks. _They_ will make you famous and rich, because you will tell them +that they are getting the regular thirty-cent dinner. It will be up to +you to be intelligently generous now so that you may with impunity be +intelligently stingy later, when you are rich. I advise you to have Max +here, because you seem to be of the distrustful nature of most damned +fools and therefore must make your money in spite of yourself. Next +Saturday at six P.M.! You'll make at least two hundred thousand dollars +in the next five years. Now I am going to eat. Come on, Onthemaker." + +H. Rutgers sat down, summoned the Herculean waiter, and ordered two +thirty-cent dinners. + +C. Weinpusslacher, a dazed look in his eyes, approached Max and +whispered, "Hey, dot's a smart feller. What?" + +"Well," answered M. Onthemaker, lawyer-like, "you haven't anything to +lose." + +"You said I should sign the paper," Caspar reminded him, accusingly. + +"You're all right so long as you don't give him a cent unless I say so." + +"I won't; not even if you say so." + +With thirty cents of food and thirty millions of confidence under his +waistcoat, Hendrik Rutgers walked from the Colossal Restaurant down the +Bowery and Center Street to the City Hall. At the door of the Mayor's +room he fixed the doorkeeper with his stern eye and requested his Honor +to be informed that the secretary of the National Street Advertising +Men's Association would like to see his Honor about the annual dinner of +the association, of which his Honor had been duly informed. + +One of the Mayor's secretaries came out, a tall young man who, as a +reporter on a sensational newspaper, had acquired a habit of dodging +curses and kicks. Now, as Mayor's secretary, he didn't quite know how to +dodge soft soap and glad hands. + +"Good afternoon," said Hendrik, with what might be called a +business-like amiability. "Will the Mayor accept?" + +"The Mayor," said the secretary with an amazing mixture of condescension +and uneasiness, as of a man calling on a poor friend in whose parlor +there is shabby furniture but in whose cellar there is a ton of +dynamite--"the Mayor knows nothing about your asso--of the _dinner_ of +your association." The secretary looked pleased at having caught himself +in time. + +"Why, I wrote," began H. Rutgers, with annoyance, "over a week--" He +silenced himself while he opened his frock-coat, tilted back his high +hat from a corrugated brow, and felt in his pocket. It is the delivery, +not the speech, that distinguishes the great artist. Otherwise writers +would be considered intelligent people. + +"Hell!" exclaimed Hendrik, looking at the secretary so fixedly and +angrily that the ex-reporter flinched. "It's in the other coat. I mean +the copy of the letter I sent the Mayor exactly a week ago to-day. I +wondered why he hadn't answered." + +"He never got it," the secretary hastened to say. + +Hendrik laughed. "You must excuse my language; but you know what it is +to arrange all the details of an annual meeting and banquet--menu, +decorations, music, _and_ speeches. Well, here is the situation: the +annual dinner of the National Street Advertising Men's Association will +be held at Weinpusslacher's. Reception at six; dinner at eight; speeches +begin about ten. + +"What day?" asked the secretary. + +"My head is in a whirl, and I don't-- Let me see-- Oh yes. Next +Saturday, April twenty-ninth. I'll send you tickets. Do you think the +Mayor will come?" + +"I don't know. Saturdays he goes to his farm in Hartsdale." + +"Yes, I know; but couldn't _you_ induce him to come? By George! there is +nothing our association wouldn't do for you in return." + +"I'll see," promised the secretary, with a far-away look in his eyes as +if he were devising ways and means. Oh, he earned his salary, even if he +was a Celt. + +"Thank you. And-- Oh yes, by the way, some of our members will arrive at +the Grand Central Station Saturday afternoon. Any objections to our +marching with a band of music down the avenue to the Colossal? We'll +wear our association badges; they are hummers." He felt in his +coat-tails. "I wish I had some with me. Is it necessary to have a permit +to parade?" + +"Yes; but there will be no trouble about that." + +"Oh, thanks. Will you fix that for us? I've got to go to Wall Street +after one of the bankers on the list of speakers, and I'll be back in +about an hour. Could I have the Mayor's acceptance and the permit to +parade then? You see, it's only a couple of days and I hate to trust the +mail. Thank you. It's very kind of you, and we appreciate it." + +The secretary pulled out a letter and a pencil from his pocket as if to +make a note on the back of the envelope, and so Hendrik Rutgers +dictated: + +"_The National Street Advertising Men's Association._ Altogether about +one hundred and fifty members and one band of music. So long, and thank +you very much, Mr.--er--" + +"McDevitt. + +"Mr. McDevitt. I'll return in about an hour from now, if I may. Thank +you." And he bowed himself out. + +Hendrik Rutgers had spoken as a man speaks who has a train to catch +that he mustn't miss. That will command respect where an appeal in the +name of the Deity will insure a swift kick. Republics! + +In an hour he was back, knowing that the Mayor had gone. He sent in for +Mr. McDevitt. The secretary appeared. + +"Did he say he'd come?" asked H. Rutgers, impetuously. + +"I am sorry to say the Mayor has a previous engagement that makes it +absolutely impossible for him to be present at your dinner. I've got a +letter of regret." + +"They'll be awfully disappointed, too. I'll get the blame, of course. +_Of_ course!" Mr. Rutgers spoke with a sort of bitter gloom, spiced with +vindictiveness. + +"Here it is. I had him sign it. I wrote it. It's one of those letters," +went on the secretary, inflated with the pride of authorship, "that can +be read at any meeting. It contains a dissertation on the beneficent +influence of advertising, strengthened by citations from Epictetus, +Buddha, George Francis Train, and other great moral teachers of this +administration." + +"Thank you very much. I appreciate it. But, say, what's the matter with +you coming in his place? I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I have a +hunch that when it comes to slinging after-dinner oratory you'd do a +great deal better." + +"Oh," said McDevitt, with a loyal shake of negation and a smile of +assent. "No, I couldn't." + +"I'm sure--" + +"And then I'm going to Philadelphia on Saturday morning to stay over +Sunday. I wish you'd asked me earlier." + +"So do I," murmured H. Rutgers, with conviction and despair judiciously +admixed. + +The secretary had meant to quiz H. Rutgers about the association, but H. +Rutgers's manner and words disarmed suspicion. It was not that H. +Rutgers always bluffed, but that he always bluffed as he did, that makes +his subsequent career one of the most interesting chapters of our +political history. + +"And here's the permit," said the secretary. + +H. Rutgers, without looking at it, put it in his pocket as if it were +all a matter of course. It strengthened the secretary's belief that +non-suspiciousness was justified. + +"Thanks, very much," said H. Rutgers. "I am, I still repeat, very sorry +that neither you nor the Mayor can come." He paid to the Mayor's +eloquent secretary the tribute of a military salute and left the room. + + + + +III + + +The union of the sandwich-men was an assured success. Victory had come +to H. Rutgers by the intelligent use of brains. The possession of brains +is one of the facts that can always be confirmed at the source. + +Next he arranged for the band. He told the band-master what he wished +the band to do. The band-master thereupon told him the price. + +"Friend," said H. Rutgers, pleasantly, "I do not deal in dreams either +as buyer or seller. That's the asking price. Now, how much will you +take?" Not having any money, Hendrik added, impressively, "Cash!" + +The band-master, being a native-born, repeated the price--unchanged. But +he was no match for H. Rutgers, who took a card from his pocket, looked +at what the band-master imagined was a list of addresses of other bands, +and then said, "Let me see; from here to--" He pulled out his watch and +muttered to himself, but audible by the band-master, "It will take me +half an hour or more." + +H. Rutgers closed his watch with a sharp and angry snap and then +determinedly named a sum exactly two-thirds of what the band-master had +fixed as the irreducible minimum. It was more than Hendrik could +possibly pay. + +The band-master shook his head, so H. Rutgers said, irascibly: + +"For Heaven's sake, quit talking. I'm nearly crazy with the +arrangements. Do you think you're the only band in New York or that I +never hired one before? Here's the Mayor's permit." He showed it to the +musical director, who was thereby enabled to see _National Street +Advertising Men's Association_, and went on: "Now be at Grand Central +Station, Lexington Avenue entrance, at 3.45 Saturday afternoon. The +train gets in at 4. I'll be there before you are. We'll go from the +depot to Weinpusslacher's for dinner." + +"Of course, we get our dinners," said the band-master in the tone of +voice of a man who has surrendered, but denies it to the reporters. + +"Yes. You'll be there sure?" + +"Yes. But, say, we ought to get--" + +"Not a damned cent more," said H. Rutgers, pugnaciously, in order to +forestall requests for part payment in advance. + +"I wasn't going to ask you for more money, but for a few--" + +"Then why waste my time? Don't fail me!" + +Then Hendrik Rutgers put the finishing touches on the work of +organization. He rented offices in the Allied Arts Building, sent a +sign-painter to decorate the ground-glass doors, and ordered some +official stationery in a rush. He promised the agent to return with the +president and sign the lease. + +Where everybody distrusts everybody else there is nothing like promising +to sign documents! + +He bought some office furniture on exactly the same plan. + +On Friday night the unionized sandwich-men took their signs and boards +to the trysting-place, Twenty-ninth Street and Ninth Avenue, to have new +advertisements of Hendrik's composition painted thereon. The boards did +not belong to the members, but in a good cause all property is the +cause's. Each of the original fourteen brought recruits. The street was +almost blocked. The two sign-painters worked like nine beavers, and +Hendrik and the young man in steel-rimmed spectacles helped. When the +clamor became threatening Hendrik counted his men twice, aloud. There +were eighty-four of them. They knew it was eighty-four, having heard him +say it, as he intended they should. He then took them to the corner +boozery. + +He had only two dollars. There were eighty-four thirsty. Therefore, +"Eighty beers!" he yelled, majestically. + +"_Eighty-four!_" shouted eighty-four voices. + +"That's twenty cents more," said Hendrik to himself in the plain hearing +of the hitherto distrustful bartender. He had a small green roll in his +left hand consisting of two dollars and two clippings. With his right he +loudly planked down two large dimes on the counter and shoved them +toward the bartender, who took them while Hendrik began to count his +greenbacks. + +The bartender saw the exact change and began to draw beer. He even +yelled for assistance. + +Hendrik knew better than to enforce discipline now, but he could not +officially countenance disorder. + +"Give the other fellows a chance," he said, paternally, to those near +by. Then he saw the rear entrance. It inspired him. + +He waited until there were about sixty glasses on the bar. Then he +yelled in the direction of the front door: "Come in, boys! Everybody +gets one!" + +The tidal-wave carried him and twenty others to the end of the room. But +while the twenty others fought to get back to the schooners, he +intelligently went out by the back door. + +The police reserves were called. They responded. Then six ambulances. + +Those who survived sought Hendrik to complain, but he beat them to it by +scolding them angrily. He all but licked them on the spot, so that they +forgot their grievance in their haste to defend themselves. He then +divided them into squads of five and took them to another saloon--one +squad and a quarter of a dollar at a time. He only used one dollar and +fifty cents cash that way. + +He then promised all of them forty beers a day beginning on Monday. He +told them to get recruits, who would not be admitted to the union, but +could have the privilege of parading. They must be thirsty men and look +it. They would receive two beers apiece. + +On Saturday morning there was not a sandwich-man to be seen at work in +Greater New York. + +At noon the city editors of all the metropolitan dailies received neatly +typewritten notices that the sandwich-men had formed a union and would +"peacefully strive for higher wages, shorter hours, and reduced +peregrinations. The sandwich-men had no desire to precipitate another +internecine strife between Labor and Capital." They were "willing to +submit their differences to a board of arbitration consisting of John D. +Rockefeller, Charles F. Murphy, Theodore Roosevelt, Woodrow Wilson, and +Hendrik Rutgers." + +These notices were one and all thrown into waste-paper baskets as cheap +humor--to be dug up later and used. + + + + +IV + + +On Saturday afternoon at 3.35 the Harlem contingent, carrying their +armor under one arm, their tickets given into the conductor's own hand +by the lieutenant, Fleming, entrained at the One Hundred and +Twenty-fifth Street station of the New York Central and Hudson River +Railroad. + +Ten minutes later they arrived at the Grand Central Station. And as the +first pair of sandwiches descended, the waiting band burst into a joyous +welcome. + +The exits were crowded. Martial music and parading men always draw +crowds. So long as there is no charge, gaping audiences automatically +supply themselves in New York. + +And so, along Forty-second Street, following the musicians, himself +followed by his starving sandwiches, Hendrik Rutgers walked into Fifth +Avenue and into history at one and the same time. + +The procession turned southward. The band played Chopin's "Funeral +March." Hendrik Rutgers at the head of his pauperized cohorts, anger in +his heart, light in his soul, defiance in his eyes, marched down Fifth +Avenue with an effect as of a man in armor treading on prostrate +millionaires as over so many railroad-ties. Men who had money in their +pockets for a minute felt the wind squeezed out of them by his foot. And +as they saw the led sandwiches they looked thoughtful. + +The first of Rutgers's infantry was an old man. His long, gray beard was +dirty and ragged, like his clothes and the rest of him. In his eyes you +saw the unutterable weariness of a man who has lived fifty suffering +years too long. Underneath his eyes were dark rings; from the sidewalk +his sockets looked finger-deep. On his cheeks was the pallor of death. + +H. Rutgers, fighting for fairness and justice, had justly picked out the +old fellow to be his Exhibit "A." Society must see what it did to human +beings! Therefore the old man slid one foot along the asphalt and let +the other follow it, with a spent, mechanical movement, as an engine, +after the power is turned off, keeps on going from the momentum of +years. The legs seemed to move from force of habit--a corpse on foot, +with a concealed galvanic battery somewhere. + +And on the breastplate and backplate of this armored corpse, printed in +funereal black, beautiful women and intellectual men on Fifth Avenue, +where the unforgivable crime is to be poor and show it, read: + + Yesterday I walked 19 miles. + + They paid me 35 cents cash + + And 2 meal tickets. + +He had been well coached as to his gait and, thrilled by the success he +was making, the old chap became an artist and limped worse. + +Behind him was our friend Mulligan, pale, thin to emaciation. He looked +famished. It came from the possession of a tapeworm, as before stated. +To him Hendrik Rutgers had given this standard to bear: + + They call us Sandwich-men because: + + We don't know what a Square Meal is! + +He was followed by the raggedest human being that Anthony Comstock ever +allowed to exhibit himself in public. On his boards the Fifth Avenue +crowd on this fair spring day saw this: + + Do you thank God you are alive? + + So do we! + + And notice the DIFFERENCE! + +The shabby-genteel man, ex-Republican, with steel-rimmed spectacles, who +now looked for all the world like a bookkeeper out of a job, had this: + + I am the Result. + + The Cause was not Drink. + + It was HUNGER. + +A young fellow who looked so much as if he had just left a hospital that +thousands of spectators imagined they smelled iodoform carried this: + + All men must die. + + Knowing this, WE HOPE! + +An octogenarian, not over four and one-half feet tall, very +frail-looking, was next. To him H. Rutgers had assigned this banner: + + If Society won't feed us + + We'll feed the Society of Worms-- + + POTTER'S FIELD + +Under a big foot--property of a popular chiropodist on lower Broadway; +terms twenty-five cents per, five for a dollar--was this: + + We are the World's Unfortunates: + + BORN TO BE KICKED! + +Then followed a haggard-faced man who looked like an exaggerated picture +of poverty. He carried: + + There are poorer than we. + + HELP THEM! + +A man with the stride of a conqueror bore a banner: + + AND STILL WE BELIEVE IN GOD! + +The crowd looked puzzled. What the dickens did believing in God have to +do with anything? To end the bother of thinking they looked at the next +one. + + Look at Fifth Avenue! + + WHY? + + See what we are! + + WHY? + +They obeyed. They saw Fifth Avenue. Why? They did not know why. And then +they saw what the sandwich-men were. And they wondered why the +sandwich-men asked why. Why not? Pshaw! The placard that followed was: + + If you wish to see + + One hundred starving men + + Follow us. + + YOU WILL REMEMBER IT! + +Say, that was something that nobody had seen and therefore everybody +could joke about. Every woman had the same remark and the same grin: +"Haven't I seen my husband?" + +Before the parade had gone half a square Fifth Avenue was blocked. Apart +from the interference of the band and the sandwiches with vehicular +traffic, there was the paralysis of the pedestrians. The Peacock Parade +halted. Slim figures, half-naked, flat-bosomed, stalked swayingly to the +curb and stared with eyes in which was the insolent sex challenge that +New York males answer with furs and jewels. And as they looked the +challenge of sex died in the eyes of the women: the marchers had no sex; +anybody could see they had no money! + +And the men, too, ceased to look stallion-eyed at the women and gazed on +the parade of sandwich-men, who, in the middle of the street, with the +machines and the horses, slouched on--almost rubbing valuable varnish on +automobiles and carriages, careless beasts! + +Presently the hurrying crowds slowed their gait and kept step to +Chopin's dirge--_slowly! slowly!_--until all Fifth Avenue was a vast +funeral procession; only the marchers could not have told you what it +was that long since had died of gold on Fifth Avenue! Slowly! Slowly! +And with the funereal gait other changes came--in the grimace of the +over-red lips and the look of the over-bold eyes. But never the +slightest change in the color of the cheeks, which was there to stay, in +rain, shine, or snow. + +"What is it? What is it?" whispered ten thousand people. + +From the middle of the street it sounded like the whimper of ten +thousand little foamy waves dying on a flat beach. It made the filthy +bipeds who marched look at the thronged sidewalks. + +They saw the usual Fifth Avenue crowd. They saw the full-fed, +clock-hating faces of professional idlers; the drawn features of the +busy money-maker with his perennial anxieties; the suddenly immobilized +grimaces of millionaires intended to conceal the fear of God knew what; +the contemptuous countenances of waiters from fashionable restaurants, +who, like ordained priests, knew America at its worst, but, unlike +priests, could not pity; healthy American boys with clean faces and the +eyes of animals. + +And the sexless marchers saw also healthy American girls with delicate +features and dreadful, price-quoting eyes, and faces not clean and +healthy, but dead-white and dead-crimson; they saw not women's faces, +but marble tombstones on which the epitaphs were scarlet letters that +told what the price was, so that the professional prostitutes no longer +wasted time advertising with the same ink, but used downcast eyes as +bait. + +There was a gap of about thirty feet between the first detachment of +Rutgers's marching advertisements and the next. The spectators, seeking +explanations, saw a cadaverous-looking man, hollow-cheeked, sunken-eyed, +white-lipped, who stepped as though the avenue were full of puddles of +nitroglycerine--uncertainly, fearfully! And this death-on-foot carried a +white-cloth board black-bordered like a funeral-card. And thereon +money-makers and money-spenders, clubmen and waiters, shop-girls and +millionairesses--all Fifth Avenue!--saw this: + + HAIL, NEW YORK! + + WE WHO ARE ABOUT TO DIE + + SALUTE YOU! + +There followed another gap of thirty feet, so that the valedictorian of +the doomed might be seen of all. Then came eighty-odd sandwich-bearers, +appositely legended. From time to time the valedictorian would stagger +as you have seen horses do on their last trip to the glue-factory. +Whereupon a couple of the non-descripts behind him would shuffle up and +endeavor to uphold him. And the others slouched on, deep-eyed, gaunt, +famine-stricken, rum-ravaged, disease-smitten--ex-bookkeepers, and +superannuated mechanics, and disgraced yeggmen, and former +merchants--and former men, too! + +At Thirty-ninth Street a young woman dressed richly but in perfect taste +stood on the very corner. Her hair had glints of sunshine and her eyes +were like twin heavens, clean, and clear, and blue, and infinitely deep. +And the Madonna face saw the Death face, looked at the thing that had +been a man, and read his salutation. And in one of the pauses of the +"Funeral March" a thousand people heard her laugh, and heard her exclaim +with a contagious relish, spiced with undisguised admiration: + +"_If that ain't the limit!_" + +New York had spoken! + +And the chauffeurs near her laughed in sympathy. And gray heads stuck +out of limousine windows, and millionaires and their female stood up in +their snail-moving touring-cars, and top-hatted coachmen turned +impassive heads on neck-hinges long since rusted with the arrogance of +menials. And upon their faces and along the ranks that lined both sides +of the great avenue a slow grin spread--uncertain, hesitating, dubious! +The great American sense of humor was trying to assert itself. Hendrik's +joke was not labeled "Joke" plainly enough. Otherwise the spectators +would have shown much earlier their ability to laugh at death, hunger, +disease, misery, drunkenness, honesty, despair--anything, so long as it +was the death, hunger, disease, misery, drunkenness, honesty, and +despair of others. + +But at Tiffany's corner the traffic policeman stopped the leader of the +band; and he stopped the band; and the band stopped Rutgers; and Rutgers +stopped his army; and that stopped all traffic on the Avenue up to +Forty-second Street. + +Hendrik Rutgers hurried forward and explained, calmly: "Here, officer. I +am the secretary of the National Street Advertising Men's Association. +We have a permit from the Mayor. Here it is." + +"Oh, advertising! I see!" said the policeman, and smiled appreciatively. +He had feared they might be starving men. + +"Yes," said H. Rutgers, quite loudly, "advertising the fact that a man +out of a job in New York, who is too proud to beg and too honest to +steal, has to become a sandwich-man and make from twenty-five to +forty-five cents for ten hours work--not in China or Mexico, but in New +York, to-day; men who are willing to work, but are old or sickly or have +no regular trade. You know how the Mayor feels about the rights of +citizens who are not rich and the duty of paid officials of this city. +He and I are opposed to too much law in the way of clubs. So kindly pass +the word down the line, officer." + +The big traffic policeman, far more impressed by the delivery than by +the speech itself, touched his hand to his cap so very respectfully that +the grinning crowd at once became serious. Each woman turned on her +neighbor and frowned furiously the unuttered scolding for the other's +unseemly levity. + +"What does it mean?" asked hundreds. All looked toward Hendrik Rutgers +for explanation, for official permission to laugh at a spectacle that +was not without humorous suggestions. But he kept them guessing. This is +called knowledge of stage effects; also psychological insight; also +cheap politics. Historians even refer to it as statesmanship. + +Something that makes one hundred thousand New-Yorkers gasp and stare is +not necessarily news; an ingenius street-sign or a five-dollar-a-day +Steeple Jack could do it. But that not one of one hundred thousand +omniscient New-Yorkers knew whether to laugh, to curse, or to weep at +what they saw made that sight very decidedly "news." An interrogation +marker in one hundred thousand otherwise empty heads loomed gigantic +before the hair-trigger minds of the city editors. They sent their star +men to get answers to the multitudinous question; and, if possible, also +the facts. + +Just south of Thirty-fourth Street the _Herald_, _Times_, _Sun_, and +_Evening Journal_ reporters overtook H. Rutgers. He made the procession +halt. That again made all Fifth Avenue halt. He waited until all the +reporters were near him, and then he spoke very slowly, for he guessed +that shorthand and literature do not necessarily coexist. + +"The sandwich-men have formed a union. It includes sandwich-men from the +five boroughs. We are going to have an annual dinner at six o clock--we +are not fashionable folk, you know. There will be speeches. Did you ask +why we should have a union? I'll tell you why: because we didn't have +one; because employers have not thought of us as human beings, but as +human derelicts. A starving man who doesn't want to steal and is ashamed +to beg will sandwich for thirty cents a day ten hours; and he can't +always collect his wages. And who is going to fight for him? When you +think of the importance of all advertising, do you consider the peculiar +picturesqueness of advertising through sandwiches? In the Middle Ages +they had their heralds and their pursuivants--the sandwich-men of +feudalism; and later the town criers; and later still, _us_. Do you know +in what esteem sandwich-men are held in the south of France and in the +Orient? Did you know that sandwich-men take the place of bells on Good +Friday in Moldavia? Do you know why there are no commercial sandwich-men +in Russia or in Spain? Did you ever read what Confucius wrote about +'Those men who with letters on their garments dispel the ignorance of +buyers,' and a lot more? Did you? Did any clergyman ever tell you that +sandwich-men are, beyond the shadow of a doubt, alluded to twice in the +Old and five times in the New Testament? Don't you think that as +intelligent investigators of industrial conditions and of the submerged +tenth it would be worth your time to come to our annual dinner and hear +our version of it? And also see how starving men eat the first square +meal of the year?" + +Of course it was pure inspiration and, as such, impressive. + +"Yes, sir," respectfully replied the _Evening Journal_ man--a tall, dark +chap with gold-rimmed spectacles and a friendly smile. "What's the name +of the restaurant?" + +"Caspar Weinpusslacher's Colossal Restaurant," said H. Rutgers. + +"Spell it!" chorused the reporters; and H. Rutgers did, slowly and +patiently. At once the _Evening Journalist_ rushed on to telephone the +caption of a story to his paper. That would enable the office to get out +an extra; after which would come another edition with the story itself. +He was the best head-line reporter in all New York. + +Long before the National Street Advertising Men's Association reached +the Colossal Restaurant, Caspar Weinpusslacher converted himself into a +Teutonic hurricane and changed thirty short tables into three, long +ones. On his lips was a smile, and in his heart a hope that glowed like +an incandescent twenty-dollar gold piece, for Max Onthemaker had rushed +in breathlessly and gasped: + +"He _is_ a smart feller, all right. What?" And he gave an _Evening +Journal_ to Caspar Weinpusslacher, wherein he read this: + + SANDWICH PARADE + + PATHETIC PROTEST AGAINST INDUSTRIAL SLAVERY + + PAUPERS WHO WILL NEITHER STEAL NOR BEG FORCED BY SOCIETY TO STARVE + + SANDWICH WAGES, TWO CENTS AN HOUR + + MEN ABOUT TO DIE SALUTE NEW YORK + + The Sandwich-men's Union will hold their annual meeting at + Weinpusslacher's Colossal Restaurant. + + They have been saving up for this, their one square meal this + year. + + They are paid from twenty to forty cents a day and walk from + fifteen to thirty miles in the ten hours. + + Did you know that twice in the Old and five times in the New + Testament mention is made of the sandwich-men? + + Do you know why Catholic Spain and anti-Semitic Russia alike + permit no sandwich-men to ply their time-honored occupation + within their confines? + + +There the article abruptly ended. + +"Weinie," said Max, exultingly, "this makes you. Be very nice to Mr. +Rutgers. You'll have to pay him thousands of dollars--" + +"Then, you vas in league mit him?" + +"No. But he's a genius!" + +"I thought he was German," said C. Weinpusslacher, controversially. + +"Get busy, Weinie. The crowd will be here in a minute. And don't ask Mr. +Rutgers to pay for his dinner." + +"Why not?" growled Weinie. He was on his way to a sure million. That +made the growl natural. + +"What is thirty dollars for their dinner to thirty thousand dollars +worth of free advertising?" + +"Thirty dollars," observed C. Weinpusslacher, thriftily, "is _thirty +dollars_!" + +"Bah!" + +"I tell you, it is, mister." C. Weinpusslacher frowned pugnaciously. + +But Onthemaker knew his man. So he said: "I'll get Meyer Rabinowitz to +give us an option on the property to-night before he reads the +newspapers. As Rutgers said, once your place is a success, you'll have +to pay any price the landlord wants. Meyer's got you! I can hear your +squeals of agony already!" + +Max shook his head so gloomily that C. Weinpusslacher actually began to +tremble with joy. The thought of making money did not move him. The +thought of losing the money he had not made, did. Oh yes; born +money-makers! + +By the time H. Rutgers arrived at the Colossal Restaurant Caspar +Weinpusslacher, Esq., and the Hon. Maximilian Onthemaker had constituted +themselves into a highly enthusiastic reception committee, for the crowd +that came with H. Rutgers filled the street so that all you heard was +the squealing and cursing of persons that were pressed against iron +newel-posts of the old-fashioned stoops or precipitated into basements +and cellars. Sixty policemen, impartially cursing the Mayor, Epictetus, +and H. Rutgers, and yearning for the days of Aleck Williams, when clubs +were made to be used and not to be fined for, endeavored to keep the +crowd moving. + +"You'll find everything ready, Mr. Rutgers," said M. Onthemaker. "Here +is one of my cards. The name, you will see," he almost shouted, "is +spelled with a _k_ not _h_--O-n-t-h-e-m-a-k-e-r. Everything is ready, +Mr. Secretary." He looked at the reporters out of a corner of his eye. + +"And it won't cost you nothing, not one cent," interjected C. +Weinpusslacher, eagerly and distinctly. "Any feller wot's smart like +you, Mr. Rutchers--" + +"And the poor starving men," quickly interjected M. Onthemaker, not +wishing for character-analyses yet, "who are the victims of a ruthless +industrial system--" + +"Yah, sandwiches!" put in C. Weinpusslacher. + +M. Onthemaker grimaced horribly, and C. Weinpusslacher was silent for a +minute. Presently he told Rutgers, "They get enough to eat here, +anyways, I bet you." + +He glared with a sort of malevolent triumph at M. Onthemaker, until he +heard the boss say in stern accents: + +"That, of course, Weinpusslacher, includes a couple of beers apiece." + +"Of course! Of course!" put in M. Onthemaker, hastily. "The +representatives of the press will sit at their own table, at which I am +to have the honor of presiding, Max Onthemaker--O-n-t-h-e-m--" + +"We got it down," the _Evening Journal_ man assured him, amiably. + +C. Weinpusslacher was so angry that anybody should help him to make +money, when half the pleasure is in making it yourself out of your +fellow-men, that he said, spitefully, "There will be free beer!" + +Hendrik Rutgers took an innkeeper's notion and made of it the most +remarkable platform in the history of party government. He said, +sternly, "Everything free for free men!" + +A grunting murmur ran down the line of derelicts--the inarticulate +tribute of great thirst to great leadership. In a hundred pairs of eyes +a human hope kindled its fire for the first time in two hundred years! + +Great indeed was Hendrik Rutgers! + +His faithful sandwiches would go through fire for him! A man who can get +free beer for Sahara throats could put out the fire--with more beer. + +The boards were hung around the great hall in plain sight of the +reporters, who copied the legends, that all America might read. While +they were writing, Caspar was hiring thirty extra waiters and turning +people away. Hendrik went from man to man, sternly warning that no one +must begin to eat until he gave the order. A violation of his order +would entail the loss of the dinner and most of the scalp. He also said +they must not linger over their victuals, and told them that two extra +beers apiece would be awarded to the ten men who finished first. + +He had made up his mind that the cold and callous world should be told +how starving men eat. + +What do people who get enough to eat know about starving men? + +Nothing! + +They impede the world's progress by being content. Human pigs! + +In a surprisingly short time one hundred complete dinners were in front +of one hundred starving men. Six bartenders were busy filling +schooners--in plain sight of the starving men. But the boss's awful +frown held them in check. Each man began to tremble in advance--fearing +he might not be one of the ten to win the extra schooners. + +The reporters looked at the hundred faces and began to write like mad. + +Hendrik rose. There was an awed silence. The reporters stopped writing. +One hundred inferior maxillaries began to castanet away like mad. The +boss held up a hand. Then he said in measured tones: + +"May God be good to us sandwich-men again this year! _Eat!_" + +When he said eat, men ate. Don't forget the moral effect of commanding +and being obeyed! + +They flung themselves on the food like wild beasts, and made animal +noises in their throats. They disdained forks, knives, and spoons. They +used claws and jaws on meat, coffee, bread, potatoes, soup, or pie +whichever was nearest. + +No man wanted to be the last to finish. + +"My God!" exclaimed the _Evening Post_ man. "This is absolutely +horrible!" + +"Pippin!" said the creative artist from the Sun. + +All of them would treat it as a Belasco production. That is, they would +impart to it all the dignity and importance of a political convention. + +At 8 P.M. Hendrik Rutgers, man of destiny, rose to speak. He never even +glanced at the reporters. He said, very earnestly, to his tattered +cohorts: + +"Comrades! Ours is beyond question the only labor union in the United +States, and, for all I know, in the entire world, that is not +monopolistic in its tendencies. We are individualists because +advertising is not a science nor a trade, but an art, and we are +artists. When the advertisers' greed saw the artists' hunger, the result +was _that_!" He pointed to five score dehumanized faces before him. + +"Great!" murmured the _Sun_ man. + +"Hereafter watch the sandwich-man, and in one corner of the sign look +for the union label--a skeleton carrying a coffin, to remind us that no +matter what a man is when he is born, he goes to his Maker between +boards. In death all men are equal, and in his coffin a man is the +Ultimate Sandwich!" + +"That's literature!" muttered the serious young man from the _Journal_. + +"We refuse to be thieves. Therefore we decline to do any sandwiching for +patent medicines, banks, quack cures, fraudulent stores, immoral books, +coal-dealers, fake doctors, suburban real estate, bum chiropodists, or +disreputable people of any kind, class, or nature whatsoever. We start +with professional ethics, which is where most professions end. We who +have been the lowest of the low class that work for their daily bread +are now the S. A. S. A.--the Society of American Sandwich Artists. All +we ask is permission to live! Our headquarters will be in the Allied +Arts Building on Fifth Avenue." + +His speech had quotable phrases. A country that once cast the biggest +vote in its history for the square deal, that makes minions of dollars +out of asking you if you see that hump, and from promising to do the +rest if you push the button, and boasts of the thorn that made a rose +famous, is bound to be governed by phrases. The only exceptions are the +Ten Commandments. They are quotable, but not memorable. + +All the newspapers spread themselves on that story. In their clubs the +managing editors heard their fellow-members talk about the parade, and +this made each M. E. telephone to the city editor to play it up. It was +too picturesque not to be good reading, and since good reading is always +easy writing, both reporters and editorial writers enjoyed themselves. +That made them artists instead of wage-earners. + +Hendrik Rutgers possessed the same quality of political instinct that +nearly made the luckiest man in the world President of the United +States. By blindly following it, young Mr. Rutgers jumped into the very +heart of a profound truth. And once he landed, the same sublimated +sagacity impelled him to stamp with both feet hard. Then, unemotionally +perceiving exactly what he had done, he proceeded very carefully to pick +out his own philosophical steps, in order to be able later on to prove +that he had been coldly logical. Impulsive humanity always distrusts +impulsiveness in others. Leaders, therefore, always call them carefully +considered plans. + +In all irreligious countries, as Hendrik Rutgers, astutely arguing +backward, told himself, the people who buy, sell, and vote are alive +only to To-day and therefore dare not take heed of the Hereafter. This +has exalted _news_ to the dignity of a sacred commandment. + +In such communities success is necessarily a matter of skilful +publicity. + +Who is the greatest of all press agents, working while you sleep and +even when you blunder? + +The People! + +The front page of the newspaper is therefore the arena of to-day! + +To live in that page, all you have to do is to become News. + +Once you become News all the king-making reporters of all the +nation-making newspapers become your press agents. The public does the +rest and pays all salaries. + +Thrilled by his discovery, Hendrik called Max Onthemaker to one side +and, with the air of a man risking one hundred and two millions of cash, +said to him: "I have decided to make you chief counsel of my society. +Your services will entitle you to represent me." + +Never had man been so lavishly overpaid for breathing since the dawn of +historical time. Hendrik went on, still imperial in bounty: + +"I have in mind some great things. Every one of them will be worth as +much space as the newspapers will give to this dinner. Do you see your +chance?" + +"I can't live on newspaper articles," began Max, elated but dissembling. + +"You can die without them. Chronic obscurity; acute starvation," said +Hendrik Rutgers in his clinical voice. "I not only do not propose to pay +you a cent, but I expect you to pay all necessary expenses out of your +privy purse without a murmur--unless said murmur is intended to express +your legal opinion and your gratitude. I shall give you an opportunity +to represent my society"--you would have sworn he was saying _my +regiment_--"in actions involving the most famous names in America." + +"For instance?" asked M. Onthemaker, trying to speak skeptically, that +his eagerness might not show too plainly. + +Hendrik Rutgers named six of the mightiest. + +"You're on, Mr. Rutgers," said Max, enthusiastically. "Now, I think--" + +"Wait!" interrupted Hendrik, coldly. "Never forget that I am not your +press agent. You are mine." + +"There will be glory enough to go around," said Max Onthemaker in his +police-court voice. "When do we begin?" + +"To-morrow." + +"Yes, sir. And now--" + +"My _now_ is your _when_! Your job is to find the legal way of helping +the Cause." + +"I will!" promised Onthemaker, heartfully. The Cause would be his Cause. +He'd fix it so they couldn't leave out his name. + +But Hendrik saw the gleam in the lawyer's eye. + +That's the worst of all thoughts of self. They invariably are +undisguisable. + +"The Cause, Onthemaker," said Hendrik, sternly, "is the cause of the +Society of American Sandwich Artists. We are not associated to make +money for ourselves, but for our employers. This is revolutionary. +Moreover, we are not working-men, but artists. Therefore our men not +only love their work, but are law-abiding. This will make the employers +helpless to retaliate. We shall never do anything without invoking the +aid of the law, for I believe that the law will help the poor not less +than the rich if properly--" + +"Advertised," prompted Max. "I get you. In the forum of the people's +liberties--the daily papers--is the place to try--" + +Hendrik held up a hand. He had chosen the right lawyer. The +interpretation of the law depends exclusively upon the tone of voice. +All reporters are trained to be judges of elocution. They have to be, in +republics. + +"To-morrow--" Here Hendrik paused. + +Max's face paled slightly as he waited. What was coming? + +Hendrik finished: "_I shall telephone to you!_" + +Max drew in his breath sharply. + +Hendrik then nodded. It meant, "You have my permission to retire!" + +"Thank you, Mr. Rutgers," said Max, respectfully, and withdrew from the +presence on tiptoe. + +Hendrik then beckoned to his sandwich lieutenant. "Fleming!" he said, +sternly. + +Fleming threw up an arm defensively from force of habit--the slave's +immemorial salute. Then he grinned sheepishly. Then he said, eagerly, +"Yes, boss!" + +"I'm going to make you chief of the Meal Ticket Department, and I expect +you to maintain discipline. But if I ever hear of any graft, such as +accepting bonuses--" He closed his jaws and his fists. When you close +both at the same time you inevitably win the debate. It is, however, +difficult. + +"Honest, b-boss," stammered Fleming, his eyes on Hendrik's right fist. +"Honest, I--" + +The boss's right unclenched itself. Fleming drew in a deep breath. + +"Get the names and addresses of all the men here--in their own writing. +Ask Onthemaker for a blank-book, and when the men have signed give the +book back to him. They've got to sign!" + +Fleming's face was pale but resigned. Signatures are lethal weapons in +all industrial democracies. Ask the note-teller in any bank. But the +boss had said, "_Sign!_" + +Kismet! + +"And you keep a book of your own so that when I want ten or twenty men +of a certain type and appearance you will know where to find them. I +hold you responsible!" + +Poor Fleming almost collapsed. Responsibility in a republic really means +accountability. Our entire system of law, as a great psychologist has +pointed out, is based upon the same confusion of definitions. + +Hendrik saw the fear of statutory punishment seep into his lieutenant's +soul. He stopped it at exactly the right point. + +"Fleming," he said, kindly, "I trust you!" + +Fleming felt himself decorated with the Grand Cross of the Order of +Unearned Food. It made him into an active citizen. + +"I'll get the men when you shout, boss!" he promised, proudly, realizing +the meaning of the duty of a voter. + +However, it would never do to have your creatures think they also have +the power to create. Therefore Hendrik said, "If you don't--" + +"I'll get 'em for you, b-boss. Honest, I will!" meekly promised Fleming, +taking his place in the ranks. He was an ideal cabinet officer. + +Hendrik Rutgers did not _know_ men. He _guessed_ them. He thus saved +himself the fatigue of thinking. + +Weinpusslacher swaggered by, counting his millions. He had begun to feel +haughty. Hendrik stopped him by lifting his right forefinger and then +smartly moving it Hendrikward. + +"Weinie, I guess you're famous. You give the free meal tickets to +Onthemaker. And don't try to cheat!" + +"I never do such--" began Caspar, angrily. + +"You never will to me," interrupted Hendrik, making Weinie's unuttered +words his own. It took away from Weinie all sense of proprietorship in +his own property. + +This also is called genius. Such men should be tax-collectors instead of +railroad bankers. + +Hendrik glanced toward the reporters and saw that Mr. Onthemaker was +talking to them and looking at him--looking at him both ingratiatingly +and proudly. He therefore knew that Max was being quoted by the +newspaper men, and the only subject on which they would quote him was +Hendrik Rutgers. He also knew that the desire for reflected glory, in +all newspaper-reading countries, is so strong that Max would be a great +political historian. The best way to blow your own horn is to lend it to +an obscure friend. + +Hendrik Rutgers left the Colossal Restaurant certain that he was News, +and that his job consisted of continuing to be News. + +To become News and then to continue to be News a man must be plausible, +persistent, and picturesque. + +There was no altitude of success to which he might not climb, provided +he lost six-sevenths of his name and mutilated his surname in like +degree. + +He must become two letters: _H. R._ + +He thus would become an immortal during his own lifetime, which was +immortality enough for any man who merely wished to acquire fame, +wealth, and one wife in his own country. + +So brightly lighted was his road that he knew exactly where to plant +each foot--in the front page! + +He must do it all. Therefore he must make others do the work. But this +man who now was a million miles beyond all bank clerks knew exactly +_what_ he needed, which made it easy for him to know exactly _whom_ he +needed. This knowledge would establish the basis on which the workers +must work. + +He sought a newspaper-advertising agency; ordered the manager to insert +in all the morning papers the same advertisement, in large type, with +triple spacing, to show that money was no object. + +This always impresses people who wish to make money. + +The advertisement read: + + WANTED--FIRST-CLASS ADVERTISING CANVASSERS. I AM ANXIOUS TO + PAY 50 PER CENT. MORE THAN IS CUSTOMARY TO SUCH MEN. THIS + DOES NOT MEAN YOU, MY HUNGRY AND HOPEFUL FRIEND! Apply + between 9 and 10 A.M. to + + H. R. + + ALLIED ARTS BLDG. + + _P. S. The better the men the fewer I need. The fewer I use + the greater the profit to the lucky ones. Keep away unless + you are a Wonder._ + +It was the first time that an advertisement for "Help Wanted" had +contained a postscriptum. H. R. did it because he knew that the +unusualness of it would make professional people talk. Every experienced +advertising man must realize that H. R. had not written an +advertisement, but had dictated a brief letter to him. The signer was +too busy and too much in earnest to compose a regular advertisement. + +Genius neglects no opportunity, however slight. Consider the small but +efficient yellow-fever microbe. + + + + +V + + +Monday morning, at 8.30 A.M., H. R. was in his office. At 8.35 he had +engaged a stenographer by telephone and told the starter and the +elevator-men who H. R. was. Later on the dozen men who answered the +advertisement made it impossible for either starter or elevator-men ever +to forget who H. R. was without the use of gratuities, profanity, or +promises. + +H. R.'s first task was to compose memoranda for the use and guidance of +Max Onthemaker and Lieutenant Fleming. At 8.45 the first-class +advertising canvassers began to appear in numbers. Really efficient men +are never modest. Neither are really inefficient men. Efficiency is +always a matter of personal judgment. Even efficiency experts will tell +you that nobody is really efficient until efficiency experts have said +so. + +H. R. allowed the applicants to accumulate in the anteroom. The new +stenographer had been told to write, "Now is the time for all good men +to come to the aid of their party" two thousand times and to time +herself. The spectators thereby realized that this was a busy office. + +He was confronting his first crisis--the selection of a man who must not +only be highly competent, but must be made to realize that H. R. was a +pioneer, a man to whom tradition, precedents, and custom were less than +nothing. H. R. studied the situation and then went out to the anteroom +and looked at the waiting dozen slowly. + +There are a few men in the world who can look a crowd from head to foot +and manage to make each man in it feel guilty. After H. R. had so looked +at them, he asked, skeptically, "Are _all_ of you first-class men?" + +To their honor be it said, not one of them answered No. Men collectively +may be cruel or blind, but seldom petty or egotistical. Observe mobs. + +H. R. turned his back on the crowd and returned to his private office. +He did it on purpose. Men usually follow those who act as if they do not +care whether they have a following or not. It is wiser to be wrong and +not hesitate than to vacillate and be right. Besides, much quicker. + +At the threshold he half turned and, without looking at any one in +particular, said: "I need only four first-class men. The others might as +well go away." + +Twelve men heard him. Twelve men followed him. + +He sat down at his new desk, put the unpaid bill for same in a drawer, +and confronted them. + +"Eight of you can go," he observed, and waited. + +Each man cast a glance of pity at his neighbor. + +"Don't be so modest," H. R. told them, kindly. + +"You said first-class men?" politely inquired a young man, +smooth-shaven, blond, blue-eyed, and very clean-looking. + +"Yes," answered H. R. + +"That's what I understood," said the young man, extending his hand. +"Barrett's my name." + +H. R. ignored the outstretched hand and stared at the clean-looking +young man. + +On the faces of eleven Christian gentlemen came a fraternal look of +self-conscious modesty. But young Mr. Barrett, unabashed, said, +cheerily: + +"Keep on looking. _I_ know you want me. When _you_ discover it, we'll do +business." + +"Go to the foot of the class," said H. R., impassively. You could tell +nothing from his voice. It is a valuable gift. + +The young man eyed H. R. shrewdly, then walked to a corner of the room, +sat down, pulled a memorandum-book from his pocket, and began to count +his contracts in advance. + +"Your _last_ name, please," said H. R., looking as if what he had asked +for was the _right_ name. The assumption of guilt has the effect of +putting even the innocent on the defensive. The strategic inferiority of +the defensive is always acknowledged by the defeated--even before the +defeat. + +He jotted down the replies, one after another. Within one and +three-quarter minutes these men felt themselves deprived of their +individual entities. They had been turned into a list of surnames, a +fragment of the rabble. + +The leader stood alone--he alone had a _first_ name! Smith merely votes; +John Smith has his own opinion. H. R. had acted instinctively. He never +would have had the conscious wisdom of an editorial writer. There are +many editorial writers in all republics. Hence, practical politics. + +"Where did you see my advertisement?" asked H. R. "One at a time, +please. Also, state why you looked in that particular newspaper?" + +They told him, one at a time, in the hearing of the others, thereby +intensifying their own feeling of having been lumped into an +electorate. He made notes as they answered. Some had seen it in the +_Herald_. Others blamed the _World_ or the _Times_ or the _Sun_, or the +_Tribune_. Three gave two papers; one had seen three. They expressed +their professional opinion of that particular advertising medium, +feeling that said opinion was a qualification of fitness. + +Young Mr. Barrett from his chair answered: "In all the papers. I also +looked in the German, Yiddish, and Italian papers; in the _Courier des +Etats-Unis_, and in the first morning edition of every afternoon paper. +I did it to get a line on _you_." + +H. R. did not look as if he had heard Barrett. He said to the others: "I +thank you all for coming. I shall not need Wilson, Streeter, Manley, +Hill, Roberts, Smith, Jenks, or MacDuffy." + +One of the rejected came forward, scowling. He was naturally a +robust-looking person. He said, "Say, this is--" + +H. R. did not allow the full expression of individual opinion--a form of +salutary discipline which explains why people are governed. He snarled +in a tone of voice that made his shoulders look a yard wide: "Mr. Book +Agent, I've picked the men I want. What I don't want is to hear any +remarks. Talk them into a dictagraph and send the cylinders by parcels +post to my secretary." + +He had risen. But when he finished speaking, as though the unarmed +proletariat were in full retreat, he sat down again. It was the way he +did it. + +Men always do what they are expected to do. The eight non-successfuls +went out. It was only when they were outside, where the female was +typewriting away, that they began to talk loudly. + +H. R. had judged rightly. They were not first-class men. He turned to +the others and asked: + +"Can you _sell_ advertising?" + +Young Mr. Barrett came forward. The four answered, "Yes!" + +"Then you can sell anything!" + +He stood up suddenly, when they were not expecting such a thing. This is +always subtly disconcerting. Business men and beautiful women invariably +resent it. + +He asked, sharply, "What is the one thing none of you can sell to me?" + +He looked challengingly at the first. The man stared back at H. R. and, +with the canvasser's professional look of congratulation, replied, "A +gold brick!" + +"Good answer! Not _the_ answer. And you?" he asked the second man. + +"Newspaper space--not to you." + +"Still better answer. But not the answer." + +He looked at the third man, who promptly said: "Opinions!" + +"Excellent. But not the answer. And you, young man?" + +The accusation of youth is never successfully repulsed. Young Mr. +Barrett, ingeniously admitting his youth to remove the sting from his +humor, replied triumphantly, "Smallpox!" + +"The tendency of American youth is toward the clown. It keeps us in an +attitude of perennial apology toward the perennial juvenility of our +nation. What none of you can sell me is--" + +He paused. They were looking at him with the intentness with which all +men look at an armed lunatic--or at their master. + +After the second minute of suspense they exclaimed in chorus: + +"What?" + +They couldn't help it! + +"Cold feet!" said H. R. calmly. + +They looked relieved. Then they looked anxious. The reason the ruled +masses never win is because they inflict upon themselves their own +doubts. + +"How many times your own salary do you wish to earn for me?" asked H. R. +in the tone of voice in which a philanthropist asks strangers for +subscriptions to his pet charity. This always makes people feel that +extravagance is a sin. + +"I'd expect to earn for you--" began one of the victims. + +"Not what you would _expect_, but what you would _like_," corrected +H. R. He spoke so kindly that they at once knew it was a trap. A look of +brotherhood always is, to all clever men of an editorial type of mind. + +"Four or five times," answered No. 1. + +"And you?" + +"I don't want to work for you at all," answered No. 2, feeling that his +answer was sure not to be right. + +"Good morning," said H. R. in such a voice and with such a look that No. +2 instantly ceased to exist. When he walked out he didn't hear his own +footsteps. + +"And you?" + +"It depends," answered No. 3 in the earnest voice of a man trying to be +fair at all costs, "upon what the work will be." + +"I sha'n't need you. Please don't ask me questions. Good day, sir." + +"I have a right--" + +"None whatever. It would be cruelty if I told you." + +Mr. Barrett laughed. No. 3 said, angrily, "You can't come that on me and +get away with it, you damned--" + +"Go while the going is good, friend." H. R. spoke with the cold kindness +of a man warning an objectionable inebriate. Then, when the loss of +patience of a prize-fighter who, however, has not quite lost sight of +the electric chair: "Get out! D'ye _hear_?" + +The man left. H. R. stared out of the window. They could see it was to +cool off. It gave the remaining pair a great respect for him and also a +resolve not to stimulate the heat verbally. At length H. R. turned to +No. 1 and said, "Wolverton is your name?" + +"Yes," answered Wolverton. Then he added, "Sir." + +"Do you always get what you want?" + +"I get my share." + +"Barrett, do you get what you want?" + +"Always!" promptly answered Barrett. "But I've got to be sure I want +it." + +"The more money you two wish to make the better you please me. It will +give you something to brag of. In working for me you will receive your +share of prosperity and the pleasure of becoming somebody." + +He looked as if the three of them stood in the plain sight of two and +one-half millions of spectators. He went on, even more impressively, +"You will now go on Fifth Avenue and graciously permit the swellest +shops to employ our union sandwich-men to advertise their wares." + +Wolverton rose to his feet. His color also rose. + +"You didn't want me to waste your time, did you?" + +"No, but you have. Good day. Now, Barrett, listen to me. I never +repeat." + +Mr. Wolverton opened his mouth, perceived that H. R. was not looking at +him, closed his mouth and went out. He was a well-dressed man with a +determined chin. If it had not been for that chin he would have been a +bookkeeper. Determination minus imagination equals stubbornness. + +Mr. Wolverton therefore walked out unbleeding. + +"Barrett, do you see the possibilities?" + +"Do I? Didn't I see the parade? Say, I can only think when I talk. Trust +_me_! Speaking of terms--" He looked at H. R., nodded amiably, and said, +"After you, kind friend." + +"You will ask our clients five dollars per day per man, they to pay for +the boards, which must be artistic and approved by me. The union label +will be on them. Forty per cent. goes to the artist, forty per cent. to +you, and ten per cent. to the society. Don't try Valiquet's. Tackle +everybody else first. I'll be here all the afternoon. Barrett, I expect +you to do your damnedest!" + +He rose, shook hands with young Mr. Andrew Barrett, escorted him to the +door, and returned to his desk. + +He sat there, thinking. He intended Barrett should fail in order that +when H. R. made him succeed, later, Barrett should know to whom the +credit should go, though the commissions would fall into Barrett's +pocket. That would make the young man really useful. + +The telephone people had not yet installed the apparatus in his office, +so he went downstairs and called up Mr. Maximilian Onthemaker. + +"Onthemaker?... This is H. R. speaking.... Of course I saw the +papers.... Yes, all of them. Come up to my office. At once!... I can't +help it; I need you--this means the front page again. If you don't want +the job.... I thought you would! Remember, I'm waiting. Do you hear me? +_Waiting!_" + +The greatest stroke of political genius on the part of Louis XIV. was +his rebuke: "I almost have been made to wait!" + +What, wait?--H. R.? + +If it had not been that taxicabs cost actual money, M. Onthemaker would +have taken one. But he knew he soon would have one of his own--if the +newspapers did their share. + +Before Max could decide whether he ought to say good morning to H. R. in +a sulky tone of voice at being called from an important conference, or +smile pleasantly, H. R. said: + +"Onthemaker, I am going to advertise a shop without permission and +without pay." + +"Another restaurant, like--" + +"Like nothing. Don't interrupt again, not even to approve. I am going to +have Valiquet's, the jewelers, brought to the notice of Fifth Avenue +through the medium of our sandwich-men. I anticipate objections. The +statute clearly says we must not use a person's name for purposes of +trade without his consent. But I'm not going to use the name of a +person, but of a corporation, _for its own trade and profit_. There is +no law that can prevent me from putting money into a corporation's +treasury--" + +"A commission of lunacy--" + +"Be quiet. They can't stop me legally, if you are our counsel." Max +bowed, opened his mouth, and promptly closed it when he saw H. R.'s +face. "They might try to get out an injunction, but you must beat them +to it. They will probably try to get the police to stop us by alleging +breach of the peace, disorderly conduct, or some violation of a city +ordinance. I want you to prepare in advance restraining orders or +applications for injunctions or whatever is needed to prevent +interference with us. You are the counsel of the Society of American +Sandwich Artists. Prepare papers also in the names of individual +members. The poor sandwich artist, working for a mere pittance, without +money to pay his able but charitable and indignant counsel, will fight +the richest jewelry-shop in the world. The pearl showcase alone would +feed one hundred and eighty-six thousand, four hundred and fifty-one men +one week. Do you get that?" + +"Do I?" Max Onthemaker, able and indignant, was rushing to embrace +H. R., on whose face he saw ten thousand front-page head-lines, when +H. R. said, coldly: + +"Sit down. This is only the beginning." + +Max sat down. He felt very much more like kneeling in adoration before +this god of success. + +"Yes, sir," he murmured, prayerfully, and looked with his very soul. + +"Be ready with the papers for the papers." + +Perceiving a puzzled look on the lawyer's face, H. R. explained: "Draw +the legal papers up so they will be news. And remember that _I_ am the +society. You are merely a lawyer lucky enough to be _its_ lawyer. If you +don't know what the reporters like to print, bring the injunctions and +typewritten argument to me this afternoon. Go away now. I'm going to +Valiquet's." + +"Not to--" + +"Not to anything you may think." + +Max Onthemaker walked away, and even as he walked he began to fear that +the newspapers would not let him have more than twenty-eight columns. It +behooved him to be brief. What with the immemorial wrongs of the poor, +and the inalienable rights of American citizens, and the abuse of +wealth, and the arrogance of unconvicted millionaires, and the supine +subservience of the police and the politicians to Big Business, how +could he use less than three pages? How? + +But he must do it. He asked himself what steps he would take to prevent +the sandwich-men, or anybody, from advertising him, and he could find no +objection. But he had imagination. He indignantly put himself in the +place of Valiquet's and hired M. Onthemaker, Esq., to stop the beasts. +And then he proceeded to make the able counsel of the S. A. S. A. punch +the great jewelers' case full of holes--such holes as would let out the +law in the way the reporters would like. This would make said holes the +kind that no judge, thinking of re-election and the recall, would dare +to plug up. When your client is poor and doesn't use dynamite, sympathy +is the best law with juries. And when it came to picking out jurors, Max +had inherited a vision for dollars which enabled him to tell the +contents of a juror's inside pocket to the penny, and therefore the +exact hatred of riches of each of the twelve peers. + + + + +VI + + +H. R. sent word to Fleming, _via_ Caspar Weinpusslacher, that he desired +to meet about fifty members of the society at the Colossal Restaurant +that evening at seven sharp. He then went to Valiquet's. The firm's name +was not visible on the façade; only a beautiful bronze clock. Everybody +was expected to know that this was Valiquet's, and everybody did, +particularly those who could not afford to buy jewels. It had engendered +throughout the entire country that familiar form of American snobbery +which consists not only of having the best that money can buy, but of +telling everybody that the watch or the necklace or the solitaire or the +stick-pin came from Valiquet's. + +He entered the most beautiful store in the world as though his feet had +carried him thither automatically, from force of habit. He looked +approvingly, as for the millionth time, at the wide teak boards of the +floor and the ornate but beautiful solid-silver ceiling and the cool +variegated purple-gray marble columns. He paused by the pearl-counter +and stared at the one-hundred-thousand-dollar strings with what you +might call an amiable tolerance; it wasn't their fault, poor things! + +He moved on, reluctantly, six feet farther and examined, with a little +more insistence, the emeralds, the fashionable gems of the season. + +"Very fair! Very fair, indeed!" he seemed to be saying encouragingly to +the dazzling green things. + +The well-trained clerks looked at him, took a respectfully eager step +toward him as if to place themselves unreservedly at his orders, and +then abruptly immobilized themselves in their tracks--their tribute to +expert knowledge! + +He did not look up, but, as if he were aware that the world was looking +on, ready to obey, he rested his finger-tip on the showcase immediately +above an eighteen-carat cabochon emerald surrounded by very white +diamonds set in platinum. By instinct he had picked out the best. + +A clerk opened the case, took out the emerald, and respectfully laid it +before the connoisseur. H. R. fumbled in his waistcoat pockets, then in +his coat, allowed himself to look annoyed at having forgotten his pocket +magnifying-glass, picked up the jewel, looked at it closely for flaws, +then at arm's-length for general effect. + +He laid it on the velvet mat, raised his eyes and met the clerk's. + +The clerk smiled uncertainly. H. R. unsmilingly raised his +eyebrows--very slightly. + +"Sixty-eight thousand five hundred, Mr.--eh--" + +H. R. hesitated. Then he shook his head resolutely. Having mastered the +temptation, he nodded to the clerk, and said, kindly, "Thank you." + +"Not at all, sir," gratefully said the clerk. + +H. R. walked on, a marked man, high in the estimation of the clerks +because he had _not_ bought a sixty-eight-thousand-dollar emerald. + +Don't you wonder how they do it? What is it? Intuition? Genius? + +A floor-walker who had taken in H. R.'s introduction of himself to +Valiquet's bowed deferentially to H. R. and blamed his memory for not +remembering the name. He was certain he knew the gentleman well. + +H. R. nodded and asked: "I wish to have a bronze statuette designed and +cast for me. Which department, please?" + +"Up-stairs, Mr.--er-- Second floor, sir. Mr. Gwathmey is in charge, +and--" + +"Oh, Gwathmey!" H. R. was obviously much relieved. + +"Yes, sir. He's still with us, sir. Elevator on the left." + +"Thank you," said H. R., and the man smiled gratefully. + +You don't have to buy to be treated politely in New York. The mere +suspicion of the power of purchase is enough. It is thus that the +principle "Politeness pays" has been established among stock-brokers and +jewelers. + +H. R. was directed to the head of the department, to whom he said, with +a sort of boyish eagerness, "Mr. Gwathmey, I'm very much interested in +the Movement, as you probably know, and I wish my little society to have +a _very_ artistic emblem." + +He looked expectantly at Mr. Gwathmey, who thereupon bowed at the +implied compliment, but, not knowing what to say, said nothing. + +"You read in the papers about the parade my poor fellows had Saturday?" + +"Not the--er--sandwich-men's parade?" + +"Yes!" H. R. smiled so gratefully and congratulatory that Mr. Gwathmey +felt himself enrolled among the honorary vice-presidents. "That's it. +The society emblem is a skeleton and the sandwich-boards are a +coffin--" + +"Yes, I read that," and Mr. Gwathmey smiled at the delightful humor of +the conceit. + +H. R. instantly frowned at the levity--all very rich men frown at all +smiles aimed at their pet hobbies. + +Mr. Gwathmey, knowing the ways of millionaires, hastened to explain, +gravely, "There is a great deal to that idea!" + +"Nobody helped me!" H. R. spoke eagerly, as all youthful aristocrats +speak when they speak of their own ideas. "The Ultimate Sandwich! What +you and I shall be at least once. I am glad you agree with me. Now, I +wish statuettes made in bronze in three sizes, two, four, and six inches +high, so they can be used by my friends as desk ornaments. And can you +put on a nice _patine_?" + +"Oh yes! And--er--Mr.--ah--" Gwathmey looked ashamed of himself. + +But H. R. smiled pleasantly and said: "It is easy to see you are +not a Rutgers College man. I'm Mr. Rutgers. _My_ father--" He +stopped--naturally. + +"I'm sorry to say I'm Harvard, Mr. Rutgers," said Mr. Gwathmey, +contritely. "But don't you think it would be a little gruesome for a +desk ornament?" + +"Not at all. The Egyptians used to bring in a skeleton at their feasts +so that the timid guests should cease to fear dyspepsia. And the +_Memento Mori_ of later centuries had its _raison d'être_. I have a +Byzantine ivory carving of a skull that is a gem. Holbein's 'Dance of +Death' is not inartistic. It is up to you people to keep my skull from +being repulsive. I wish to get something that will drive home the fact +to us careless Americans that the richest is no better than the +poorest. For we are _not_!" H. R. said this decisively. When the +aristocrat tells you that you and he are not a bit better than the +proletariat, what you understand him to say is that you also are an +aristocrat. A democratic aristocracy is invincible. + +"No," agreed Mr. Gwathmey, proudly, "we are not!" + +"Let me have a sketch as soon as possible. It is to raise funds for our +superannuated sandwiches." + +Mr. Gwathmey saw no humor in either the intention or the phrase. As an +alert business man who studied the psychology of customers, he knew that +society leaders had advocated the cause of the shirtwaist workers and of +certain educational movies--especially society leaders who had reached +the age when their looks and their pearls no longer entitled them to the +pictorial supplements. How else could they stay in the newspapers except +by indignation over the wrongs of social inferiors? By espousing the +cause of the lower classes, the latter also remained lower. + +Mr. Gwathmey smiled tolerantly and nodded. Then he looked dreamy and +murmured: "I see! I see _exactly_ what you want: a skeleton carrying a +coffin as sandwich-boards. The Ultimate Sandwich." + +He saw it in the air, two feet from the tip of his nose; he was a +creative artist. Then he became a salesman. + +"We can submit designs to you, Mr. Rutgers--" + +"To-day?" + +"Oh, gracious, no! We couldn't--" + +"To-morrow, then. You have grasped the idea completely. No, Mr. +Gwathmey; no!" And H. R. held up a hand--the hand of Fate. "To-morrow, +at the latest! Must have it! I hate waiting. That's why I came to +Valiquet's instead of Shoreham's. And now," he went on before Mr. +Gwathmey could protest, "I wish also a series of designs for +sandwich-boards--heraldic shields, scutcheons and bucklers, +spade-shapes, rectangular boards of the right proportion, circles, and a +keystone for use by the Pennsylvania Railroad. I propose to raise the +sandwich to the highest form of art. I shall experiment with various +materials--wood, metal, and composition, with raised as well as with +sunken letters, in divers colors, vert antique and beautiful soft grays, +and iridescent-glass mosaic. Can't you imagine a sandwich being made +artistic, if I get competent experts to design them?" H. R. looked +anxiously at the competent expert. + +"Indeed I can," replied Mr. Gwathmey, with conviction. "Indeed I can, +Mr. Rutgers. It is an excellent idea!" + +"Thank you. Do you know, I thought so, too!" + +Mr. Gwathmey, being a kindly man, was so pleased at having suggested, +evolved, and improved a great idea that he filled with enthusiasm. +Enthusiasm always made him take out his pencil and reach for a pad. He +did so now. + +"For instance--" he said, and he began to design. + +"Exactly! Exactly!" said H. R., with such eager admiration that Mr. +Gwathmey was inspired by love of the young man. "I'd give everything I +own, Mr. Gwathmey, to have your gift!" + +Mr. Gwathmey modestly felt his talents overcapitalized. Everything this +eccentric but clever scion of the Knickerbockers owned? Mr. Gwathmey +almost saw the old Rutgers farm! It must have had at least one hundred +and fifty acres bounded by Broadway, Wall, Fulton, and the East River. A +very nice young man, with agricultural ancestors in New Amsterdam. + +"Won't you give me these, Mr. Gwathmey?" pleaded H. R. + +"We never send out such rough--" + +"These are not the firm's, but Gwathmey's. Just sign your name and let +me keep these as souvenirs. Please!" And H. R. smiled with boyish +eagerness. + +Mr. Gwathmey signed his initials, and reluctantly gave the drawings to +H. R., shaking his modest head deprecatingly. + +H. R. reverently put the precious sheets in his pocket and said: "Thank +you very much. Now you get your best sculptor to model my Ultimate +Sandwich by to-morrow, won't you?" Then he proceeded to contradict in +advance--a purely feminine habit, sometimes used with great effect by +masculine leaders--"Oh yes, he can. I'm sure _you_ can make him do it if +you wish to be nice!" + +What reply could Mr. Gwathmey possibly make? He made it. "I'll do my +best, Mr. Rutgers; but--" + +"Then it's done," said H. R., with such conviction that Mr. Gwathmey +filled his own lungs with oxygen. "And the designs for the various kinds +of sandwich-boards, in color, with the different materials indicated. +Send them to me, Allied Arts Building, won't you?" + +H. R. forgot to say anything about costs. Only the nobility forget such +things, for the nobility know that Valiquet's work is perfect. Mr. +Gwathmey therefore forgot to be cautious. He said, "Very well, Mr. +Rutgers." + +"Thank you so much!" That little phrase of gratitude in that same tone +of voice has often made plebeians feel like dying to prove _their_ +gratitude. Then H. R. hesitated, looked at Mr. Gwathmey, and, +recklessly vaulting over all caste-barriers, said, "I wish to shake +hands with the man who designed my sandwiches!" + +Mr. Gwathmey actually blushed as he shook hands warmly. The moment H. R. +left, Mr. Gwathmey rushed to his office to take steps to please young +Mr. Rutgers. + +Rutgers College--culture; Hendrik--Knickerbocker; no question about +price--inherited wealth; newspaper front page--somebody! + +A nice boy, bless him! + +Mr. Gwathmey at that moment was the only man who really knew H. R. Like +a book! + +Thus are historic characters analyzed by intimate friends. Invaluable +testimony! Interesting side-lights! + +H. R. went back to his office and began to copy Mr. Gwathmey's designs. +He had barely finished when Andrew Barrett entered. He looked humorous. +Young men always do when they are angry at having failed but do not wish +to call it failure, and therefore must not look angry. Defeat is never a +joke. Therefore a joke can never be an acknowledgment of defeat. Very +easy! Origin: U. S. A. Reason: national juvenility. + +Before Barrett could speak H. R. asked, "Nobody would be first?" + +"No; nor second." + +"They will. Did you properly play up the wisdom and glory of being +first?" + +"Of course." + +"Go back and tell them that Valiquet's will advertise with our +sandwiches as soon as they have prepared artistic boards. The other men +have lost the chance to be first. They are asses. Tell them so and book +them for second place. Dwell strongly on the fact that the commercial +standing of each shop will be determined by the richness of the +sandwich-boards. Tell them confidentially that Valiquet's will do some +wonderful stunts with real bronze and iridescent-glass mosaics valued at +ten thousand dollars. The firm are taking big chances with breakage in a +crowded avenue, but that's why they are on top of the heap. The +department stores might try real lace edging and gold-thread +hand-embroidery on Genoese velvet." + +Valiquet's advertising campaigns were models of ultra-conservatism and +costly refinement. And now, sandwiches! + +"Have you--" began young Mr. Barrett in awed tones. + +"I have. Get busy! Tell them to watch. On next Monday begins the +greatest revolution in advertising this country ever experienced. We are +making history! Pledge them to advertise through us, if we deliver the +goods. It will be the only swell way. Get that?" + +"Betcherlife!" And Mr. Andrew Barrett rushed off. + + + + +VII + + +H. R. went out to have his boards made. He distributed orders among +wood-carvers and plaster-casting ateliers, and devised a method by which +boards could be made on the principle of stereotypers' matrices, only +the letters were raised. He pledged the makers to deliver the boards +within twenty-four hours, and as he did not haggle over the price by the +simple expedient of not asking for it, they promised. When a man is +permitted to fix his own profit he will do anything except go to church. + +At seven sharp, accompanied by Andrew Barrett, H. R. went to Caspar +Weinpusslacher's. He could not get a seat. People stood in dozens, +waiting for the early dinner to finish. And most of the waiting +customers were fashionably dressed. The Colossal Restaurant had become a +fad. + +Caspar greeted H. R. with respect. He did not yet feel strong enough to +display ingratitude. + +"I'll fix a special table, Mr. Rutchers," he said. + +H. R. nodded assent and then sought Fleming. At the longest table sat +twenty-seven unionized artists. + +"Are you getting the full thirty-cent dinner?" he asked, paternally. + +"Yes, sir," Fleming hastily assured him. + +H. R. looked at his men. They looked away uneasily. Was this to be their +last free meal? + +H. R. turned to Andrew Barrett and said in a voice that did not reach +the members and therefore increased their uneasiness: + +"Barrett, in unionizing these men, thereby making them free sandwiches, +I had in mind several things; one of them was the absolute control of +the New York papers." + +"How?" asked Barrett in utter non-comprehension. + +"By organizing my men into a Public Sentiment Corps. Their duty will be +to write letters to the newspapers. I figure that one bona-fide letter +to each thirteen thousand one hundred and eighty-six circulation creates +an irresistible demand. The _Evening Post_, of course, needs about one +to five hundred readers. I think eleven letters will be enough there. +Our men already have names, and hereafter they will have permanent +addresses." + +"And then?" + +"I furnish the paper, the stamps, and the literature. The men copy the +letters. The newspapers will do the rest. Did you bring the pads and +pencils I told you?" + +"Yes." + +"Pass 'em around, one to each man." + +Barrett did so. The men edged away in ill-concealed terror. + +"Take up the pencils!" commanded H. R. + +The members acted as if the pencils were rattlesnakes. + +"Did you hear me?" asked H. R., calmly. + +They trembled. But they were not slaves. No man can be compelled to +write in a free country. + +By feeding these men H. R. had given them the courage to refuse to obey +him! Was the food an error, as charitable philosophers have declared? + +The pencils remained untouched before the men. Fleming was the only one +who obeyed. But he was by now almost a capitalist--he was a distributor +of meal-tickets. + +"Mutiny!" muttered Andrew Barrett, and looked anxiously at his chief. +How would H. R. meet this crisis? The absolute control of the New York +papers hung in the balance. + +But H. R. merely asked, pleasantly, "Ready?" + +Not a man stirred. They had forgotten that he could fight! + +"I will dictate and each of you must write down what I say. I want to +know how well you can write." + +Two of the men began to shake their heads with growing independence. +Others followed, for moral courage is contagious, even in industrial +democracies. + +H. R. smiled confidently. That made them waver. Confidence is the most +demoralizing of all social factors. "Now write what I say and sign your +name after you finish." + +All of them shook their heads and frowned pugnaciously. + +H. R. dictated, "_Please pay us five dollars a day!_" + +They grabbed the pencils with one lightning-like movement, and wrote, +very plainly. They signed their names even more plainly. + +"Give them to Fleming. On Monday we begin work. I shall consider the +writing carefully." + +In this wise was organized the Public Sentiment Corps of the S. A. S. A. +Literature, it had once more been demonstrated, is merely a matter of +demand and supply. + + + + +VIII + + +After dining in the company of Barrett and Caspar Weinpusslacher, H. R. +went to the agency that had handled his newspaper advertising, opened a +charge account, and told them to send to all the morning papers the +following advertisement: + + _WANTED._--An actor who can look like a gentleman in good + health before a critical audience of 250,000. Apply in + person, without press notices. + + H. R. + Allied Arts Bldg. + +It was rather late in the evening when he sent for Max Onthemaker, but +this only served to strengthen the learned counsel's high opinion of +H. R. When H. R. told him what he proposed to do Max jumped in the air +for joy. Then he sat down limply. It suddenly occurred to him that H. R. +was far too intelligent. This is fatal to the right kind of newspaper +publicity. But H. R. soothed him and dispelled Max's doubts by showing +him exactly how to become an efficient and altogether legal _agent +provocateur_. The legal mind always concerns itself over the particular +paragraph. It comes from numbering the statutes. Max worked till dawn on +his papers and arguments. + +On the next morning H. R. selected, out of several dozen applicants, +four actors who looked really distinguished. The others walked away +cursing the trust. They are never original, as a class, by reason of +their habit of also reading the press notices of their colleagues. + +H. R. told the lucky four that he would give them the hardest part of +their lives. + +They looked at him pityingly. + +He then guaranteed to get their pictures in all the papers. + +They looked blasé. + +He began to speak to them about fame and about money, and then about +money and fame--the power to go into any restaurant and cause an instant +cessation of all mastication, or walk into any manager's office and be +entreated to sign, at any price, only sign--sign at once! + +They accepted on the spot, and asked when the engagement began. In their +eagerness to be artists they forgot to ask the salary. + +H. R. then told them that they must introduce the art of sandwiching to +New York. They must command the union sandwiches. + +_Never!_ + +He explained to them very patiently, for he was dealing with +temperaments, that to make sandwiching an art required the highest form +of histrionic ability. Anybody could look like a gentleman on the stage +or in any of the Fifth Avenue drawing-rooms to which they were obviously +accustomed. But, unmistakably to look like a gentleman between +sandwich-boards would require a combination of Richard Mansfield and +ancient lineage. He asked them kindly to ponder on the lamented Edward +VII. How would the Kaiser act? That is the way he wanted his artists to +act--like royalty. It was the highest art ever discovered. They would be +the cynosure of all eyes on Fifth Avenue, where most eyes belong to +wealthy women who always look for, as well as at, handsome men of +discretion and bona-fide divorce decrees. The artists themselves would +represent Valiquet's, the world's greatest jewelers, and the newspapers +would be told of the enormous salaries paid. Some of the boards would be +of real gold, to be valued at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in +the most conservative of the newspapers. The men also would be paid in +cash, two dollars a day. + +"The idea is not to sandwich in the ordinary commercial way, but to give +our press agents the swellest opportunity of the century. Managers have +used real diamonds on the stage. Money buys them. I am using real +gentlemen. Money cannot make them. Valiquet's never does anything +inexpensive, and this is merely the first and most dazzling chapter in +the history of the New Art of Advertising. The newspapers will duly +chronicle the fact that each artist received one thousand dollars a +week--which the artists have turned over to charity, like gentlemen. To +be the Theodore Roosevelts of street advertisements is more than a +privilege, more than an honor, more than art--it is _cash_! There have +been sandwich-men. There shall be _sandwich-artists_! Gentlemen, you +will make history. If you feel you don't measure up to the job, you can +get the hell out of here!" + +They not only signed, but begged to begin on that day, even though it +was Friday. But H. R. was adamant. + +"Monday!" he said, "and no more remarks. Report at nine A.M., dressed +like gentlemen." + +Andrew Barrett reported enthusiastically that nearly every shop on the +Avenue was ready to sign contracts if Valiquet's began. There had been +some skepticism, and expectations were keyed up to the snapping-pitch. + +Mr. Gwathmey sent a dozen designs for boards and the model of the +Ultimate Sandwich. It was really a beautiful piece of work. H. R.'s luck +was with him. The young Frenchman who did it came into his own years +later. + +H. R. accepted them on official stationery of the society, ordered one +hundred of each size, and also asked that the designs of the +sandwich-boards be engraved in color. He told Barrett to get Valiquet's +written acceptance of his order. + +On Sunday all the newspapers were impressively notified that there would +be some novel and revolutionary advertising on the Avenue. To insure +attention, the newspapers were simultaneously informed also that the +Fifth Avenue Merchants' Guild had decided to advertise more extensively +in the daily press. New York would give an object-lesson in optimism and +confidence to the rest of the country. This would allay all fears as to +the fundamental soundness of the general business situation. Wall Street +might be in the dumps, but the legitimate merchants, up to the full-page +size, were more truly representative of the metropolis. + +Fleming had been told to detail himself, Mulligan, and the four most +typical sandwiches in the society to act as the advance-guard. He and +the five were at the office early Monday morning, so were the four +histrionic artists, so was Max Onthemaker with nineteen injunctions, +writs, and legal documents neatly typewritten, three process-servers, +and thirty copies of a statement for the newspapers. + +Each sandwich-man received his board and a copy of his own speech. It +was a plea for equal rights and the cessation of hostilities against a +poor man simply because he had no money, a prayer for the enforcement of +the Constitution, and three quotations from that obsolete Book that +taught sandwich-men how to turn the other cheek. Also a post-Scriptural +assertion that each man went to church to pray and not to ask for +unearned bread or jump on Standard Oil. + +Max himself made them memorize the speech. They were letter perfect +before he stopped. + +"This will kill 'em dead," he said, enthusiastically. "Why, Mr. Rutgers, +even the newspapers will think they are Christians and--" + +"Make them early Christians," wisely advised H. R. "Thats what the world +needs to-day!" + +"You are right, as usual. Hey, you fellows, add, _If we must die, we die +forgiving our fellow-men in the knowledge that after death we shall come +into our own._" + +"Hey, I ain't going to be killed just to--" began Mulligan, edging +toward the door. + +"In the newspapers, ass! In the front page, imbecile!" shrieked Max. + +Mulligan shook his head doggedly. + +"Mulligan!" said H. R., and clenched his right fist. + +"Ye-es, boss." + +"I'll be there to see that you get the forty beers and I'll guarantee +that you'll have a chance to assuage your thirst _after_ business +hours." + +"All right, boss," said Mulligan. "And I'll guarantee the thirst." + +"Say, can you beat it?" admiringly asked Max of Andrew Barrett. "Where +does he get it?" And he tapped his own cranium sadly. + +"And, Mulligan, if you should be locked up," added H. R., "the first +thing you do when you get to jail is to declare a hunger strike. This +will stamp you as Crusaders! And Crusaders never frighten Business." + +"Great heavens!" whispered Max. + +"Do we get the--" began Mulligan, anxiously. + +"Nothing need be said about drinking. You'll get your forty." + +"They can do their damnedest," said Mulligan, looking like a +hero-martyr. + +"Refer all reporters to your counsel," finally advised Max. "Forget +everything else, but not that, not that!" + + + + +IX + + +The four great actors, distinguished-looking, positively Beau +Brummelesque, in shining top-hats of the latest fashion, went out of the +Allied Arts Building to make history. They walked ahead abreast, their +eyes fixed straight ahead. Pedestrians instinctively parted to let them +by. Then they asked questions. + +Andrew Barrett's agents answered the questions. + +"They are the advance-guard. You ought to see what's coming!" + +The faint sense of waiting for something worth waiting for, that so far +only the annual police parade has been able to arouse in New York was +discernible on the faces of the spectators. They began to cluster on the +edges of the sidewalks. The chauffeurs began to look anxious. Honestly, +they did! + +Andrew Barrett had shown to the other shop-keepers the Valiquet designs +and told them to watch for the great jewelers' astounding coup. He +booked twenty-two orders for the next week. + +At two o'clock the artists sallied forth once more. The throngs opened +for them to pass. Those spectators who had put off lunching to see the +epoch-making stunt were rewarded. They saw four perfectly attired +gentlemen in top-hats, carrying dazzling escutcheons worthy of the +premier jewel-shop in the world. + +The six, walking professionally, carried the most beautiful boards ever +seen, with these legends: + +[Illustration: THIS BOARD DESIGNED BY VALIQUET'S PREMIER JEWELERS OF +AMERICA] + +[Illustration: WONDERS OF THE WORLD! THE OLD WORLD HAD SEVEN! THE NEW +WORLD HAS ONLY ONE: VALIQUET'S] + +They were followed by the six picked sandwiches, in their +working-clothes, but with wonderful boards. + +[Illustration: FOR SILVER AND GOLD, PEARLS, DIAMONDS, RUBIES, EMERALDS, +EXCLUSIVE DESIGNS VALIQUET'S WHO DESIGNED THIS BOARD] + +[Illustration: VALIQUET'S OFFICIAL DESIGNERS OF THE AMERICAN SOCIETY OF +SANDWICH ARTISTS] + +The sandwich was the thing! + +The sandwich-men were merely artists. + +The spectators recalled that ultimately all men and all women must +become sandwiches. + +It made New-Yorkers realize that Death was still on the job. This gave +them something to talk about that night at dinner, before dancing. + +Also three hundred and fifty thousand people saw the O. K. of "_H. R._" + +It is easy to remember two letters. + +It was an extraordinary sensation. The big shops emptied themselves. In +McQuery's and Oldman's and Mann & Baker's the rush to the Avenue doors +was so great that floor-walkers who tried to stem the tide were crushed, +manlike, by the women and borne, half-clad, upon the sidewalk. The +proprietors looked at the crowds, heard the same remark, "What is it?" +by the tens of thousands, saw the sandwiches, saw the looks on the tens +of thousands of faces, and said, "Damn!" + +They had not heard the knock of opportunity, and Valiquet's had. No +wonder the jewel firm's regular two-hundred-per-cent. quarterly +dividends were regular. It wasn't the big profit in gems; it was the +cars! + +The proprietors blamed their advertising managers. + +The triumphal march of the sandwiches was more than a success, more than +a sensation. It was an event. The four top-hatted histrions then and +there forswore the stage. No artist had ever won such triumphs since +Nero. They had started as Beau Brummels. They had become Kaisers--only +infinitely more Cæsarean. And the union sandwiches following in Indian +file, oblivious, like true artists, of the admiration of the rabble, +thought of the end of the day, of the forty beers and the free food--of +unearned wealth!--and actually swaggered so that their parasite-infested +hirsuteness and their beast-faces took on an aspect of aristocratic +eccentricity, of zeal for a noble cause. Their rags, in juxtaposition to +the dazzling gorgeousness of their sandwich-boards, thus became +ecclesiastical vestments--pilgrims wearing tatters in fulfillment of +Lenten vows of renunciation. + +It was, of course, the masterly combination. Valiquet's was the last +word in swellness, the label of utterly inutilitarian wealth. + +The sandwich business was therefore the postscript. + +"Only Valiquet's would think of doing such a thing!" said all Fifth +Avenue, as usual giving credit to commercial genius instead of to the +creative artist. + +The other mercantile geniuses, seeing that their shoppers had declared a +legal holiday, frantically telephoned to Mr. Andrew Barrett to send out +_their_ sandwiches at once. They would pay ten dollars per man; yes, +twenty dollars. Only do it now! They did not wish to be put in the +position of _following_. This is fatal on Fifth Avenue. + +Valiquet's was skimming the cream! Never mind submitting the legends! +Get a hustle on! Never mind striking catch-phrases. That would come +later. Get the sandwiches on the Avenue! The bare name and the +sandwiches! + +The crowd, who had not had time to forget about the sandwich-men's +parade of a few days before, cleverly saw that this was the second +chapter. They therefore knew all about it and could and would say so to +their less-clever fellow-beings. Completeness of knowledge is one of the +nicest feelings in the world. + +Barrett excitedly reported the avalanche of orders to H. R. and was +promptly and calmly despatched to the board-makers to order fifty boards +each of the six Valiquet designs, three hundred in all. H. R. then +dictated a statement for publication, as to the real meaning of +sandwiching on Fifth Avenue. It was not merely advertising--it was +philanthropy. Much more went to feeding starving artists at the +Colossal Restaurant than to the militant brethren in the shape of wages. +It was also the best way of advertising Fifth Avenue's wares. + +Mr. Wilberforce Josslyn, president of Valiquet's corporation, was told +of the sandwich desecration of the holy name. His private secretary +alone had the courage to impart the news. + +Mr. Wilberforce Josslyn, feeling that he had to be to his help what his +firm was to the world, turned around in his Circassian-walnut +swivel-chair, said, "_Stop 'em!_" and revolved again. + +The secretary carried the order to the first vice-president, Mr. Angus +MacAckus; the first vice-president took it upon himself not only to stop +'em, but to punish 'em. He hastily descended to the main floor. What he +saw through the Fifth Avenue doors appalled him, and worse. Even within +the sacred precincts of the shop the reckless jewel-buying public and +the conservative charge-accounts alike were talking about it, actually +congratulating the gentlemanly salesmen and the courtly +department-managers and the obliging watch-repairers. + +Two men, whom he recognized as reporters by their intellectual faces, +approached him, but he ran away from them toward the door. + +Mrs. Vandergilt, undisputed Tsarina of society, was in one of the +compartments of the plate-glass and solid-silver stile, and he waited in +order to welcome her. They did not make a hundred thousand a year out of +her, for she was not from Detroit, but they had been official jewelers +to the family for sixty years, as they were of all the Vans who were Van +Somebody. The annual storage of the Vandergilt crown jewels was a +regular yearly story, like the police parade and the first snow-storm. + +"MacAckus," said Mrs. Vandergilt in her sharp, imperious voice, "why did +you do it? Not to advertise?" + +"Certainly not," answered Mr. MacAckus, forgetting himself and speaking +with heat. + +"I thought not. Well, I am glad you are helping. I shall send my check +to them. Poor men!" Then she had one of those moments of kindliness that +made people worship her: "It was a very clever thing to do, MacAckus. I +am glad you had not only the brains, but the courage." + +The reporters heard her. It was their business to get the news. Mr. +MacAckus realized that Mrs. Vandergilt's approval had changed the +complexion of the affair. At the same time, Valiquet's never talked for +publication, and the remarks of their clients were sacred. He turned to +the reporters and said in the peremptory tone that makes reporters so +obedient: + +"Not a word of this! Do you understand?" + +"We understand perfectly," said the _American_. "We certainly do!" and +wrote what Mrs. Vandergilt had said and what she was wearing. It would +be a text for one of Arthur Migraine's editorial sermons, proving that +millionaires, instead of being blown into ATOMS, should be freely +permitted to give MONEY for starving men to convert into FOOD. In fact, +NATURE wisely provided that millionaires should have MONEY to give away. +The more the POOR received the LESS the millionaire would take to the +USELESS GRAVE. + +Mr. MacAckus, greatly perturbed by this deviation from the norm, rushed +to the president's office to tell him Mrs. Vandergilt's opinion. +Before he could speak, Mr. Wilberforce Josslyn said: + +"Did you stop 'em?" + +"No, sir. Let me explain. Mrs. Vandergilt just came in and--" + +"I sent word to have 'em stopped!" said Mr. Josslyn, frowning. + +"Let me explain, Mr. Josslyn--" + +Disobedience cannot be explained away. Discipline must be enforced. It +is better to blunder under orders than to prevent disorganization from +interfering with dividends. The obvious advantage that a corporation +president has over his subordinates is that he does not have to be +hampered by petty details. + +"Stop 'em!" he said, coldly. + +"Mrs. Vandergilt said--" + +"And Mr. Josslyn said stop 'em!" He turned his back on MacAckus, who +thereupon rushed downstairs, frowning angrily. He'd stop 'em. + +He walked out into the Avenue. It was blocked. He tried to elbow his way +through the intelligent femininity and was nearly run in by a traffic +policeman. The women refused to budge--the sandwiches were coming. + +And would you believe it? As the shining top-hats drew near, the crowd +actually divided itself, Red-Sea-wise, to let H. R.'s chosen people pass +safely. + +Mr. MacAckus did not faint, because he was too angry. He stepped in +front of the four obvious gentlemen and held up a hand. He could not +speak. + +But the four, who had been elevated to imperial dignity by New York, +moved on so majestically that Mr. MacAckus began to retreat before them, +waving his hand frantically. He stepped backward, keeping time to their +steps, his hand moving up and down in his wrath. It looked for all the +world like a band-master indicating to his artists just how to play it. + +Backward he stepped; onward they marched; until speech returned to him: + +"Stop! _Stop! STOP!_" + +They did not hear him. + +He called to a policeman, "Stop 'em!" + +H. R. had won! + +The officer ran up. He was a policeman. He therefore said, "What's the +matter?" + +"These men have no right to use our name. We did not authorize them. We +wish them stopped from using our firm's name for--er--advertising +purposes. It's against the law. I'll make a complaint against them. Stop +'em!" + +Max Onthemaker came forward, his face pale with determination. Four +reporters trailed along. + +"Touch these gentlemen at your peril!" he said to the policeman. "Here +is a sworn copy of the statute referred to by that person." He shoved a +typewritten document under the officer's nose. There were two seals on +it; one was in anarchistic red and the other in Wall Street gold. + +"Observe," pursued Mr. Onthemaker, impressively and very distinctly, +that the reporters might not misquote, "that the statute says _the name +of a living person_ must not be used. But Valiquet's is a corporation. +Do you get that, officer? A _corporation_!" + +The officer read the newspapers. He knew what corporations were. They +bought votes for the Republicans; and, besides, they only paid the men +higher up. He therefore informed Mr. MacAckus: + +"I can't do not'n." + +"And even if you could, officer," said Mr. Onthemaker to the reporters, +"the magistrate would let them go with a reprimand for you. We are ready +for him." Then he said to MacAckus: "Get out of the way, or I'll have +you arrested for blocking traffic, causing a crowd to collect, for +assuming that you own the sidewalk, and for interfering with honest +working-men who are trying to earn a peaceful living. Also for +oppressing the poor. We have not asked you for money. We do not wish +your charity." He paused, and, shaking a finger at Mr. MacAckus, said, +loudly, "_We spurn your tainted money!_" + +H. R. had not made a mistake in picking out this man to represent the +society. Indeed, one reporter, in a stage whisper, actually hissed: + +"_Bribery!_" + +The officer looked at Mr. MacAckus and said, "Please move on, sir." + +"That's polite enough," said one of the reporters, making a note of it. +But Mr. MacAckus said: + +"Why, you infernal--" + +"_Move on!_" said the cop. + +"I am Mr. MacAckus, of Valiquet's--" + +"Tell him who you are, officer," said the diabolic Onthemaker, guessing +the cop's nationality. + +"I am Mr. McGinnis, of the thirty-first precinct." + +People began to clap their hands--people who never went into Valiquet's. +Mr. McGinnis thereupon laid a hand proudly on Mr. MacAckus's arm. + +Mr. MacAckus lost his head; that is, he shook off the white-gloved hand +of the law. + +The law blew its whistle, as the law always does in civilized +communities. + +Instantly, as though the whistle had been the cue, the stirring sound +of galloping steeds smote the asphalt of Fifth Avenue. + +"Let him go, Officer McGinnis," said Max Onthemaker, magnanimously. "We +do not care to appear against him." + +"Ain't he fine-looking?" a woman asked her companion, looking at the +law. She even pointed at him. + +Mr. McGinnis therefore haughtily said, "Resisting an officer--" + +H. R. on horseback, in correct riding attire, following seven mounted +traffic-squad men, appeared on the scene. + +"There he is!" said Mr. Onthemaker to the reporters, dutifully yielding +the center of the stage to its rightful possessor. After all, there was +only one H. R., and both H. R. and Max Onthemaker knew it. + +"That's the commissioner," said a clerk to the atmosphere. + +"It's young Vandergilt!" asserted the fickle one who had thought +McGinnis was fine-looking. + +Before the traffic squad could dismount, H. R. jumped down from his +horse, threw the reins to one of the mounted officers, said, "Look after +him!" so decisively that no remonstrance was possible, approached the +group, and said, "I'm Mr. Rutgers!" + +Fifth Avenue was impassable now. + +"_Who_ is it?" asked ten thousand who had been asking, "_What_ is it?" + +Those who had heard proudly repeated the name to those who had not. +Within forty seconds, as far as Thirty-fourth Street, intelligent +New-Yorkers were saying, "It's Mr. Rutgers!" + +Officer McGinnis touched his white-gloved hand to his cap. + +"That's Hendrik Rutgers!" explained Max Onthemaker to the reporters. + +H. R. looked Mr. MacAckus in the eye and said, with patrician frigidity: +"If you think you have any ground for a civil action, go ahead. My +office is in the Allied Arts Building. I'll accept service in person or +through my counsel here." + +A murmur went up: these were law-abiding men. They therefore must be not +only right, but mighty sure of it. All the lieutenant dared say, when he +saw the representative of business and the representative of the leisure +class was: "Gentlemen, I'm afraid you're blocking traffic. Perhaps, if +you went inside--" + +"Follow me!" said H. R. to his men, and he led them into Thirty-seventh +Street. He halted fifty feet from the corner. + +Mr. MacAckus had followed and unlimbered his heavy artillery. + +"This infernal outrage--" + +H. R. lost all patience. He said to the mounted lieutenant, "Take us to +the magistrate!" To Max Onthemaker he whispered, "Got the papers with +you?" + +"And the reporters, too," answered the able counsel with much pride, as +though the reporters were his own private property loaned to the cause +for the occasion without charge. + +Seeing that the police made no move, H. R. said, determinedly: "I insist +upon going before the magistrate. You can report it at the station later +and save us time." + +This made the police officer hesitate. It always does. It works on the +principle of treating your opponent as if he were a taxicabby who has +overcharged. + +"I guess that's the best way," said the lieutenant. + +"Thank you, Inspector. Will you kindly tell one of your men to bring my +mount along? Thank you!" said H. R. + +Politeness pays. By saying "thank you" in advance of the service no +gentleman can refuse. + +At the Magistrate's Court the session was short and sweet. + +Mr. Onthemaker looked eloquent. The clerk who had typewritten the +restraining orders whispered, "It's No. 5!" and his chief picked it out +of the seventeen without hesitation. Everybody was impressed by the +obvious efficiency. Efficiency must never be hidden. + +The argument prepared by Mr. Onthemaker was one of the best his Honor +had ever heard. He needed it for his own fall campaign. It certainly +read well. He even read it in print--in advance. + +"Let me see your argument," said the magistrate, and when Mr. Onthemaker +gave him the speech he put it in his inside pocket. He did not know what +to say until he saw the reporters taking notes. Then he knew. + +"Discharged!" he said. It was the most popular decision in New York. + +Max Onthemaker looked at his watch. Morris Lazarus by this time had +doubtless applied for an order restraining Valiquet's from interfering +with the lawful business of Jean Gerard, Walter Townsend, J. J. Fleming, +William Mulligan, William F. Farquhar, Marmaduke de Beanville, Wilton +Lazear, Percival Willoughby, and Francis Drake. + +"We have secured an injunction against Valiquet's. Here it is," said Mr. +Onthemaker. "You are the vice-president of your _corporation_. You might +as well learn your own business from me." Then, with a fierce frown +that there might be no back talk, he explained, with utter finality, +"This is a _certified copy_!" + +He approached Mr. MacAckus and took advantage of the contiguity to +whisper: "If you don't wish to make your concern the laughing-stock of +America get busy and keep the newspapers from printing that you were +fool enough to oppose us in our perfectly legal position. Bear in mind +that if you fight us you make us." + +"No compromise!" said H. R., sternly. + +"No, sir," answered Onthemaker, meekly. Then he hissed at MacAckus, "Do +as I tell you, you boob!" + +Mr. MacAckus clearly realized that this was a conspiracy. That always +makes business men fear that they may lose money. The fear of that +always sharpens their wits. It comes from a lifetime's training. + +It was all Mr. Josslyn's fault. This made Mr. MacAckus almost despair. +But he said, very kindly, to the reporters, "Gentlemen, will you all be +good enough to call at our office before you print anything?" + +The reporters, very kindly also, told him they would. + +The free sandwiches returned to Fifth Avenue. + +It was an ovation! + +Art again had triumphed! + +Proudly, up and down, from Thirty-fourth to Forty-second and back on the +other side, they marched unhindered. + +The reporters did justice to the story. Like all really big stories, it +was legitimate news. They had indeed suspected advertising until H. R. +refused to speak about himself. + +"All you please about my poor sandwiches, but not one word about me. I +have merely tried to rehabilitate the pariahs of the great mercantile +world by reviving the lost art of perambulating publicity. If I have +succeeded in making sandwiches free in New York, my work is done. Please +do not mention my name!" Then he leaned over confidentially and said, +very earnestly: "My family is conservative, and they hate to see the old +name in print. Don't use it, boys. Please! That's why I never sign more +than my initials!" + +Ah, it was not alone modesty, but high social position and inherited +wealth that were responsible for "H. R." instead of the full name? And +the reporters? News is what is novel; also what is rare. H. R. was +therefore doubly news. The minds of the reporters did not work like +H. R.'s, but they arrived at the same point at the same time. This is +genius--on the part of the other man. + +Keeping your mouth shut after it happens is a still higher form of +genius. + +The newspapers gave him from two to six columns. Since the reporters +could not get anything about H. R. from H. R., they got everything from +Max Onthemaker, from the sandwich-men, from Andrew Barrett, and also +from their inner consciousness and psychological insight. + +Nine newspapers; nine different heroes; one name--and initials at that! + + + + +X + + +Andrew Barrett was made office-manager as well as business-getter. He +was ordered to pay for the two additional clerks and the bookkeeper out +of his own commissions or resign. He paid. This was real business +because even then young Mr. Barrett was overpaid for his work. But his +real acumen was in recognizing a great man. + +Since the pay-roll was a matter of Mr. Andrew Barrett's personally +selected statistics, H. R. was certainly a wonder. + +On Tuesday morning H. R., feeling that his own greatness had already +become merely a matter of greater greatness, turned, manlike, to +thoughts of love: he would share his greatness! + +He would make Grace Goodchild marry him. He was sure he would succeed. +He saw very clearly, indeed, how Mr. Goodchild, being a conservative +banker, could be compelled to say yes. + +In addition he would make Grace love him. + +The strongest love is that love which is stronger than hatred or fear. +Therefore the love that begins by hating or fearing is best. To overcome +the inertia of non-loving is not so difficult as to stop the backward +motion and turn it into forward. + +He sat down and wrote a note: + + DEAR GRACE, I am sending you herewith a few clippings. + Remember what I told you. Don't let father prejudice you. + Hope to see you soon. Busy as the dickens. + + Yours, + H. R. + + _P.S._--I love you because you are _You!_ Certainly I am + crazy. But, dear, _I know it_! + +With the note he sent her eighty-three inches of clippings and fourteen +pictures. If that wasn't fame, what was? He also sent flowers. + +That afternoon before the _thé dansant_ hour he called at the Goodchild +residence. + +"Miss Goodchild!" he said to the man, instead of asking for her. He +pulled out his watch, looked at it, and before the man could say he +would see if she were at home to H. R., added, "Yes!" + +He was punctual, as the man could see. The man therefore held out a +silver card-tray. + +"Say it's Mr. Rutgers," H. R. told him. "And straighten out that rug. +You've walked over it a dozen times!" + +It was plain to see that it was H. R. who really owned this house. He +must, since he wasn't afraid of the servants. And the worst of it was +that the footman could not resent it: the gentleman was so obviously +accustomed to regarding servants as domestic furniture. He dehumanized +footmen, deprived them of souls, left them merely arms and legs to obey, +machine-like. They call such "well-ordered households." Certainly not. +It isn't a matter of the orders, but of the soul-excision. + +Grace Goodchild walked in--behind her mother. The footman stood by the +door, evidently by request. + +Everything in civilized communities is by request. + +"How do you do?" said H. R., pleasantly. "Is this mother?" He bowed to +Mrs. Goodchild--the bow of a social equal--his eyes full of a highly +intelligent appreciation of physical charm. Then he asked Grace, "Did +you read them?" + +Mrs. Goodchild had intended to be stern, but the young man's undisguised +admiration softened her wrath to pleasant sarcasm. + +"I wished to see for myself," she said, not very hostilely, "if you were +insane. I see you are--" + +"I am," agreed H. R., amicably, "and have been since I saw her. And the +worst of it is, I am very proud of it." + +"Will you oblige me by leaving this house quietly?" + +"Certainly," H. R. assured her. "I didn't come to stay--this time. I'm +glad to have seen you. Has Grace told you I'm to be your son-in-law?" + +He looked at her proudly, yet meekly. It was wonderful how well he +managed to express the conflict. Then he apologized contritely. "I was +too busy to call before. My grandmother has never met you, has she?" He +looked at her anxiously, eager to clear Mrs. Goodchild's name before the +court of his family. + +At one fell swoop H. R. had deleted the name of Goodchild from the +society columns. + +Mrs. Goodchild said, huskily, "Frederick, ring for a policeman." + +"I'll break his damned neck if he does," said H. R., with patrician +calmness. "Don't you ever again dare to listen while I am here, +Frederick. You may go." + +H. R. looked so much as if he meant what he said that Grace was +pleasantly thrilled by his masterfulness. But not for worlds would she +show it facially. When a woman can't lie to the man who loves her she +lies to herself by looking as she does not feel. + +"Do you wish me to go? For the sake of peace?" he asked Grace, +anxiously. + +There was nothing he would not do, no torture too great to endure, for +her sake--not even the exquisite agony of absence. That there might be +no misunderstanding, he added, softly, "Do you?" + +"Don't you talk to my daughter!" said Mrs. Goodchild, furious at being +excluded from the supreme command. Hearing no assent, she was compelled +by the law of nature to repeat herself: "Don't you talk to my daughter!" + +H. R. looked at her in grieved perplexity. "Do you mean that you are +deliberately going to be a comic-weekly mother-in-law and make me the +laughing-stock of my set?" + +Feeling the inadequacy of mere words to express the thought she had not +tried to express, Mrs. Goodchild called on her right hand for aid; she +pointed. Being concerned with gesture rather than intent on direction, +she, alas! pointed to a window. + +He shook his head at her and then at the window, and told her: "To jump +out of that one would be as bad as having me arrested. Do you want the +infernal reporters to make you ridiculous? Do you realize that I am the +most-talked-about man in all New York? Don't you know what newspaper +ridicule is? Don't you? Say no!" + +To make sure of her own grasp of the situation Mrs. Goodchild, who was +dying to shriek at the top of her voice, compressed her lips. H. R. +instantly perceived the state of affairs and double-turned the key by +fiendishly placing his right forefinger to his own lips. This would +give to his mother-in-law the two excellent habits of obedience and +silence. + +He turned to the girl and said: "Grace, don't hide behind your mother. +Let me look my fill. It's got to last me a whole week!" + +Grace saw in his face and knew from his voice that he was neither acting +nor raving. His words were as the gospel, the oldest of all gospels, +which, unlike all others, is particularly persuasive in the springtime. +He was a fine-looking chap, and the newspapers were full of him, and he +was in love with her. He interested her. But of course he was +impossible. But also she was New York, and, to prove it, she must be +epigrammatic. All her life she had listened to high-class vaudeville. +She said, icily, yet with a subtle consciousness of her own humor, "If +you wish to worship, why don't you try a church?" + +"Which?" he retorted so promptly and meaningly that she almost felt the +wedding-ring on her finger. He pursued: "And when? I have the license +all ready. See?" + +He pulled out of his pocket a long envelope containing a communication +from Valiquet's lawyer. "Here it is!" and he held it toward her. + +Being young and healthy, she laughed approvingly. + +"Has it come to this, in my own house?" exclaimed Mrs. Goodchild in +dismay. Being rich and living in New York, she did not know her +daughter's affairs. + +"Why not?" asked H. R., with rebuking coldness. "In whose house should +our marriage be discussed?" Then he spoke to Grace with a fervor that +impressed both women: "I love you as men used to love when they were +willing to murder for the sake of their love. Look at me!" + +He spoke so commandingly that Grace looked, wonder and doubt in her +eyes. + +In some women incertitude expresses itself in silence. Her mother was of +a different larynx. She wailed: "What shall I do? What shall I do?" And +sank back in her arm-chair. After one second's hesitation Mrs. Goodchild +decided to clasp her own hands with a gesture of helplessness such as +Pilate would have used had he been Mrs. Pontius. She did so, turning the +big emerald _en cabochon_, so that she could plaintively gaze at it. +Eight thousand dollars. Then she turned the gem accusingly in the +direction of this man who might, for all she knew, be penniless. He was +good-looking. Hendrik was Dutch. So was Rutgers. Could he belong? + +"I beg your pardon, moth--Mrs. Goodchild," said H. R. so very +courteously and contritely that he looked old-fashioned. "You must +forgive me. But she _is_ beautiful! She will grow, God willing, to look +more like you every day. By making me regard the future with pleasurable +anticipation, you yourself give me one more reason why I must marry +Grace." + +Grace looked at her mother and smiled--at the effect. Mrs. Goodchild +confessed to forty-six. + +"I am making Grace Goodchild famous," H. R. pursued, briskly, and paused +that they might listen attentively to what was to follow. + +Mother and daughter looked at him with irrepressible curiosity. Their +own lives had so few red-blooded thrills for them that they enjoyed +theatricals as being "real life." This man was an Experience! + +He shook his head and explained, mournfully: "It is very strange, this +thing of not belonging to yourself but to the world. It is a sacrifice +Grace must make!" + +His voice rang with a subtle regret. But suddenly he raised his head +proudly and looked straight at her. + +"It is a sacrifice worth making--for the sake of the downtrodden whom +you will uplift with your beauty. _Au revoir_, Grace. _I am needed!_" + +He approached her. She tried to draw back. He halted before her, took +her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it. + +"I am the dirt under your feet," he murmured, and left the room. + +His was the gait of the Invincibles. He had cast a bewitching spell of +unreality over the entire drawing-room that made Grace feel like both +actress and audience. + +She heard him in the hall calling, "Frederick!" And, after a brief +pause, "My hat and cane!" + +There was another pause. Then she heard Frederick say, infinitely more +respectfully than Frederick had ever spoken to Mr. Goodchild, "Thank +_you_ very much, sir." + +Mrs. Goodchild paid Frederick by the month for working. H. R. had given +Frederick twenty dollars for being an utterly useless menial. Hence +Frederick's logical gratitude and respect. + + + + +XI + + +H. R. walked to his office, thinking of the engagement-ring. He +therefore rang for Maximilian Onthemaker, Esquire. + +"Come up at once!" + +"Damnation, I will," said Max. "I'm busy as the dickens, but an order +from you is--" + +"Another front page--with pictures!" + +"I'm half-way up, already!" said Max. Before the telephone receiver +could descend on the holder, H. R. heard a voice impatiently shriek, +"Down!" to an elevator-man two and one-half miles away. + +When Mr. Onthemaker, his face alight with eagerness to serve the cause +of the poor sandwich-men free gratis, for nothing, could speak, H. R. +told him, calmly: + +"Max, I am going to marry the only daughter of George G. Goodchild, +president of the Ketcham National Bank. Get photographs of her. Try La +Touche and the other fashionable photographers. They will require an +order from Miss Goodchild." + +"Written?" asked Mr. Onthemaker, anxiously. + +"I don't know." + +"I'll call up my office, and Miss Hirschbaum will give the order." + +"Can she talk like--" + +"Oh, she goes to the swell Gentile theaters," Max reassured him. + +"Don't say I'm engaged, and tell 'em not to bother the parents." He +meant the reporters. + +Max thought of nothing else. "Leave it to me. Say, Hendrik--" + +"Mr. Rutgers!" The voice and the look made Max tremble and grow pale. + +"I was only joking," he apologized, weakly. He never repeated the +offense. "I'll attend to it, Mr. Hendrik-- I mean Mr. Rutgers." + +"When Barrett comes in I'll send him down to you. Good day." + +When Andrew Barrett returned he said, impetuously, "I'm afraid I'll have +to have some help, H. R." + +"I was going to tell you, my boy, that from to-morrow on you will have +to go on salary." + +Barrett's smiles vanished. He shook his head. + +H. R. went on, in a kindly voice: "You've done very well and I'm much +pleased with your work. But you mustn't be a hog." + +Barrett had made bushels of money by taking advantage of the opportunity +to do so. The victorious idea was another's, the machinery was the +society's, the work was done by the sandwiches. But Mr. Andrew Barrett +was the salesman, the transmuter into cash. He was entitled to all he +desired to make so long as he didn't raise prices. Injustice stared him +in the face with smiles! Reducing his gain and smiling! H. R. would as +lief get another man! Barrett forgot that he could get no business until +H. R.'s astounding Valiquet's coup made the agent's job one of merely +writing down names. He forgot it, but he did not forget his own +successor. All he could say, in a boyishly obstinate way, was, "Well, I +think--" + +"You mustn't think, and especially you must not think I'm an ass. You +know very well that this is only the beginning of a very remarkable +revolution in the advertising business. I need your services in +installing the machinery and organizing the office, details that I leave +to you because you have brains. Your salary will be a hundred a week and +five per cent. on all new business. After I pass on to a still higher +field I will make you a present of this business for you to have and to +hold till death do you part. The Barrett Advertising Agency will be all +yours. It will do a bigger business every year. And if you don't like +it, you may leave this minute. You are young yet. Is it settled?" + +Andrew Barrett nodded. + +H. R. said, seriously: "It's about time sandwiching spread. How many on +the Avenue to-day?" + +"Nineteen firms; one hundred and eleven men. I think--" + +H. R. knew what Barrett was about to say. He therefore said it for +Barrett. "Now that you have Fifth Avenue, move west and east to Sixth +and Madison and Fourth and try Broadway and Twenty-third and +Thirty-fourth and Forty-second--" + +"I was just going to propose it to you," said Barrett, aggrievedly. + +"I know you have brains. That's why you are here. I trust you +implicitly. This is a man's job. There will be big money in it for you. +For me--" He ceased speaking, and stared meditatively out of the window. + +Andrew Barrett wondered with all his soul what the chief was reading in +big print in the future. + +Andrew Barrett waited. Presently H. R. frowned. Then he smiled slightly. + +Barrett stared fascinatedly. Ah, the lure of mystery! If more men +appreciated it, polygamy would be inevitable--and liberal divorce laws. + +H. R. looked up. + +"Oh, are you here?" he smiled paternally, forgivingly. + +Barrett beamed. + +"My boy, I wish you'd run over to Max Onthemaker's or get him on the +telephone. The newspapers are going to publish it." + +"Yes, sir, I will. Er--what are they--what are you going to spring on an +enraptured metropolis? + +"My impending marriage to Grace Goodchild, only daughter of Goodchild, +president of the Ketcham National Bank. See that it is well handled. +And, Barrett?" + +"Yes, sir?" + +"The old people don't relish the idea. She is the most beautiful girl in +New York." + +"I've seen her! Pippinissima!" exclaimed Andrew Barrett, heartfully. + +"Ten millions," said Hendrik Rutgers, calmly. + +"My God!" whispered young Mr. Barrett, New-Yorker. + +He meant what he said. + +Ten millions! + +Mr. Onthemaker, Andrew Barrett, and their faithful phalanx of star space +men who always signed their stuff called in a body on La Touche, the +photographer of the moment. + +He refused to give them Miss Goodchild's photograph. He wished his name +used, of course, but he was too sensible to disregard professional +ethics. + +"Mr. Rutgers said we could get it," said Andrew Barrett, sternly. + +"I must have her permission. Hang it, boys, I am just as anxious as +you--as I can be to do what I can for you. But I don't dare. These swell +people are _queer_!" the photographer explained, aggrievedly. + +"I'll call her up myself," said Max Onthemaker, resolutely. "What's the +Goodchild number?" + +He went to the telephone and gave the number of his own office in low +tones. Presently he said, loudly enough to be heard by all, "Is this 777 +Fifth Avenue?" + +He alone heard the answer. He would not lie. He was a lawyer. It was +unnecessary. + +"Can I speak with Miss Goodchild? No; _Miss_ Goodchild." + +After a judiciously measured pause he spoke again: "Good afternoon. This +is Mr. Onthemaker speaking. Quite well, thank you. I hope you are the +same!... That's good!... Yes, miss, I saw him this morning. The papers +wish to publish your photograph.... I'm sorry, but they say they simply +must!... I am at La Touche's studio.... They doubtless do not do you +justice, but they are the best ever taken of you--... No, I don't think +they can wait for new ones.... One moment, please--" + +He held his hand in front of the transmitter so she couldn't hear him +say to La Touche: + +"She wants some new ones." + +"To-morrow at two," said La Touche. + +"Give us the old ones now," chorused the reporters. "We'll publish the +new ones for the wedding." + +"I am sorry"--Max again spoke into the telephone--"but they say they +want some now. They'll use the others later.... Which one?... The one +Mr. Rutgers likes?... Yes, ma'am. Thank you very much." + +Foreseeing unintelligent incredulity, Mr. Onthemaker did not hang up +the receiver. It was just as well, for the cautious La Touche said, "I +want to talk to her." + +"Certainly," said Max, and hastily rose. + +"Miss Goodchild," said the photographer, respectfully, "will it be all +right if I let the reporters have--" + +"Give him the one Mr. Rutgers likes," came in a sweet voice, without the +slightest trace of Yiddish or catarrh. They would be wonderful +linguists, if they didn't always begin by, "Say, listen." + +"Which one is that?" + +"The one he likes. And please send the bill to me, not to papa," with +the accent properly on the last syllable. + +"There will be no charge, Miss Goodchild. Thank you. I only wished to +make sure you approved." + +La Touche rose and, turning to the friendly reporters, asked, +wrathfully, "How in blazes do I know which is the one Mr. Rutgers +liked?" + +"Let us pick it out," said one reporter. He wore his hair long. + +"Any one will do," said another, considerately. + +"I think I know which it is," said Barrett, taking pity on the +photographer. To Mr. Onthemaker he whispered, "Max, you're a second +H. R." + +"I try to be," modestly said Sam. + +And so the newspapers published the official preference of the lucky +man. They published it because she was going to marry H. R. + +That same morning Mr. Goodchild called up the city editors. He was so +stupid that he was angry. He threatened criminal action and also denied +the engagement. Rutgers was only a discharged clerk who had worked in +his bank. He had been annoying his daughter, but he, Mr. Goodchild, +would take steps to put an end to further persecution. Rutgers would not +be allowed to call. He had, Mr. Goodchild admitted, called--uninvited. +Had a man no privacy in New York? What was the matter with the police? +What was he paying taxes for--to be annoyed by insane adventurers and +damned reporters? He didn't want any impertinence. If they didn't print +the denial of the engagement and the facts he would put the matter in +his lawyer's hands. + +The afternoon papers that day and the morning papers on the next printed +another portrait of Miss Grace Goodchild because she was not engaged to +H. R. + +It was so exactly what a Wall Street millionaire father would do that +everybody in New York instantly recognized a romance in high life! + +Grace Goodchild never had known before how many people knew her and how +many more wished to know her. The reporters camped on her front +door-steps and the camera specialists could not be shooed away by Mr. +Goodchild when he was going out on his way to the bank. + +He assaulted a photographer. The papers therefore printed a picture of +the infuriated money power in the act of using a club on a defenseless +citizen. They did it very cleverly: by manipulating the plates they made +Mr. Goodchild look four times the size of the poor photographer. + +Max Onthemaker brought suit for fifty thousand dollars damages to the +feelings, cranium, and camera of Jeremiah Legare, the _Tribune_'s +society snapper. + +From 10 A.M. to 7 P.M. Grace held a continuous levee. Mrs. Goodchild was +in handsomely gowned hysterics. Mr. Goodchild got drunk at his club. + +Yes, he did. The house committee ignored it. When they saw the afternoon +papers they condoned it. And yet all that the newspapers said was that +Grace Goodchild and Hendrik Rutgers were _not_ married. + +And they blame the papers for inaccuracy. + +H. R. knew that he must make his love for Grace plausible, and his +determination to marry her persistent and picturesque. + +His concern was with the public. He therefore called up Grace on the +telephone. At the other end they wished to know who was speaking. He +replied, "Tell Frederick to come to the telephone at once!" + +Frederick responded. + +"Are you there?" asked H. R., after the fashion of Frederick's +compatriots. "Frederick, go instantly to Miss Grace and tell her to come +to the telephone on a matter of life and death. It's Mr. Rutgers. Don't +mention my name." + +This wasn't one of Frederick's few duties when he deigned to accept +employment in the Goodchild household. But H. R. expected to be obeyed. +Therefore he was obeyed. + +"Yes, sir; very good, sir," said Frederick, proud to act as Mercury. He +rushed off. + +"Telephone, Miss Grace. He said it was a matter of life and death." + +"Who is it? Another reporter?" + +"Oh no, ma'am. He's waiting, my lady." + +Once in a while Frederick proved that he was worth his weight in gold by +forgetting that he was in America. When he did, he always called Grace +my lady. + +She therefore went to the telephone. Of course H. R. was born lucky. +But, as a matter of fact, by deliberately establishing Frederick on a +plane of perennial inferiority he had made such a stroke of luck +inevitable. + +Since it was a matter of life and death, Grace instantly asked, "_Who_ +is it?" + +"Listen, Grace. The entire country is going wild about you. Your +portrait is being admired from Maine to California. But bear up with +what's coming. We've got to bring father around to our way of thinking, +and--" + +"Who is it? Who is it?" + +"Great Scott! Can't you recognize the voice? It's Hendrik." + +Her exasperated nerves made her say, angrily, "I think you are--" + +"Don't think I'm conceited, but I know it." + +"I feel like telling you--" + +"I'll say it for you. Close your ears till I'm done." After a pause: +"I've insulted myself. I love you all the more for it! Grace, you must +be brave! If you survive this next week--" + +"My God!" she said, invoking divine aid for the first time since they +moved to Fifth Avenue, thinking of what the newspapers could say. + +"He's with us, sweetheart," Hendrik assured her. "Are you an +Episcopalian?" + +"Yes!" she replied before she could think of not answering. + +"Good! I love you. Wait!" + +His voice as he entreated her to wait rang with such anguish that she +irrepressibly asked, "What?" + +"_I love you!_" + +He left the telephone and gathered together sixty-eight clippings, which +he put in an envelope. He went to a fashionable florist, opened an +account, and ordered some exquisite flowers. They were going to ask for +financial references, but the flowers he ordered were so expensive that +they felt ashamed of their own distrust. He stopped at Valiquet's, where +they hated him so much that they respected him, bought a wonderful gold +vanity-box, inside of which he sent a card. On the card he wrote: + + _More than ever!_ + + H. R. + +He sent clippings, flowers, and vanity-box to Miss Goodchild, 777 Fifth +Avenue, by messenger. Charge account. + +He sent for Fleming and told him he wished the Public Sentiment Corps to +tackle their first job. H. R. had prepared a dozen letters of protest +which the artists must copy before receiving their day's wages--one copy +for each paper. The letters expressed the writers' admiration, contempt, +approval, abhorrence, indignation, and commendation of the journalistic +treatment of the Goodchild-Rutgers affair. Real names and real addresses +were given. It beat Pro Bono Publico, Old Subscriber, and Decent Citizen +all to pieces. H. R. supplied various kinds of stationery--some with +crests, others very humble. The chirography was different. That alone +was art. + +The newspapers realized that H. R. had become news. The public wanted to +read about him. The papers were the servants of the public. Circulation +was invented for that very purpose. + +Not content with the services of the Public Sentiment Corps, H. R. +commanded Andrew Barrett to tip off the friendly reporters--Andrew by +this time was calling them by their first name--to watch the Goodchild +residence on Fifth Avenue and also the Ketcham National Bank on Nassau +Street. + +Thinking that this meant elopement up-town and shooting down-town, the +reporters despatched the sob artists to Fifth Avenue and the veteran +death-watch to the bank. + +They were rewarded. + +Parading up and down the Goodchild block on the Avenue were six +sandwich-men. They carried the swellest sandwiches in Christendom. This +was the first use of the famous iridescent glass mosaic sandwich in +history. It was exquisitely beautiful. But the legends were even more +beautiful: + +[Illustration: I SHALL MARRY GRACE GOODCHILD NO MATTER WHO SAYS NO!] + +This last he stationed in front of the Goodchild house. + +Across the street, leaning against the Central Park wall, was Morris +Lazarus, Mr. Onthemaker's able associate counsel. His pockets were +bulging with numbered legal documents in anticipation of hostilities +from Christians, policemen, and other aliens. He had told the reporters +that he was one of Mr. Rutgers's counsel and did not propose to allow +the sandwich-men to be interfered with by anybody. He also distributed +his card, that the name might not be misspelled. He had not yet changed +Morris into Maurice. + +[Illustration: NO OPPOSITION CAN KEEP ME FROM MARRYING GRACE GOODCHILD] + +[Illustration: SEE THE NEWSPAPERS FOR ACCOUNTS OF THE MARRIAGE OF GRACE +GOODCHILD TO HENDRIK RUTGERS] + +[Illustration: WEDDING OF GRACE GOODCHILD AND HENDRIK RUTGERS FOR DATE +WATCH THIS SPACE] + +[Illustration: ALL THE WORLD LOVES A LOVER. LOVE GRACE GOODCHILD AND ME +TOO] + +[Illustration: DO YOU BLAME ME FOR WISHING TO MARRY THE MOST BEAUTIFUL +GIRL IN THE WHOLE WORLD? SHE LIVES HERE!] + +The sandwiches paraded up and down the Avenue sidewalk, never once going +off the block. As two of the artists passed each other they saluted--the +sandwich union's sign a rigid forefinger drawn quickly across the throat +with a decapitating sweep: lambs expecting execution in the world's vast +abattoir. The answering sign was a quick mouthward motion of the rigid +thumb to represent the assuaging of thirst at the close of day. Thus did +H. R. reward industry. + +Before the sandwich-men had made the beat a dozen times all upper Fifth +Avenue heard about it. A stream of limousines, preciously freighted, +halted before the Goodchild mansion and poured out into the sidewalk +friends and acquaintances of the Goodchilds. On the dowagers' faces you +could see the smug self-congratulations that their daughters, thank +goodness, did not have to be wooed thus vulgarly to get into the +newspapers. And on the daughters the watching reporters saw smiles and +envious gleams of bright eyes. Why couldn't _they_ be thus desperately +wooed in public? To let the world know you were desired, to have a man +brave all the world in order to let the world know it! It was heroism! +And even more: it was great fun! + +The dowagers went in to express both surprise and condolence to Mrs. +Goodchild. The girls rushed to Grace's boudoir to ask questions. + +Mrs. Goodchild tried to brazen it out. Then she tried to treat it +humorously. But the dowagers called both bluffs. Then she foolishly told +them, "The poor young man is quite insane." + +They chorused, "He must be!" with conviction--the conviction that she +was lying like a suburban boomer. Of course she paid him for the work. + +Grace was in an unphilosophical frame of mind. H. R. had made her the +laughing-stock of New York. It would have been ridiculous if it were not +so serious to her social plans. She hated him! Being absolutely helpless +to help herself, her hatred embraced the world--the world that would +laugh at her! All the world! Particularly the women. Especially those of +her own age. They would laugh! This is the unforgivable sin in women +because their sense of humor is _minus_. And when they laugh-- + +Just then the avalanche of those she hated the most swooped down upon +her. Her eyes were red from acute aqueous mortification. They saw it. +They said in chorus, sorrowfully, "You poor thing!" + +Who said the rich had no hearts? The girls had given to her poverty +without her asking for it. It always makes people charitable when they +create poverty unasked. + +"I wouldn't stand it!" cried one. + +"Nor I!" chorused fourteen of Grace's best friends. + +Outside, the Avenue, for the first time in its dazzling history, was +blocked by automobiles. You would have sworn it was the shopping +district in the Christmas week. The reason was that the occupants of the +autos had told the chauffeurs to stop until they could read the +sandwiches. + +The reporters were ringing the front-door bell and the rapid-fire +tintinnabulation was driving Frederick frantic. Mrs. Goodchild had told +him not to send for the police. The reporters, feeling treated like rank +outsiders, were in no pleasant frame of mind. + +Up-stairs Grace, hiding her wrath, overwhelmed by the accursed sympathy +of her best friends, said, helplessly, "What can I do?" She didn't like +to tell them she wished to bury them with her own hands. + +From fifteen youthful throats burst forth the same golden +word--"_Elope!_" + +She gasped and stared blankly. + +"It's the greatest thing I ever heard. I don't know him, but if he is +half-way presentable you can teach him table manners in a week. I'd make +my father give him a job in the bank!" asserted Marion Beekman. + +"Me, too!" declared Ethel Vandergilt. + +"He's just splendid," volunteered a brunette, enthusiastically. + +"And did you see the papers!" shrieked Verona Mortimer. "I say, _did_ +you see the papers? _And_ the pictures! Girls, she's a regular devil, +and we never knew it! Where did you hide your brains all these years, +Gracie, dear?" + +"I never would have thought it possible," said the cold, philosophical +Katherine Van Schaick. "I call it mighty well engineered. Did _you_ tell +him to do it, Grace? If so you are a genius!" + +"What does he look like?" + +"Is he of the old New Jersey Rutgers?" + +"If he's good-looking and has money, what's wrong with him? Booze?" +asked a practical one. + +"He isn't married, is he?" asked a doll-face with Reno in her heavenly +eyes. + +At this a hush fell on the group. It was the big moment. + +"How exciting!" murmured one. + +"Is he married, Grace?" + +Fifteen pairs of eyes pasted themselves on Gracie's. She barely caught +herself on the verge of confessing ignorance. She was dazed by the new +aspect of her own love-affair. + +These girls envied her! + +"No!" she said, recklessly. + +"It's her father," prompted a slim young Sherlock Holmes. + +"No; Mrs. Goodchild!" corrected a greater genius. + +"Maybe it's Grace herself," suggested the envious Milly Walton. + +"How can I stop it?" asked Grace, angrily. + +"_What?_" shrieked all. + +"Why, girls," said Miss Van Schaick, "she isn't responsible for it, +after all!" + +Before the disappointment could spoil their pleasure one of them said, +impatiently, "Oh, let's look at 'em!" + +They rushed to the window. + +"Let's go downstairs. We can see 'em better!" And Grace's friends +thereupon rushed away. One of them was considerate enough to say, "Come +on, Grace!" and Grace followed, not quite grasping the change in the +situation. Her fears were not so keen; her doubts keener. + +They nearly overturned their respective mammas in their rush to get to +the windows. + +"Grace," said Miss Van Schaick, who had never before called her anything +but "Miss--er--Goodchild," "send out and tell them to stop and face this +way. I don't think I read all the sandwiches." + +"Yes! Yes!" + +"Oh, do!" + +"Please, Grace, tell 'em!" It sounded like election, when women shall +vote. Much more melodious than to-day. + +The dowagers were made speechless. They had acquired that habit before +their daughters. + +Grace capitulated to the incense. + +"Frederick, go out and tell them to stop and face this way," commanded +Grace, with a benignant smile. + +"My de--" began Mrs. Goodchild, mildly. + +"I have lived," said Miss Van Schaick in her high-bred, level voice that +people admiringly called insulting, "to see a New York society man do +something really original. I must ask Beekman Rutgers why his branch of +the family did not inherit brains with the real estate." + +Mrs. Goodchild gasped--and began to look resigned. From there to pride +the jump would be slight. But hers was not a mind that readjusted itself +very quickly. + +"Oh, look!" and the girls began to read the legends aloud. + +The dowagers rose, prompted by the same horrid fear. Chauffeurs were bad +enough. But sandwich-men! + +The world moves rapidly these days. One week ago these mothers did not +know sandwich-men even existed. A new peril springs up every day. + +They decided, being wise, not to scold their daughters. + +The girls shook hands with Grace with such warmth that she felt as if +each had left a hateful wedding-gift in her palm. Mrs. Goodchild went +up-stairs weeping or very close to it. She could not see whither it all +would lead, and she was the kind that must plan everything in advance to +be comfortable. By always using a memorandum calendar she cleverly +managed to have something to look forward to in this life. + +Grace remained. She was thinking. When she thought she always tapped on +the floor with her right foot, rhythmically. She realized that H. R.'s +courtship of her had changed in aspect. She knew that girls in her set +thought everything was a lark. But they themselves did not visit those +who had larked beyond a certain point. An ecstatic "What fun!" soon +changed to a frigid "How perfectly silly!" It was not so difficult to +treat the sandwich episode humorously now, or even to take intelligent +advantage of the publicity. She knew that, with the negligible exception +of a few old fogies, the crass vulgarity of H. R.'s public performances +would not harm her unless her father took it seriously enough to appeal +to the law about it, when the same old fogies would say she should have +ignored it. But she could not clearly see the end of it--that is, an +ending that would redound to her glory. This man was a puzzle, a +paradox, an exasperation. He was too unusual, too adventurous, too +clever, too dangerous; he had too much to gain and nothing to lose. How +should she treat him? He did not classify easily. He was masterful. He +loved her. Masterful men in love have a habit of making themselves +disagreeable. + +In how many ways would this masterful man, who was resourceful, +original, undeterred by conventions, indifferent to the niceties of +life, unafraid of public opinion as of social ostracism, make himself +disagreeable? Was he serious in his determination to marry her? Or was +it merely a scheme to obtain notoriety? Was he a crank or a criminal? +She couldn't marry him. What would he do? What wouldn't he do? How long +would he keep it up? Must she flee to Europe? + +Her foot was tap-tapping away furiously. She ceased to think in order to +hate him! Then because she hated him she feared him. Then because she +feared him she respected him. Then because she respected him she didn't +hate him. Then because she didn't hate she began to think of him. But +all she knew about him was that he said he loved her and everybody in +New York knew it! Who was he? What was he? Should she start an inquiry? +And yet-- + +"I beg pardon, miss. But the men--" Frederick paused. + +"Yes?" + +"They are standing." He meant the sandwiches. + +"Well?" + +"They are," he reminded her, desperately but proudly, "Mr. Rutgers's +men." + +"Tell them to go away," she said. + +He stared a moment, for as the consort of the owner of the men she had +feudal obligations to fulfil. He remembered that this was America. + +"Very good, miss," he said. + +She went up-stairs. She wished to think. It would probably make her head +ache. She therefore told her maid to wake her at six and, taking up one +of Edwin Lefevre's books, she went to sleep. + + + + +XII + + +On Nassau Street twenty sandwich-men were parading, ten on each side of +the street, in the block where the Ketcham National Bank stood. Each +sandwich bore this legend: + +[Illustration: ASK THE PRESIDENT OF THE KETCHAM NATIONAL BANK WHY? HE +WON'T LET ME MARRY HIS DAUGHTER. ASK HIM!] + +Besides 12,466 men and 289 women, 13 reporters read the sandwiches. + +The men looked pleased; they were seeing a show on D. H. tickets. The +women sighed enviously and opened their latest Robert W. Chambers in the +street as they walked on. The thirteen reporters walked into the bank, +went straight into the president's office, and while he was still +smiling his welcome asked him why he would not let H. R. marry Grace. + +Mr. Goodchild nearly sat in the electric chair. The vice-president +fortunately was able to grasp in time the hand that held the big +paper-weight. + +"Remember the bank!" solemnly counseled the vice-president. + +"To hell with the bank!" said Mr. George G. Goodchild for the first and +only time in his Republican life. + +"Unless you talk to us fully and politely," said the _Globe_ man, "we +propose to interview your directors and ask each and every one of them +to tell us the name of your successor. If you raise your hand again I'll +not only break in your face, but I'll sue you and thus secure vacation +money and a raise in salary. The jury is with me. Come! Tell us why you +won't let Mr. Rutgers marry Grace." + +Here in his own office the president of a big Wall Street bank was +threatened with obliterated features and the extraction of cash. The +cause of it, H. R., was worse than a combination of socialism and +smallpox; he was even worse than a President of the United States in an +artificial bull market. + +Mr. Goodchild walked up and down the room exactly thirteen times--one +for each reporter--and then turned to the vice-president. + +"Send for the police!" he commanded. + +"Remember the newspapers," agonizedly whispered the vice-president. + +The _Globe_ man overheard him. "Present!" he said, and saluted. Then he +took out a lead-pencil, seized a pad from the president's own desk, and +said, kindly, "I'll take down all your reasons in shorthand, Mr. +Goodchild!" + +"Take yourself to hell!" shrieked the president. + +"_Après vous, mon cher Alphonse_," retorted the _Globe_ man, with +exquisite courtesy. "Boys, you heard him. Verbatim!" + +All the reporters wrote four words. + +The _Globe_ man hastily left the president's room and went up to the +bank's gray-coated private policeman who was trying to distinguish +between the few who wished to deposit money and the many who desired to +ask the sandwich question or at least hoped to hear the answer. The +sacred precincts of the Ketcham National Bank had taken on the aspect of +a circus arena. H. R.'s erstwhile fellow-clerks looked the only way they +dared--terrified! They would have given a great deal to have been able +to act as human beings. + +"The reporters are in the president's room!" ran the whisper among the +clerks. From there it reached the curious mob within the bank. From +there it spread to the congested proletariate without the doors. Said +proletariate began to grow. Baseball bulletin-boards were not displayed, +but the public was going to get something for nothing. Hence, free +country. + +The _Globe_ man heard one of the bank's messengers call the policeman +"Jim." Being a contemporary historian, he addressed the policeman +amicably. + +"Jim, Mr. Goodchild says to bring in Senator Lowry and party." + +With that he beckoned to the _Globe_'s militant photographers and five +colleagues and preceded them into the president's private office. + +"Quick work, Tommy," warned the reporter. + +"Flash?" laconically inquired "Senator Lowry." He was such a famous +portraitist that his sitters never gave him time to talk. Hence his +habit of speaking while he could. He prepared his flash-powder. + +"Yep!" and the reporter nodded. + +The others also unlimbered their cameras. The _Globe_ man threw open the +door. + +The president was angrily haranguing the reporters. + +"Mr. Goodchild," said the _Globe_ man, "look pleasant!" + +Mr. Goodchild turned quickly and opened his mouth. + +_Bang!_ went, the flash-powder. + +"Hel--" shrieked Mr. Goodchild. + +"--p!" said the pious young _Journal_ man, with an air of completing the +presidential speech. A good editor is worth his weight in pearls. + +The photographers' corps retreated in good order and record time. + +"For the third and last time will you tell us why you won't let your +daughter marry Mr. Rutgers!" asked the _Globe_. + +"No." + +"Then will you tell us why you won't let Mr. Rutgers marry your +daughter?" + +Mr. Goodchild was conservative to the last. Too many people who needed +money had talked to him in the borrower's tone of voice. He could not +grasp the new era. He said, "You infernal blackmailer--" + +"Sir," cut in the _Globe_ man, with dignity, "you are positively +insulting! Be nice to the other reporters. I thank you for the +interview!" He bowed and left the office, followed by all the others +except the _Evening Post_ man, who, unfortunately, had never been able +to rid himself of the desire to get the facts. It was partly his editor, +but mostly the absence of a sense of humor. + +"I think, Mr. Goodchild, that you'd better give me an official +statement. I'll give the Associated Press man a copy, and that will go +to all the papers." + +"But I don't want to say anything," protested Mr. Goodchild, who always +read the _Post_'s money page. + +"The other reporters will say it for you. I think you'd better." + +"He's right, Mr. Goodchild," said the vice-president. + +"But what the dickens can I say?" queried Mr. Goodchild, helplessly, not +daring to look out of the window for fear of seeing the sandwiches. + +"If I were you," earnestly advised the _Post_ man, "I'd tell the truth." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Say why you won't let your daughter--" + +"It's preposterous!" + +"Say it; but also say why it is preposterous." + +Two directors of the bank came in. They were high in high finance. In +fact, they _were_ High Finance. They therefore knew only the newspapers +of an older generation, as they had proven by their testimony before a +Congressional Committee. The older director looked at Mr. Goodchild and +began: + +"Goodchild, will you tell me why--" + +"You, too?" interrupted Mr. Goodchild, reproachfully but respectfully. +"First the reporters and now--" + +The directors gasped. + +"You didn't--actually--talk--for--_publication_?" + +They stared at him incredulously. + +"No. But I'm thinking of giving out a carefully prepared statement--" + +The higher of the high financiers, with the masterfulness that made him +richer every panic, assumed supreme command. He turned to the _Post_ man +and said: "I'm surprised to see you here. Your paper used to be decent. +Mr. Goodchild has nothing to say." + +"But--" protested the anguished father of Grace Goodchild. + +"You haven't!" declared $100,000,000. + +"I have nothing to say!" meekly echoed one-tenth of one hundred. + +The _Post_ man walked out with a distinctly editorial stride. He began +to envy the yellows and their vulgar editors, as all _Post_ men must at +times. + +Mr. Goodchild's efforts to suppress the publication of his family +affairs were in vain. He unfortunately sought to argue over the +telephone with the owners. + +The owners spoke to the editors. + +"It's _News_!" the editors pointed out. + +"It's _News_," the owners regretfully explained to the bank president. + +"But it's a crime against decency," said Mr. Goodchild. + +"You are right. It's a damned shame. But it's _News_!" said the owners, +and hung up. + +Mr. Goodchild summoned his lawyer. The lawyer looked grave. He +recognized the uselessness of trying to stop the newspapers, and +realized that there would be no fat fees, even if he were otherwise +successful. He tried to frighten H. R., but was referred to Max +Onthemaker, Esquire. + +Max Onthemaker, Esquire, was in heaven. He finally had butted into +polite society! From the Bowery to Wall Street! At last he was opposed +by the very best. A lawyer is known by his opponents! + +Mr. Lindsay protested with quite unprofessional heat. It was an outrage. + +"_Amare et sapere vix deo conceditur_," Mr. Onthemaker solemnly +reminded the leader of the corporation bar. "Also, dear Mr. Lindsay, I +am ready to accept service of any paper you may see fit to honor us +with. My client means to fight to the bitter end." + +"Yes, in the newspapers!" bitterly said the eminent Mr. Lindsay through +his clenched teeth. + +"And with sandwiches! When we ask for bread you give us a stone. But we +give you a sandwich. There's no ground for criminal action in view of +the public's frame of mind toward the money power. But if you will sue +us for one million dollars damages I'll name my forthcoming baby after +you." + +Mr. Lindsay hung up with violence, mistaking the telephone-holder for +Mr. Onthemaker's cranium. + + + + +XIII + + +The reporters of the conservative journals sought H. R. later in the +day--simply because the reporters for the live newspapers did. The +system was to blame. A daily paper may eschew vulgarity, but it must not +be beaten. By using better grammar and no adjectives they intelligently +show they are never sensational. + +The newspaper-men confronted H. R. eagerly. It was the day's big story. +They asked him about it. + +He said to them, very simply, "I love her!" + +They wrote it down. He waited until they had finished. Then he went on: + +"She is the most beautiful girl in the world--to me. Don't forget +that--_to me_!" + +Those two words would prevent two million sneers from the other most +beautiful girls in the world who at that moment happened to reside in +New York. Indeed, all his words would be read aloud to young men by said +two million coral lips. Perfect Cupid's bows. She was beautiful--_to +him_! + +"Her parents oppose my suit," went on H. R., calmly. + +"Is this a free country," interjected Max Onthemaker, vehemently, "or +are we in Russia? Has Wall Street established morganatic marriages in +this Republic, or--" + +H. R. held up a quieting hand. Max Onthemaker smiled at the rebuke. Two +reporters had taken down his remarks. + +"I have told her parents that I propose to marry Miss +Goodchild--peacefully. Get that straight, please. Peacefully! I am a +law-abiding citizen. She is very beautiful. But I am willing to wait--a +few weeks." + +"Yes. But the sandwiches," began a reporter who entertained hopes of +becoming a Public Utility Corporation's publicity man. + +H. R. stopped him with an impressive frown. He cleared his throat. + +The reporters felt it coming. + +"What I have done--" he began. + +"Yes! Yes!" + +"--is merely the employment for the first time in history of +_psychological sabotage_!" + +The reporters, now having the head-line, rushed off. All except one, who +whispered to H. R.'s counsel: + +"What in blazes _is_ sabotage? How do you spell it?" + +"Quit your joking," answered Max. "You know very well what it is. Isn't +he a wonder? Psychological sabotage!" + +The newspapers gave it space in proportion to the extent of their Wall +Street affiliations. The _Evening Post_, having none, came out with an +editorial on "Psychological Sabotage." It held up H. R. as a product of +the times, made inevitable by T. Roosevelt. The _World_ editorialized on +"The Wall Street Spirit _versus_ Love"; the _Times_ wrote about "The +Ethics of Modern Courtship"; and the _Sun_ about "The Decay of Manners +under the Present Administration and its Mexican Policy." The +_American_'s editorial was "Intelligent Eugenics and Unintelligent +Wealth." + +But all of them quoted "Psychological Sabotage." This made the Socialist +papers espouse the cause of H. R. + +The _Globe_, however, beat them all. It offered to supply to the young +couple, free of charge, a complete kitchen-set and the services of a +knot-tier. It printed the names and addresses of sixteen clergymen, two +rabbis, three aldermen, and the Mayor of the City of New York. + +The Public Sentiment Corps copied two hundred and thirty-eight letters +prepared by the boss, praising and condemning H. R. and Mr. Goodchild. +This compelled the newspapers that received the letters to run Grace's +portrait daily--a new photograph each time. + +As for Grace herself, crowds followed her. She could not go into a +restaurant without making all heads turn in her direction. People even +stopped dancing when they saw her. And six of New York's bluest-blooded +heiresses became her inseparable companions. They also had their +pictures printed. + +Grace hated all this notoriety. She said so, at times. But her friends +soothed her and developed the habit of looking pleasantly at cameras. + +H. R. on the third day sent all the clippings to Grace with beautiful +flowers and a note: + + _For your sake!_ + +One of Grace's friends asked to be allowed to keep the note. It reminded +her, she said, of the early Christians; also of the days of knighthood. + +The commercial phase of the mission of the Society of American Sandwich +Artists had become in the meanwhile a matter of real importance to the +business world. Business men, not being artists, are stupid because they +deal with money-profits, and they are imitative because money-making in +the ultimate analysis is never original. When the merchants of New York +perceived that Fifth Avenue had sanctified sandwiching by paying cash +for it, and that the better shops elsewhere had perforce resorted to it, +they accepted it as one of the conditions of modern merchandising. It +did not become a fad, but worse--an imagined necessity and, as such, an +institution. The little Valiquet-made statuettes of the Ultimate +Sandwich sold by the thousands, greatly adding to the personal assets of +the secretary and treasurer of the society. And what New York did, other +cities wished to do. + +Then the blow fell! + +On the same day that H. R. sent his early Christian message to Grace, +Andrew Barrett reported that while some of the streets were almost +impassable for the multitude of sandwiches, the greater part of the +latter, alas! were _non-union men_! + +"They are using their porters and janitors to carry boards," said Andrew +Barrett, bitterly. "I tell you, H. R., this is a crisis!" + +H. R., thinking of Grace, nodded absently and said, "Send for +Onthemaker." + +Max came on the run. Nearly three days had elapsed without a front-page +paragraph for him. + +Barrett told him about the crisis. Their idea had been stolen and +utilized by unscrupulous merchants who were sandwiching without +permission and using scabs. + +"I get you," said Max Onthemaker. Then he turned to the chief and told +him: + +"H. R., you've got to do something to make George G. Goodchild sue you +for a million dollars." He had drawn and kept ready for use sixty-three +varieties of restraining orders, writs, etc. + +"What's that got to do with our--" began Andrew Barrett, impatiently. + +"Certainly!" cut in Mr. Onthemaker. "We must fight Capital with its own +weapon. The Money Power is great on injunctions. I wish to say that when +it comes to injunctions I've got Wall Street gasping for breath and--" + +"Yes, but what about the scabs? Can't you stop 'em?" persisted Barrett. + +The future of the Barrett Itinerant Advertising Agency was at stake. + +"Sure! We can hire strong-arm--" + +"No!" said H. R., decisively. + +Andrew Barrett, who had begun to look hopeful, frowned at his leader's +negative, and said, desperately, "Something has got to be done!" + +When human beings say "Something" in that tone of voice they mean +dynamite by proxy. + +"Certainly!" agreed H. R., absently, his mind still on Grace. + +Andrew Barrett stifled a groan. He whispered to Max, "It's the girl!" + +Max looked alarmed, then hopeful. Grace was almost as much News as H. R. +himself. + +Andrew Barrett turned to H. R., and said, reproachfully: + +"Here we've made sandwiching what it is, and these infernal +tightwads--" + +"That's the word, Barrett," cut in H. R. "Go to it, my son!" + +"How do you mean?" asked Barrett. + +"Advertise in all the papers, morning and evening." + +Young Mr. Barrett stared at him, then he shook his head, tapped it with +his knuckles, and confessed: "Solid!" + +"_Give me a pencil!_" said H. R. It sounded like "Fix bayonets!" + +"Nothing," Mr. Onthemaker permitted himself to observe, judicially, "is +so conducive to front-page publicity as intelligent violence. This is +not a strike, but a cause. Look at the militants--" + +"There is something in that," admitted A. Barrett. + +"There is something," said H. R., gently, "in everything, even in Max's +cranium. But, this is not a matter of principle, but of making money." + +"But if you first establish--" + +"No," interrupted H. R. "If you make money, the principle establishes +itself. The situation does not call for a flash of inspiration, but for +common sense. Listen carefully: Nothing is so timid as Capital!" + +He looked at them as if further talk were redundant, superfluous, +unnecessary, a waste of time, and an insult. + +"Well?" said Barrett, forgetting himself and speaking impatiently. + +"Utilize it. Treat it as you would a problem in mathematics. You start +with an axiom. Build on it. Capital is timid. Therefore, people who have +money never do anything original; that is to say, venturesome; that is +to say, courageous. All new enterprises are begun and carried through by +people who have no money of their own to lose. I, single-handed, could +defeat an army commanded by Alexander, Cæsar, Napoleon, and U. S. Grant, +if I could put into the pockets of each of the enemy's private soldiers +six dollars in cash. No man likes to be killed with money in his +clothes. Money is fear! Fear is unreasoning. I am opposed to injecting +fear into the situation. No, sir; instead, we must capitalize another +human force. Have this printed. Big blank margin. All the papers." + +He gave them what he had written: + + TO THE PUBLIC + + We are Union Men but we are for Peace. + + We do not hate scabs: we pity them! + + We do _not_ pity Tightwads who make scabs possible. + + We made Sandwiching an Art, also an Honorable Occupation. + + We feed our hungry men out of our Hunger Fund. Those who + work support those who can't, until they in turn find work. + + We ask for living wages, but also for the respect of the + public. + + Our Emblem is the Sign of the Ultimate Sandwich. + + Every time you see a Sandwich-Board without it you may be + sure it belongs to a merchant who skimps his Advertising + Appropriation. + + If he skimps in that, what won't he skimp in? + + How about the _quality_ of his goods and his _values_? + + We advertise the High-class Trade, honest advertisers who + skimp in nothing to please the public. + + No merchant can misrepresent his goods through us. + + We do not Advertise Frauds nor Misers. + + We could frighten off the Poor Men whose hunger makes scabs + of them. + + We would have the approval of the Labor Organizations and of + the thinking public. + + _But we are for the Law!_ + + They can join our Union if they wish. + + There is no Initiation Fee. + + There is no compulsion to join. + + They are American Citizens! + + _So Are We!_ + + The Tightwad Merchant may not be Dishonest. But-- + + The Public Must Judge--Calmly. + + Look for the Ultimate Sandwich in all signs! + + American Society of Sandwich Artists. + H. R., + _Sec._ + + WE NEVER SOLICIT SUBSCRIPTIONS! + +Andrew Barrett read it. His jaw dropped and he stared at H. R. Then he +declared with conviction: + +"Next to the Gettysburg address, this! +WE--NEV-ER--SO-LI-CIT--SUB-SCRIP-TIONS! Where does it all come from?" + +H. R. solemnly pointed to the ceiling of his office, meaning thereby, +like most Americans, heaven. Max Onthemaker looked at him dubiously, the +Deity being extra-judicial. Then he shook his head uncertainly. History +had told of Peter the Hermit, Mohammed, and others. It was a familiar +hypothesis. + +The public, when it read in the newspapers that these poor men did not +believe in killing scabs, but hated tightwads and never asked for +subscriptions, unmistakably and unreservedly espoused their cause. The +man who skimped was the common foe of the free citizen. They wrote +letters to the newspapers. + +So did the Public Sentiment Corps. + +To hate tightwads and never to ask for subscriptions were admirable +American traits. Christian merchants and even heretics in trade called +them Virtues! + +Big business took the trouble to tell the reporters that this was the +kind of labor organization everybody could approve of. It was a check to +Socialism. Big business believes in some kinds of checks. + +The labor organizations could not condemn a union. They said they also +were for peace and against the wretches who capitalized the hunger of +their fellows. + +In twenty-four hours the scab-users surrendered! + +More clippings for Grace. + +The Society of American Sandwich Artists prudently leased three more +offices and prepared for the rush. It came. Orders poured in from scores +of merchants. The premises were so crowded with men both with and +without sandwich-boards that the other tenants complained. + +The agent of the Allied Arts Building requested H. R. to vacate. He +requested it three times an hour, from nine to six. + +"The other tenants object to your sandwiches," the agent explained to +H. R. + +"Let 'em move out. We'll take the whole building--at a fair concession. + +"Move out yourself!" shrieked the agent. + +"See our lawyer," said H. R., and turned his back on the agent. + +The agent called on Mr. Onthemaker. + +"Fifty thousand dollars!" said Max. + +The agent fled, holding his watch in place. + +In the mean time the treasury of the society was growing apace. H. R. +transferred his account. He now deposited the funds with the National +Bank of the Avenue. + +The president, Mr. Wyman, told Mr. Goodchild about it. Mr. Goodchild, +who had turned red as H. R.'s name was mentioned by a highly esteemed +colleague, looked thoughtful--he might have had the account. + + + + +XIV + + +In the very hour of his great success H. R. suddenly was thus confronted +by the greatest menace to a political career--wealth! + +In one morning's mail he received three hundred and eighty-four offers +to become the advertising Napoleon of national concerns; no limit to the +advertising appropriations. He added up the aggregate offers of salary +and maximum commissions. + +His income, if he accepted all the offers, would amount to $614,500 per +annum. + +So great is the danger and so widely recognized is it that nobody is +worthy of respect until he is threatened by wealth with wealth. + +Should H. R. accept greatness to-day and let to-morrow bring the +littleness? + +He did not reply to his correspondents. He thus went up in their +estimation. To refuse to take money is something. To refuse even to +refuse it is everything! + +He prepared a memorandum containing all the offers he had received, with +the sum total of same, and sent the originals of the letters and +telegrams to Mr. Goodchild. + +His only comment, in careless lead-pencil, was what it should be: + +"_Not enough!_" + +He knew Mr. Goodchild would speak about it. How could Mr. Goodchild +help it? Didn't $614,500 begin with a $? + +But H. R. did not think of what he had not done, not even of what he had +done, but of what he would do. Doers of deeds always think that way. To +them yesterday is as dead as Cæsar. To-day is settled. To-morrow alone +is greater opportunity! + +He therefore thought of himself. That made him think of Grace. + +He had no illusions about himself, but, what was far more intelligent, +he had none about anybody else. He was aware that already the world was +divided in their opinion of him. To some he was a humbug, to others a +crank; to some a genius, to a few a dangerous demagogue. + +People respect what they fear. Fear always puts humanity in the attitude +of a rat in a corner. That is why people with a passion for making money +naturally think of corners. + +To make millions of men follow is to make millions of dollars shake. + +But his was an infinitely more difficult problem. How to become the fear +of the rich and at the same time be respected by the best element? He +had no precedents by which to guide his steps, no example that he might +modernize and follow. + +He reduced the problem to its simplest form? To bring this about he +would preach Brotherhood. + +To stop the mouths that thereupon would call him Socialist he would +cover his effort. + +Then, in the chemical reactions of his mind, something flashed! He would +do something to attract the best element. That would bring in the mob. +What begins by being fashionable always ends by being popular. Nobody +had ever thought of making goodness a fad. Hence, poverty, and therefore +wealth! + +He would take the first step that night. + +About 11 P.M. an excited feminine voice, without the slightest trace of +Yiddish--indeed, more fashionable than a Fifth Avenue voice ever dared +to be--called up, one after another, the city editors of the best papers +and asked: + +"Is it true that Grace Goodchild has eloped with Hendrik Rutgers?" + +"We had not heard that--" + +"It is not true! _It is not true!_" shrieked the voice in the highest +pitch of dismay and rang on. + +Having been told that it was not true, the city editors, after vainly +trying to get the speaker again, honorably called up the Goodchild +residence. + +Nobody home! + +That was enough corroboration for any intelligent man, but the city +editors despatched their most reliable reporters to the former residence +of the bride. Being prudent men, the editors prepared the photographs, +and the head-line was all a matter of final punctuation: + + MISS GOODCHILD ELOPES + +It remained for the make-up man to put a "!" or a "?" after "ELOPES." + +The reporters could not get to either Mr. or Mrs. Goodchild or to H. R. +or Grace. The papers therefore did not say that the young people, whose +courtship was a Fifth Avenue romance, had eloped. That might not be +true. But they printed Grace's photographs and H. R.'s and reviewed +H. R.'s meteoric career and called the rumor a rumor. That was common +sense. + +Also, all the newspapers spoke about the Montagues and the Capulets. At +about 2.30 A.M. the reporters returned with expurgated versions of Mr. +Goodchild's denial. But the pages were cast. The late city editions +honorably printed: + + Mr. Goodchild, when seen early this morning, denied the + rumor. + +It was thus, at one stroke, that the nuptials of Grace Goodchild and +H. R. were definitely placed among the probabilities. The average +New-Yorker now knew it was only a matter of days. + + + + +XV + + +H. R. dressed to resemble an undertaker, but wearing a beautiful orchid +to show he did not do it for a living, called a taxicab, drove to the +Diocesan House and sent in his card to the Bishop of New York. + +The Bishop was a judge of cards. He therefore received H. R. in his +study instead of the general waiting-room of which the decorative scheme +consisted of "In His Name" in old English and therefore safe from +perusal. It might as well have been, "Be Brief!" + +"How do you do, Bishop Phillipson?" And H. R. held out his hand with +such an air of affectionate respect that the Bishop was sure he had +confirmed this distinguished-looking young man. + +But the head of the diocese has to know more than theology. Therefore +the Bishop answered, very politely: + +"I am very well, thank you." + +"Did you recognize the name?" modestly asked H. R. + +"Oh yes," said the Bishop, who recently had read about some meeting in +Rutgers Square and therefore remembered Rutgers. + +He was a fine figure of a man with clean-cut features and a look of +kindliness so subtly professional as to keep it from being +indiscriminatingly benevolent; a good-natured man rather than a strong. +One might imagine that he made friends easily, but none could visualize +him as a Crusader. He was cursed with an orator's voice, sensitive ears, +and the love of words. + +"Perhaps you've read the newspapers? They've been full of me and my +doings these many weeks," said H. R., looking intently at the Bishop. + +"My dear boy!" expostulated Dr. Phillipson. + +"I need your help!" said H. R., very earnestly. + +The Bishop knew it! Those to whom you cannot give cheering words and +fifty cents are the worst cases. To relieve physical suffering is far +easier than to straighten out those tangles that society calls +disreputable--after they get into print. + +H. R. went on, "I want you to help me to help our church." + +"Help you to help our church?" blankly repeated the Bishop. The +unexpected always reduces the expectant kind to a mere echo. + +"Exactly!" And H. R. nodded congratulatorily. "Exactly! In order that we +may stop losing ground!" + +There were so many ways in which this young man's words might be taken +that his mission remained an exasperating mystery. But the Bishop smiled +with the tolerance of undyspeptic age toward over-enthusiastic youth and +said kindly: + +"Pardon me, but--" + +"Pardon _me_," interrupted H. R., "but since it is only the Roman +Catholics who are growing--" + +"Our figures--" interjected the Bishop, firmly. + +"Ah yes, figures of speech. Don't apply to _our_ church. The reason is +that the Catholics leave out the possessive pronoun. They never say +_their_ church any more than they say _their_ God. Now, why did we build +our huge Cathedral?" + +The Bishop stared at H. R. in astonishment. Then he answered, austerely, +confining himself to the last question: + +"In order to glorify--" + +"Excuse me. There already existed the Himalayas. The real object of +building cathedrals hollow, I take it, is to fill 'em with the flesh of +_living_ people. Otherwise we would have made sarcophagi. We Protestants +don't bequeath our faith to our posterity; only our pews. They are +to-day empty. Hence my business. I, Bishop Phillipson, am a +People-Getter." + +"You are what?" The Bishop did not frown; his amazement was too abysmal. + +"I fill churches. Since this is really a family affair, let us be frank. +Of course, you could fill 'em with paper--" + +"Paper?" + +"Theatrical argot for deadheads, Bishop; people who don't pay, but +contribute criticisms of the show. I am here to tell you how to go about +the job efficiently." + +H. R.'s manner was so earnest, it so obviously reflected his desire to +help, that the Bishop could not take offense at the young man's +intentions. The words, however, were so much more than offensive that +the Bishop said, with cold formality: + +"You express yourself in such a way--" + +"I'll tell you the reason. Deeds never convert until they are _talked_ +about. Dynamic words are needed. Ask any business man. I have made a +specialty of them. I may add that I am not interested in making money, +only in efficiency!" + +The Bishop saw plainly that this well-dressed young man with the keen +eyes and the resolute chin was neither a lunatic nor an impostor. +Therefore the Bishop instantly realized that the young man could not +help the Church and equally that the Church could not help the young +man. Further talk was a waste of time. + +"I fear this discussion is fruitless--" + +"I wasn't discussing; I was asserting. I am the man who is going to +marry Grace Goodchild--" + +The Bishop straightened in his chair and looked at H. R. with a new and +more personal interest. + +"Indeed!" he said, so humanly that it sounded like "Do tell!" Grace was +one of his flock. He remembered now that his friends the Goodchilds had +been in print lately and that editorials had been written about the +young man who proposed to marry the only daughter. + +"I promised Grace that I would help our Church--" + +To the Bishop these words, which the young man had used before, now had +a different meaning. It was no longer an utter stranger, but an +eccentric acquaintance; a character, as characterless people call them. + +"Yes?" And the Bishop listened attentively. + +"I've doped it out--" pursued H. R., earnestly. + +"I beg your pardon?" said the Bishop and blushed. + +"I have arrived at a logical conclusion," translated H. R. "In short, I +have found what will put Episcopalians, Presbyterians, Methodists, +Lutherans, Jews, Parsees, and native-born Americans on the Christian map +of New York. And it will not necessitate turning the unoccupied churches +into restaurants or vaudeville shows." + +H. R. turned his hypnotic look full on the Bishop, who read therein the +desire to do. + +"Thus must have looked HILDEBRAND!" thought the Bishop, in Roman +capitals, in spite of himself. On second thought he remembered to +characterize the language of Grace Goodchild's fiancé as "bizarre." +Experience teaches that it is wisdom to encourage good intentions. This +is done by listening. + +Since the Bishop was now obviously glad to listen, H. R. said, more +earnestly than ever: + +"Tell me, Bishop, what is it that is desirable to possess and more +desirable to give, elevating, rare beyond words, thrice blessed, and +beautiful as heaven itself?" + +"Truth!" exclaimed the Bishop, his voice ringing with conviction and the +pride of puzzle-solving. Being a human being, he had answered promptly. + +H. R. shook his head and smiled forgivingly: "That's only theology; +possibly metaphysics. Forget rhetoric and get down to cases. _Truth!_ +Pshaw! Can you imagine that combination of four consonants and one vowel +serving as a political platform or included in any live concern's +instructions to salesmen? Never! No, sir. Guess again! I've found it. +Rare, picturesque, with great dramatic possibilities and easy to +capitalize. It is--" + +He paused and looked at the Bishop. The Bishop returned the look +fascinatedly. This young man was from another world. What would he say +next? And what would whatever he said mean? + +"_Charity!_" exclaimed H. R., proudly. + +The Bishop's face fell. You almost heard it. + +H. R. shook a rigid forefinger at the Bishop's nose and said, in a +distinctly vindictive voice: + +"_'But the greatest of these is charity'_!" + +"We always preach--" began the Bishop, defensively. + +"That's the trouble. _Don't!_ We'll tackle charity by easy steps. We'll +begin by the very lowest form, in order to break in American Christians +gradually. Feeding the hungry is spectacular and leads to the higher +forms. Show people that you will not only fill their bellies, but send +the caterer's bills direct to the Lord for payment, and the populace +will supply not only the food-receptacles, but the stationery. A great +deal," finished H. R., reflectively, "depends upon the right +stationery." + +"I fear," said the Bishop, uncomfortably, "that we are talking to each +other across an impassable gulf." + +"Not a bit, Bishop. The human intellect, properly directed, can bridge +any chasm. Let us be philosophical." H. R. said this as one who proposes +to speak in words of one syllable. "Now, good people--I don't mean +_you_, Bishop; you know: _good_ people!--always do everything wrong end +foremost. Now, what do you, speaking collectively, do to feed the +hungry?" + +"We support St. George's Kitchens--" + +"Ah yes, you astutely work to eliminate poverty by tackling the poor, +instead of operating on the rich. You give tickets to the hungry! Think +of it--_to the hungry_! Tickets! A green one means a bowl of pea soup; a +pink one, a slice of ham; a brown one, a codfish ball. The +polychromatics of systematized charity whereby you discourage the +increase of a professional pauper class! Tickets! To the hungry! Ouch!" + +The Bishop more than once had despaired of solving that very problem. +He shook his head sadly rather than rebukingly and said, "I have no +doubt that you are a very remarkable young man and very up to date and +very hopeful, but in a huge city like New York how can any one solve the +problem of helping everybody who really needs--" + +"By using brains, Bishop Phillipson," cut in H. R., so sternly that the +Bishop flushed. But before his anger could crystallize, H. R. continued, +challengingly: "Who in New York are in need of charity? Five thousand +empty bellies? No. Five million empty souls!" + +It was a striking figure of speech. Before the Bishop could say anything +H. R. went on, very politely: + +"Will you oblige me by torturing the ears?" + +"Torturing the ears?" echoed the Bishop in a daze. + +"Yes; by listening. Do you hear"--H. R. pointed to a corner of the +room--"do you hear a voice from heaven saying, 'Let them that hunger +bring a physician's certificate of protracted inanition? You don't? Then +there's hope. What I propose to do, Bishop, is to revolutionize the +industry." H. R. spoke so determinedly that the Bishop could not help +forgetting everything else and asking: + +"How?" + +"By giving the ticket to the full belly; not to the empty. We utilize +the machinery already in existence, but the ticket goes to the man +who pays twenty-five cents, not to the man who needs or accepts +the quarter's worth of food. There are people who would compel a +fellow-man made by God after His image to convert himself into a +first-trip-to-Europe dress-suit case and paste labels all over himself: +_Pauper! Hungry! Wreck!_ My tickets will be precious tags marked: +_Charitable! Decent! Christian!_ I accomplish this by giving to the +giver! Success is a matter of labels." + +"But I can't see--" + +"My dear Bishop, everybody acknowledges that it is much nicer to give to +those you love than to receive. That is why we are exhorted to love our +fellows--that we may love to give to them. It follows that everybody at +heart likes to be charitable. Vanity was invented pretty early in +history. But it has not been properly capitalized by the Churches. Now, +listen to the difference when real brains are used. Remember that though +all is vanity, vanity is not all. Each person who gives twenty-five +cents receives a ticket. Since he lives in America, he gets something +for something! I have planned a mammoth hunger feast in Madison Square +Garden. Each donor from his seat will see with his own eyes a fellow-man +eat his quarter." + +"But, my dear Mr. Rutgers--" + +"I am glad you see it as I do. The ticket-buyer goes to the Garden. He +knows his ticket is feeding one man. But he sees ten thousand men +eating. He looks for the particular beneficiary of his particular +quarter. It might be any one of the ten thousand eaters! Within +thirty-seven seconds each donor will feel that his twenty-five cents is +feeding the entire ten thousand! Did a quarter of a dollar ever before +accomplish so much? Of anybody else," finished H. R., modestly, "I would +call that genius!" + +The Bishop shook his head violently. + +"Do you mean to treat it as a spectacle--" + +"What else was the Crucifixion to the priests of the Temple?" asked +H. R., sternly. + +The Bishop waved away with his hand and said, decidedly: + +"No! No! Would you compel starving men--" + +"To eat?" cut in H. R. + +"No; to parade their needs, to vulgarize charity and make it offensive, +a stench in the nostrils of self-respecting--" + +"Hold on! Charity, reverend sir, is never offensive. The attitude of +imperfectly Christianized fellow-citizens makes it a disgrace to show +charity, but not to display poverty. The English-speaking races, being +eminently practical, lay great stress upon table manners. They treat +charity as if it were a natural function of man, and therefore to be +done secretly and in solitude. Our cultured compatriots invariably +confound modesty with the sense of smell. Etiquette is responsible for +infinitely greater evils than vulgarity. Feed the hungry. When you do +that you obey God. Feed them _all_!" + +"But--" + +"That is exactly what I propose to do--with your help: feed all the +starving men in New York. Has anybody ever before tried that? _All the +starving men!_" He finished, sternly, "Not one shall escape us!" + +The Bishop almost shuddered, there was so grimly determined a look on +H. R.'s face. Then as his thoughts began to travel along their usual +channel he felt vexed. He had patiently endured the disrespectful +language of a young man whose point of view differed so irritatingly +from that of the earnest men who were laboring to solve the problem. All +he had heard was confusing talk, words he could not remember, but left a +sting. Time had been spent to no purpose. + +"I still," said the Bishop with an effort, "do not see how you solve +the problem that has baffled our best minds." + +"Nobody else could do it," acknowledged H. R., simply. "But I have +carefully prepared my plans. They cannot fail. And now you will give me +your signature." + +"My signature to what?" asked the Bishop in the tone of voice in which +people usually say, "Never!" He felt that the interview was ended. A +suspicion flashed in his mind that this young man might reply, "To a +check!" But he paid H. R. the compliment of instantly dismissing the +suspicion. This was, alas! no common impostor. + +"To an appeal to New York's better nature," said H. R., +enthusiastically. "The masses always follow the classes; if they didn't +there wouldn't be classes. Mr. Wyman, of the National Bank of the +Avenue, will act as treasurer." + +It was the fashionable bank. Stock in demand at seventy-two hundred +dollars a share, and all held by Vans. + +"Has he--" + +"He will," interrupted H. R. so decisively that the Bishop forgot to be +annoyed at not being allowed to finish his question. "We shall appeal to +all New-Yorkers. Your name must therefore lead the signatures. Much, +Bishop Phillipson, depends upon the leader! Of course there will be +other clergymen, and leading merchants, and capitalists, and the mayor, +and the borough presidents, and the reform leaders, and everybody who is +Somebody. They must give the example. Do you not constantly endeavor, +yourself, to be an example, reverend sir?" + +Before the Bishop could deny this H. R. gave into his hands a book +beautifully bound in hand-tooled morocco. The leaves were vellum. On the +first page was artistically engrossed: + + _Hunger knows no denomination._ + + _There must not be starving men, women, or children in New + York._ + + _We who do not hunger must feed those who do._ + + _LET US FEED ALL THE HUNGRY!_ + +"Here, Bishop Phillipson, is the place at the head of the list. It will +be signed by men and women whose names stand for Achievement, Fame, and +Disinterestedness." + +H. R. held a fountain-pen before him and pursued: "If you sign, I'll +feed all the hungry--_all_! Have you ever seen a starving man? Do you +know what it is to be hungry?" + +The Bishop shook his head at the fountain-pen. He had seen starving men, +but he had read about signatures. He could not officially sanction a +plan of which he knew so little. No grown man can say that he did not +know what he was signing. + +"Listen!" commanded H. R., sternly. "Do you hear your Master's voice?" + +"Your intentions, I make no doubt, are highly praiseworthy. But your +language is so close to blasphemy...." + +"All words that invoke God in unrhymed English are so regarded in the +United States. Grace would have it that you would sign in Chinese if by +so doing it fed the hungry. '_But the greatest of these is charity._' +The reporters are waiting for the list. Everybody else will sign if you +head the list." + +"Of course." And the Bishop's voice actually betrayed the fact that he +had been forced into self-defense. "Of course. I should be only too glad +to sign if I were certain such an action on my part would actually feed +the hungry--" + +"_All_ the hungry," corrected H. R. + +"Even a tenth of the hungry of New York," the Bishop insisted. "But, my +dear young man, excellent intentions do not always succeed. Your methods +might not commend themselves to men who have made this work the study of +a lifetime." + +"They have not gone about their work intelligently, for there are still +unfed men in New York. I am a practical man, not a theorist. Emotions, +respected sir, are all very well to appeal to at vote-getting times, but +they are poor things to think with. Now I don't suppose I have devoted +more than one hour's thought to this subject, and yet see the +difference. _All_ the hungry!" In H. R.'s voice there was not the +faintest trace of self-glorification nor did his manner show the +slightest vanity. Both were calmly matter-of-fact. The Bishop had to +have an explanation. So he asked: + +"And your--er--quite unemotional and sudden interest in +this--er--affair, Mr. Rutgers...." + +"You mean, where do I come in?" cut in H. R. + +The Bishop almost blushed as he shook his head and explained: + +"Rather, your motive in undertaking so difficult...." + +"Oh yes. You mean, _why_?" + +"Yes," said the Bishop, and looked at H. R. full in the eyes. + +"Because I desire to marry Grace Goodchild and I wish to be worthy of +her. It is a man's job to jolt New York into a spasm of practical +Christianity." + +The Bishop smiled. After all, this was a boy, and his enthusiasm might +make up for what his motive lacked in profundity of wisdom. + +"And besides," went on H. R., in a lowered voice, "I hate to think that +men can starve when I have enough to eat without earning my food." He +smiled shamefacedly. + +"My boy!" cried the Bishop, and shook the boy's hand warmly, "I'm afraid +you are--" + +"Don't call me good, Bishop!" + +"I was going to say it, but I won't. Do you think you can do what you +propose?" + +"I know it!" And H. R. looked at Dr. Phillipson steadily. + +The Bishop looked back. He was no match for H. R. + +"I will sign!" said the Bishop. + + + + +XVI + + +H. R. walked slowly to his office. Spring was in the air. The sky was +very blue and the air sparkled with sun-dust. Life thrilled in waves. +The breeze sang, as it does at times in the city. It had not the harps +of the trees to strum on, but it made shift with the corners of the +houses. Hand in hand with the breeze from the south came the joy of +living that, after all, is merely the joy of loving. + +The soul of God's beautiful world--light, heat, beauty, love--percolated +into the soul of Hendrik Rutgers and filled it--filled it full. + +It called for the One Woman in songs--the same songs the breeze was +humming.... Ah, the encouragement of the wind! It bade him take her! It +told him exactly whither the breeze was going, whither he should carry +her in his arms. It whispered to him the place where he might lay down +his burden! + +He walked on, head erect, chest inflated, fists clenched. He would take +her from the world and make her his world. Their world!--his and hers; +his first, then hers. After that they would share it equally. + +The breeze sang on. + +As he crossed Madison Square he was made aware that the sparrows also +had heard the song and, phonograph-like, were repeating it. A little +shriller, but the same song. Ten thousand sparrows--and each thought it +was original! And the little pale-green leaves were nodding approval. +And the azure smile of the sky was benignantly telling all creation to +go ahead--as it was in the beginning, as it would be in the end. + +He loved her! He would love her even if she were not the most beautiful +girl in all the round world. He would love her if she were penniless; +even if her father were his best friend. He loved her and he loved his +love of her. Her eyes were two skies that smiled more bluely than God's +one. Her hair had the rust of gold and the dust of sun, and radiated +light and glints of love. From her wonderful lips came, in the voice of +the flowers, the one command that he, a hater of slaves, would obey, +gratefully kneeling. And the lips said it, flower-like, in silence! + +She was not there to be loved. But he loved her, and because he loved +her he loved everybody, everything. Even his fellow-men. + +They also should love! All of them! Love to love and love to live! + +Did they? + +He looked for the first time at his fellow-men on the park benches. + +He saw sodden faces, reptile-like sunning themselves, warming their +skins; no more. + +They were men without money. + +They therefore were men without eyes, without ears, without tongues. +They therefore were men without love. Everything had been cleanly +excised by the great surgeon, Civilization! + +A wonderful invention, money. To think that puny man had, by means of +that ingenious device, thwarted not only Nature, but God Himself! + +If money had not been invented, there would not be great cities to be +loveless in! + +But those on the park benches, lizard-like sunning themselves, were +tramps. The pedestrians had money. They, therefore, must have love. + +He looked at them and saw that what they had was their hands in their +pockets. Doubtless it was to keep their money there. By so doing they +did not have to sit on park benches and fail to see the sky and the +buds, and fail to hear the birds and the breeze. + +And yet, as he looked he saw on their faces the same blindness and the +same deafness. + +On the benches sat immortal souls drugged with misery. On the paths +walked men asleep with Self. + +He alone was alive and awake! + +The appalling solitude of a great city was all about him. He was the +only living man in New York! + +And Grace Goodchild was the only woman in the world! He loved her. He +loved everybody. He wished to give, give, give! + +"You'll be fed!" he said to the park benches. + +"You'll feed em!" he told the sidewalks. + +"I'll marry you! he wirelessed to Grace. + +"You," he said to all New York, "will pay for every bit of it!" + +He walked into his office, frowning. Andrew Barrett was there. + +"Come with me," H. R. told him, and led the way into the private office. + +He sat down at his desk, brushed away a lot of letters, and said to his +aide: + +"Barrett, I've got a man's job this time." + +Sandwiching for banks that had deposits of over one hundred millions +appealed to Andrew Barrett. And the Standard Oil and the Steel Trust, +also, held possibilities. After the S. A. S. A. got those he would go +into business for himself. + +"Who is it?" he asked, eagerly. + +"Grace Goodchild!" answered H. R., absently. + +"Oh, I thought--" + +H. R. started. "What? Oh! You are thinking of business. Well, I'm going +to put New York on the map at one fell swoop." + +Andrew Barrett beamed. At last, millions! All New York using sandwiches +at regular rates! + +H. R. looked at his lieutenant and smiled forgivingly. After all, it was +not Andrew's fault that the spring was not in his soul. + +"Barrett, men and women in all civilized communities desire three +things. All of them begin with a B. Can you guess?" + +"Not I!" answered Barrett, with diplomatic self-depreciation. There are +questions whose answers gain you mortal enmity by depriving the +questioner of the greatest of all pleasures. + +"Bread, beauty, and bunco. You satisfy all the natural wants of humanity +by supplying these three. Now men pay for their necessities with +whatever coin happens to be current. I have sometimes thought of a state +of society in which payment need not be made in interchangeable labor +units, but in the self-satisfaction of accomplishment. I have even +dreamed," he finished, sternly, "of making goodness fashionable!" + +"Merciful Heaven!" exclaimed Barrett, in indescribable awe. + +H. R. shook his head gloomily. "The trouble," he said, bitterly, "is +that it is so damned easy to be good, so obviously intelligent, so +natural! Men are bad, I firmly believe, because badness is so +roundabout and expensive. How else can you explain it? Society, since +money was invented, has craved for expensive things. Society is, in +truth, expense." + +"Say, Chief, I don't get the dope about goodness being easy." + +"Probably not; it is too obvious. The early Christians died gladly. It +was good form. Dying for God ceased to be fashionable. Hence universal +suffrage. To die for God merely means to live for God. Do you see?" + +"No. The Christian part bothers me." + +"Let us be heathen, then. The Spartan mother loved her sons. Sent them +to battle saying, _With your shield or on it!_ The axiom of the locality +is the fashion of the place. To die bravely in Sparta was to be +fashionable. If I can make goodness fashionable I'll do something that +is very easy and very difficult. If men were not such damned fools it +would be so restful to be wise." + +"Yes, H. R., but human nature--" + +"Exactly. We go against human nature always. God gave to men the +precious gift of fear in order that they might overcome it. Man's fear +to-day is to be good. Once upon a time men feared hell. It is now the +fashion for Americans to think, _To hell with hell!_" + +Andrew Barrett shook his head dubiously. He was not really interested in +abstractions. But he desired to be on good terms with his chief. The +best way to be nice to a man is to put up a weak argument. He began, +feebly defending, "But there must be some people--" + +"It is perfectly proper to be selfish if you are alone. It is stupid to +be selfish when you are one of a group. Therefore, my inveterately young +friend and typical compatriot, we must do something for nothing. Tip off +the papers." + +Barrett shook his head. "I don't get you," he confessed, sadly. + +"Few people do when you tell them they have to do something and not be +paid for it. To-morrow and the day after our men must display a new +sandwich for the cause for two hours." He paused, then he finished, +sternly, "Tell them I said so!" + +"I will," hastily said Barrett, only too glad to shift the +responsibility. + +"You might request the regular advertisers to pay full time, just the +same." + +"You bet I will! And what will the boards say?" + +"Let me have your pencil," said H. R., and he wrote: + + NEXT WEEK + + THE MEN WHO HAVE MADE + + NEW YORK + + THE EMPIRE CITY OF + + GOD'S OWN COUNTRY + + WILL FEED + + ALL THE HUNGRY + + WHO HAVE NO MONEY + + O. K. + H. R., + _Sec._ + +"There!" said H. R. + +Andrew Barrett read it. "If it was anybody else--" he muttered. + +"Convey to your reporter friends that this is the biggest story of the +year. Particularly impress upon them that it is a secret!" + +"I'll impress that on them, all right," promised Barrett, with profound +sincerity. "It is really pleasant not to have to lie." + +H. R. rose and said: "I must get the other names. I have begun with the +Bishop. And he showed Barrett the signature of Dr. Phillipson. + +"Why his?" asked Barrett. + +"I expect him to officiate at my wedding. Also, he is a Conservative, +and Wall Street is for him, strong. Don't you see? Get the sandwiches +ready." + +H. R. no longer bothered with details. He had discovered that by +resolutely expecting people to do things, people did them. Every eight +hundred and thirty-one years a man is born who can throw upon his +fellow-men the yoke of responsibility so that it stays put. + +He decided that it would look well in print to play up the +non-sectarianism of the affair. He would therefore have the prominent +people meet in the Granite Presbyterian Church, attracting the +Presbyterians who otherwise might have objected to Bishop Phillipson's +leadership. But the meeting would be presided over by Bishop Barrows, a +Methodist. Bishop Phillipson would agree to this. Did not his name come +first in the stirring call to the metropolis? + +But, of course, to give to the project an attractive and, indeed, a +compelling interest he would resort to the great American worship of +bulk. It must be big. It must be the biggest ever! + + + + +XVII + + +He had no trouble in getting the other names. The bankers were easy. He +told each that the cash was to be handled by a committee of bankers, +thereby insuring efficient management. If Jones, of the small Nineteenth +National, signed, Dawson, of the big Metropolitan, must do likewise or +be convicted of lack of sympathy with a popular cause. The "Dawson +party," comprising, as it did, the richest men in the world, needed +popularity, Heaven knew. He also told the bankers that they would not +have to pay out anything. It won them. He clenched it by comparing +charity to the income tax. + +Yes, he did! + +"Nobody," he argued, "objects to an income tax that embraces +_everybody_! The great good of such a tax is to make every man feel that +he is supporting the government and to see to it that the government is +spending his money wisely. The income tax should lead to more +intelligent citizenship." + +Each banker agreed heartily to that. + +"The same with charity. Compel everybody to be charitable, the clerk +equally with the president, that the burden may fall not on the rich, +but on the many. Just sign here, will you, please? Thank you." + +The other signatures were equally easy to get. The so-called experts in +charity work always give _their_ reasons. Result: $.00. + +On parting, H. R. told each signer the same thing: + +"The reporters will be present at the meeting. They may not stay till +the very end. All they want is an advance copy of the speeches and the +names of the people in the first three rows. The meeting begins at +eight-thirty sharp!" + +He did not urge a single signer to attend, but at eight-twenty every +seat in the Granite Presbyterian Church was filled by prominent people +who hated reporters and their loathsome prying into a man's private +affairs. + +It was a distinguished gathering, for H. R. had picked out nobody whose +name was not familiar to readers of newspaper advertisements, society +news, and government anti-corporation suits. Entire pews were filled +with Success in Art, Literature, Science, Commerce, Finance, and +Christianity. + +On the stage, formerly called chancel, were seated four bank presidents, +four bishops, four merchants, four social leaders, four great writers, +four great editors, four great painters, four great landlords, four +great statesmen; in short, four great everything. + +H. R. rose and said: "Before introducing the chairman I desire the +uninvited to retire instantly. The invitations were sent exclusively to +the men who have made New York what it is!" + +Would you believe it? Not one man retired. And they all knew what New +York was, too! + +They really thought New York was something to be proud of. + +"Those who do not rightfully belong here will retire!" repeated H. R. so +threateningly that each man instantly sweated mucilage and remained +glued to his seat. + +"I present our temporary chairman, Bishop Barrows." + +"The meeting will come to order," said the Bishop. + +Profound silence reigned. This so flabbergasted the reverend chairman +that he fidgeted. Then he offered a prayer. When he had finished and the +audience had drawn the customary long breath that follows "Amen" the +chairman hesitated. + +"I'll tell 'em why we are here, if you wish," whispered H. R. Then, +exactly as though the Bishop had acquiesced, he said, "Very well, +Bishop," and he obediently arose. + +The Bishop repeated, hypnotically, "Mr. Rutgers will tell you why we are +here." + +H. R. bowed to him and to the congregation. The reporters woke up. Here +was something better than oratory or facts: News. This explains why the +newspapers give more space to who speaks than to what is said. + +"Fellow New-Yorkers! We have been accused of provincialism. They tell us +we don't care for the rest of the country. This is not true. We do care. +We ought to: we own it! We supply to the rest of the country the money +to be prosperous with, the paintings to be artistic with, the magazines +to be cultivated with, the gowns to be beautiful with, and a place to +spend money in, unsurpassed in the world. We have built the best hotels +in the universe expressly to accommodate the people that hate New York. +This is the soul of hospitality. New York leads. Other cities follow. +They copy our clothes, our dances, our financiering, our barbers, our +sandwiches, and the uniform of our street-cleaners. Our superiority is +not only acknowledged, but resented. We have decided to do something +that never before has been attempted, not even by automobile +manufacturers. Let other cities copy us if they will. We are going to +feed all the hungry who have no money! We are going to do it on the New +York plan completely, intelligently, efficiently, and, above everything, +picturesquely. You have seen the sandwich announcements?" + +They had. For two days all New York had seen them and all New York had +talked about them, for the announcements had taken on the aspect of a +puzzle. The answer was now expected. On vaudeville stages shining stars +were at that very moment volunteering humorous solutions through their +noses. + +"We propose to do it by means of improved tickets. No man shall buy more +than one. The millionaire and the minister, the merchant and the mut, +all will help. And all will help equally that each may benefit his soul +in like degree without injury to any pocketbook. And, gentlemen, we are +going to do it in an entirely new way." + +Everybody stared intently at H. R. + +An entirely new way! + +"Nobody will be allowed to buy more than one ticket. The price will be +twenty-five cents! That sum will buy one Ideal Meal. The ticket not only +will entitle the holder thereof to admission to Madison Square Garden, +but it will also carry a coupon worth ten thousand dollars in cash!" + +He paused. The assemblage went pale. Hands were seen hastily buttoning +up coats. + +"I personally will give the money," said H. R., sternly. + +A great sigh of relief soughed its way himward. + +"The meal will be a revelation to those who talk about the high cost of +living and will conclusively prove the advantage of being permitted to +do business in a large way without ill-advised interference by a +grandfatherly government. It thus will have an important bearing on +current legislation. Each ticket-buyer will see with his own eyes the +entire journey of the quarter from the pocket to the empty stomach. Also +the coupon attached to every ticket, worth ten thousand dollars in cash, +will be a reward not of charity alone, but of the combination of charity +and brains." + +The audience fidgeted. They did not believe it. It was too remarkable. +But, anyhow, it was the orator's own money. + +"There will be," pursued H. R., accusingly, "no waste, no scientific +un-Christianity, no half-baked philanthropy, no nonsense. On one day +next week the sun will set on our city, and not one man, woman, or child +will go to bed hungry, unless it is by his doctor's orders. All the +hungry who have no money shall be fed. As for the coupon, I have myself +already contributed the necessary funds to take care of that." + +Instead of feeling irritation at the repetition, they looked at him with +a respect not often seen in a church. + +"It has never been attempted. I realize that we cannot make lazy men +prosperous nor put in brains where they were left out by a wise +Providence; but we are going to abolish hunger for one day, and then see +what we can do to make conditions improve permanently. And the burden +will be shared alike by all--nobody more than twenty-five cents." + +A look of resolve came over the faces of the entire audience. It was an +experiment worth trying! + +"Gentlemen," added H. R., sternly, "we are going to call the bluff of +the anarchistic labor agitators!" + +A storm of applause burst from the audience. H. R. held up a hand. + +"In giving, it is always wise to know to whom you are giving. The +Society of American Sandwich Artists, with the aid of those who have +made New York what it is, pledges itself to see to it that the meals +find the proper bellies. There is no such thing as scientific charity +any more than there is unscientific poverty. Nobody hates to give, but +everybody wishes to give wisely. I guarantee that nobody who has money +to buy food with will be fed at our expense. _I guarantee this!_" + +"_HOW?_" burst from three hundred and eighteen throats. + +"That is our secret. I may add that the coupon, worth exactly ten +thousand dollars in cash, is not a lottery scheme. Gentlemen, I count +upon your cooperation. I thank you." He bowed, modestly stepped back and +nodded to Bishop Barrows. "Adjourn," he whispered. + +"I have a few--" began Dr. Barrows, protestingly. + +"Adjourn. The reporters will print them from your manuscript." + +"But--" + +H. R. took out his handkerchief and wiped his cool, unfevered brow. He +had foreseen the chairman's speech. Max Onthemaker, who had been waiting +for the signal, jumped to his feet and yelled: + +"I move we adjourn!" + +"Second the motion!" shrieked Andrew Barrett from a rear pew. + +The Bishop had to put the motion. Not having been called upon to pledge +money, the assembly decided it was prudent to get out before the +situation changed. The motion was unanimously carried. + +H. R. received the reporters in the vestry-room. He even shook hands +with them. Then he said, as usual giving them the "lead" for their +stories: + +"These are the points to emphasize: The tickets are unlike any other +tickets ever invented. They cost twenty-five cents. They will carry a +coupon. To a person with brains that same coupon will be worth ten +thousand dollars in cash. Chance has nothing to do with it. Brains! In +any event, the twenty-five cents will buy one Ideal Meal. The menu will +be prepared by the Menu Commission, composed of competent persons, which +is another novelty in commissions--the highest-paid chefs in New York, +the proprietors of the three best restaurants, the three leading diet +specialists, and three experts on hunger. No food fads and no disguised +advertisements of breakfast foods or nerve-bracers. What Dr. Eliot's +Five-foot Book-shelf did for literature the S. A. S. A. Ideal +Hunger-Appeaser will do for the masses. That menu inaugurates a +revolution without bloodshed, vulgar language, or the destruction of +fundamental institutions. The low price of our meal is made possible by +the application of automobile-factory methods and the fact that we have +no profit to make. Play fair with the restaurant-keeper, boys, and make +this strong: + +"The S. A. S. A., after epoch-making experiments, psychological and +physiological, has succeeded in making fraudulent hunger impossible. We +have a cash-detector which will enable us to discard any applicant who +can pay for his food, and our alcoholic thirst-tester automatically +eliminates booze-fighters. The mammoth hunger feast will be held at +Madison Square Garden. Each ticket admits the buyer to the feast--as an +eye-witness that he may see where his money has gone. The coupon will be +detached by the ticket-taker at the entrance and returned to the +ticket-holder. Uncharitable people who have no brains need not buy a +ticket. + +"No shop, church, or bank will offer the tickets for sale; only our own +sellers in person and only one to each customer. We are not going to pay +anybody twenty thousand dollars. That's flat! The names of the members +of our various commissions will be announced later." He nodded +dismissingly. Then he seemed to remember that these were gentlemen. He +said: "My secretary, who has taken down my remarks in shorthand, will +give you typewritten copies of same. Use what you will. Only correct my +English, won't you? I'm not literary." + +That made them his friends. But the _Tribune_ man said: + +"I'm from Missouri and I'm not going to print anything unless--" + +"I don't expect you to print news. These gentlemen know I receive no +salary. They know as well as I do that my sole object is to win the hand +of Grace Goodchild." + +The _Journal_ man, who was sweet on the "Advice to the Love-Lorn" +editress, feverishly wrote the head-line, + + ALL FOR LOVE! + +"I needn't say to you," went on H. R., with a look that made the +reporters respect his reticence, "that if I were an advertising man the +publicity methods that I have introduced would have made me richer than +I am. _What in hell would I do with more money?_ Answer me that!" + +The _Tribune_ man answered by turning pale. The others looked uneasy. +When a well-dressed young man asks that question in New York there can +be but two answers: Bloomingdale or Standard Oil. + +H. R. was going to marry a rich banker's only daughter. He was therefore +no lunatic. + +H. R. was thenceforth regarded by the newspapers, and therefore by the +public, as a fabulously rich man. This made him definitely Front Page. +No other man ever became chronically that without committing murder or +playing for the labor vote. + + + + +XVIII + + +All the morning papers spread themselves on the story and thereby gained +the respect of those present at the meeting whose names were mentioned. +Only one of the journals featured Grace Goodchild. Two dwelt strongly on +the ten-thousand-dollar coupon and on the fact that the wealth of those +present at the Granite Presbyterian Church aggregated $3,251,280,000. +One pure-food featurer played up the ideal meal, and two the hope that +at last charity would be discriminating. + +At 9.14 A.M. messages began to rain down on H. R. They came by livened +youth, by telephone, and by secretaries. + +"Why," asked the Fitz-Marlton, "was not our chef considered enough? Why +drag in others?" + +"How does it happen that our fifty-thousand-dollars-a-year Piccolini, +who possesses eighteen decorations from crowned heads, is not one of the +Public Menu Commission? Don't you want the best?" This came from the +Vandergilt in writing that looked like ornamental spaghetti. + +"Please call at your earliest convenience and see what we give for +$17.38 in the way of a substantial breakfast," laconically invited Herr +Bummerlich of the Pastoral. + +Caspar Weinpusslacher called in person. He asked, reproachfully: + +"How it comes, Mr. Rutchers, that your best friend--" + +"Weinie," interrupted H. R., "this will cost you two thousand five +hundred tickets for your thirty-cent meal. You are put down as one of +the best three restaurateurs, together with Perry's and the +Robespierre." + +"But say, Mr. Rutchers, two thousand five hundred--" began Weinie, +trying to look angry at the extortion. He was rich now; he was even one +of the sights of New York. + +"Three thousand! That's what your haggling has done," cut in H. R., with +the cold determination that made him so formidable. + +"All right!" And Caspar ran out of the room. A terrible man, this. But +Frau Weinpusslacher would be in society now. + +"I trust you will not be misled by _newspaper scientists_ into fool +dietetics," wrote McAppen Dix, M.D., the hygiene expert of an afternoon +paper. + +H. R. promptly stopped reading the letters and told one of his +stenographers, "Reply to all telephone inquiries that the personnel of +the commission has not yet been definitely decided upon." + +The three highest-salaried chefs in New York, their emoluments duly +quadrupled by the reporters after eating sample ideal luncheons, the +three best restaurateurs, and the three leading experts on stomachic +functions had their names printed as "Probable Public Menu Commission" +by the afternoon prints. + +Doubtless in order not to be accused of plagiarism each afternoon paper +published a different set of names. Tentative menus also were given, to +be repudiated by H. R. and by indignant competitors in the next +morning's papers. + +That is how, in its glorious march to charity, all New York began to +take an interest in menus. It was the first symptom of an awakened civic +conscience and intelligent humanitarianism. "Tell me what you eat and I +will tell you what you are," long ago observed Brillat-Savarin. H. R. +wrote it for the reporters. It furnished the text for learned editorial +sermons. + +When Andrew Barrett ventured to express his admiration, H. R. murmured: + +"Plausible, persistent, and picturesque." + +"I don't quite get you," said Barrett. + +"Watch me and learn," retorted H. R. + +Other men have disregarded persistence, but H. R. did not. He kept up +the firing; no broadside, but one big gun at a time--once a day. As a +result, the H. R. plan for feeding the hungry of New York assumed a +serious aspect. The right bill of fare would change potential Socialists +into sensible citizens. This was so obviously true that everybody said +no living man could do it. But everybody anxiously looked for the +publication of the Public Menu Commission's report. It thus became news +plus suspense. + +The moment H. R. had selected the personnel of the commission he went to +the Goodchild house. + +"Frederick, tell Miss Goodchild to come down at once. I have only a +minute to stay. Make haste!" + +The imperturbable English menial actually ran. + +Grace rushed down in alarm. Frederick's incoherent words had made her +fear it was a message from her dressmaker telling why it was absolutely +impossible to have it ready in time as promised under oath. + +She petrified herself when she beheld the man who had made her famous. +She did this in order not to betray her glad relief. + +"Oh!" + +"Grace!" exclaimed H. R., fervently. He quickly approached her, took her +hand and led her into her own drawing-room. He then waved his disengaged +left at all the chairs with an air that said, "I give all this +magnificence to you!" He waved again and commanded, "Sit down!" + +She obeyed, but he did not let go her right hand. He sat beside her. +Just as she was about to pull it away indignantly he patted it twice +very kindly and himself laid it on her own lap. + +Her anger was on the very brink of turning itself into oratory when he +stood up, squarely before her, clenched his fists in order to hold +himself in a vanadium-steel clutch, and whispered, huskily: + +"Merciful Heaven, but you're beautiful!" + +The vocal storm, checked for an instant by his extraordinary exhibition +of self-control, gave him time to go on: "Don't look at me! Don't you +know how beautiful you are? It isn't fair!" + +He turned from her, walked over to one of the windows, and stared out of +it. + +It showed more than self-control. It showed respect. And there are times +when a New York girl likes to feel that the man who wishes to marry her +also respects her. Grace knew it would be absurd to ring for a +policeman; as absurd as to encourage H. R. to stay. And she really had +not studied him cold-bloodedly. She looked at his back and wondered. + +Presently H. R. turned from the window and with a semblance of composure +said to her: + +"If you will scold me, or laugh at me, or turn your back on me, I'll +find it easier to speak calmly." + +Since such was the case, she decided not to do any of the things he +desired her to do. She also said nothing. It is a very wise woman who, +being beautiful, can keep her mouth shut. + +"Grace, you and I are now at the door of the church. Our wedding will be +positively a national event. Have you read the papers? Did you see what +I have undertaken to do for your sake?" + +She turned away her head. But she heard him say, with the calmness of a +man who is sure of himself, and therefore to be respected: + +"I am cool again. You may turn your head this way." + +Her foot was tap-tapping the polar-bear skin eighty-four times to the +minute. She was trying to find a way of getting rid of him once for all. +She did not desire more sensational newspaper articles, and she realized +that she must be more than careful if she was not to supply the material +for them. She was clever enough to realize that this was not a man to be +shooed away, chickenwise. What had seemed so easy to do was in truth an +appalling problem. + +"Listen, Grace. For your sake I gave to New York free sandwiches." + +She sniffed before she could help it. + +"You are right," he admitted, "even if it made you famous"--she was +unmoved--"and me rich!" + +She started slightly. She had never thought of the business end of his +crusade. The motive is everything, in love as in murder. + +"You are right," he pursued. "But, really, I am not bragging about it. +But now I'm going to give free dinners. Millions are affected-- I mean +millions of dollars, not people. But I must have your help. Even your +da-- + +"Sir!" began the loyal daughter, angrily. + +"_Dad_, I was going to say, not _damn_, as you naturally assumed," he +explained, with dignity. "Even dad is on the Mammoth Hunger Feast +Commission. I put him on. When he sees I got the other bank presidents +he'll stay on. But I'll tell you why I came to see you--" + +"Uninvited," she frowned. + +"Of course. I haven't asked for the latch-key. By the way, is this house +big enough for the wedding reception?" he pondered, anxiously. + +"It is--for mine," she said, pointedly. Then she wondered why she didn't +order him away. The reason was that she couldn't. He wasn't that kind of +man! + +"That's good," he exclaimed with relief. "Well, I want you to sell +tickets. You read about the tickets for the Mammoth Hunger Feast?" + +"No! And I don't wish to know anything about it." + +"Quite so," he said, approvingly. "That being the case, you know all +about it. The tickets are to be sold by the one hundred perfectly +beautiful girls in New York. You head the list." + +She turned her face to him, a sneer on her lips. But before she could +speak he said, apologetically: + +"I know it isn't a subtle compliment. It happens to be a fact. There is +going to be tremendous pressure brought to bear on me for places on the +corps. I tell you this because your best friends will drive you crazy +asking you to use your influence with me. People who decry favoritism +always expect favors. I'd do anything for you. But I can't have any but +perfectly beautiful ones. I simply can't!" + +She looked at him with irrepressible interest. Then, remembering her +position, said, coldly, "Will you please leave now and never come back?" + +He went on: "It is going to make enemies for you. That will be your +first payment for being famous. You will be Number One of the perfectly +beautiful hundred because God made you what you are and not because you +are my wife--" + +"I am not!" + +"--to be. You didn't let me finish. Tell your friends you can't. If they +pester you, tell 'em flatly you won't. And for Heaven's sake don't use +the photograph of your pearls any more, nor the Crane portrait. Use the +picture _Vogue_ had last week. Or get some fresh ones and give La Touche +an order to supply 'em to the reporters. They won't cost you a cent that +way, because they print his name. Good-by, Grace." + +He held out his hand. She quickly put hers behind her back. His face +thereat lighted up. + +"Ah, you love me!" he exclaimed. "It was only a question of time, +Empress. And you will never know how much I love you until you realize +what it costs me to go away from here, unkissing, unkissed, and yet +without regrets! But some day--" He paused, and then, with a fierce +hunger that made his voice thick, "Some day I'll _eat_ you!" + +He walked out. She made an instinctive movement toward him, but checked +herself. As he left the room she confronted the mirror and looked at +herself. + +It brought the usual mood of kindliness. + +She forgave him. + +She rang for Frederick. "The Menaud motor, at once!" and went up-stairs +to telephone. If the reporters had to use photographs, she couldn't stop +them. + +Ten minutes later she had kindly given La Touche the photographer +eighteen poses. + +La Touche thanked her with the perfervid sincerity of a man whose +irreducible minimum is forty-eight dollars a dozen. Then he asked, +anxiously: + +"In case the reporters--" + +"I suppose they'd get them, anyhow." She spoke cynically. + +"Not unless they stole 'em," he denied, dignifiedly. "We never give any +out without permission. Of course they'd use snapshots, which are not +always--er--artistic." + +Remembering that she had been snapped when she had a veil on and also +with her mouth open, as all mouths must be in active speech, she told +him in a bored tone: + +"It doesn't interest me." + +"Thank you, mademoiselle! Thank you!" effusively exclaimed the artist. +"It is no wonder--" + +She turned on him a cold, haughty stare. + +He was all confusion. + +"_Pardon!_ I--I-- Monsieur Rutgers--" he stammered. "I--I-- He--" + +She left the shop, a vindictive look in her wonderful eyes. She hated +H. R. Was she merely the advertised vulgarity of that unspeakable man +whom her family so foolishly had not jailed? What had he made of her? +She might not mind being called beautiful by the newspapers, but-- + +The photographer's liveried flunky on the sidewalk opened the door of +her motor. + +Nine pedestrians, two of them male, stopped. + +"That's Grace Goodchild!" hissed one of the women, tensely. + +"See her?" loudly asked another. + +In the time consumed between the opening of the car's door and her +taking her seat eleven more New-Yorkers gathered about the Menaud. + +"Home!" she snapped, angrily. + +The photographer's flunky stepped away to tell the chauffeur. Instantly +a young man's head was thrust through the window of the car. Behind him +crowded a dozen disgusting beasts--female. + +"You're a pippin!" came from the young man's face a foot from her own. +She shrank back. "Say, _he's_ right! I wisht I was in his--" Then the +motor started and nearly, but, alas! not quite, decapitated the +loathsome compatriot. + +If this was fame, she didn't wish any of it, she decided. + +"I hate him!" she said to the cut-glass flower-holder. "He has given me +this absurd notoriety and-- What delays us?" + +She looked out of the window. + +They were halted at Thirty-fourth Street. Presently the traffic +policeman's whistle blew. The motor started again. + +She looked at the policeman. He instantly touched his helmet to her. And +she saw also that he nodded eagerly to his mounted colleague across the +street. + +The man on horseback also saluted her militarily! + +She bowed to him. She had to, being well-bred. She also smiled. She was +of the logical sex. + +"Nevertheless, I hate--" But she left her thought unfinished in her +quick desire to lie to herself. + +"The policeman must know papa," she said, aloud, to show H. R. what she +thought of him. + +And that made her wonder what H. R. had up his sleeve now. What did he +mean by saying that her troubles were only beginning and that she soon +would feel the heavy price of fame? What absurd thing was that about the +perfectly beautiful hundred and the tickets and the Beauty Commission +and the free sandwiches--hateful word!--and the free dinners, and the-- + +She almost ran up to her room, pretending not to hear the voices of her +tea-drinking friends in the Dutch room. In her boudoir she quickly read +all the newspaper clippings. She learned all about the Mammoth Hunger +Feast because, this being the second time, she now read intelligently, +instead of looking for a certain name. + +If H. R. could do all he said he would, he would be a wonder. And he was +a very clever chap, anyhow. + +Her father must be wrong. + +Mr. Goodchild himself could never get the newspapers to say about him +all the nice things they said about H. R. And Bishop Phillipson and the +fathers of girls she knew, and people she had heard of and painters and +novelists and--er--people were helping H. R. + +The tickets and the ten-thousand-dollar coupons and the ideal menu! + +"He _is_ clever!" she admitted, and smiled. Then she decided, "If he +makes me ridiculous--" and frowned. "I could kill him!" she said, +calmly, as befits a Christian assassin. That desire compelled her to +think of H. R. and of what he had said from their first meeting at the +bank. He had said much and had done more. In the end she spoke aloud: +"I wonder if he really loves me?" + +A knock at the door was the only answer--a servant who came to tell her +that Mrs. Goodchild wished her to know they were waiting for her +downstairs in the Dutch room. + +"Very well," she said to the servant. To herself she said, firmly, "Even +if he loves me and is everything he should be I can never marry a man +who has made me feel like a theatrical poster!" + +Her determination was adamantine. To break it H. R. must be more than +clever. + + + + +XIX + + +H. R. at that very moment was in his office. He had prepared a few model +epistles for his Public Sentiment Corps to write to the newspapers, +asking whether the composition of the ideal hunger-appeaser had been +printed and when the tickets for the Mammoth Hunger Feast would be +offered for sale. This would keep alive interest in his plans and in the +personnel of his public commissions. People had grown to believe that +all sorts of commissions were necessary not only to free but even to +intelligent government. + +He had his list of names ready for the reporters when they called. + +"The announcement as to how we shall sell the tickets--each at +twenty-five cents--to pay for a wonderful meal for a hungry person and a +coupon attached, with ten thousand dollars in cash if you have +brains--will be made to-morrow." + +"But--" expostulated a fat reporter. + +"To-morrow!" said H. R., feeling strong enough now to be nasty to the +press. Either he was or he was not yet News. He would decide that matter +for all time. + +"Do you think we are your hired press agents to--" angrily began the fat +one. + +"I don't give a damn if I never see you again. I don't care what you +print or what you don't print, nor when. We do our advertising through +the medium of sandwiches. Get to hell out of here and remember the libel +laws; also that I pay my lawyers by the year. They are not very busy +just now." To the others he said, kindly, "That's all to-day, boys. I'm +busy as blazes." + +Cursing the absurd libel laws which prevent all newspapers from printing +the truth, the fat reporter took his list of names and his leave at one +and the same time. You can't treat even frauds humorously nowadays. + +H. R. had won again! + +He summoned Andrew Barrett and said to him: "Get this sandwich out +to-morrow. It is one of our own. S. A. S. A. account; all-day job." + +"The men objected to the other--" + +"Seven thirty-cent tickets to Weinpusslacher's apiece," interrupted +H. R., impatiently. "Get them from Weinie. He owes us three thousand." + +"Great! Greatissimo!" shouted young Mr. Barrett. He hated to pay out +real money, and the members were getting ugly. They wanted pay for +everything, even for sandwiching for the Cause. + +"Go to the costumer of the Metropolitan Opera House, to Madame Pauline, +and to Monsieur Raquin of the Rue de la Paix who is stopping at the +Hôtel Regina, and to the fashion editor of the _Ladies' Home Mentor_, +and ask each to send us a design for a ticket-seller's costume. They +will be worn by perfectly beautiful girls. There will be one hundred of +them. I myself vote for the Perfect Thirty-eight, about five feet seven +and one-half tall. My model of perfection is Miss Goodchild. Get busy. +And, Barrett--" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Here is the text for the sandwich." H. R. handed a sheet of paper to +his lieutenant, who read thereon: + + ONE HUNDRED GIRLS + + WILL SELL TICKETS + + TO THE + + MAMMOTH HUNGER FEAST + + * * * * * + + THEY ARE THE ONLY + + PERFECTLY BEAUTIFUL GIRLS + + IN ALL NEW YORK + + * * * * * + + LOOK FOR THEM! + + LOOK AT THEM! + + PERFECTLY BEAUTIFUL! + + O. K. + H. R., + _Sec._ + +"Say, H. R., this is the master-stroke! commented Andrew Barrett. + +"To-morrow," said H. R. coldly, "one hundred sandwiches on the Avenue. +One of them in front of Goodchild's all day. White canvas. Heliotrope +letters. Pea-green border. Design number eleven. Also insert this ad. in +all the papers." + +This was the copy of the advertisement: + + _Wanted:_ Perfectly Beautiful Girls. Not merely pretty, nor + merely young, nor merely hopeful, but Perfectly Beautiful! + Object: To make New-Yorkers thank Providence they live in + the same town. Apply H. R., Allied Arts Bldg. + +Andrew Barrett read it and left the room shaking his head, unable to +speak coherently. + +H. R. looked up a few addresses in the Directory and went out. He called +on the president of the National Academy of Design, on the Professor of +Anatomy of the College of Physicians and Surgeons, on the president of +the National Sculpture Society, the president of the Magazine Cover +Designers' Guild, the president of the Equal Suffrage League, who was +Mrs. Vandergilt, and Professor Tangolino, late of the Argentine +Republic. These, with H. R., would constitute the Public Beauty +Commission and would decide who was perfectly beautiful. + +To each he pointed out that the noble cause of charity must be advanced. +Also an American standard of perfect beauty would be established for all +time, their decision being unappealable. The artists instantly approved +the plan, the method being artistic and therefore strictly logical. The +president of the Suffrage League at first demurred. She objected to sex +being dragged into the affair, and, besides, mere physical beauty too +long had been accorded a disproportionate importance in social and +political matters. It degraded a sex fit for higher things than to be +man's plaything. H. R., however, earnestly pointed out that it involved +the recognition of the superior salesmanship of women--not +sales_woman_ship, but sales_man_ship, for while man was no better than +woman in the conduct of the government or anything else, woman was +infinitely the superior of man in many things. He finally induced Mrs. +Vandergilt and the others to serve on the commission. + +But the damned newspapers, he warned them, would print names and would, +alas! devote much space to their deliberations. + +They said that the regrettable publicity would not stop them from doing +their duty. + +He returned to his office and prepared a series of questions for the +papers to ask him. This is the most intelligent form of newspaper +interview because it is always printed. Answers to the reporters' own +questions always appear in the papers when the reporters themselves have +to supply them. + +These were the questions--which later on the Public Sentiment Corps +answered with judiciously varied ayes and noes. + + 1. Were there one hundred Perfectly Beautiful Girls in New + York? + + 2. Would there be a second Judgment of Paris? + + 3. Was the Public Beauty Commission really competent? + + 4. How many points for complexion and coloring? For teeth? + For figure? For hands and feet and hair? + + 5. Would not a uniform garment, on the lines of Annette + Kellerman's bathing-suit, be the only fair way? + + 6. Would the wives, daughters, or fiancées of the members of + the commission be _hors concours_? + + 7. At what age did a girl cease to be a _Girl_? + + 8. Should Morality be allowed to interfere with Art? + +When the reporters called at the S. A. S. A. offices H. R. gave to each +a typewritten set of the questions and said: + +"The commission will hold meetings. They will be public to the +applicants. Nobody else, excepting male reporters, will be allowed to be +present. And you might add, gentlemen, that the commission considers the +requirements for success so uncommon as to render unnecessary the lease +of the Madison Square Garden to hold the candidates. The sessions will +be held in a room not much larger than this room. And," added the +diabolic H. R., "we have no fear of overcrowding. They have to be +_perfectly beautiful girls_, beautifully perfect. Now, don't quote me, +boys, but you might print, as a report on good authority, that the only +one thus far chosen is Miss Grace Goodchild!" + +Though all reporters are human, most of them are grateful. They duly +published the "rumor" and Grace's latest photographs. + + + + +XX + + +Long before the tea was over, Grace Goodchild, two miles north of him, +realized that H. R. was one of those detestable persons who are always +right. A dozen of her intimates surrounded her in the Dutch room. They +all talked at once. When eleven stopped for lack of breath the twelfth, +who very cleverly had saved hers, asked: + +"Did they really pick you out, Grace?" + +The speaker was not perfectly beautiful. But she was wise and therefore +a virgin. + +"No!" said Grace. "But really, I don't want to have anything to do with +it." + +"If Hendrik was _my_ Hendrik, I'd be _It_," said the wise virgin, +determinedly, "or he'd know it!" + +"He told me," Grace spoke modestly, "that only perfectly beautiful girls +would be chosen. And so of course that lets me out!" + +"Oh-h-h-h!" came in chorus. There ensued much whispering. Grace flushed. +No woman likes to be accused of mendacity monosyllabically. It made her +dislike H. R. more than ever. + +"Does your father," asked the wise one, "still oppose--" + +"He does," answered Grace. Then she added, "Of course." + +"I think your father--" And the wise one bit her lips. You would have +thought she was snipping off thread with her teeth. A well-bred person +must do this oftener than a seamstress--to keep herself from telling the +truth. + +"_My_ father," tactfully observed Marion Molyneux, "could oppose until +the cows came home." + +"Mamma is on the commission and I'm not eligible, so _I_ am not after +his vote," said Ethel Vandergilt. "But I'd love to meet him, Grace. Is +he all they say he is?" + +Grace Goodchild for the first time began to realize that H. R. was a +remarkable man. She realized it by the simple expedient of disliking +Ethel. + +"Is it true that he'll do anything you tell him?" cut in Cynthia +Coleman, enviously. She was a very pretty girl, with the absurd doll +face that makes men feel so manly. She had brains. A girl with that face +always has. She shows it by never showing them. The face does the trick +more quickly. + +Grace said, calmly, "H. R. never--" + +"Oh, girls, she calls him H. R., too!" exclaimed Marion. + +Feeling herself one of a multitude made Grace feel a mere human being. +Created in the image of God, each of them naturally desires to feel like +a goddess. + +"I do not call him H. R.," said Grace, coldly. + +"It is more important to know what he calls her," observed the wise one. + +Grace remembered what H. R. had called her. She felt herself blushing +with anger. Truly, the gods were kind to H. R. + +"Coming back to our muttons, are you going to introduce us?" asked Ethel +Vandergilt. + +"I'm not going to have anything to do with the affair," said Grace, +decisively. + +"Aren't you?" said the wise one. It barely missed being a sneer. + +"Why not?" asked Ethel. She was the best-gowned woman in the United +States. And she was _ex-officio hors concours_. + +Grace Goodchild felt the stare of twenty pairs of eyes of differing +degrees of brightness, but of the same degree of unbelief. They +irritated her by flattering her. No woman can concentrate when watched +by other women. Grace, therefore, was compelled to live up to the rôle +which society had assigned to her, whether she liked it or not. + +When you tell a man he is wise and ask for advice, he looks as wise as +he can and answers ambiguously. When you tell a woman you don't believe +her she indignantly tells you the truth. + +"One of the reasons"--she spoke very sweetly--"is that he said my +friends would ask me to do it but he did not wish me to add to his +troubles." + +The girls were listening with their very souls, for this was inside +news. + +Grace went on: "The commission will be absolutely impartial--" + +"You don't know mother!" muttered Ethel Vandergilt. + +Grace heard her, and she said, rebukingly, "Yes, absolutely impartial +and--" + +"Are you chosen one of the hundred?" asked the wise virgin. + +"Yes, I am!" answered Grace, defiantly. "I had nothing to do with it. +This whole affair is exceedingly distasteful to me." + +"Of course!" came in a great chorus. + +To agree with her in that tone of voice was intolerable. + +Grace's hatred shifted from the unspeakable H. R. to these bosom +friends. If it were not that H. R. was always right, she wouldn't +dislike _him_ so much. + +"It is not that I mind not being one of the hundred, but the not being +asked to be," muttered the doll face. + +It was obviously what all of them minded. + +Ethel Vandergilt said: "If I could make my mother resign I'd offer my +services. But she is not the resigning kind. Good-by. I'm crazy to meet +your H. R." + +Well, they were welcome to him--if she made up her mind she did not want +him for herself. + +The moment the last false friend left, Grace's tolerant smile vanished. + +Was she, in sooth, chosen Number One? The papers said it was only a +rumor. + +Suppose she was not Number One, after all? Supposing the commission-- + +"I could kill him!" she hissed, and left the room. + +Frederick came to her. "Miss Goodchild, there are five reporters waiting +to see you." + +"Say I'm not at home!" Then she called the man back. "Ask them what they +want," and went up-stairs to her room. + +Frederick returned presently and reported: "They say they will do +themselves the honor to inform you in person if you will be kind enough +to see them. And, Miss--" He paused. He had exceeded his duty. + +"What is it, Frederick?" asked Grace, knowing that the imperturbable +cockney was perturbed. + +"There is quite a crowd outside. They are photographing the ladies, +ma'am." + +"What ladies?" + +"Begging your pardon, Miss Vandergilt and the others, ma'am." + +"Where?" + +"Just in front of the door. Mr. Goodchild had some trouble in getting +in, ma'am. He's quite vexed about it, but it wasn't my fault, ma'am," he +said, forgetting that he was a menial; that is, protesting against +injustice. "I couldn't help it, ma'am." + +"Very well, Frederick," she said, graciously, and descended. + +Five reporters were politely listening to Mr. Goodchild's vituperations. +Therefore his daughter walked down the stairs as majesty descends from +the dais. One of the reporters started to meet her half-way. + +"Hey! confound you, come down!" shrieked papa. + +"Miss Goodchild, we wished to ask you if you had been chosen as the +first of the perfectly beautiful hundred. Now that we have seen you at +close range, the question is unnecessary." + +She smiled slightly; then ceased to smile. The intelligent young man +proceeded courteously: "Will you therefore kindly tell us when the +wedding will be?" + +All reporters are psychologists in their interrogations. The other +reporters ceased listening to Mr. Goodchild and as politely as the +circumstances permitted took out paper and pencils. + +When an angry man is suddenly deprived of his audience he becomes a +mental assassin. + +Mr. Goodchild blamed it on H. R. + +"She'll never marry that infernal idiot!" he shrieked. He was the head +of the house. + +"Ah yes," said the diplomatist on the stair, looking as though he had +memorized the exact words. "Ah yes! June! Thank you." He nodded +gratefully at Mr. Goodchild, jotted down a date, and put the paper in +his pocket. + +"Congratulations, Miss Goodchild," he said to her, with profound +respect, and descended. In the hall he said to his colleagues: "Come on, +boys. We've got the month. She _is_ Number One, and--" + +"If you dare to print anything I'll have you fired," fumed Mr. +Goodchild. + +"If you were a younger man I'd tell you to fire your grandmother, sir. +But I fear me she is, alas! no more. In the mean time, Mr. Goodchild, +will you be good enough to pose for our artist? Look pleasant, please. +You'll have to close your mouth to do it. Wilson, you may begin filming +when ready!" he said to his photographer, who had just pushed past +Frederick. + +Sounds of cheering and applause came from the street. The +ultra-fashionable friends of Grace Goodchild, having been photographed, +were shaking hands with the artists and spelling their own names to the +reporters. + +The gaping proletariate, seeing such graciousness, recognized the +aristocracy of the democracy and were cheering madly. An aristocracy +whose sense of humor makes it kindly is lasting. + +"Them's real swells!" shrieked a red-headed girl who carried a large +bandbox. + +More cheers. + +At that moment Grace Goodchild, impelled by an irresistible curiosity +appeared at her door. + +"_There she is!_ Hooray!" proudly shrieked two hundred and eighteen +potential Socialists, making room for Bishop Phillipson. + +Hoping they were not too late for the wedding, the throngs clapped +furiously. Even at marriages there are encore fiends. + +"How do you do, my child?" inquired the Bishop, with a tolerant smile. + +"Please turn around, Bishop!" shrieked the _Journal_ artist. He was paid +by the portrait. + +The Bishop did so, smiled benignantly, saw the shutter open and close, +and then said, deprecatingly: + +"I do not wish my picture taken, sir." + +"No, sir. Will you give us another shot, Bishop?" + +The reverend gentleman waited a moment and then shook his head and +turned his back rebukingly on the photographers, who a second time had +not respected his wishes. + +"Such is fame, Bishop Phillipson," Grace told him, with a smile. + +"Reflected greatness, rather," said the Bishop, with his courtly +kindliness. + +"It's an infernal outrage!" came in a husky voice from the house. + +"It's papa. He doesn't understand--" + +"He and I are too old, I fear," smiled the Bishop, mournfully. "And how +is H. R., my dear?" + +She shook her head and frowned. Always that person! + +"A most remarkable young man," pursued the Bishop, congratulatorily. He +had received three and one-half bushels of letters from utter strangers, +commending his practical Christianity and his highly intelligent plan +for feeding the hungry. Five vestry-men also had expressed their +gratification that his name headed the list of the men who had made New +York the greatest city of the hemisphere. It looked as though the hungry +were to be fed. + +The Bishop and Grace moved out of the doorway to allow the reporters to +pass, and were themselves about to enter the house when a sound of +cheering made them halt in their tracks. + +A vast crowd was walking up the Avenue. In the van marched one of +H. R.'s free sandwiches. He was dressed in crimson broadcloth (from +Morton & Co. as per the next morning's accounts) and he wore a shining +silk hat (Fox Brothers, as per same in the _Times_, _Herald_, and +_Tribune_). The sandwich-board was a most gorgeous affair--a shield of +burnished gold (by Cellini & Co., Florentine frame-makers) on which were +the arms of the City of New York in heraldic colors. Beneath, in +six-inch letters of glittering turquoise enamel, was: + +[Illustration: THE FIRST OF THE PERFECTLY BEAUTIFUL 100 IS GRACE +GOODCHILD OF 777 FIFTH AVENUE.] + +In front of the Goodchild mansion the stalwart free sandwich stopped, +faced Miss Goodchild, raised his glittering top-hat, and held it in the +air, Beau Brummelesquely. + +Andrew Barrett was immediately behind the herald of the free and +intelligent people of the greatest city of the New World. + +A hush fell on the multitude. + +"Speech!" shrieked Andrew Barrett. + +"Speech!" shrieked twelve hundred and thirty-eight intelligent +New-Yorkers and seven bankers. + +"There's Bishop Phillipson!" shrilled a correctly gowned elderly lady, +pointing a jeweled lorgnette at the Bishop of New York. It meant the +Church approved. + +"Hooray for the Bishop! Bishop! Bishop!" + +"_Vox populi, vox Dei_," murmured the Bishop to himself. + +"Say something, my child," he gently urged Grace. "After all, we may +dislike the way it is done, but if the hungry are fed we may be +forgiven." + +Grace Goodchild burned with desire to make a wonderful speech to prove +that her greatness was her very own. They wanted her, not H. R., this +time! It was _her_ triumph, not his. + +Alas! She did not know what to say. She did not even know how to say it. +She therefore shook her head angrily. + +"Speech!" shouted the crowd, twice as vehemently as before. They always +want to hear what you don't wish to say. + +The cameras were clicking away madly. They sounded like the +telegraph-room of a national convention. + +Five-dozen healthy young persons began chanting, rhythmically: + +"Speech! Speech! Speech!--speech!--speech!" + +Grace thought they were saying: + +"His Peach! His Peach! His Peach! Peach! Peach!" + +She hotly resented the intimation of H. R.'s ownership, but the +sincerity of the tribute paralyzed her. The sandwich-man had been +amiably told by Andrew Barrett, "Hold the pose, you slob!" and did so. +His immobility was most impressive. His shield dazzled Grace. She +recalled, in a flash, Geraldine Farrar. + +She bowed to the sandwich, then to right and left, kissed her hand to +the crowd of voters and not-yet voters, and ran blushing into the house. + +The storm of applause broke loose. The very house rocked drunkenly as +the sound-waves dashed themselves against the façade. + +The strenuous, nerve-racking life of New York compelled the crowd to +linger for an hour. It was not until they began to break off bits of the +bronze railing and chip souvenirs from the portico columns that the +Goodchilds' butler sent a hurry call for the police. + +The lieutenant's official version was cold and formal. + + + + +XXI + + +The Public Menu Commission had been having pitched battles. The Public +Sentiment Corps had been bombarding the newspapers with letters asking +for the official menu, but the commission refused to be hurried by +popular clamor, and said so to the reporters. Their own sessions were +held behind locked doors. Omelette soufflée au curaçoa was definitely +stricken off Signor Piccolini's tentative menu, on the theory that the +filling was not permanent. + +"Air is cheap," protested Piccolini, "and we have to consider the +expense." + +"But we want something that will stay by the hungry more than fifteen +minutes." + +"Then," said Piccolini, scathingly, "give them sliced rubber boots." + +"If _you_ prepared the sauce, dear master," interjected H. R., who +happened to be present, "I'd rather eat it than any other artist's filet +Châteaubriand aux--" + +Piccolini bowed to him profoundly. Then he shrugged his shoulders at the +others. + +"Nevertheless," he said, with conviction, "Omelette soufflée--" + +"What can you expect from the other members?" whispered H. R. to him. +"If we prolong the debate there won't be any hungry men alive to eat our +dinner. Yield, dear master, for the sake of humanity." Then he said +aloud, "Let's try beans." + +The Commission therefore reported progress and adjourned for the day. + +The newspapers, spurred thereto by the avalanche of letters and favorite +recipes from charitable ladies in Brooklyn, who gave their names, +addresses, and terms per week, devoted much space to the ideal +hunger-appeaser. + +For the first time in history New York began to take an intelligent +interest in menus. Everybody talked about eating as if Hungarian +orchestras and Brazilian dances did not exist. + +Presently the newspapers announced on unimpeachable authority that +serious dissensions existed among the members of the Public Menu +Commission. It was hinted that resignations would be called for. + +Applications for the vacant places and suggestions from really competent +men poured into the editorial rooms. It made the commission, as usual, +an editorial target. More space! + +That impelled the Commission, speaking with difficulty by reason of the +swollen lips of the chairman, to announce the menu. H. R. had it printed +on academy board. + +New York, on the tiptoe of expectation to learn what an ideal +hunger-appeaser would consist of, and how it could be done for +twenty-five cents and how the commission could decide without bloodshed, +made haste to read the menu: + + Soup à la Piccolini + Entrée à la Hôtel Regina + Roast à la Perry + Vegetable à la Weinpusslacher + Dessert à la Fitz-Marlton + Bread à la Prof. Preston + Milk à la Pasteur + Coffee à la Manhattan + Tea as Wanted + + O. K. + H. R., + _Sec._ + +The exact recipe of each dish would be made public after the Hunger +Feast. It would remain a secret until then! + +More space! See? Could the newspapers help it? Didn't people have to +have something to talk about? If they didn't, what could the editorial +writers have to write about? + +Knowing that talk must continue in order that interest in the Hunger +Feast might not abate, H. R. himself went to the shops on Fifth Avenue. +The shops elsewhere would follow the Avenue fashions. + +He told each window-dresser the same thing. + +"I come to you _first_ because you are an artist concerned with color +effects and striking arrangements. You also are a psychologist, since +you compel people to halt on the sidewalk and then mutely induce them to +use the doors. You really are the man who declares the dividends on the +firm's capital stock. Yes, you do, and I'll see that the big chief +acknowledges it, too. Now I've come to you--_first_! Whatever you do +will be copied. It makes you plagiarizable, and that is merely the +recognition of greatness. You have the window. In order to dissociate +the idea of money from your shop in the public's mind I'm going to give +you a chance to prove that you are above mere money-making, which is +something no Fifth Avenue shop ever did before. Remember in this +connection the psychology of the crowd and of the money they wish to +spend and at the same time keep in their pockets. You and your windows +are New York--the New York that draws the crowd of natives and +Americans. Give a whole window, not to _my_ charity, but to New +York's--to yours! Put this menu on an easel, with a background of that +wonderful velvet you had the other day--the one that killed your +competitors. It was wonderful!" + +Before the artist could draw his breath H. R. had warmly bid him +good-by, leaving a menu in the astonished artist's hand. + +They did. It was original, as they explained to the boss. And even +department-store bosses know that originality means novelty, and novelty +is what New York pays for. + +Within six hours the first edition of menus was exhausted. In every shop +window in New York the public could read the Public Menu Commission's +masterpiece. Cost: $68.14 + H. R. + +The undoubted possessors of perfect beauty gave more trouble than the +menu, and therefore got more space in the newspapers. A regular detail +of police guarded not only the Allied Arts Building day and night, but +also the honor and features of the Public Beauty Commission. Grace +Goodchild was compelled to make use of her neighbor's house, Mrs. +Vantine's, in order to reach the street. She used the Seventy-sixth +Street entrance. Mrs. Vantine congratulated Grace each time on her +deserved triumph and asked her to look at Louise, her youngest. + +H. R. had told Barrett to convey delicately to the press that the +relatively young wife of one of the members of the commission had left +for Reno. No name was mentioned. Therefore the portraits of all the male +members were impartially published. A neat little interrogation-mark +after each name did _not_ constitute libel. + +The commissioners were thereafter compelled to be particularly nice to +their own wives in public. + +The theatrical profession howled individually, collectively, in person, +in writing, by telephone, and through press agents. Nightly these +favorites would ask, more or less nasally and slightly below pitch, +whether they were not perfectly beautiful, and gave the audience the +opportunity to judge of fifteen-sixteenths of their persons. And the +unanimous reply was, "You are!"--from the claque. It became the topic of +the day, and as such divided families and parted friends. + +At the end of three days H. R. diabolically announced that only +sixty-eight had been selected. + +"Aren't there one hundred perfectly beautiful girls in Greater New +York?" he feverishly asked the reporters. "Aren't there?" + +The literary misogynists propounded the same query--in the head-lines, +at that! On the very morning that saw that insulting question printed it +was estimated by one of the newspapers that 318,029 answered, "Present." +It was probably an exaggeration, as there doubtless was some repeating. + +The Public Beauty Commission added fourteen to the list of utter +pulchritudes. Names, addresses, and portraits duly printed. + +Elderly persons signing William H. P. or James G. C. in feminine +hand-writing asked the most conservative newspapers whether there was +nothing else fit to print but the disgusting travesty on charity or the +appalling vulgarity of immodest females. + +The newspapers printed the letters. One of them, an afternoon sheet, +stopped printing names and portraits of the successful. It stopped for +one issue. + +The circulation department interviewed the city department. The paper +went back, under a new city editor, to the business of printing all the +news that was fit to print. + +The public demanded it. + +On Sunday all the newspapers published the full list of one hundred +perfectly beautiful girls who alone would sell tickets admitting the +holder to the Mammoth Hunger Feast in the capacity of spectator. One to +each customer; no more. + +On Monday they printed a facsimile of H. R.'s ticket. + +[Illustration] + +No. 1 was a coupon to be detached by the seller. It was in the nature of +both wages and a vote to show which was the perfectest of the perfect. +It would mean the only fair election ever held in America. Only one +ticket to each customer. There would be no rich man buying tickets by +the thousand, no stuffing of the ballot-boxes by the gallant commander +of a militia regiment, no undue influence on the part of high political +officials. No man could resist a perfectly beautiful girl who asked him +to buy one ticket for a quarter of a dollar, twenty-five cents. + +No bribing by kisses was necessary. + +The rest of the ticket was retained by the buyer. It bought what the +masses were beginning to speak of as the dandy belly-filler for a hungry +person who was warranted not to have any money. No. 3 coupon was to be +detached by the doorkeeper at Madison Square Garden and returned to the +ticket-buyer. If the holder of said coupon exercised his or her brains +he or she would receive ten thousand dollars in cash. Conditions +governing the collection of said ten thousand dollars would be published +on Saturday morning. It would _not_ be a lottery. + +It now behooved charitable New-Yorkers to buy the tickets which would +feed all hungry persons who positively had no money to buy food with, +and at the same time receive ten thousand dollars in cash, brains being +present--all for twenty-five cents. + +The ten thousand would be paid in cash, with United States Treasury +notes obtained from the National Bank of the Avenue. This insured their +genuineness. + +On Monday the perfectly beautiful started. It was, fittingly, a +perfectly beautiful day. In automobiles (makers' names given, since it +was for charity) decked with beautiful flowers (donating florists also +honorably mentioned in the public prints, and paid advs. besides) the +perfectly beautiful hundred went forth to appeal to the great heart of +New York. + +They were indeed beautiful. At least the men, being blind and possessing +the suffrage, thought so. Why, they even clamored to be allowed to buy. +And found ways and means of repeating. They never can vote honorably. + +The newspapers reported that by 11 P.M. 38,647 tickets had been sold. +Also they announced twenty-three engagements of perfectly beautiful +ticket-sellers. + +Grace Goodchild's name led the list. This time Mr. Goodchild did not +deny it. The reporters refused to listen to him, damn 'em! + +On Tuesday the receipts fell on. Only 7,363 were sold. + +No engagements. + +On Wednesday the sales rose. The _offers_ of marriage aggregated 18,889. +Sixteen engagements of poor but perfectly beautiful girls to rich but +devilishly wise old men! + +A truly remarkable thing happened. Everybody ceased to be concerned with +the sales of tickets or the object thereof. Crowds before the newspaper +offices patiently watched for announcements of fresh betrothals. Every +time one went on the bulletin-board the spectators cheered as if it were +a home run instead of a prospective marriage. + +The betrothed reported to H. R. that they found the display of the +solitaires interfered with the sales of tickets. He advised them to +remove it. They refused. + +"Well," he said, coldly, "the one who sells the most tickets will be +declared the most beautiful of the hundred. Of course you don't care +what men think of your looks so long as one man thinks you are the most +beautiful. He must, since he is your fiancé. By all means show the +solitaire. I respect your modesty. Besides, it keeps you from receiving +offers that you cannot, with honor, entertain." + +They therefore removed their engagement-rings during business hours. + +In Thursday's papers were printed the facsimile of a certified check for +ten thousand dollars signed by H. R. It was a sample prize. All checks +would be exchanged for cash before the Hunger Feast began. + +_Save your coupons!_ + +This was already the commercial slogan of a great nation. + +On Friday H. R., knowing that even perfectly beautiful girls cannot hold +the attentive interest of New York unless infractions of the Seventh +Commandment are provided in relays, gave out a statement for the +newspapers. The newspapers not only printed it, but featured it. + + Heretofore [said H. R.] when charitable folks have given + money to organized charity they have never been able to feel + certain that the money went to the right people. Organized + charity has been compelled to be careful. While the merits + of the case were under investigation it has frequently + happened that the case has died of starvation. Now, genuine + destitution needs not life-insurance examination, but common + sense and ordinary Christianity on the jump. We have + undertaken to feed the hungry who have no money to buy food + with. If anybody out of the thousands who will be fed by us + is proven to be an undeserving object of our charity I will + give one hundred thousand dollars par value in gilt-edged + securities to any organized charity approved by Mr. George + G. Goodchild, president of the Ketcham National Bank, who, + being my prospective father-in-law against his wishes, will + be glad to have me lose the money. + + Modern methods of efficiency have been applied to charity + for the first time. Hence this meal, scientifically studied, + artistically concocted, digestible, delicious, and filling. + There will be no graft, no throwing away of the public's + nobly given money, no dietetic fads, no scientific sawdust, + no waste, no salaries, no fraudulent hungers, no inhumanity, + no maudlin sentiment, nothing but common sense now first + applied to charity by New York. The Mammoth Hunger Feast, + marking an era in the life of the great metropolis, will + begin at 8.30 P.M. in order to give time for all + ticket-holders to dine at home. Well-fed New-Yorkers will + therefore be able to see with their own eyes how starving + people eat--people who have no money to buy food with. + Before each ticket-holder takes the seat to which he is + entitled he, or more probably she, will receive ten thousand + dollars in cash, by simply using brains. Let us see if + New-Yorkers are as clever as they are charitable. Also, I + shall marry Grace Goodchild in June. + + [Signed] H. R. + +A great many people announce an epoch-making idea and expect the world +to remember it ever thereafter. H. R. knew that, living in a republic, +he must iterate, reiterate, repeat, and sign every time. + +On Saturday morning the ninety-nine other perfectly beautiful girls were +engaged. Grace Goodchild, when asked point-blank if she were engaged to +H. R., now answered, "Do you see any engagement-ring?" Then she held up +her slim and beautiful hands. No ring. + +All told, 186,898 tickets had been sold. It was plain that repeating had +been indulged in. The fair sellers could not be blamed. + +"If susceptible men have bought more than one ticket," H. R. said to the +reporters, "they need not think they will get more than ten thousand +dollars. But the fact remains that we have more than enough money." + +This entitled H. R. to the respect of the most conservative dailies. +And, moreover, he paid full rates for a half-page in which he printed +this advertisement: + + HUNGRY PEOPLE WHO CAN'T BUY FOOD BECAUSE THEY HAVE NO MONEY + WILL RECEIVE A FINE DINNER FREE BY GOING TO MADISON SQUARE + GARDEN TO-NIGHT BEFORE 8.30. FOURTH AVENUE ENTRANCE. + + NO MATTER HOW YOU CAME TO BE HUNGRY AND PENNILESS; NO MATTER + WHAT YOUR LIFE HAS BEEN OR WHAT YOUR RELIGION NOW IS; NO + MATTER WHAT YOUR HABITS ARE OR WHAT YOUR POLITICAL OPINIONS + MAY BE, WITHOUT REGARD TO YOUR JAIL RECORD, DISEASE, STATE + OF MIND, OR FAVORITE NEWSPAPER, IF YOU ARE HUNGRY AND HAVE + NO MONEY, COME AND EAT! + + TO THE PUBLIC: COME AND SEE THEM EAT YOUR TICKETS! + + UNDER THE AUSPICES OF THE SOCIETY OF AMERICAN SANDWICH + ARTISTS. + + H. R., + _Sec._ + + SPONSORS: THE MEN WHO HAVE MADE NEW YORK WHAT IT IS! + +Then followed three hundred and seventeen famous names. + +"What I have to say," H. R. modestly told the reporters, "I have stated +in my advertisement. However, if you wish to ask any questions, or if +you think the public is interested in any particular point--" + +"It is! We do!" exclaimed the reporters. "Tell us about the ten thousand +dollars!" + +"It is very simple and very easy," said H. R., with the deadly +earnestness of a man who knows he will not be believed when he speaks +the truth in New York. "As each person passes the ticket-taker he will +go, coupon in hand, into the superintendent's office. There he will be +asked one question. It is not a catch question. No puns permitted. No +double meaning. No particularly deep or recondite significance. It is a +plain question, vital to the welfare of all New-Yorkers, affecting the +destiny of the American nation. The answer is perfectly obvious. The +Mayor has been invited to be present, and he will see to it that no +fraud is perpetrated on the thousands of people who have bought tickets +in good faith--" + +"I thought the object of the tickets was to feed hungry--" began a +serious-eyed reporter. + +"It is; but charity carries a reward in cash. It is the modern way. You +might add that there will be no reserved seats, no privileged classes. +Where all men are alike charitable, all men are equal before God and +man!" + +Napoleon revolutionized the art of war by moving quickly and +overwhelming the foe with artillery. H. R. made charity a success by +appealing not alone to the charitable instinct of New-Yorkers, but to +every other instinct he could think of. Therefore everybody who was not +hungry logically decided to go to the Mammoth Hunger Feast. The +newspapers printed long and reassuring accounts of the police +arrangements. + +H. R., being a republican at heart, had reserved the Imperial Box for +Grace Goodchild and her friends, and ninety-nine Royal boxes for the +other ticket-sellers and their fiancés. His free sandwich men occupied +the front row of arena seats and had been coached by the leader of the +Grand Opera claque. At a given signal they were to cheer Grace +Goodchild. When the bugle announced H. R.'s entrance they were to go +crazy. + +Ten beers _after_ the show. + + + + +XXII + + +At half after seven that night H. R., accompanied by eighteen +contemporary historians and six magazine psychological portraitists, +went to the entrance of the hungry. It was in the rear of the Garden and +was dark and narrow. + +Symbolism! + +It was the same entrance that a few weeks previously had admitted the +circus's beasts; only the beasts were not hungry. + +Fourth Avenue seethed with humanity. A blind man afflicted with stone +deafness could have told that hungry people were there provided his nose +worked. + +The street-cars had stopped running at 6.30 P.M., after the +twenty-seventh accident. + +The crowd was orderly and silent, as really hungry people are. And they +had good manners, as the physically weak always have. And they were not +impatient, for the prospect of eating always makes the starving hopeful. + +A merciful darkness covered the hideousness of ten thousand faces. The +reporters began to fidget like nervous women at a military play just +before the execution. + +H. R., seizing the exact psychological moment, said to the reporters: + +"Let us press the button!" + +It is the modern way--the press and the pressure. + +He pressed the button. It turned on the lights of an electric sign hung +above the entrance. The starving men read in blazing letters: + + IF YOU ARE HUNGRY AND + + HAVE NO MONEY WALK IN! + +By their light the reporters were able to see the faces of the crowd +plainly. + +"My God!" said the young man from the _Times_. + +The dazzling invitation was so worded as to prevent unseemly haste and +unnecessary crowding. It said, "_Walk_ in." + +"It is easy to assume, gentlemen," said H. R., calmly, to the reporters, +"that all these people are hungry." + +"Yes, let 'em all in!" entreated those reporters who were not jotting +down impressions. + +H. R. shook his head sternly. + +"We have our duty to the public to perform. We must determine whether +they have no money." + +"Your duty is to feed them _all_," said the _Sun_ man. + +"You can't afford to make a single mistake. Did you see that +white-haired woman--" + +"Come with me, gentlemen," cut in H. R., leading the way within. + +Streams of people began to flow in at each entrance, sedately; four big +policemen, representing the majesty of the law, stood, two on either +side of each entrance. The majesty was of locust wood, held in the air, +ready to descend on the cranium of the lawless and even of the +ill-mannered. + +As the starving entered the door they found themselves in a passageway +with sides of heavy plank that narrowed until they were walking in +single file, just as they do in abattoirs and sheep-dipping pens. + +One by one they thus came. There was a small inclosure on one side of +the passage. There stood H. R. and his reporters. Beside them was a +small table. A heap of shining silver quarters was on the table in plain +sight of all. + +H. R. asked the first man, "Are you hungry?" + +"Yes. I haven't had a bite in--" + +H. R. held up a hand to check the autobiography. He inquired, sternly: + +"Got any money?" + +"Nope." + +"Sure?" + +"Yep." + +The reporters began to sneer. What did this H. R., who was said to be +clever, expect such people to answer? That's the trouble with all +wealthy philanthropists. They are damned fools. They don't know human +nature nor their own compatriots. + +"Do you want a quarter?" asked H. R., kindly, at the same time lifting a +big handful of silver to show there was plenty. + +"You bet!" + +"Wouldn't you rather have a dollar?" asked H. R. He picked up four +quarters and jingled them in his open palm by bouncing them up and down +in the air, gently, invitingly. + +The man stared at H. R. and refused to answer. + +It must be a trap! + +"Don't you or do you? Speak quickly!" said H. R., impatiently. + +"Of course!" + +"You'll have to let us search you to see how much you've got on you if +you really want a dollar instead of the quarter." + +"Say, yous--" began the man. + +"Frisk him!" + +"To hell with your dollar," said the man, defiantly clapping one hand to +his pocket. "I knew it was a plant!" + +"This way," politely said the plain-clothes men, leading away the pauper +who didn't wish to be searched. + +The colloquy had not been overheard by the other hungry guests. The man +was led into a storeroom, where he was kept so that he might not empty +his pockets and come in again from the street for the dollar he did not +really want. + +"You see how we will eliminate those who have money and--" + +But the reporters were not listening to H. R. They were too busy +writing. This man was no philanthropist. He was intelligent. + +There were some guests who said they objected to the indignity of being +searched, though they had no money. They joined the first man in the +storeroom. + +"No taxpayers' subterfuges tolerated," H. R. said. + +But most of the hungry were perfectly willing to be searched and prove +they had no money. They were told by H. R. to pass on. To those who +asked for the money H. R. said, sternly: + +"Do you wish to swallow a quarter or do you want to eat food?" + +They grumbled. They were human. They passed on. They were hungry. + +Having shown the reporters how the undoubted penury of the deserving +hungry was established, H. R. led them into the presence of the +Infallible Booze-detector. + +"Yes, but when those poor people said they were willing to be searched +and thereby prove they had no money, I notice you didn't give 'em the +quarter," observed young Mr. Lubin of the _Onward_. + +"We never promised to give money. We asked them if they wanted a quarter +and then if they wouldn't prefer a dollar." + +"Yes. But you cruelly raised their hopes," remonstrated Lubin. "These +are human beings--" + +"And we are going to fill their bellies," interrupted H. R. "Giving +_money_ to those who haven't any simply perpetuates Capitalism besides +alienating the Christian vote. We _share_ food. That's Socialism. We do +not give alms. That's insulting. Besides, we do not own the quarters. +They're borrowed." + +Lubin was silenced. + +That silence from the Socialist reporter was H. R.'s greatest triumph +thus far. + +As the penniless guests left the glittering heap of stage quarters +unsearched they walked on along a gallery. At the end of it was another +glittering electric sign. It said: + + THIS WAY IF YOU ARE HUNGRY! + +The hungry walked on eagerly. A few feet from the door that led into the +arena where the waiting tables were they had to pass by a wide-open +door. Within, in plain sight of the passers-by, was a long bar. Behind +the bar were white-jacketed bartenders. The beer-kegs formed an +inspiring background. On the bar itself stood dozens of big +schooners--full. + +Above the bar could be read: + + FREE BEER! Frei! Gratis! + +A few walked on--straight to the dining-hall. + +But every one who walked into the free-beer room was told to go through +a door on the left. + +"That way!" a policeman told the thirsty. + +The first man who went into the inner room found a policeman standing +beside a table on which were a dozen full schooners. + +"If you drink now you don't eat," courteously said the cop. + +"Kismet!" said the starving man, and reached for a schooner. + +"It's for _after_ eating!" gently warned the policeman. + +"Life is uncertain. I'll drink now and--" + +"This way!" The policeman now spoke in his regular voice. + +He led the thirsty out of the room by another door which led into still +another room used for storing the heavy circus impedimenta. + +"Do you see?" asked H. R., sweetly, to the reporters and the students of +sociology from the magazines. "Do you?" + +"Mr. Rutgers, Columbus and his egg had nothing on you," said the earnest +young theorist from the _Evening Post_. + +The others were busily turning out literature. + +"It won't cheat 'em out of a meal," H. R. whispered to young Mr. Lubin +from the _Onward_. "But they don't eat with the others." + +That is how H. R. kept his promise to the business men of New York. He +had circumvented fraud, which is the chief aim of modern charity. Also +he had discouraged the formation of a professional pauper class--the one +danger against which all commonwealths must guard. + +"I'd like to know what you are going to do with the culls," the _Sun_ +man asked H. R. He had of late been trying to elevate the tone of the +magazines with real fiction; which they refused to print. + +"Those who fell through thirst will be fed later," H. R. answered. + +"And those that wouldn't be searched? They looked mighty hungry to me." +He was an expert in hunger. It drove him out of Literature. + +"We'll sell the left-over meals to them at cost. We are intelligent +philanthropists. We shall now have a beer, gentlemen, and let us pass +on." + +That beer had taken on a subtle quality of exclusiveness. All the +reporters drank with gusto. + + + + +XXIII + + +At eight sharp the main entrance of the Garden was thrown open. The +reporters promptly noted that the crowd of sight-seers exceeded the +number of the hungry. It restored their belief in republican +institutions. + +As each ticket-holder presented his ticket he demanded the instant +return of the ten-thousand-dollar coupon. Even the skeptics who knew +they'd never get the ten thousand dollars did this. + +The coupon-holder was then ushered into the superintendent's office, in +which sat the Mayor of New York, the presidents of seven banks, the +proprietors of six hotels, one United States Senator, H. R., and the +reporters. + +Behind them was a large frame inclosing stretched white oil-cloth. +Printed thereon in large black letters was this: + + YOU WILL BE ASKED ONE QUESTION. YOU WILL HAVE TEN SECONDS IN + WHICH TO ANSWER. BRAIN-CAPACITY IS MEASURED BY THE QUICKNESS + OF PSYCHOLOGICAL ASSOCIATION. IF YOU CAN'T ANSWER IN TEN + SECONDS, YOU ARE NOT ENTITLED TO THE $10,000 IN CASH. + +As the first coupon-holder entered H. R. rose and took from his pocket a +huge roll of bills, all yellow-backs. He carelessly peeled off one of +them and with a bow handed it to the Mayor. + +Everybody sat up straight. His Honor looked at it. It was for ten +thousand dollars. He nodded and then silently passed it to a bank +president, who in turn examined it, nodded, and passed it on to a +colleague. The reporters pressed forward. + +"Experts in all kinds of small change," smiled H. R., pointing to the +bankers. + +The reporters' eyes followed the return of the ten-thousand-dollar bill +to the Mayor. They also decided that H. R.'s roll was the most +impressive demonstration of brute strength ever seen in New York. + +Then H. R. asked his question, slowly, distinctly, enunciating carefully +and smiling the while: + +"What is it we have all heard about from earliest childhood and that we +acknowledge exists; that is neither a person nor a beast, neither a +thing nor an object, but something that no man can kill, though it is +dead to-day; that all men need and most New-Yorkers neglect; that should +be present everywhere and is found in no trade? The answer is a word of +five letters and begins with A--the first letter of the alphabet, the +first of the five vowels. There is another word, a synonym, which is now +obsolescent, though it is at times used in poetry. But while either word +will win the ten thousand dollars in cash now in the custody of the +Mayor of New York, the word I particularly have in mind has five +letters, of which the first is appropriately A, the Alpha of the Greeks, +the Aleph of the Hebrews, and now the first of all the alphabets of +European languages. It is logically the first letter because it is the +first sound that man naturally makes--'A' or 'Ah!' The first letter! +What is the word of five letters beginning with A that will give you ten +thousand dollars? With 'A'! _Now!_" + +Stop-watch in hand, H. R. began to move his left arm up and down like a +referee at a prize-fight. He had astutely emphasized the fact that the +word had five letters, of which the first was A. The mind of the +coupon-holder was thus made to study the dictionary instead of thinking +about the question itself. + +It was inevitable as fate itself. The first man could not guess. Neither +could the second nor any of the thousands. But before the applicant's +indignation at the unfairness of the question and the shortness of the +time could grow into fury H. R. exclaimed, "Time's up." Approaching the +non-guesser, he whispered: "The name of the unsuccessful will _not_ be +given to the newspapers. Not by _us_! I thank you in the name of the +poor starving people whose lives you have prolonged. That way to the +seats. You can have your pick of the very best!" + +In that simple way was bloodshed and the cry of fraud averted at one and +the same time. + +H. R. then delegated the task of propounding the aureate question to a +dozen lieutenants. Without varying one word the lieutenants asked the +men whose charity would feed the starving. + +Not one won the ten thousand dollars. + +One of the reporters with the air of a man whose life depends upon the +bulletin-board asked H. R.: + +"What's the answer?" + +The others heard H. R. reply: + +"Ten thousand dollars in cash!" + +"Yes; but the word?" + +"It is worth ten thousand of my dollars. You can make them yours." + +"I guess it's a fake." + +"That begins with an 'F.' Mine begins with an 'A.' The Mayor has the +cash." + +The reporter looked at the Mayor. His Honor's lips were moving +inaudibly. He was going over all the words of five letters that began +with an "A." + +Among them was _Agony_. + +Lubin again looked at the ten-thousand-dollar yellow-back and at H. R. +and suddenly rushed out. On the way he collected nine erudite friends. +They went to the nearest branch of the public library. Each got a +dictionary and divided all the definitions under "A" into nine parts. + +Nothing doing! + +"I knew it was a fraud!" yelled the _Onward_ man. "It isn't in the +dictionary." + +He fairly flew back to the Garden. + +H. R. was just about to go into the arena. Lubin yelled: + +"There is no such word in the dictionary. I protest against this--" + +"You talk like an old-school Republican," said H. R., coldly, to Lubin. + +It killed speech in the young man. + +The Mayor clenched his right fist tightly. The ten-thousand-dollar +treasury note lay crumpled within. + +"Sir," said H. R. to him, with real dignity, "you have my word that the +word _is_ in the dictionary." + +The Mayor, naturally thinking of political consequences, spoke, "Of +course, Mr. Rutgers, I expect you to prove it." + +"Sir, I shall see to it that you are re-elected!" H. R. said this so +positively that his Honor blushed guiltily. "I am not stupid enough to +endeavor to perpetrate so transparent a fraud as this young man charges +me with. But it would be even greater stupidity to be unfair to honest +guessers by telling Mr. Lubin or anybody else what the word is. It is of +five letters and begins with an 'A' and it is in the dictionary. But I +will tell you, your Honor, and you, Mr. Lubin, what I will do. I shall +ask the question and give the answer to a man who will say whether it is +a fair question and whether the word is a fair answer. His decision will +be final. He will not, I am sure, send for the ten thousand dollars +after he hears the answer." + +The Mayor shook his head dubiously. + +"Who is the man?" + +Mr. Lubin, being young, went much further. + +"There is no man in New York whose word--" + +"Silence, sir! I know the man. If he says that the word answers the +question, everybody in New York will be convinced--Socialists, +Democrats, Republicans, Progressives, Suffragists, newspaper editors, +and all." + +"There can't be such a man," said Lubin, decisively. + +H. R. smiled and turned to the Mayor. + +"Your Honor, the man whom I will ask to vouch for my honesty and +intelligence after I have confidentially disclosed the word to him, is +the Cardinal Archbishop of New York. His word will be enough, I take +it." + +The Mayor beamed and said, "Certainly, Mr. Rutgers." He made up his mind +then and there that H. R. must conduct his campaign for re-election. + +"Even young Mr. Lubin, I take it, will not doubt the word of his +Eminence." + +Lubin was no fool. "Mr. Rutgers," he said, earnestly, "we hate our +enemies, the capitalists. But we respect the only foes who are fighting +us as we are fighting capitalism with honest convictions and real ardor. +Of course, we think the Catholics--" + +"Hold on, Lubin," said H. R., "that policeman's name is Flannery." + +Lubin explained: "I was afraid you were going to give us a banker, Mr. +Rutgers." + +"_Never!_" said H. R. so emphatically that Lubin extended his right +hand. They shook warmly. + +A sound of applause came to their ears. The Mayor flushed with vexation. +It was premature, he thought. He was wrong. It was Grace Goodchild. + +Andrew Barrett ran in excitedly. + +"Did you hear it?" he asked his chief. "Say, she is smiling to beat the +band and the crowd is going crazy. Hear that?" And he began to dance a +jig. + +H. R. seized him by the arm and said: + +"In exactly two minutes I shall enter." + +Andrew Barrett rushed away to tip on the _vox populi_. + +"Gentlemen," said H. R. to the reporters, "you had better go in." + +They obeyed him. They were escorted to their table on the stage. They +found there seven military bands that had volunteered their services and +also their own weapons. + +In the background of the stage was a huge placard: + + FIFTY THOUSAND PEOPLE CAN BE SERVED, FED, AND FIRED IN 6-3/4 + MINUTES BY OUR SYSTEM! + + S. A. S. A., Dept. T. + O. K. + H. R., + _Sec._ + +At each reporter's place was a typewritten sheet containing intelligent +statistics of this stupendous charity. + +The reporters saw in the arena long strings of tables, each six hundred +and eighteen feet long, and benches to match. Each guest was allowed +nineteen and one-half inches. The dishes were of water-proofed paper +stamped S. A. S. A. Above each table were aluminum-painted pipes with +faucets every ten seats for soup, milk, tea, and coffee. + +"By keeping the tea, coffee, and soup in circulation wholesome warm +drinks are secured," read the official statement, "besides obviating the +assistance of eight hundred and sixteen waiters, who would have had to +walk an aggregate of six hundred and seventy-seven miles from tables to +kitchen." + +The solid food was brought to the scores of small serving-tables by +means of overhead conveyors and traveling-cranes, a sort of gigantic +cash-carrier system operated by electricity. The food came in individual +covered dishes, also of water-proofed paper. Everything was automatic. +The S. A. S. A. system prevented spilling, waste, delay, inefficient +waiters, and the dissatisfaction of the guests. + +"You will observe," went on the official statement, "that for the first +time in history the beneficiaries of the bounty of their fellow-men are +treated as honored cash guests and not compelled to wait. The bread of +charity is hard, but not when served by the S. A. S. A." + +Leaflets containing much the same information had been placed in each of +the thousands of seats in the Garden in lieu of programs. As each man +entered he saw the pipes and the traveling-cranes and the mechanical +waiters, and read the placard on the stage. + +"Ain't it great?" inquired every charitable ticket-buyer. "_In six and +three-quarter minutes!_ No regiments of waiters. Everything automatic. +Say, that H. R. is a wonder!" + +It naturally took some time before they remembered to look at the +starving people who were sitting at the long tables waiting to be fed. + +They saw haggard faces, sunken-eyed, pale-lipped men and women and +children. They saw trembling hands that fidgeted with knives and forks +that were obviously unnecessary. They saw women at the tables trying to +still whining children. They saw gray-haired heads fallen on soup-plates +utterly exhausted from inanition. + +They saw starving and penniless human beings by the thousand. + +And the spectators, hosts of these guests, ran over the faces and the +forms of the men and women and children--all alike in that all were +hungry and all were penniless. And the same thought struck them all, and +they expressed it audibly, with gusto, as though they were original +thinkers, with the modesty of professional epigrammatists. All the +spectators said: + +"Say, it will be great to see them eat!" + +New York's great big heart had spoken in no uncertain accents! + +"And the greatest of these is charity." + + + + +XXIV + + +Just after the applause that greeted Grace Goodchild's arrival had begun +to subside, and the public was about to demand that the feast, for which +they had paid, begin a bugle blew. + +H. R., who was Fame since he was initials, entered the arena. + +Instantly the well-trained Public Sentiment Corps began to shout, +angrily: + +"_Sit_ down! _Sit down!_" + +That, as intended by H. R., made all rise to their feet. + +Then, and only then, did H. R. advance into the arena, followed by the +Mayor of the City of New York, the Bishop of the Diocese of the same, +and the other dignitaries. + +The applause that came from the members of the Society of American +Sandwich Artists was not applause. It was fervor, frenzy, fury. They +yelled and shouted with the enthusiastic recklessness of free men who +knew that after their throats went dry ten beers, also free, would cure. + +The audience, seeing and hearing their fellow-men applaud, felt +themselves left out of something. They were free men. They therefore +also applauded, even more frenziedly. + +No beers; not even knowledge; merely insistence upon political +equality! + +In front of the Goodchild box H. R., whose progress resembled Buffalo +Bill's minus the curls, paused. He looked intently at Grace Goodchild. + +She knew something was expected of her--something spectacular, +thrilling, befitting the imperial consort. She stared back at H. R. +agonizedly. Couldn't he prompt her? What was she to do, and how and +when? + +"Grace! Grace! Grace!" shouted the free sandwiches. + +Instantly as well as instinctively the other ninety-nine beautiful +perfections rose in their boxes and waved their handkerchiefs. + +The crowd, drawn thither by one of the noblest charities of the age, +went wild. Grace was rich! She was theirs! They cheered what belonged to +them! + +Grace Goodchild, actually urged by her aristocratic friends, rose and +bowed to H. R. with a queenly air. + +H. R. bowed low to her and walked on. + +When he reached the stage all the bands began to play the national +anthem almost together. + +A huge American flag was dropped from the middle of the roof to remind +New York what its nationality was. + +When the bands finished playing there flashed a dazzling electric sign +over the stage. + +In huge letters of light the people read: + + WELL DONE, NEW YORK! + + H. R. + +The great building rocked under the applause. + +New York can always be trusted to applaud itself. + +The lights of the sign went out. H. R. motioned to his stage-manager. + +In the back of the stage the curtain that told of the wonderful feeding +system--50,000 people, 6-3/4 minutes!--fell. + +A hush also fell on the audience, for back of it was another white sheet +on which everybody read: + + WATCH YOUR GUESTS EAT + + YOU ARE FEEDING THEM! + + H. R. + +The audience, metamorphosed against its will into charitable hosts, now +remembered the starving fellow-beings who were there to eat. + +H. R. motioned. A bugler advanced to the front of the stage and sounded, +_Charge_! + +The soup began to pour out of the faucets. In fourteen seconds 12,137 +cups of steaming soup _à la Piccolini_ were before the guests. + +The audience applauded madly. It was perfectly wonderful what charity +could do--in fourteen seconds! + +The guests were very hungry. The soup, however, was very hot. This made +the drinking audible to the remotest recesses of the Garden. + +Again the bugle blew. The charitable crowd instantly ceased to look at +their guests and gazed at the electric traveling-cranes carrying laden +trays. Over six thousand well-fed spectators pulled out their watches +and timed the entrée. + +It took twenty-nine seconds to place the entrée before the guests. + +"Quick work!" said the watch-holders, approvingly. It took the guests +much less than twenty-nine seconds to eat the entrée. + +The bugle blew for the third time. + +The roast appeared. The rear curtain dropped. Behind it was another on +which could be read, without the aid of binoculars: + + WATCH THEM EAT! + + YOUR TICKET DID IT! + + H. R. + +It happened exactly as H. R. had told Bishop Phillipson. Each charitable +person thought of his particular ticket and looked for his individual +guest among the 12,137. + +Each charitable person felt that his twenty-five cents had made possible +the entire feast. At that moment H. R. could have been elected to any +office within the gift of a free and sturdy people. + +The guests began to eat more slowly. + +The hosts, filled with kindliness and the desire to help their +fellow-men by getting their money's worth, began to shout: + +"Keep it up!" + +"Go on!" + +"Eat away!" + +"Fill up! Fill up!" + +"It's free! It's free!" + +Charity is not dead, but sleepeth. When it awakens, it is ruthless. + +Presently men and women at the tables, who had thought they were in +paradise surrounded by angels, began to throw up their hands and shake +their heads helplessly. + +A storm of hisses greeted the ingratitude. Fat hosts began to shout: + +"Fakes!" + +"Fraud!" + +"Take 'em out!" + +In self-defense some of the guests began to rub their paunches. Here and +there those who remembered close experiences with Christian mobs rose in +their benches ostentatiously, let out their belts, and sat down again +determinedly. + +The hosts clapped madly. They understood, and therefore forgave. Then +the hosts began to think that fifteen cents would have been enough. + +The bugle blew. Dessert was served. It was determinedly put away. + +Having convicted themselves of both charity and extravagance, each host +felt that he was not only a philanthropist but a New-Yorker. + +The bugle blew again. The paper dishes were gathered up, and also such +of the knives and forks as the guests had not put in their pockets. The +trays were whisked away by the traveling-cranes. + +Suddenly all the lights went out. With the utter darkness a hush fell +upon the vast audience. Then from all the bands came a mighty crashing +chord. Instantly there blazed an electric sign that stretched from one +side of the Garden to the other above the stage. + +And both hosts and guests saw an American flag in red, white, and blue +lights, and below it, in letters ten feet high, they read: + + AND THE GREATEST OF THESE + + IS CHARITY + + H. R. + +Everybody cheered, for everybody agreed with the sentiment. Some even +thought it was original. + +Then all the lights were turned on again. The tables were carried away +by the cranes. The guests, directed by H. R.'s lieutenants, formed in +line and paraded around the Garden. The lame, the old, the young, the +hopeless, the wicked, the maimed--all who had hungered--marched jauntily +round the vast arena that their benefactors might see who it was that +really had made the Mammoth Hunger Feast a success. They carried their +heads erect, proudly, conscious of their importance in the world. The +benefactors thereupon cheered the beneficiaries. By so doing they showed +what they thought of the benefactors. It was none the less noble! + +The reporters looked at their watches. A full page on Saturday night is +no laughing matter to the make-up man. One of them rose and asked H. R.: + +"Is this all? We've got to write--" + +"It is _not_ all!" answered H. R., and motioned to the trumpeter, who +instantly blew the Siegfried motif. The crowd looked stageward. The rear +drop-curtain showed in high letters: + + DANCING! + +The guests hesitated. + +The curtain was lowered a few feet. Above "Dancing!" the crowd now read: + + FREE OF CHARGE! + +Everybody started for the floor. + +H. R. left the stage and walked into the Goodchild box. Grace had been +receiving congratulations all the evening until she had convinced +herself that this was her dinner. It was all H. R. could do to force his +way through the plutocracy in the Imperial Box. Talking to Grace at the +same time were three young men who never before had accepted Mrs. +Goodchild's invitations to marry Grace. But Grace was now the +most-talked-of girl in all New York. And she was officially very +beautiful and Goodchild _père_ was not enough. And Grace was very kind +to all of them. All empresses are kindly when they haven't Dyspepsia or +Dynamite Dreams. All unpleasant things seem to begin with a "D." There +is Death and Damnation; also Duty. + +Mr. Goodchild frowned when he saw H. R. in the box. But when he saw that +H. R. never even looked at him he became really angry. + +Mrs. Goodchild looked alarmed and hissed, "Don't you talk to him, +Grace!" + +Grace, knowing herself desired by the most eligible young men in her +set, decided to squelch H. R. in public. H. R., however, walked past +everybody, looking neither to left nor right. Feeling themselves treated +as so many chairs or hat-racks, the élite of New York began to feel like +intruders. + +Then, as an imperial mandate is given, H. R. said to Miss Goodchild: + +"We're needed!" + +He offered her his arm. The young men rose and made room for him. Duty +called, and they never interfered with duty. + +Grace hypnotically obeyed, for H. R. was frowning. Together they walked +down to the floor of the Garden. + +The Public Sentiment Corps did their duty. They had not yet received the +beer. They shouted, frenziedly: + +"H. R.! H. R.! H. R.!" + +The public took up the cheering. Thousands of outstretched hands reached +out for his. But H. R. merely bowed, right and left, and walked to the +middle of the floor. + +"Smile at them!" he whispered, fiercely, to Grace. + +She did. She knew then what it was to be a Queen. She felt an +overpowering kindliness toward all these delightful, simple people. +Reggie was not brilliant, but that wasn't expected of a Van Duzen. She +did not love Reggie, but she _liked_ him. As Mrs. Van Duzen she would +always have what she liked. She would never marry H. R.! It was +preposterous. + +The band began to play. The crowd, instead of dancing, moved toward the +sides--to give H. R. room to dance. + +Never before on Manhattan Island had such a triumph of personality +fallen to the lot of any man. + +H. R. put his arm about Grace Goodchild. She shrank from the symbolism +of bondage. + +"The world is looking on!" he admonished her. + +Knowing that she danced very well, she now had but one fear--that her +partner might make her ridiculous. + +But H. R. was the best dancer she had ever honored. + +She felt her resolution not to marry him slipping away. He led divinely. +She felt that she herself had never danced so well in her life. He +brought out the best that was in her. + +"Ever try the Rutgers Roll?" he whispered, tensely. + +"N-no! she gasped. + +"Let yourself go!" + +When a woman lets herself go, all is over except the terms of the +capitulation. She let herself go desperately, because she was forced to +do it; fearfully, because of the appalling possibility of a fiasco. + +She did not know how it was done. She had looped the loop and was still +dancing away--a new but unutterably graceful undulation of torso and +rhythmical leg work and exquisite sinuous motions of the arms and hands. + +A storm of applause came to her ears, a hurricane steeped in saccharine. +A man who could dance like that was fit to be any girl's husband! + +The élite flocked on the floor and began to indulge in old-fashioned +specialties, some of which were nearly a fortnight old. You heard +delighted remarks: + +"That's Mrs. Vandergilt!" + +"There goes Reggie Van Duzen!" + +"Look at Katherine Van Schaick!" + +Then the New York that Americans call ruffianly, impolite, vulgar, +selfish, spendthrift, money-loving, self-satisfied, and stupid, also +began to dance decorously! The veteran reporters did not believe their +eyes, but they made a note of the fact, nevertheless. + +Grace was nearly out of breath. She said, "I'm--I'm--I'm--" + +"Certainly, dear girl." And H. R. deftly piloted her out of the crush. +They stopped dancing, and he gave her his arm. She took it. + +"Grace," he said, "when will you marry me?" + +"Never!" she answered, determinedly. "And you must not call me Grace." + +"Right-O!" he said, gratefully. "I'll call to-morrow afternoon. Shall I +speak to Bishop Phillipson, or will father--" + +"I said _never_!" she frowned. + +"I heard you," he smiled, reassuringly. "I--" + +Andrew Barrett and the reporters came up to him. + +"What about the men that fell for the beer?" + +"Oh, give 'em the left-over grub, if you boys think it's right. But +don't print it. The W. C. T. U. would howl at the thought of giving food +to people who had first wanted booze." + +Grace looked on, marveling at the way he ordered things done and at the +way men listened to his words. + +"But what about that ten-thousand-dollar cash to the coupon-holders?" +asked young Mr. Lubin, finally taking his eyes off the beautiful +capitalist. Feeling that he was beginning to condone with capitalistic +crimes, he spoke sternly to H. R. in self-defense. + +"Oh yes!" said H. R. and turned to Grace. "My dear, I'll have to leave +you. Shall I take you to mother?" + +Reggie Van Duzen saved him the trip. + +"Say, Mr. Rutgers, could I have--" + +"Yes, my boy!" gratefully smiled H. R. He shook hands with Reggie and +said, very seriously, "_I leave her in your care!_" + +Reggie, who was very young and careless, flushed proudly. Here was a man +who understood men! He would protect Grace with his life. And it gave +him a new respect for other women. + +"I don't blame you, Grace," he said, with his twelve-year-old's smile +that clung to him through life and made even poor people like him. "He +is a wonder! Beekman Rutgers had the nerve to tell me that all the +Rutgerses are like H. R. What do you think of that?" + +Grace answered, "Certainly not!" + +She was not going to marry H. R., but if you intend to have it known +that you have refused to marry a man who is crazy to marry you, the +greater the man the greater the refusal. She added, with conviction: + +"There is only one Rutgers like that and his first name is Hendrik." + +Reggie nodded, looked at her, sighed, and began to dance. + +He didn't touch H. R. as a dancer. + +"Can you do the Rutgers Roll?" she asked. + +"No!" he confessed. + +She could never marry Reggie. She knew it now. But of course she would +not marry H. R. + +In the mean time H. R., accompanied by the reporters, drove to the +Cardinal's residence. They explained their mission to a pleasant-faced +young priest and sent in their cards. + +The young priest began to make excuses and spoke of the lateness of the +hour. + +H. R. said to him, deferentially: "Monsignor, we have come to the +Cardinal because he is the supreme authority in this case. The Mayor of +New York and the representative of the Socialist press, Mr. Lubin, here, +have agreed to leave it to the decision of his Eminence." + +The Cardinal sent back word that he would see Mr. Rutgers. + +H. R. went in alone. He saw not the head of the Catholic hierarchy, but +a man in whose eyes was that light which comes from believing in God and +from hearing the truth from fellow-men who told him their sins. H. R. +bowed respectfully before the aged priest. + +"How may I help you? asked the Cardinal. He was an old man and this was +a young man. No more; no less; both of them children. + +"Your Eminence, I am the unfortunate American who in his misguided way +has tried to feed the hungry in order that New York's grown children may +realize that charity is not dead. If I have used the methods of a +mountebank it is because I have labored where God had been forgotten, +almost." + +"Generalities are not always verities, though they may come close to +them. I know about your work. I shall be glad to do what I can for you." + +"Thank you, sir. I promised to give ten thousand dollars in cash to any +New-Yorker who could answer this question: What is it we have all heard +about from earnest childhood and that we acknowledge exists; that is +neither a person nor a beast, neither a thing nor an object, but +something that no man can kill, though it is dead to-day; that all men +need and most New-Yorkers neglect; that should be present everywhere and +is found in no trade? The answer is a word of five letters and begins +with 'A.' There is a synonym that, though not exactly obsolete, is at +least obsolescent." + +"Five letters? Is it in English?" smiled the Cardinal. + +"It is in every good English dictionary. I think the dictionary is the +only place in which I can find it nowadays." + +"Oh no, my son." And the Cardinal shook his head in kindly dissent. + +"Reverend sir, I said anybody with brains could guess it." + +"It was not an ingenuous question, Mr. Rutgers." + +"It was a coupon that entitled anybody who held it to answer the +question and get ten thousand dollars. It was part of a ticket for +which the holder paid twenty-five cents to feed a starving fellow-being. +But what I wish you to do is to assure the reporters that it was a +legitimate question. The word is _Anima_." + +"I knew it." + +"Because you use it every day." + +"But your condition--" + +"New York's condition, your Eminence," corrected H. R., politely. "I +said the synonym, _soul_, would answer. Nobody won the ten thousand +dollars. New York will cudgel its brains because it did not win the ten +thousand dollars. In searching for the missing word it may find +something more precious--the missing _soul_." + +"Your way is not our way, but perhaps--" The Cardinal was silent, his +kindly eyes meditatively bent on H. R. + +"The reporters, your Eminence--" began H. R., apologetically. + +"Ah yes!" And the white-haired prelate accompanied H. R. to the room +where the reporters were waiting. + +"I have heard Mr. Rutgers's question. The word of five letters beginning +with an 'A' I think answers it, from his point of view, which is not +unreasonable. I cannot say that the inability to guess proves the +non-possession of brains--" + +"The Cardinal knew at once," put in H. R. + +"But that nobody should have guessed is astonishing." + +"They were not all Christians," explained H. R. + +"What is the answer?" asked a reporter. + +"A word of five letters beginning with 'A,'" said H. R. + +"Can't we publish it?" + +"It is our secret now. New York is very rich. When it discovers that one +word--or its synonym of four letters--it will be infinitely richer in +every way." + +The reporters brightened up. They saw columns and columns of guesses. +But the Cardinal looked thoughtful. Then he said to H. R.: + +"Come and see me again." + +"Thank you. I will, your Eminence." + +The Cardinal bowed his head gravely and H. R. and the newspaper men +left. + +"Are you a Catholic?" the _World_ man asked. + +"No," answered H. R., doubtfully. + +"All roads lead to Rome," interrupted Lubin, with a sneer. + +"Excepting one, Lubin," said H. R., pleasantly. "Keep on going, my boy. +It's nice and warm there." + + + + +XXV + + +The newspapers did nobly. Too many prominent names were involved for +them not to print the news. There was an opportunity for using real +humor and impressive statistics in describing the new labor-saving +machinery. The marvelous efficiency of H. R. as a practical +philanthropist, demonstrated by his elimination of people who had money +with which to buy food, and the simple but amazing efficacy of his +Thirst-Detector raised the story to the realm of pure literature. + +There was also a serious aspect to the entire affair. All the hungry +men, women, and children in Greater New York that had no money had been +fed. Assuming, as was probable, that most of the hungry were not +bona-fide residents of New York, it showed that in the metropolis of the +Western World less than one-thousandth of the total population were +hungry and penniless. No other city in the world could boast of such +statistics. + +But H. R.'s work was not done. Before he retired for the night, knowing +that his position in society and in the world of affairs was established +on an adamant base, he nevertheless composed thirty-eight communications +for the Public Sentiment Corps to send out the next day to the +newspapers. A sample will suffice: + + It has been clearly proven that New York is a great big city + with a great big heart. As always, it responded generously + to the call of Charity. The Hunger Feast at Madison Square + Garden was an extraordinary bit of municipal psychology and + an illuminating object-lesson. Why not make permanent a + state of mind of the public which does so much to dispel the + danger of a bloody revolution? Social unrest can be cured by + only one thing: Charity! Man does not need justice. He needs + the good-will of other men. The newspapers have it in their + power to check the hysterical and un-American clamor against + individual fortunes. They can throw open their columns! + Treat Charity as if it were as important as baseball or at + least billiards. Carry a regular Department of Charity every + day. Give your readers a chance to be kind. It will be a + novelty to many, but it will help all--the giver no less + than the beneficiary. If you will agree, Mr. Editor, I'll + send check. + +Other specimens emphasized the non-sectarian phase of such charities as +that conceived and carried to success by one of the most remarkable men +in a city where the best brains of the country admittedly resided. +Intelligent charity, wisely discriminating, truly helpful, had been +placed for all time among the possibilities. Systematized charities were +delusions, chimeras, thin air. There was a demand for the opportunity to +be decent and kind. Let the newspapers supply it. "If your readers want +lurid accounts of murder trials and divorce cases, let them have them. +If they want expert advice on how to help their fellow-men give it to +them, also. It remains to be seen whether there is one newspaper in New +York that knows real news when it sees it!" + +There were thirty-eight epistolary models in all. + +In the afternoon of the day following the Mammoth Hunger Feast H. R. +called at the Goodchild house. + +"Frederick, tell Miss Grace--" + +"She 'as _gone_, sir!" said Frederick, tragically. + +"Did she leave word when she would return?" + +"She 'as _gone_, sir!" persisted Frederick, in abysmal distress at the +news and at his inability to convey it in letters of molten meteors. He +added, "To Philadelphia." + +It sounded to him like Singapore. He did not think there was much +difference, anyhow. + +"Philadelphia?" echoed H. R., blankly. + +"Yes, sir!" said Frederick, with sad triumph. + +"Whatever in the world can she--" H. R. caught himself in time. He +nearly had reduced himself to the level of humanity--well called dead +level--by confessing ignorance aloud. + +"Mrs. Goodchild is at 'ome, sir!" suggested Frederick, ingratiatingly. + +"Damned good place for her!" muttered H. R., savagely, and gave +Frederick a five-dollar gold piece. In some respects, Frederick +admitted, America was ahead of the old country. + +H. R. walked away frowning fiercely. He went nearly a block before he +smiled. Love always interferes with the chemistry of the stomach and +hits the brain through the toxins. What an ass he was not to have +realized the truth on the instant: + +_Grace had run away from him!_ + +He returned to his office and told Andrew Barrett to set the Public +Sentiment Corps at work on the thirty-eight models he had prepared. Then +he wrote forty-two more. The consciousness of Grace's confessed weakness +gave him an eloquence he himself had never before known. They were +masterpieces. + +The newspapers always know they have made a bull's-eye when they get +letters from their readers. It is an obvious fact that a man who writes +is a steady customer--at least, until his communication is printed. + +The Public Sentiment Corps merely started the ball rolling. An avalanche +of letters from all sorts and conditions of men, women, and merchants +descended upon the editorial offices. + +It became clear, even to the newspapers, that people in New York were +willing to give, but they didn't know how. The papers, therefore, +announced that they would thereafter run Charity as a regular +department. It would be strictly non-sectarian. The world's greatest +authorities and most eminent philanthropists had been asked to +contribute--not money; articles. The _World_ printed a full-page +biography of St. Vincent de Paul and satanically invited some of its pet +aversions to send in their autobiographies. + +All the papers informed the charitable men and women of New York that +checks, clothing, supplies, etc., could be sent to the Charity editor. + +All the papers, also, invited H. R. to accept the editorship of the +page. His duties would consist of allowing his name to be printed at the +top of the page. + +He declined their offers with profound regret, but promised to give +interviews to the reporters whenever they wished. Personal matters +precluded his acceptance of their kind invitations. + +The personal matters consisted of the boom in sandwich advertising. +It was not uncommon to see "Sandwich-board Maker, approved by the +S. A. S. A.," in signs in various parts of the city. A new industry! + + + + +XXVI + + +In the mean time Grace was in Philadelphia. She had gone there for +sundry reasons. The telephone calls told on her nerves. Mr. Goodchild +had to install a new one, the number of which was not printed in the +Directory but confided to intimate friends. Requests for autographs, +interviews, money, food, advice, name of soap habitually used, +permission to name massage ointments and face lotions after her, +contributions to magazines, and ten thousand other things had been +coming in by mail or were made in person by friends and strangers until +Grace, in desperation, decided to go on a visit to Philadelphia. She +craved peace. + +Ruth Fiddle had long urged her to come. Grace had agreed to be one of +her bridesmaids in June and Ruth naturally wished to discuss marriage, +generally and particularly. + +Ruth delightedly met Grace at the station. Two young men were with her. +One was her fiancé. The other was a very nice chap who had blood, +brains, and boodle. His ancestors had been William Penn's grandfather's +landlords in Bristol, England, and he himself had once written a story +which he had sent to the _Saturday Evening Post_. His father was in +coal, railroads, and fire insurance. + +They decided to adjourn to the Fairview-Hartford for luncheon. Before so +doing they talked. + +Ruth asked a thousand excited questions about the Hunger Feast, fame, +and the Rutgers Roll. Grace answered, and then confided to Ruth her iron +resolve never to marry H. R. She admitted that he was as great as the +papers said, even greater, and, besides, good-looking. But her +determination was inflexible. + +Ruth, to show she approved, told Grace that Monty--the writer--was her +fiancé's chum and African hunting-companion. Monty himself told Miss +Goodchild that there was a good story in the whole affair. In fact, two +stories. In both of them the heroine--he looked at her and nodded his +head convincingly. "Drawn from life," he added. "Of course I'll have to +know you--I mean, the heroine--better. But don't you think she'd make a +great one?" + +She wasn't thrilled a bit. She was not even politely interested. What +was such talk, Grace impartially asked herself, to one who had been +madly cheered by thousands? + +Still, he was a nice boy, not so consciously clever as New-Yorkers who +chose to regard themselves as vaudeville wits. + +Finally they got into the waiting motor and went to the +Fairview-Hartford, where the eating is better than in any New York +hotel. + +As they were about to enter the dining-room Grace Goodchild put on her +restaurant look of utter unconsciousness and stone deafness and +blindness, which had grown into a habit since she became famous. + +She entered the dining-room ahead of the others, as usual. She took nine +steps before she stopped short. Her face went pale. + +Nobody had stopped eating! + +Nobody had turned around to stare! + +Nobody had stage-whispered, "There she is!" + +No woman had said, "Do you think she is as beautiful as the newspapers +try to make out?" + +Not one imbecile male look; not one feminine sneer! Nothing! No fame! + +"What's the matter?" asked Monty in alarm. + +Grace felt an overwhelming desire to stand there until the people +looked, even if it took a year. + +As the century-long seconds passed she barely could resist the impulse +to shout, "Fire!" + +"Anything wrong?" whispered Monty, with real concern. + +"N-no-nothing!" she stammered, and followed Ruth, who had passed her, +unnoticing. + +Her color returned as wrath dispelled amazement. + +For the first time since H. R. began to woo her in public places with +sandwiches Grace Goodchild actually had to eat food in a restaurant. In +New York famous people don't go to restaurants to eat. + +She was distraite throughout the luncheon. She thought Monty was an ass. + +And the other feeding beasts must have read the New York papers! There +was absolutely no excuse. + +In the evening the same thing happened. That is, nothing happened. The +Fiddles' friends tried to be particularly nice to her by talking of the +opera, novels, the dancing-craze, the resurgence of the Republican +party, and cubism. It only made it worse. And not one knew the Rutgers +Roll! + +The next day Ruth and the young men took her to the Philadelphia Country +Club. Same thing! And later to a dance at the Fitz-Marlton. Ditto! + +Her good looks, her gowns, and her nice manners made a very favorable +impression on all of Ruth's friends, male and female, young and old. +Hang 'em, that's all it did! + +It was like Lucullus being asked to eat sanitary biscuits. + +She had wanted peace. But not in a burial crypt. On the fourth day of +extinction she said to Ruth after breakfast: + +"My dear, I must return to New York!" + +"Oh no! Grace, darling, I've accepted seventeen--" + +"I must, Ruth. I simply must!" + +"But Monty is coming at one to take us to his father's--" + +Grace felt like saying that Monty could take himself to Hades or to +Atlantic City. But she merely shook her head. She dared not trust +herself to speak. Ruth appealed to her mother. But Mrs. Fiddle shrugged +her shoulders and said: "No use! New York!" She herself was a Van Duzen. + +And so Grace Goodchild returned home, five days before she was expected. + +"I couldn't stand it, mother," she explained, almost tearfully. + +"Very well," said Mrs. Goodchild. + +What else can a mother say in New York? And isn't it right to stand by +your own flesh and blood? + +Grace hesitated, full of perplexities and unformulated doubts and an +exasperating sense of indecision. She felt like opening the book of her +soul to other eyes. To hear advice or, at least, opinions. + +"I want to have a heart-to-heart talk with you, mother," said Grace, +hesitatingly. Then she apologized, self-defensively. "It concerns my +future, dear." + +"Yes, darling," said Mrs. Goodchild, absently. "I don't think. I'd like +it quite like Celestine's-- Grace, love, will you run over to Raquin's +spring exhibition at the Fitz-Marlton and look at it? It is next to the +black that Mrs. Vandergilt liked. I have an appointment with +Celestine--" + +Grace knew that the selection of a husband could wait, for fashions in +that line do not change so quickly as in skirts. She dutifully said, "I +will!" She also had her eye on one. + +Before going to Raquin's display she stopped at Oldman's. + +The store flunky opened the door of her motor and smiled happily when he +saw who it was. She was made subtly conscious that he was dying to +announce her name to the world at the top of his enthusiastic voice. +Life in New York had its compensations, after all. + +She entered. The shop-girls whispered to the customers on whom they were +waiting. The customers turned quickly and stared at Grace Goodchild. + +"She often comes here!" she heard the pretty little thing in charge of +seventy-two glove-boxes say proudly to a client. + +The girl who waited on Grace was a stranger. Nevertheless, when Grace +told her "I'll take these!" the girl said, "Very well, Miss Goodchild." + +"Oh!" gasped Grace. "You know me?" + +"What d'ye t'ink I am?" said the girl, indignantly. "Say, it was great, +Miss Goodchild!" + +The worship in the girl's eyes kept the language from being offensive. + +"Thank you!" + +"I hope you'll be very happy, Miss Goodchild," said the girl, and +blushed. "Oh, I didn't mean to be--I--I couldn't help wishing it, Miss +Goodchild!" + +"I'm sure I'm very grateful for your good wishes," Grace told her, +graciously. + +The child's--age twenty-four--eyes filled with tears. As Grace walked +away, Mayme's lips moved raptly. She was memorizing dem woids. + +On her way out Grace went through the same craning of necks, the same +vivid curiosity, the same half-audible murmurs, the same spitefulness in +the eyes of the women who, though rich, were not famous. Everybody is so +disgustingly rich nowadays that society had begun to applaud such +remarks as, "I've had to give up one of my motors," or, "Jim says he +won't put the _Mermaid_ in commission this year; simply can't afford +it." + +At Raquin's wonderful exhibition of models Grace saw exactly what she +wished to see. It would be worthy of her and of her throat. One who is +photographed many times a week has to have gowns; not to have them is +almost immoral. Grace was so concerned with doing her duty toward the +public that she forgot that she had come to see the third one, next to +Mrs. Vandergilt's black. She was nearly half-way home before she +remembered what her mother had asked her to do. + +Grace went back to the Fitz-Marlton. Dress was a public service. Mrs. +Goodchild's clothes must tell the public whose mother she was. + +She told the chauffeur "Home," and began to think. + +Pleasure could be made a duty. Blessed indeed is she in whose mind, as +in a vast cathedral, pleasure and duty solemnly contract nuptials. + +This beautiful figure of speech in turn made her think of marriage. If +she married Reggie or Mr. Watson or Percival or one of the others, what +would her married life be? What? + +One long visit to Philadelphia! + +"I could kill him!" she said to the flower-holder, frowning fiercely. +Happening to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror for that purpose +provided in an town cars, Grace smoothed her brow and smiled. A man +would have required slathers of flattery to dispel ill-humor. With a +woman, the truth is enough. A mirror does not lie. Providence is more +than kind to them; even automatic. + +If she wouldn't marry Reggie or the others and did marry H. R.-- But how +could she? + +She was an imaginative American girl with a sunshiny soul and much +vitality who lived in New York. She thought of her marriage to H. R. She +thought of the newspapers! The mound of clippings that instantly loomed +before her made her gasp. + +What wouldn't the newspapers do when _she_ married H. R., especially if +H. R., prompted by love, really made an effort? + +She was forced to admit that he was a remarkable man! + +"Papa," she said aloud, "will never consent!" + +Papa's life had been made miserable by H. R. Indeed, the only thing that +reconciled him to the ungrateful task of living was the steady growth of +the bank's deposits. It was due, Mr. Goodchild often declared, to his +management. But he couldn't speak about H. R. without profanity. + +Parental opposition was not everything. Marriage was a serious thing. + + + + +XXVII + + +The motor stopped. She had arrived at her house. The car door was opened +by H. R. + +She started back. Then she looked at him curiously, almost +awe-strickenly, as though her wishes had taken on magical properties of +automatic fulfilment. + +Was this the same remarkable person she had almost deified on the way +from Raquin's exhibition? What would he say? She prayed that he might +not spoil everything, by some inanity. + +He held out his hand to help her alight. Then he spoke. + +"It was time!" he said, and walked beside her--but a couple of inches +ahead. That was because, though he was an American husband-to-be, he +also was a man, a protector, a leader. Such men are cave-men minus the +club. + +Grace at times was not a true Goodchild. This time she said nothing. + +Frederick opened the door. His face expressed no sense of the +unusualness of the sight. + +H. R., with the air of a host, led Grace into the drawing-room. He stood +beside her in the gorgeous Louis XV. room. + +"Grace," he said, gently, "for twenty-nine days I've been the unhappiest +man in all New York. For five, the unhappiest in the entire world!" + +"Will you kindly release my hand?" she asked. No sooner had the words +left her lips than she realized they were piffle. Then she began to +laugh. It was the first official acknowledgment that no social barriers +divided them. + +"Suppose," she asked, with a humorously intended demureness, "that I +wished to use my handkerchief?" + +H. R. with his disengaged hand took his own out of his pocket and held +it to her nose. + +"Blow!" he said, tenderly. + +"I don't want to," she retorted and tried to pull away her hand. + +He replaced his handkerchief in his pocket. + +"All over but the mailing-list," he said to her. "Sit down here; by me!" + +Something within her stirred to revolt. Unfortunately, he did not +release her hand, but led her to the historic divan--part of the suite +for which Mr. Goodchild had paid eighteen thousand five hundred dollars +in the Sunday supplement. Marie Antoinette had been seated in that very +place when de Rohan brought the famous diamond necklace to show her. +(Same issue; third column, fourth page.) + +"I think that for sheer, unadulterated impudence--" she began, without +any anger, because she was too busy trying to decide what she must do to +him to put an end to a situation that had become intolerable--at least +in its present shape. + +"Grace, don't talk nonsense. Just let me look at you." + +He held her at arm's-length and looked into her eyes. He saw that they +were blue and clear and steady and looked fearlessly at him--the stare +of a child who doesn't know why she should be afraid. + +If they don't watch out that fearlessness becomes anything but childish +in New York. + +He continued to stare steadily, unblinkingly, into them. + +"I can't stand it! I can't stand it!" he said, hoarsely, and blinked his +eyes. Then he closed them--tight. Coward! + +She had felt his keen eyes bore through her garments, through her flesh, +into her very soul of souls--a look that frightened until it warmed; and +after it warmed, it again frightened--in another way. + +She saw a wonderfully well-shaped head and very clean-looking hair and a +very healthy-looking, clear-cut face and very strong shoulders and very +masterful hands. And from all of him came waves that thrilled--the +mysterious effluvia that compels and dominates the woman to whom Life +means this life. + +At length he spoke with an effort. "We shall be married in Grace +Chapel." He grew calmer, and added, "People will think it was named for +you!" + +"I am not going to marry you," she declared, vehemently. + +"No. I am going to marry you. After you are my wife we naturally will +talk about it. That will enable us to learn whether we shall stay +married or not. Grace," he said, earnestly, "I'll do anything you wish." + +"Leave this house, then." + +"It's _your_ house, dear," he reminded her, gently, "and I am your +guest. That puts it out of your power to enforce your desire. Don't you +see?" + +She tacitly admitted that there was an etiquette of hospitality by +asking, coldly, "Why should I marry you?" + +"I can't give you as many reasons as I might if you asked why I should +marry you. The principal two are that I love you and that I am the only +man whom Grace Goodchild can marry and still remain Grace Goodchild." + +It seemed to her impossible that he could be sitting beside her talking +about marriage seriously, and more than impossible that she could be +sitting there listening. + +"People know you as Grace Goodchild. After the marriage they will know +you as the Grace Goodchild that H. R. has married. What would become of +you if you cease to be Grace Goodchild?" + +She thought of Philadelphia, and shuddered. But he thought he had not +convinced her. He rose and said to her: + +"Oh, my love! You are so utterly and completely beautiful that if I have +a man's work to do I shall succeed only because the reward is you! I +have come to the turning-point in my career and I must have the light of +your eyes to guide me." + +She did not love him and therefore she heard his words very distinctly. +But she was a woman, and she was thrilled by his look and his voice and +by his manner. He was no longer a mountebank to her, but an unusual man. +And when she thought of not marrying him her mind reverted in some +curious way to Philadelphia and its subtle suggestions of sarcophagi and +the contents thereof. But this man must not think that he could win her +by stage speeches even though they might be real. She said to him, +determinedly: + +"We might as well understand each other--" + +"I am the creature; you are the creator," he quickly interjected. "You +are very beautiful, _very_! but you have much more than beauty. You +have brains, and I think your heart is a marvelous lute--" + +"A what?" she asked, curiously. No woman will allow the catalogue to be +skimped or obscured. + +"A lute, a wonderful musical instrument that some day will be played by +a master hand. When you cease to be merely a girl and become a woman, +with your capacity for loving when you let yourself go! Ah!" He closed +his eyes and trembled. + +All women, at heart, love to be accused of being psychic pyromaniacs. + +"_There will I give thee my loves!_" he muttered, quoting from the "Song +of Songs." + +She knew it wasn't original because he said it so solemnly. She dared +not ask from whom the quotation was. It sounded like Swinburne. + +"Come!" He was not quoting this time. He stood before her, his face +tense, his eyes aflame, his arms stretched imploringly toward her. + +She met his gaze--and then she could not look away. She saw the +wonderful man of whom the papers had printed miles of columns, who had +made all New York talk of him for weeks, who was young and strong and +comely and masterful, who had an old name and a fighting jaw, whose +words stirred the pulses like a quickstep on the piccolo. + +And his eyes made her understand what was meant by actinic rays. They +were looking at her, piercing through her garments until she felt +herself subtly divested of all concealments. + +And then she trembled as if his eyes physically touched her! She +thrilled, she blushed, she frowned--for she felt herself desired. And +her thoughts became the thoughts of a woman who is wooed by life, by +love, by a man's red blood and her own. Her New York inhibitions turned +to ashes. Life-long mental habits withered and shriveled and vanished in +microscopic flakes until into her self-hypnotized consciousness there +came the eternal query of the female who has stopped running, "What can +I give to this man?" + +And Hendrik, seeing her face, held his shaking hands before her, +impatiently beckoning to her to come. Some unseen spirit took her slim +hands and, without consulting her, placed them in his. + +And then he kissed her. + +The heavens flamed. She pushed him from her and sank back trembling upon +the divan on which Marie Antoinette was not sitting on the day when de +Rohan did not bring the diamond necklace that did not cause the French +Revolution, though Mr. Goodchild had paid eighteen thousand five hundred +dollars for the historic suite, in the Sunday supplement. + + + + +XXVIII + + +It is difficult for a man to know what to do after the first kiss. A +second kiss is not so wise as appears at first blush. It impairs mental +efficiency by rendering irresistible the desire for a third. A banal +remark is equally fatal. To tell her, "Now you are mine in God's sight," +is worse than sacrilegious; it is conducive to acute suffragism and some +polemical oratory. To say, "Now I am yours for ever," may be of +demonstrable accuracy, but also conduces to speech. + +Hendrik Rutgers was no ordinary man. He knew that one kiss does not make +one marriage nor even one divorce. But he knew that he was at least at +the church door and he had a wonderful ring in his waistcoat pocket. He +therefore became H. R. once more--cool, calm, master of his fate. + +It behooved him to do something. He did. He fell on his knees and +reverently bowed his head. And then she heard him say, "Grant that I may +become worthy of her!" + +Then his lips moved in silence. She saw them move. Her soul trembled. +Was she so much to this man? + +Great is the power of prayer even in the homes of the rich, however +cynics may sneer. + +He did not glance at her, feeling her eyes on him. When he judged it was +time he looked up suddenly, rose to his feet, and, in a diffident, +apologetic voice, observed: + +"Forgive me, dear! What did you say?" + +What could she say? She therefore said it: + +"Nothing!" very softly. + +"I was very far from New York--and yet you were with me, my love!" + +She thought of Philadelphia and her hand sought his with that +refuge-seeking instinct which cannot be statuted away from them. + +He met her half-way. He raised her hands to his lips and his disengaged +left sought his waistcoat pocket where the ring was. + +"She is in the drawing-room, sir, with Mr. Rutgers," came in faithful +Frederick's warning voice, raised above the menial's pitch. + +"What!" they heard Mr. Goodchild ejaculate. Then the titular owner of +the house entered. + +H. R. politely bowed. + +"How do you do?" he said, easily. "You are a trifle inopportune. Grace +and I were talking over our plans." + +Mr. Goodchild turned purple and advanced. Grace rose hastily. H. R. +meditatively doubled up his right arm, moved his clenched fist up and +down, felt his biceps with his left hand, and smiled contentedly. + +Mr. Goodchild remembered his manners and his years at one and the same +time. With his second calm thought he remembered the reporters. He +gulped twice and when he spoke it was only a trifle huskily: + +"Mr. Rutgers, I have no desire to make a scene in my own house." + +H. R. pleasantly pointed to a fauteuil. + +"I must ask you--" + +"Sit down and we'll talk it over quietly. You will find," H. R. assured +him, earnestly, "that I am not unreasonable. Have a seat." + +Mr. Goodchild sat down. + +H. R. turned to Grace and with one lightning wink managed to convey that +everybody obeyed him--excepting one, whose wish was a Federal statute to +him. + +She looked with a new interest at her father. It was, she realized, the +eternal conflict between youth and age. Love the prize! _Gratia +victrix!_ + +"I--I--am willing to admit"--Mr. Goodchild nearly choked as the unusual +words came from his larynx--"that you have shown--er--great cleverness +in your--er--career. But I must say to you--in a kindly way, Mr. +Rutgers, in a kindly way, believe me!--that I do not care to have +this--er--farce prolonged. If you are after--if there is any reasonable +financial consideration that will--er--induce you to desist--I--you--" + +"You have relapsed," interrupted H. R., amiably, "into the language of a +bank president. Suppose you now talk like a millionaire." It was not +really a request, but a command. + +Mr. George G. Goodchild obeyed. + +"How much?" he said. + +Grace looked as she felt--shocked. She had not fully regained her normal +composure. But this was a man who had kissed her. Was he to be bought +off with money? The shame of it overwhelmed her. She listened almost +painfully to H. R.'s reply. + +"I am now," H. R. impassively said to Mr. Goodchild, "waiting for you to +talk like a father." + +Mr. Goodchild stared at him blankly. + +"Like a father; like a human being," explained H. R. "Grace is no +bundle of canceled checks or a lost stock certificate. She is your +daughter." + +"Well?" + +"Excuse me; I mean she is your own flesh and blood--the best of your +flesh and blood, at that. Your wishes cannot be considered where her +happiness is at stake. Therefore what you think best is merely your +personal opinion and hence of interest to yourself and to nobody else." + +Mr. Goodchild quickly opened his mouth, but before the sound could come +H. R. went on, hurriedly, "Suppose you had set your heart upon her +becoming a mathematician. Would that make her one?" + +"Never!" instantly declared the non-mathematical Grace. + +Mr. Goodchild shook his head violently and again opened his mouth. But +H. R. once more surpassed him in speed and pursued, calmly +argumentative: + +"Or suppose you did not believe in vaccination. Is your opinion to be +allowed to prevail against the advice of your competent family physician +until Grace gets the disease and you are forced to acknowledge that you +were wrong? Or would even the sight of the most beautiful face in the +world pitted and pockmarked fail to shake your own faith in your own +infallibility?" + +Grace shuddered. "_Father!_" she exclaimed, horror-stricken, and glared +at Mr. Goodchild. She was now thinking of paternal opposition in terms +of smallpox. + +"But--" angrily expostulated Mr. Goodchild. + +"Exactly," agreed H. R., hastily. "That's it. Now for a favor. Will you +let me talk business with you? _My_ business!" + +Mr. Goodchild's business was to know all about the business of others. +But he did not take it home with him. However, before he could do more +than shake his head, H. R. went on: + +"I am organizing six companies." + +That sounded like good business. But Mr. Goodchild nodded +non-committally from force of habit. + +"The S. A. S. A. Imperial Sandwich Board Corporation. Capital stock, one +million, of which forty per cent. goes to the public for cash, forty per +cent. given to me--" + +"Forty?" irrepressibly objected Mr. Goodchild. + +"Forty," repeated H. R., firmly. "I am no hog. I get what my ideas, +designs, and patents are worth at a fair valuation. And twenty per cent. +goes to the S. A. S. A." + +"Why?" came from Mr. Goodchild before he could realize that he was +speaking bankerwise. + +"Because the S. A. S. A. will insist upon the company's boards being +used by all our customers. And besides, as head of the S. A. S. A., I +vote that twenty per cent. I thus control sixty per cent. and--" + +Mr. Goodchild brightened up, but remembered himself and said, very +coldly: + +"Go on." + +"We shall manufacture sandwiches of all kinds, at from one dollar to ten +thousand dollars and upward, and--" + +"Dreadful word! Loathe it!" + +"--The S. A. S. A. Memento Mori Manufacturing Company to manufacture and +sell the statuettes of the Ultimate Sandwich. Same capitalization. Same +holdings. You see, I have sold my ideas, designs, and patents so that +later on nobody can say my companies were overcapitalized. There are +also the Rapid Restaurant Service Appliance Company, and four others. +Same capitalization; same holdings. The money is all raised. And let me +say," finished H. R., sternly accusing, "that the people who furnish the +cash and buy the stock get _something_ for their money." + +"That's all very well," began Mr. Goodchild, contemptuously, "but--" + +"Exactly," said H. R. "I propose to transfer all our accounts to your +bank. You know you said you'd like to have mine when I became famous." + +"I know nothing about your companies, and care less. But I want to tell +you right now--" + +"What interest are you going to allow us on our balances?" cut in H. R. + +"No interest!" said Mr. Goodchild in a voice that really meant "No +Grace!" + +H. R. turned to his sweetheart and, desiring to forestall desertion, +took her hand in his and said to her: + +"Grace, this house is a very nice house. You have spent many happy hours +here. But it is, after all, only a house. And New York is _New York_!" + +And Philadelphia was _Philadelphia_! + +Grace's hand remained in H. R.'s. + +"You can't have her!" said Mr. Goodchild, furiously. + +"Who can't have whom?" asked Mrs. Goodchild, entering the room. + +H. R. released Grace's hand, approached Mrs. Goodchild, and, before she +knew what he was going to do, threw his right arm about her and kissed +her--a loud filial smack. + +She quickly and instinctively put one hand up to her hair, for the +strange young man had been a trifle effusive. But before she could +transform her surprise into vocal sounds the stranger spoke, in a voice +ringing with affectionate sincerity not too playful, you understand, but +convincing, nevertheless: + +"She inherits her good looks, her disposition, and her taste in dress +from you. I saw it the first time I met you. Don't you remember? And I +warn you now that if I can't marry Grace I'll kill that husband of yours +and marry _you_!" + +To prove it, he kissed her again, twice. + +"How dare--" shouted Mr. Goodchild. + +"I am not sure," said H. R. to Mrs. Goodchild, "that I want Grace now. +Between thirty-two and forty a woman is at her best." + +He patted her shoulder, as we paternally do with the young ones, and +went back to Grace. It all had happened so quickly that only H. R. was +calm. + +"My dear!" said Mrs. Goodchild, looking helplessly at Grace. + +"What is it, mother?" said H. R., appropriating the affectionate words. +And as she did not answer he asked, generally. "What do you say to the +eighth?" + +"An eighth?" echoed Mr. Goodchild, almost amiably, thinking, of +one-eighth of one per cent. + +"Of June!" said H. R. "That gives you ample time for everything, Grace. +And, remember, give the reporters the detailed list of the trousseau." + +"There isn't going to be any marriage. And there isn't going to be any +nauseating newspaper articles with pictures of intimate lingerie enough +to make a decent man blush." + +"A really decent man always blushes with shame when he does not give +_carte blanche_ to his only daughter," said H. R. with great dignity. + +"Mr.--er--Rogers," said Mrs. Goodchild. + +"Rutgers," corrected her prospective son-in-law. "The 'g' is hard. It's +Dutch, like Roosevelt, Van Rensselaer, and Cruger." + +"But we don't know anything about your family," she said, very +seriously. + +"Do you know," asked H. R., pleasantly, "the Wittelbachs?" + +"It's beer, isn't it?" she said. It might be the best brewing blood in +Christendom, but still it wasn't Wall Street or real estate. + +"Good shot!" exclaimed H. R., admiringly. "It is the patronymic of the +reigning house of Bavaria. You know, Munich, where beer is the thing. +And do you know the Bernadottes?" + +"I've heard of them," replied Mrs. Goodchild, made wary by her +non-recognition of a sovereign house. + +"It is not French delicatessen, but the royal family of Sweden. And the +Hapsburgs? The Emperor of Austria belongs to them. And Romanoff? The +Czar of Russia would answer to that if he voted. And there are also the +Hohenzollerns and the Bourbons and the Braganzas. And then," he +finished, simply, "there is _Rutgers_!" + +"It seems to me," put in Grace, coldly, "that I have something to say--" + +"Empress, you don't. Just look," interrupted H. R. "Of course, the date +is subject to your approval. I didn't have any luncheon. Will you tell +Frederick to bring some tea and a few sandwiches--" + +"Damnation!" shrieked Mr. George G. Goodchild. "Is a man to be insulted +in his own home? Get to hell out of here with your sandwiches!" + +"George!" rebuked Mrs. Goodchild, placidly. She never frowned. +Wrinkles. + +"Yes, George!" maniacally mimicked her husband. "It's sandwiches! +Sandwiches! Sandwiches! Everywhere! Yesterday I discharged my +secretary. I told him to send out for a chicken sandwich for me and +I heard him give the boy the order: 'Son-in-law for Mr. Goodchild. +Cock-a-doodle-do!' At this week's meeting of our directors Mr. +Garrettson asked me: 'How is the King of the Sandwiches? Living at your +house yet?' And the other jackasses all laughed. _Sandwiches!_" + +He turned to his daughter, and fearing that she was in the conspiracy, +asked her, vehemently: "Do you wish to be known all your life as the +Queen of the Sandwiches? Do you? Do you wish your humorous friends to +say to you, Grace, will you have a caviare husband?" + +"No!" replied Grace. Fame was fame, but ridicule was Hades. + +"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" said Mrs. Goodchild. + +"Tell Frederick," said H. R., fiercely, "to bring in fifteen Rutgerses, +if you prefer to call them that." + +"That isn't funny," rebuked Grace, coldly. "I don't think you are +accustomed to surroundings--" + +"No; it's hospitality. I'm starving." + +"You'll have sandwiches for breakfast, luncheon, and dinner, my child," +Mr. Goodchild told Grace, angrily but intelligently. "In the +newspapers!" + +"Of course I won't marry him!" said Grace, decisively. "It's +preposterous." + +H. R. went up to her. She shook her head. He spoke very seriously: + +"Grace, when people tell you that I have given free sandwiches to New +York they mean that I have taken the poorest of the poor, the pariahs of +commerce, the despised of the rabble, poor human derelicts, souls +without a future, without a hope, worse than dirt, poorer than poverty, +and I have made them _men_!" + +"Yes, but s-s-sandwiches," blubbered Grace. + +"I took these victims of society and capitalism and organized them, and +then I emptied them into the golden Cloaca Maxima that you call Fifth +Avenue, and lo! they emerged free men, self-supporting, well-fed, +useful, artistic. They have been the efficient instruments of fame. It +is they who have made you known from one end of the city to the other." + +"Yes; but sandwiches!" doggedly repeated Grace. + +"I have worked," said H. R., sternly, "with human souls--" + +"Sandwiches!" corrected Mr. Goodchild. + +H. R. flushed angrily. + +"The sandwich," he told them all with an angry finality, "is here to +stay. Our net receipts, after paying big wages, are over one thousand +dollars a day. What do you think I am, an ass? Or a quick lunch? Or a +bank president? _Pshaw!_ We've only begun! A capitalization of over five +millions at the very start and the business growing like cheap +automobiles, and me owning forty per cent. of the stock and controlling +sixty per cent. in perpetuity! These men have made me their leader. I +will not forsake them!" + +"Can you give me," said Mr. Goodchild, seriously, "evidence to prove +your statements?" If the love affair was not to end in an elopement it +would be wise to have a business talk with this young man, who, after +all was said and done, had a valuable asset in his newspaper publicity. + +"You may be a wonderful man," said Grace to H. R., "but all my friends +would ask me if I am going to have a mammoth sandwich instead of a +wedding-cake! I ask you not to persist--" + +H. R. smiled sympathetically and said: "You poor darling! Is _that_ all +you are afraid of?" + +She thought of Philadelphia and a quiet life, and she shook her head +sadly. Why couldn't he have made her famous by unobjectionable methods. + +But H. R. said, "I'll guarantee that my name will never again be +associated with sandwiches--" + +"You can't do it!" declared Grace, with conviction, thinking of humorous +American girls. "When they are friends all you have to do is to take out +the 'r' to turn them into fiends." + +Mrs. Goodchild said nothing, but frowned. It had just occurred to her +that here they all were, amicably talking with the man who had made +their lives grievous burdens. Mr. Goodchild also was silent, but +shrewdly eyed H. R. + +"I'll do it!" repeated H. R., confidently. + +"How can you without killing everybody?" challenged Grace, skeptically. +"Everybody knows you as the leader of the sandwich men, and if you form +companies--" + +"My child," H. R. told her, gently, "I don't know anything about +finance. That is why I want to get father's advice about my business. +Every man to his trade. But I do know New York. I ought to, hang it! My +grandfather owned what is now the Hôtel Regina, and-- Well, look here! +If by the first of June nobody even remembers that I had anything to do +with sandwiches will you marry me?" + +"Yes," said Mr. Goodchild. + +If H. R. could do that he was fit to be anybody's son-in-law. If he +couldn't, the annoyance would end. + +"Grace?" asked H. R. + +"I'm willing to take a chance for two weeks," said Mr. Goodchild, +feeling certain he was displaying Machiavellian wisdom. But Grace shook +her head. + +"Everything you've done," she told H. R., "is child's play--" + +"What!" interrupted H. R., indignantly. "Make New-Yorkers give money for +charity that they might have spent for their own pleasure?" + +"Nothing alongside of making 'em forget that you invented sandwiches. If +it had been anything else, you might--I might--you--" She floundered +helplessly. Her life for weeks had been so full of excitement that she +could not co-ordinate her ideas quickly. + +"You don't know me, dear," said H. R. "I hate to say it myself, but, +really, I'm a wonder!" + +He looked so confident, so masterfully sure of himself, so little like a +dreamer, and so much like a doer, that Grace was impressed. + +"Can you?" she asked, more eagerly than Mr. Goodchild liked to see. But +then H. R. had never kissed him. + +"With your hand for the prize and your love for my reward? Can you ask +me if I can?" + +"Yes, I can. Can you?" + +"Yes!" he said. "But of course I'll need your help." + +"My help?" Doubt came back into her eyes. + +"Yes. This way." He took her in his arms and kissed her. + +Mrs. Goodchild stared, open-eyed. Mr. Goodchild grew purple, and +shouted: + +"Here! This is--" + +H. R. turned to him and said, "This is all right." And again he pressed +his lips to hers and kept them pressed this time. + +"I won't have it!" shrieked Mr. Goodchild, going toward the young +people, one fist upraised. + +H. R. ceased kissing, and spoke rebukingly: + +"What do you want me to do? Kiss her in the vestibule before ringing the +door-bell, as if we were plebeian sweethearts? Or in a taxi in the Park? +Listen: _Fear not to intrust your daughter to a man who never kisses her +save in the sight of those who brought her into this world!_" H. R. +spoke so aphoristically that Mr. Goodchild thought it was a quotation +from Ecclesiastes. + +H. R. took the ring out of his waistcoat pocket and gave it to Grace. + +"Here, my love!" + +It was a magnificent green diamond, the rarest of all. Mrs. Goodchild +rose quickly and said, "Let me see it!" Mother-like, being concerned +with her only daughter's happiness, she took the ring to the window. + +Grace followed. It was her ring. + +"Say, Big Chief," H. R. asked his prospective father-in-law, "do I get +the sand--do I get some slices of bread with some slices of viands, two +breads to one viand, and a cup of tea?" + +"Tea be hanged! Have a man's drink," hospitably and diplomatically said +Mr. Goodchild. There was still a chance of escaping. He knew what +violent opposition had done to sentimental daughters. + +"Yes, but you'll have to allow us a decent rate of interest on our +balances." + +"How much do you carry?" asked Mr. Goodchild, carelessly. + +"Enough for Dawson to offer three per cent. But let us not talk +business here. I'll call on you to-morrow. + +"All right. But Dawson can't do it, not even on time deposits, and--" + +"Scotch for mine," said H. R. "Is Frederick coming?" + +Mr. Goodchild was, after all, a gentleman. He rang for Frederick. He +also was thirsty. + +"Hendrik, it's beautiful," said Grace, enthusiastically. "But are you +perfectly sure you can--" + +"Empress, don't you wish it done?" + +"Of course." + +"Then, of course, it is done. You'll be able to yell '_sandwich_'! +anywhere in New York and nobody will think of anything except that you +are the most beautiful girl in the world. Give me another before +Frederick brings 'em." + +"Brings what?" + +"Lamb chops!" answered H. R., who was a humorist of the New York school. +"Quick!" And he kissed her twice. + +"We'll have tea up-stairs if you're really going to be one of the +family," said Mrs. Goodchild, with the dubious smile so familiar on the +faces of mothers of New York girls. + +"Come, Grace!" said H. R., taking her by the unringed hand. He knew +better--by instinct. + +It was a very satisfactory day. Such was the compelling force of his +self-confidence that before he left the house Mr. and Mrs. Goodchild +sincerely hoped he could accomplish the impossible and wipe out the +sandwich stain from the old Knickerbocker name of Rutgers. + + + + +XXIX + + +The next morning H. R. called Andrew Barrett into the inner office. + +"Shut the door," said he. + +Andrew Barrett did so and looked alarmed--alarmed rather than guilty. + +"To-morrow, and until further notice," said H. R., sternly, "you will +tell the department-store sandwiches to parade in front of the various +newspaper offices from morning until night." + +"But not in Park Row, surely?" + +"Exactly! And find out whether the business managers of the various +newspapers have been holding conferences with the managing editors. They +probably will--this afternoon or to-morrow." + +"How can I--" + +"By paid spies--office-boy scouts. Of course, lady stenographers being +more in your line-- No! Look me in the eye!" + +Andrew Barrett blushed and said, feebly: + +"I am taking the count, Chief." + +"Very well. I shall now go out and do your work. See that you do mine!" +And H. R. went out, leaving Andrew Barrett full of devastating +curiosity. + +"I wonder what he has up his sleeve now?" mused young Mr. Barrett. "I'll +bet it's a corker!" + +H. R. himself called on the head of one of the most progressive of New +York's great department stores--a man to whom full pages on week-days +were nothing. He, therefore, had heard of H. R., and also had used +sandwiches. He greeted the founder of the S. A. S. A. with respectful +interest. H. R. said, calmly: + +"I am here now to make you a present of from ten thousand to fifty +thousand dollars a year--in cash!" + +Mr. Liebmann, of course, knew that H. R., though an aristocrat, was +neither a fool nor a lunatic. He diplomatically asked, "And my gratitude +for your kindness may be expressed just how, Mr. Rutgers?" + +"By accepting the cash and putting it in your pocket, to have and to +hold until death do you part." + +"Mr. Rutgers, I am an old man and suspense is trying." And Mr. Liebmann +smiled deprecatingly. + +"I have come to show you how you may save the amount I have mentioned in +your newspaper-advertising appropriation. You big advertisers are now +helpless to help yourself. There are no rebates and you can't play one +paper against the others. Those days are over. Will you hear me to the +end and not go on at half-cock while I am talking?" + +"Yes," promised Mr. Liebmann, impetuously. + +"Mr. Liebmann, you must write a letter to all the advertising managers +of all the newspapers, saying that you have decided to discontinue all +advertising in the daily papers as soon as your contracts expire. Hold +your horses! Explain that you intend to reach your suburban trade +through the fashion magazines, local papers, and circulars, and that for +Manhattan and Brooklyn you have decided to use sandwiches--Don't talk +yet!" + +"I am only listening," Mr. Liebmann hastened to assure him. + +"The newspapers know that you are a Napoleonic advertiser. They will pay +to your communication the double compliment of belief and consternation. +They know you know your business and that you are not only ultra-modern, +but a pioneer. You have always been a highly intelligent advertiser. You +will then let me supply you with one hundred of our best men, who will +parade in front of the newspaper-offices in full regalia, and also in +plain sight of your dear friends, the advertising managers. You know +their psychology. Take it from me, you'll win. + +"The only thing you mustn't do is to call the reductions rebates. There +is no way by which the papers can get back at you. If I can make New +York feed the hungry, would it be very difficult for me to make the +advertising managers act wisely? Of course, if your letter does not +bring about a saving of not less than ten thousand dollars a year you +will not have to pay a penny for the sandwiches. I wish nothing written +from you. The word of a Liebmann is enough for a Rutgers. My family has +been in New York long enough for you to know whether a Rutgers is a man +of his word or not." + +"I'd rather shake hands with you than save a million a year in +advertising," said Mr. Liebmann. + +H. R. looked him straight in the eye--suspiciously, incredulously, +insultingly. Mr. Liebmann flushed and then H. R. said, earnestly: + +"I believe you, Mr. Liebmann!" and shook hands. + +Mr. Liebmann, bareheaded, proudly escorted him to the sidewalk. He +thanked H. R. to the last. + +H. R. called on the other liberal advertisers and, with more or less +ease, succeeded in impressing them as he had Mr. Liebmann. + +Then he visited the managing editors of all the daily papers. He began +with the best. The managing editor was delighted to see the man he had +helped to make famous. + +"I have come," H. R. told him, "to ask a great favor of you. I am, as +you know, very greatly interested in charity work. Your paper has been +good enough to publish my views." + +H. R. spoke with a sort of restrained zeal simply, not humorously, +obviously as a one-idea man, a crank, still young and undyspeptic. The +editor prided himself on his quick and accurate insight into character. +He said: + +"Oh yes; I know about your work." + +"Thank you. Well, sir, I find my usefulness to the cause somewhat +impaired by the persistence with which my name is associated with the +merely commercial phase of sandwiching. You know the sandwich men +commercially were vermin, and I have taught them to pay for their own +food. I took paupers and unpauperized them." + +"And the signs in your parade were great. I told them at the Union +League Club that at least one poor man's parade had shown brains. Not a +single threat! Not one complaint! Not one window smashed! Not one +spectator insulted! It showed genius!" And the editor held out his hand. + +"I am a Christian, sir," said H. R., gently. + +"Well, I'll shake hands, anyhow, if you'll let me," said the editor, +cordially. + +H. R. took his hand and looked so embarrassed that the editor would have +sworn he blushed. This was no publicity-seeker, no fake modesty. Yes, +that must be it--a Christian, the kind editors seldom shake hands with. + +"And so," continued H. R., earnestly, "if you please, if you would only +tell your reporters not to mention me in connection with sandwiches I +could do more for the cause. You see, what I did with the sandwiches was +merely the entering wedge. I don't want you to think I am complaining of +your reporters, sir; they have been more than kind to me; but if you +could see your way clear to not speaking about sandwiches as though they +were my personal property--" + +"You are the man who gave free sandwiches to New York," smiled the +editor, as though he had said something original. + +The situation was more serious than H. R. had believed, but he said, +with dignity: + +"I made free men of pariahs, sir. That job is finished. The newspapers +have helped nobly; and to-day, thanks to them, charity is brought daily +before their readers." + +"But it is less picturesque than your courtship of Miss Goodchild with +sandwiches." + +"There were"--and H. R. smiled deprecatingly--"peculiar circumstances +about my personal relations with Mr. Goodchild. Of course, I also +desired to prove to intelligent but not very original business men that +sandwiching is the most effective form of advertising. It is like all +art, sir. The personal quality gives to it a human appeal that no +combination of printed words on a page can have." + +"How do you make that out?" asked the editor. + +"When you read a play you see the printed words; but when you see the +same play well acted you find that the same words you have read and +liked reach the public through the senses of sight and of hearing as +well as through the intellect, and is thus trebly efficient on the +stage. Now, sandwiching is beyond question the highest form of +commercial advertising. It succeeds even in love! And--" + +"I congratulate you," said the editor, heartily. + +H. R. looked so serious that the editor found himself saying, with even +greater seriousness, "What you say is extremely interesting." + +"I have long studied--in my humble way--the psychology of the crowd. I +have discovered some very interesting things--at least they are +interesting to me, sir," apologized H. R., almost humbly. "I am led to +think, indeed I feel certain, that the art of sandwiching is in its +infancy. The marvelous imagination of the American people, their +resourcefulness and ingenuity, will make the development of artistic +sandwiching one of the most extraordinary commercial phenomena of the +twentieth century. But personally I am not interested in advertising, +sir, except as in this instance as a means to an end. When the result is +reached that is the end of my interest. And so, sir, though I feel +gratitude for the noble work your paper is doing for the cause of +charity, I really and honestly think that less attention should be paid +to the business side of one of our successful experiments with the +submerged tenth, and more to charity itself. Can't you tell your +reporters that sandwiching at union wages has nothing to do with it?" + +"News is news," said the editor, shaking his head regretfully. "We print +what is of interest to our readers." + +"If your readers were made to think of filling other people's stomachs +instead of their own there would be less dyspepsia--and more +newspaper-readers, sir. It is a discouraging fact that the world appears +to be more concerned over making money than over the unspeakable folly +of dying rich." + +"We can do without death more easily than without money," observed the +editor, sententiously. + +"Oh no! Death was invented in order to teach men how to live wisely. +This is the only reason why the cessation of the organic functions, +which is life's one great commonplace, has at all times attained to the +dignity of rhetoric. But I am taking your time. I hope you will be good +enough to drop sandwiches and stick to charity. I thank you for your +kindness; and--and," he finished, diffidently, "I should like to shake +hands with you." + +He looked appealingly at the editor, who thereupon shook his hand +warmly. + +"I'll do what I can for you, Mr. Rutgers. I am very glad to have met +you. Anything we can do to help you in your efforts we shall gladly do. +You are a very remarkable man and you have done greater work than you +seem to realize." + +H. R. shook his head vehemently, however, and retired in obvious +confusion. + +With a few trifling differences, due to the divers editorial +personalities, he did the same thing to the other managing editors. All +of them thought that none of the reporters really knew what manner of +man H. R. was. Withal, all of them were right. He was a wonder! + +On the next morning the eyes of the business managers of the great +metropolitan dailies, morning and evening, were made to glow by +twenty-seven letters from their biggest advertisers. The tenor of the +communications was that, as soon as existing contracts expired, the +twenty-seven biggest would do their urban advertising by means of +S. A. S. A. sandwiches. They expected to reach the suburbs through +fashion journals, circulars, and local media. + +The advertising managers smiled, not only at the palpable bluff, but at +the evidence of an infantile conspiracy. Before ten o'clock, however, +the vast crowds in front of their very doors made them swear. Scores of +sandwich men, advertising the said twenty-seven shops and the day's +bargains, were parading up and down, causing said crowds to collect and +to comment audibly and admiringly. + +The advertising managers rushed to the managing editors to tell than +that something must be done to prevent their sudden death. The managing +editors, to a man, recalled H. R.'s prophecy of the marvelous growth of +the most effective form of advertising. + +"That H. R.," said the managing editor of the _Times_, "is a wizard!" + +"You fellows made him," bitterly retorted the business manager. "He's +had more free advertising than I can book in a hundred and ten years!" + +"Why, he particularly asked me not to mention sandwiches!" + +"Well, by gad, you'd better not!" Then, "What d'ye want?" he snarled at +his first assistant, who came in with a sheet of paper in his right hand +and a look of perplexity in both eyes. + +The assistant silently gave him the copy: + + ALL THE LEADING SHOPS AND THE BIG DEPARTMENT STORES OF + GREATER NEW YORK ARE USING OUR SANDWICHES. THEY EMPLOY THE + BEST ADVERTISING TALENT IN THE WORLD. + + THEIR EXPERTS UNANIMOUSLY HAVE DECIDED THAT SANDWICHING IS + THE HIGHEST FORM OF ADVERTISING YET DISCOVERED. IT IS THE + CHEAPEST WHEN RETURNS AND RESULTS ARE CONSIDERED. + + ARE YOU USING OUR SANDWICHES, MR. MERCHANT? + + THEY WILL MOVE YOUR SHOP TO FIFTH AVENUE. + + TRY IT! EMPLOY ONLY UNION MEN. + + SOCIETY AMERICAN SANDWICH ARTISTS, + ALLIED ARTS BUILDING. + +For the first time in history the familiar + + O. K. + H. R., + _Sec._ + +was absent. + +It bore out the managing editor's assertion of H. R.'s distaste of +publicity. + +"Go out and lasso your maverick advertisers," said the managing editor, +sternly, after he had read the S. A. S. A. advertisement--full-page, +too! "I'll take care of the news columns." + +"The damned sandwich men are so thick in this town I'll have trouble in +breaking through their lines." + +"Use dynamite!" said the managing editor, savagely. He owned ten bonds +of his own paper. + +He then summoned the city editor and said, sternly: + +"Mr. Welles, under no circumstances whatever must this paper mention +sandwiches or sandwich advertising or the S. A. S. A." + +"Did you see their latest exploit? Two hundred and seventy-six +sandwiches to the block, by actual count. Talk about high art!" + +"They have commercialized it," frowned the managing editor. "Not a +line--ever!" + +The same thing must have happened in all the other offices. The public +talked about the advertising revolution and the wonderful new styles in +boards; and they looked in the next morning's papers to get all the +picturesque details, as usual. Not a word! + + + + +XXX + + +H. R. called, shortly after ten o'clock the next morning, at the Ketcham +National Bank to discuss with his father-in-law-to-be interest rates on +the balance he did not yet have. + +Mr. Goodchild had slept over the matter. He had spent an hour in going +over his annoyances and humiliations, and had failed himself with a +wrath that became murderous anger when he compelled himself to realize +that H. R. had it in his power to intensify the troubles of the +Goodchild family. The marriage of H. R. with his daughter became worse +than preposterous; it was a species of blackmail against which there was +no defense. He could not reach H. R. by means of the law or by speech or +by violence. + +When his anger cooled, however, he saw that what he had done was to pay +the young man the greatest compliment an elderly millionaire can pay +anybody. The more formidable your enemy is, the less disgraceful is your +defeat. Mr. Goodchild was as intelligent a man as one is apt to find in +the office of the president of a bank; but he was susceptible, as all +men are, to self-inflicted flattery. He therefore decided that H. R. was +a problem to be tackled in cold blood, with both eyes open and prayer in +the heart. The only plan of action he could think of was proposing to +H. R. to accomplish an impossibility; in fact, two impossibilities. He +also would treat H. R. amicably. + +"Good morning, young man!" he said, pleasantly. + +"Morning!" said H. R., briskly. "Now let's get down to cases. I expect +you to--" + +"Hold on!" said Mr. Goodchild, coldly, in order to keep from saying it +hotly. "Aren't you a trifle premature?" + +"No," said H. R. "I find I can give you a few minutes to-day." + +"You'll have to use some of those minutes in listening to me," said Mr. +Goodchild, trying to look as though this was routine business. + +"I'll listen," H. R. assured him, kindly. + +"You will admit that you have given me cause to--well, not to feel +especially friendly toward you." + +"Big men are above petty feelings," said H. R. "You will, in turn, admit +that you made a mistake in not advancing me in the bank-- Wait! I'll +listen later, as long as you wish. You object, I suppose, to my methods; +but let me point out to you that I have arrived! Where should I be if I +hadn't been talked about? And where shall I land if I keep on +hypnotizing the newspapers into giving me columns of space? You know +what publicity means in business to-day, don't you? Well, just bear in +mind that I not only make news, but, by jingo, I am news! There is only +one other man in the United States who can say that, and you may have to +vote for him for President, notwithstanding your fear of him. Wait!" +H. R. held up his hand, took out his watch, and went on: "For an entire +minute think of what I have said before you answer. Don't answer until +the time is up. One minute. Begin! Now!" + +H. R. held his hand detainingly two inches in front of Mr. Goodchild's +lips. Mr. Goodchild did not open them. He thought and thought, and he +became conscious that he had to argue with himself to find said answer. + +"Speak!" commanded H. R. when the minute was up. + +"The cases are not analogous. Publicity has its uses and--" + +"It has this one use--that you can always capitalize it. It spells +dollars--and, more than that, easy dollars, untainted dollars, dollars +that nobody begrudges you and that nobody wants to take away from +you--not even the Administration at Washington. Think over that for two +minutes. And he pulled out his watch once more. + +"Look here, I--" + +"Damn it, don't talk! Think!" said H. R. so determinedly that Mr. +Goodchild almost feared a scene would be enacted which he should regret +after seeing it in the newspapers. "You have wasted forty seconds in +overcoming your anger at my manner of speech," continued H. R., +reprovingly. "Begin all over. Two minutes. Now!" And before Mr. +Goodchild's wrath could become articulate he rose and walked over to a +window. + +H. R. stared across the street. It was there he had captured Fleming. +How far away that day seemed now--and how far below! The two minutes +were up. He turned to Mr. Goodchild. + +"Look here; you bank presidents are an unscientific lot. You ought to be +psychologists instead of being merely bookkeepers. It is knowledge of +people you need--not of human nature at its worst, or of political +economy, or of finance, but of people--the people who vote; the people +who in the end say whether you are to be allowed to enjoy your money and +theirs in comfort or not. Study them! You sit here and disapprove of my +methods because they violate some rule established years ago by somebody +as radical then as I appear to be now. It is not a question of good +taste or bad taste. It was good taste once to kill each other in duels, +and to drink two bottles of port, and to employ children in factories. +The suffragettes are attacked for methods--" + +"Do you mean to say you approve of their slashing pictures--" + +"That is beside the question. If the suffragettes stuck to ladylike +speeches and circulars they would be merely a joke at the club. The +right of women to vote is a problem. Well, the suffragettes have made +themselves exactly that--a problem! If they have not a sense of relative +values it is because they don't get me to run their campaign for them. I +could succeed without destroying one masterpiece. Maybe I will--some +day. And then I could marry ten bankers' daughters if I were not in love +with one. Let's come back to our own business. Do you think I have +brains?" + +"Well--" + +"No, no! Remember what I have said to you and consider whether it is +asinine; and think of what I have done and ponder whether it shows +hustling and executive ability, and those qualities that mean the power +to develop the individual bank account. Am I an ass or have I brains?" + +"Yes; but--" + +"All men of brains at all times have had more buts than bouquets thrown +at them. I tell you now that I have gone about this business for the +purpose of getting there. To become news, to be interesting to the +public in some way--in any way--is the quickest way. Then you can pick +your own way, a way that will commend itself to the well-bred +nonentities who never accomplish anything. Well, I am famous; and it's +up to me to decide what I shall do in the future to take advantage of +the fact that when people hear of H. R., or see those two initials in +print, they look for something interesting to follow. The least of my +troubles is that I shall become one of your respected depositors. I +don't drink; I am healthy--no taint of any kind, hereditary or acquired; +I don't have to lie to get what I want or cheat to get all the money I +need--and I need a lot. I've got ideas, and I don't fall down in +carrying them out, because I don't go on at half-cock. I never move +until I see my destination; and if there is a wall ahead I have my +scaling-ladder all ready long before I arrive at the wall." + +H. R. paused, and then went on more slowly: "When you get over your +soreness at the raw deal the newspapers have given you, you will be glad +to have a man of brains in your house. I don't want you to give Grace +anything; but I tell you now I'm going to marry her, and you'd better +begin to be reconciled to the idea of having me for a son-in-law. I want +to be your friend, because I'm quite sure you will not enjoy having me +for your enemy--not after I begin the counter attack." + +It is always the delivery that does it, as Demosthenes triply assured +posterity. Mr. Goodchild's eyes had not left H. R.'s face and he had +listened intently to the speech. He did not grasp in full all that H. R. +had said; but what really had emptied Mr. Goodchild of anger, and +filled him with an interest which was not very different from respect, +was the delivery. H. R.'s faculty of knowing how to speak to a +particular auditor was instinctive. It always is, with all such men, +whether they are famous or obscure, orators or life-insurance agents. It +is very simple when you are born with it. + +Mr. Goodchild, however, finding his own weapons of offense more +dangerous to himself than to the foe, fell back on defense. To do so, he +naturally began with a lie. That is the worst of verbal defenses. + +"I don't object to you personally. I--I even admit that I made a mistake +in not promoting you, though I don't know what position you could have +filled here that would have suited you--" + +"None; because you don't realize that banks need modernizing. None! Skip +all that and get back to me as your son-in-law." + +Mr. Goodchild, thinking of his two plans which were his one hope, asked, +abruptly: + +"Are you a man of your word?" + +"Since I have brains, I am. Are you?" + +"I object to your methods. Your speech I might overlook, though it comes +hard. I am speaking plainly. Now you are known as the Sandwich Man. That +would bar you from my club and from ever becoming a really--" + +"But that will stop. It will stop to-day. I have told Grace that within +a month nobody will ever connect my name with sandwiches." + +"Will you agree not to marry or seek to marry my daughter, or annoy us +in any way--in short, if a month from now you are still famous as the +organizer of the sandwiches, will you stop trying to be my son-in-law?" + +"Sure thing!" promised H. R., calmly. Mr. Goodchild was distrustful and +looked it, which made H. R. add, impressively: "I'll give you my word +that after to-day I'll never even try to see you or Grace, or write to +her, or revenge myself on you. So far as I am concerned I'll cease to +exist for you. And here's my hand on it." + +He held out his hand in such a manner that Mr. Goodchild took it and +shook it with the warmth of profound relief. Then he said, heartfully: + +"If you do that--" + +"Don't worry! It won't kill my business. I'll be just as famous as +ever." + +"The newspapers made you. Their silence will unmake you." + +"Oh no!" And H. R. smiled as one smiles at a child. + +Mr. Goodchild almost felt as though his head had been kindly patted. + +"Why not?" he asked. + +"Sandwiching is here to stay and--and my companies are organized. I'll +change the dummy directors as soon as you and I decide which of your +friends and clients shall be permitted to buy some of the stock my men +haven't sold. For cash, understand! The newspapers have done their work. +The newspapers in this instance are like incubators. I put in an egg. +The incubator hatched it. Then I took the chick out of the incubator. +Suppose the incubator now refuses to keep up the temperature of 102-1/2 +degrees Fahrenheit necessary to hatch the egg? Suppose the incubator +gets stone cold? Well, let it! The chick is out and growing. And let me +tell you right now that I am not going to let Wall Street financiers get +their clutches on my chick. They'd caponize it. Talking about interest +rates--" + +"How big a balance do you expect to keep with us?" asked Mr. Goodchild. +He did not like to admit the surrender. + +"It depends on you." H. R. pulled out his watch, looked at the time, +snapped it shut, and said: "I haven't time to go over the business; but +I'll send one of my office men to tell you all you want to know. Listen +to him and then ask him any questions you wish. So far as you and I are +concerned we are beyond the sandwich stage. I'll send Barrett to you +this afternoon. And, believe me, you are going to be my father-in-law. +Good morning!" He left the office without offering to shake hands. + +On his way out H. R. stopped to speak to Mr. Coster, to whom he owed so +much for having led him, as a clerk with the springtime in his blood, to +the president's office to be discharged. + +"Well, old top, here I be!" said H. R., kindly humorous in order to +remove all restraint. + +"How do you do, Mr. Rutgers?" said Coster, respectfully. + +The clerks looked at their erstwhile fellow-slave furtively, afraid to +be caught looking. Was this Hendrik Rutgers? Was this what a man became +when he ceased to be a clerk? + +Ah, but a salary! Something coming in regularly at the end of the week, +rain or shine! Gee! but some men are born lucky! + + + + +XXXI + + +H. R. returned to his office feeling that the big battle was about to +begin. The preliminary skirmishes he had won. He had captured fame and +must now begin his real attack on fortune. He spent an hour dictating +plans of campaign for his various companies. Shortly before noon he told +the stenographer to call up Miss Goodchild and inform her that Mr. +Rutgers would be there in half an hour. + +He had promised not to call on Grace for a month after that day. He must +not make love to her. He was determined to keep his promise; but she +must not forget him. He had accustomed her to his impetuous wooing. In +thirty days of inaction much might be undone if he did nothing. + +He was punctual. He found Grace waiting for him, curious to know what +had happened at H. R.'s conference with her father at the bank. Her +curiosity made her forget many other things. + +She expected a characteristic greeting from H. R., but his face was so +full of adamantine resolution that her curiosity promptly turned into +vague alarm. She had told herself she did not love him, but +instinctively she now walked toward him quickly. + +"What is it?" she asked. + +He waved her back and said, hastily: + +"Stop right where you are! Don't come any nearer. For the love of Mike, +don't!" + +She had been thinking of treating him coldly, to keep him at a distance. + +"What is it?" she asked again, and again advanced. + +"Don't!" said H. R., with a frown. + +She now felt alarmed, without giving herself any reason for it. + +"Wh-what's the m-matter?" she asked. + +"You!" he answered. "You!" + +She stared at him. He was looking at her so queerly that naturally she +thought something had happened to her face. She looked into the mirror +on her right. It was not so. Another look fully confirmed this. So she +looked at him. His expression had lost some of its anxiety. + +"I promised your dad," he explained, "that I would not see you after +to-day, or call here, or try to make love to you by mail, or annoy you +or him in any way until I had wiped the sandwich stain off your surname. +I have a month in which to do it, and I promised all that! One month! +Not to see you! But--" + +He looked at her so hungrily that, born and bred in New York though she +was, she blushed hotly and turned her face away. Then she felt the +thrill by which victory is made plain to the defeated. + +"But--but--" repeated H. R. through his clenched teeth, and took a step +toward her. + +Whatever she saw in his face made her smile and say, challengingly: + +"But what?" + +Being very wise, he caught his breath and said, sharply: + +"Don't do that!" + +"Do what?" she asked, innocently, and kept on smiling. + +"I will not see you!" + +"You won't?" She ceased to smile, in order to look skeptical. + +"No, I won't; I'll keep my word, Grace." He was speaking very earnestly +now. "I love you--all of you; the good and the bad, your wonderful +woman's soul and your perennial childishness. You are so beautiful in so +many ways that you yourself cannot know how completely beautiful you +are. But I love more than your beauty. After it is all over you will +realize that I can be trusted implicitly. Never has man been put to such +a task. Don't you know--can't you see what I am doing?" + +She knew; she saw. She felt herself mistress of the situation. She +therefore said, softly: + +"I shouldn't want you to commit suicide here." + +Hearing no reply, she looked at him. He was ready for it. She saw his +nostrils dilate and his fists clench and unclench. + +"Then I won't see you. But--but you can see me," he said. + +She frowned. + +He went on: "I shall lunch every day at Jerry's--small table in the +northeast corner. At one o'clock every day for a whole month." + +Did he expect her to run after him? She said, very coldly: + +"That wouldn't be fair." + +"If you go to Jerry's for luncheon with one of your girl friends, and +you see me eating alone, keeping bushels of wonderful news all to +myself, is that making love to you?" + +"Yes." + +"No!" he contradicted, flatly. "But I'll do more-- I'll let you tell +Mrs. Vandergilt that you own the only engine of destruction available +against man's stupidity." + +Knowing that he was alluding to her beauty, she said: + +"What are you talking about?" + +"Well, I belong to you, don't I? And if women are to get the vote can't +you tell dear Ethel's mother--" + +"Do you mean old Mrs. Vandergilt?" she interrupted. + +"Yes." + +"Then say so." + +"I will," he meekly promised. "You tell the old lady that you will +insure success for the Cause by lending me to her. I've got a scheme +that will do more in a month than all the suffragettes have accomplished +in fifty years. You might get Ethel interested in my plan--" + +"I won't!" She smiled the forgiving smile that infuriates. She lost her +head. "You think I am jeal--that I'm--" + +"I think not of you, but of myself, and of how I may keep my promise to +your father and survive. If you see me, and can talk to me, I shall live +honorably. Will you shake hands?" He held out his right hand. She +ignored it. He deliberately took hers and led her to a chair. "Will you +do what I ask, dear?" he entreated, humbly. + +"No!" She stood there, cold, disdainful, refusing everything--even to +sit down. + +"Then," he said, tensely, "then I must--" He seized her in his arms and +kissed her unresponsive lips. "I am not making love to you," he +murmured. "I am not!" And he kissed her again. "I promised not to see +you; and I won't--not even if you see me." + +He released her and was silent. She looked up and saw that his eyes were +tightly closed. + +"I'll be there," she said, triumphantly, "at one o'clock." + +"I am a man of my word!" he said, fiercely. + +"Every day!" she added, with decision. + +She did not know that this wifelike attitude thrilled him as not even +the kisses had; but he said, earnestly: + +"No. I'm going now. It's good-by for a month. For a whole month!" + +"Northeast corner table," she said, audibly, as though to herself. +"Northeast cor--" + +"Play fair!" he urged. "Amuse yourself with Mrs. Vandergilt." He looked +at her as though he desired her to occupy herself with some hobby for +thirty days. The sight of her face, and nothing else that she could see, +made him say, "Good-by!" And he almost ran out of the room. + +She went up-stairs to get her gloves. On second thought she called Ethel +on the telephone and invited her to luncheon at Jerry's. + +He was waiting for her at the northeast corner table when she and Ethel +went in. Grace, who had been looking toward the southwest corner, where +the exit to the kitchen was, turned casually and saw him. + +"There's Hendrik!" she said to Ethel. + +He had not risen. He looked up casually now and approached them. + +"I was born lucky," he told them, and shook hands with Grace. To Miss +Vandergilt he said, very seriously, "Are you Grace's friend?" + +"I'm more than that," answered Ethel; "I am the best friend she's got." + +"Then I am doubly lucky. I have a table, Ethel. I want you to be a +witness to the miracle." There was no reason why he should call Miss +Vandergilt by her first name. Even Ethel looked it. But H. R. merely +said: "Take this chair, Grace. Ethel--here." + +"It seems to me--" began Grace, coldly. + +"Your friends are my friends. The miracle, Ethel, is that I've promised +not to make love to Grace for a whole month--thirty days; forty-three +thousand two hundred precious wasted minutes!" + +"Don't you sleep?" interjected Ethel, curiously. + +"My poor carcass does, but not my thoughts of her. Now let us eat and be +miserable." + +It was a wonderful luncheon. H. R. let them do all the talking. He was +at his coffee when Ethel mentioned her mother. + +"Ah, yes!" said H. R. "By the way, has Grace told her?" + +"Told her what?" + +Grace caught his eye and shook her head with a frown. + +"Very well, dear girl," he said to her. To Ethel he explained, "She +doesn't wish me to tell you of her plan." + +"Oh, do! Please!" said Ethel, eagerly. + +"I'm in training for the position of her husband, Ethel," H. R. told +her. "She says no--that's all; plain no!" + +"Grace, tell him to tell me!" said Ethel. + +"Shall I, Grace?" smiled H. R. + +Ethel looked at her and smiled. It made Grace so furious that she said: + +"I have no control over his speech." + +"Then, Ethel, it is only that Grace has a plan for a suffrage campaign +that--well, it isn't for me to boast of her strategy; but it's a sure +winner. I thought she would tell your mother." + +"It doesn't interest me," said Grace, very coldly, being hot within. + +"It will after you're married," observed Ethel, sagely. + +"That depends on whom I marry," said Grace, casually. + +"So it does," assented H. R., calmly. + +"I agree with Hendrik," said Ethel, more subtly personal than Grace +thought necessary; so she pushed back her chair and took up her gloves. + +"Same table, same time--to-morrow?" H. R. said this to Grace so that +Ethel could hear it. + +"No," said Grace. + +"Very well," he said, meekly. "I'll be here just the same--in case." + +She shook her head. Ethel, who was carefully not looking, saw her do it. + +Grace did not appear the next day, but Ethel did, properly accompanied +by her own mother. They walked toward the northeast corner, on their way +to a near-by table. H. R. rose and approached them. + +"Just in time," he said to them. "Thursday always was my lucky day." + +They sat down. To the waiter he said: + +"Tell the chef--for three; for me." + +"Yes, Mr. Rutgers," said the waiter, very deferentially. + +"What have you up your sleeve, Mrs. Vandergilt? And how near is +victory?" + +"You mean--" + +"The Cause!" said H. R., reverently. + +"I never heard you express an opinion," said Mrs. Vandergilt, +suspiciously. + +"You have expressed them for me far better than I could. Mine isn't a +deep or philosophical mind," he apologized to the mind that was. "I +merely understand publicity and how sheeplike men are." + +"If you understand that, you understand a great deal," remarked Mrs. +Vandergilt, sententiously. + +"Grace thought--" began H. R., and caught himself in time. "You haven't +talked to her about it?" + +"Grace?" + +"Miss Goodchild." + +"No. Why should I?" + +"No reason--only that she has what I, as a practical man, in my low-brow +way, think is a winner. Of course the suffrage has long since passed the +polemical stage. The question does not admit of argument. The right is +admitted by all men. But what all men don't admit is the wrong. And all +men don't admit it, because all women don't." + +"That is true," said Mrs. Vandergilt, vindictively. + +"Any woman," pursued H. R., earnestly, "can make any man give her +anything she wants. Therefore, if all the women wanted all the men to +give them anything, the men would give it. A woman can't always take +something from a man; but she can always get it. To put it on the high +plane of taking it as a right may be noble; but what I want is results. +So long as I get results, nothing short of murder, lying, or ignoble +wheedling can stop me. Grace and I went all over that; but she seems to +have lost interest--" + +"Yes, she has," confirmed Ethel, so amiably that H. R. smiled +gratefully; and that annoyed Ethel. + +"You have asked for justice," pursued H. R., addressing himself to Mrs. +Vandergilt; "but it is at the ignoble side of man that you must shoot. +It is a larger target--easier to hit." + +"But--" began Mrs. Vandergilt. + +"If I were a woman my dream should be to serve under you and implicitly +obey all orders. I'd distribute dynamite as cheerfully as handbills. +Without competent marshals do you imagine Napoleon could have done what +he did? + +"Don't I know it?" said Mrs. Vandergilt, bitterly. + +"How would you go about it?" interjected Ethel, who had grown weary of +her own silence. + +"I'd get the marshals. I'd get subordinates that, when your mother said +'Do thus and so!' she could feel sure would obey orders. The general +strategy must come from her." + +"I've said that until I was black in the face," said Mrs. Vandergilt. +"I've told them--" And the great leader talked and talked, while H. R. +stopped eating to listen with his very soul. With such a listener Mrs. +Vandergilt was at her best. + +"Mother, the squab is getting cold," said Ethel. + +"The next time it will be cold in advance," said H. R., impatiently. "Go +on, Mrs. Vandergilt!" + +But Mrs. Vandergilt, knowing she could not finish at one luncheon, shook +her head graciously and invited H. R. to dinner the next evening. + +"I can hardly wait!" murmured H. R. + + + + +XXXII + + +The dinner at Mrs. Vandergilt's home was H. R.'s initial social triumph. +The first thing he did was to confess to Mrs. Vandergilt that what he +desired above all things was to be her military secretary. All he asked +was to serve the Cause so long as she led, and no longer. + +"I hate failures," he told her. "I don't propose to be identified with +any. If I did not see in you what I do I should not be here. I know +creative genius when I see it. You paint the picture. I am only the +frame-maker--necessary, but not among the immortals." + +"You are more than that," she assured him, with a smile. He shook his +head. + +"I can fool the rabble; but you know the trick! Organize your personal +staff. Fire them with your own enthusiasm. Of course they won't all have +brains; but they will do to stop gaps and follow instructions." + +And Mrs. Vandergilt, in order that all might know that great minds +acknowledged a greater mind, cracked up H. R. to the sky. H. R.'s +success was all the greater since he made a point of declining most +invitations. He was seen only where most people wished to be seen. That +made him talked about. + +Grace heard about his stupendous social success. Since the demand for +H. R.'s presence came from her social equals, he was at last a desirable +possession. She stayed away from Jerry's in a mood of anger that +naturally made it impossible for her to stop thinking of H. R. + +Meantime H. R. regularly, every day, sent a complete file of newspapers +to the Goodchild residence. By his orders the Public Sentiment Corps +bombarded the editors with requests for information as to the Society of +American Sandwich Artists, and of sandwiching in general. He prepared +learned and withal highly interesting articles on sandwiches, their +history and development. He suggested over divers signatures that all +court notices should be brought to the public's notice by sandwiches, +thereby getting nearer to the picturesque town-crier of our sainted +forefathers. + +Not a single communication was printed. The department stores were +holding out for lower advertising rates. Many of the letters asked +questions about H. R. in his capacity as the greatest living authority +on sandwiches. These, also, were ignored. On the other hand, to show +they were not prejudiced, the papers continued to run the charity page +and used suggestions furnished by H. R., giving him full credit when it +came to philanthropies that had nothing to do with sandwiches. + +The series of harrowing radiographs of diseased viscera, published with +success by the most conservative of the evening journals, was one of +H. R.'s subtlest strokes. And prominent persons took to contributing +checks and articles, both signed in full, in response to H. R.'s +occasional appeals in aid of deserving destitution. + +Then the Public Sentiment Corps began to ask, with a marvelous diversity +of chirography and spelling, why H. R. did not undertake to secure +votes for women and employment for men. Mrs. Vandergilt, when asked +about it by the reporters, replied: + +"H. R. is my most trusted adviser. Just wait! When we are ready to move +we'll begin; and there will be no stopping us this time!" They published +her remarks and her photograph, and also H. R.'s. + +Mr. Goodchild had tried, one after another, to get all the newspapers to +attack H. R. viciously--then to poke fun at him; and he had failed +utterly. When he read the Vandergilt interview, on his way home that +evening, he decided to speak to Grace. + +"Mrs. Vandergilt is crazy," he said. + +"Have they sent her away?" asked Grace, her face full of excitement. +Poor Ethel! + +"Not yet; but I see she has taken up that--that--" + +"Hendrik?" asked Grace, and frowned. + +Mr. Goodchild nodded. Then he asked, suspiciously: + +"You haven't seen him?" + +"Yes; but not to--well, he hasn't made--he has kept his word to you. And +the newspapers don't print anything about sandwiches." + +"No--damn 'em!" he muttered. + +"I thought you didn't want them to." + +"I don't want you to have anything to do with him. It is perfectly +absurd to think of marrying a fellow like that--" + +"He can marry anybody now," she told him. Thinking of this made her so +angry that she said, "He hypnotizes people so they think he is--" + +"I know what he is," he interrupted. "I'd like to--" + +"I suppose you would," she acquiesced; "but you can't deny he is an +extraordinary person, and--" + +"Do you love him?" he interrupted. + +Grace hesitated. She had to in order to be honest. + +"I--I don't know," she answered, finally. + +"Great Scott! Do you mean to say you don't know that?" + +"No; I don't," she replied, tartly. + +She thought of H. R., of all he had done, of all he had said to her, of +all he might yet do. And then she thought of the way H. R. had been +taken up by the people at whose homes she dined and danced. She shook +her head dubiously. + +"Well, finish!" said her father, impatiently. + +"He makes people do what he wants them to," she said, slowly; "though he +says he will do what I wish him to do, and--" + +"Can you make him do what he doesn't want to do?" challenged her father, +with his first gleam of sense. + +She thought of H. R.'s love of her. + +"Yes," she said, thrilled at the thought of her power. + +"Then make him give you up!" + +Her father permitted himself a smile of incredulity, which made her say: + +"I will!" + +Mr. Goodchild rose. He patted her cheek encouragingly and said: + +"I think you will, my dear." + +"I am going to make him--" + +"I beg pardon, but Miss Goodchild is wanted at the telephone, sir," +announced Frederick. + +Grace went to answer the phone. It was Marion Molyneux who spoke. + +"Is it true, Grace, that your engagement with H. R. is off?" + +"Who told you?" naturally asked Grace before she could think of anything +else. + +"Why, everybody is talking about it; and--" + +"Everybody knows my business better than I do." + +"Well, they say Mrs. Vandergilt doesn't give him time to--" + +"Is he engaged to her?" + +"Oh, dear! You are angry, aren't you? Well, I am glad it isn't true. +Good-by." + +How could the engagement be off when it never had been on? Grace made up +her mind to talk to him very plainly, for the last time, that evening. +She knew he would be at the Vandergilts' dinner dance that night. Well, +she was going there, anyhow. Therefore she went. She almost had to elbow +her way to where he stood. Mrs. Vandergilt was beside him; but Grace +could see that H. R. owned the house. + +"How do you do, my dear?" said Mrs. Vandergilt, so very graciously that +Grace was filled with fury. + +It was plain that H. R. was making a professional politician of Mrs. +Vandergilt. Grace smiled at her--that is, she made her lips do it +mechanically. Then she addressed the fiancé to whom she was not engaged: + +"Hendrik!" + +That was all she actually said, but, with her eyes, in the manner known +only to women who are sure they are not in love, she commanded him to +follow her. + +"You see him all the time and we don't get a chance very often," +protested a vulgar little thing whose father was a financial pirate of +the first rank and had given her all the predatory instincts. "Go on, +H. R.! Tell us some more. Do!" + +Grace's eyes grew very bright and hard, and her cheeks flushed. + +"I have news for you," she said to H. R., calmly ignoring the others. + +"I am sorry, children," said H. R., regretfully. "Business before +pleasure." + +"Your business," persisted the vulgar little thing, "is to obey!" + +"Hence my exit," he said, and followed Grace. + +She led the way to the conservatory. She was conscious of her own +displeasure. This enabled her to dispense with the necessity of finding +reasons for her own feelings. She halted beside an elaborately carved +marble seat, built for two, and motioned for him to sit down. He looked +at her. She then said: + +"Sit down!" + +He obeyed. Then she sat beside him. The seat was skilfully screened by +palms and ferns. + +"I had a little talk with father this morning," she went on, and +frowned--in advance. + +"You poor thing!" he murmured, sympathetically, as though he were +thinking of what she must have suffered. + +As a matter of fact his mind was full of the conviction that she herself +did not know which way she was going to jump and it behooved him to pick +the right way. + +"He asked me whether I loved you," she went on, sternly. + +"Well, the answer to that was an easy syllable. When we go back you tell +Mrs. Vandergilt that you have decided to allow me to serve under her. +Don't worry; I'll be the boss. Ethel has played up like a trump--" + +"I told him I didn't," she interrupted. + +"You couldn't have told him that!" He smiled easily. "There was no +occasion for it. Now tell me exactly what you did say to him." + +He could see anger in her eyes--the kind of anger that is at least a +first cousin to hatred. + +"I said--" + +"The exact words." + +The change in his voice made her look at him. His eyes, keen, masterful, +were fixed on hers. They looked hard, yet not altogether ruthless; and +particularly they looked as though they could read thoughts with no +effort, which made it necessary to tell the truth. + +"I told him I didn't know," she said. To preserve her self-respect she +sneered. + +"What a wonderful girl you are!" + +In his eyes she saw a great admiration. She could not tell what it was +this man considered so wonderful; but, whatever it was, he knew +exactly--and she did not! + +"If I really loved you, shouldn't I know it?" + +"Of course not. You are not the surrendering kind. The others are--born +slaves, diminutive souls, toys, little pets. Souls like yours don't +marry; they mate with an eagle! You will love me as I love you. And then +there is nothing that we, together, cannot do! Nothing!" + +She opened her mouth, but he checked her speech by saying, sternly: + +"Why do you think it is that, having loved you, I cannot love any one +else? Because I alone know what you are and what you will be! Grace, I +promised your father I would not make love to you until I had deleted +one word from our visiting-cards. It is done; but the month isn't up +quite, and I won't make love to you. That's flat! I can't break my +word." + +He looked so determined that naturally she looked away and said, very +softly: + +"And--and if I should want you to?" + +"You should want me to make love to you, but not to break my word!" + +"But you say you love me," she complained. + +"Love you!" + +It flamed in his eyes and his hand reached for hers; but he checked +himself abruptly. She extended her hand, but he edged away from her. She +drew nearer to him. He retreated to the very edge of the seat. She was +pursuing now. He bit his lip and frowned. + +She no longer thought of other things. She knew he could not retreat any +farther. She covered his hand with hers. He suddenly clutched it so +tightly that he hurt her, and that gave her the fierce joy of success in +love as she understood it. She felt like shouting: "Hurt me! Hurt me! +I've got you!" But what she did was to murmur: + +"Hendrik!" + +"What?" he said, hoarsely, resolutely keeping his eyes from looking into +hers. + +"Hendrik, do you really love me?" + +"My promise!" he whispered, tensely, and looked at her pleadingly. +"Don't, dear!" + +She understood him perfectly; so she smiled. It was her iron will +against his. He must do what he did not wish to do, and do it because +she wished it! She did not wish to kiss him; but she wished, +hypnotist-like, to compel him to kiss her. With her eyes she beckoned +him to come closer. + +Knowing that this would clinch it he stared back at her with a pitiful +appeal in his troubled eyes, and shook his head weakly, as though his +soul, thinking of his honor, was saying: "No, no! Please don't!" + +Her face moved toward him a little and stopped. Something within her was +stamping its foot, saying: "Yes! Yes!"--like a peevish child. + +H. R., continuing to follow the subtle strategy of the reversed +position, stared fascinatedly at her lips. Then slowly, like a man in a +trance, his face moved toward hers. On the very brink he paused and +said, brokenly: "No! Oh, my darling! No! No!" + +She said nothing, in order not to commit herself; but she smiled at him, +while her eyes, luminous and blue, pounded away on his resolve, +battering it to pieces. Nearer his face came--nearer--until his lips +reached hers. + +His honor had been wrecked on the coral reef; but all she knew, and all +she cared to know, was that she had won! She was so certain of it and +showed it so plainly that he knew he had better make it doubly sure; so +he pressed his cheek against hers, that she might not see his face while +he murmured: + +"Now you can't cast me off!" + +It was an entreaty, with the nature of which she was familiar from her +literary studies; and her answer, eminently feminine, was: + +"Never, dearest!" + +He started to his feet abruptly. + +"Don't follow me!" he said, harshly, and walked away very quickly. + +When she rejoined the crush in the drawing-room she learned that H. R. +had excused himself on the plea of urgent business and had gone. + +"What is he going to do?" they asked her, eagerly. + +They were sure it was something picturesque, but she saw in their +excited wonderment the appraisal of her victory. The displeasure and +suspicion in Mrs. Vandergilt's eyes gave her intense joy. + +She was willing to pay for her victory. He loved her! She could make him +do whatever she wished. It did not matter whether she loved him or not. +There was now no reason, that she could see, why she should not marry +him--if the worst came to the worst. + + + + +XXXIII + + +Grace did not hear from H. R. the next morning as she fully expected. +Since expectation is disguised desire, she was vexed by his silence. She +had conquered. Why did he not acknowledge? + +She obeyed what she would have called a sudden impulse of no particular +significance and called up his office. Andrew Barrett answered. He told +her that H. R. had gone away--nobody knew whither--and would not return +until the following Thursday. + +H. R.'s move was so mysterious that it could mean but one thing: He was +running away! + +Merely to make sure of it, she went to Jerry's at one o'clock. The +northeast corner table was there, but not H. R. However, she sat down +and waited. + +She ordered her luncheon herself, irritated at having to do what he +should have done. If it was business that kept H. R. away, she ought to +know it. The right to know everything was part of the spoils. When he +came back there would be no more ignorance--ever again! + +At three o'clock she went home. But as the days passed she became +uneasy. H. R. was the only human being she completely dominated. +Brooding on his inexplicable absence, her thoughts came more and more to +take the form of the question that victrices always ask of high Heaven: +"Have I lost him?" + +That made her love him. + +At noon on the 20th of May he telephoned to her: + +"Meet me at the Plaza at four--for tea. Don't fail! Good-by!" + +"Wait!" she exclaimed, angrily, rebellion surging within her by reason +of his dictatorial tone of voice. She had been very anxious to see him, +but not at that price. + +He had wisely hung up the receiver, however. That compelled her to do +what he had told her to do. She had something to say to him. + +She found him sitting at a small table in the Palm Room. Ethel +Vandergilt and Reggie Van Duzen were with him. She approached him +frowning, because she ran the usual gantlet of stares, and overheard the +usual murmurs: "That's Grace Goodchild! Do you think she is as pretty +as--" + +Ethel greeted her affectionately, and Reggie looked proud to be there. +He was a worshipper of the dynamic H. R. But all that H. R. himself +said, in his exasperatingly peremptory voice, was: + +"Month is up to-day. Now for the test! Tell Ethel you want some +sandwiches!" + +Grace started slightly and realized that Ethel had not overheard +H. R.--he had taken care that she should not. + +"No! I--I'm afraid, Hendrik," she stammered, turning pale. Women love to +gamble--in their minds, when alone. + +"You? Afraid? Of anything?" He looked at her in pained amazement. "Look +at me!" + +She did. + +"I--I'll marry you any--anyway," she said, to show it was not cowardice, +but the reverse. + +"Play the game!" he said, sternly. + +Before she knew it she obeyed. She sat down limply and said: + +"Ethel, I w-want a s-s-sandwich!" + +"You poor thing! You're actually faint with hunger. Don't you want some +bouillon? Waiter!" + +"No; I want a sandwich!" said Grace, loudly. You would have thought she +had said, "_Jacta est alea!_" + +Ethel and Reggie heard Grace use that word. People all about them knew +who she was and had proudly told their out-of-town companions all about +H. R. and Grace Goodchild. They, too, heard Grace say she wanted a +sandwich. + +Not a soul smiled! Not having seen anything about it in the newspapers +for a month, New York had forgotten that H. R. had wooed Grace with +sandwiches. H. R. was as famous as ever, but his fellow-citizens no +longer knew why or how. + +The waiter took the order with unsmiling respect. Grace looked at H. R. +almost with awe. He smiled reassuringly and asked her: + +"Aren't you going to ask Ethel?" + +"Ask me what?" said Ethel. + +Grace was silent, because she was blushing like a silly thing in public. + +"On the eighth of June," said H. R. "I suppose you won't mind being a--" + +Ethel naturally interrupted him by saying to Grace: + +"I'm so glad! Is it announced?" + +"You're the first one we've told, dear girl," H. R. declared, solemnly. +"Reggie, you will give me courage at the altar?" + +"Will I?" chuckled Reggie, proudly, and insisted on shaking hands. + +H. R. rewarded him. He said: + +"Reggie, I'm going to let you help me in my campaign. I'm going to the +Assembly in the autumn." + +"Albany!" said Reggie, enthusiastically. "First stop on the way to +Washington! There was Cleveland--and Roosevelt; and now--" + +"Oh, Hendrik!" gasped Grace. She would help him all she could--at the +receptions. + +Then she looked at Ethel to see whether she, also, understood national +politics. Ethel did. She said, with conviction: + +"And we'll all vote for him, too!" + +The waiter laid a plate of sandwiches before Grace. + +H. R. stared at them--a long time, as though he were crystal-gazing. He +saw the labor-unions, the churches, the aristocracy, the bankers, the +newspapers, the thoughtless, and the hungry; and all were with him and +for him. He was the only man the Socialists really feared. If he was +H. R. to New York, why should he not become H. R. to the nation? + +He saw himself on the steps of the Capitol on a 4th of March. It was +typical Rutgers weather. The mighty sun was trying its best to please +him and incidentally tranquilizing Big Business by shining goldenly. The +clouds, however, were pure silver--with an eye to the retail trade. + +In the distance he saw the monument erected with infinite pains to the +one American who could not tell a lie. It was a great white finger +pointing straight at heaven. It was as though George Washington's +stupendous gesture meant, "That is where I got it from!" + +That is the place from which everything good comes. It should not be +difficult, H. R. thought, to convince his fellow-Americans of it. They +had been accustomed to reading, every day, "In God we trust." It was on +all the dollars. + +"Hendrik!" said Grace. + +H. R. started from his dream and passed his hand over his eyes. + +"Grace," he said to her resolutely, "my work is just beginning!" + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of H. R., by Edwin Lefevre + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK H. R. *** + +***** This file should be named 33314-8.txt or 33314-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/3/1/33314/ + +Produced by Annie McGuire. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/33314-8.zip b/33314-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..33348ac --- /dev/null +++ b/33314-8.zip diff --git a/33314-h.zip b/33314-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..781d612 --- /dev/null +++ b/33314-h.zip diff --git a/33314-h/33314-h.htm b/33314-h/33314-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c684424 --- /dev/null +++ b/33314-h/33314-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12068 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of H. R., by Edwin Lefevre. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of H. R., by Edwin Lefevre + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: H. R. + +Author: Edwin Lefevre + +Release Date: August 1, 2010 [EBook #33314] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK H. R. *** + + + + +Produced by Annie McGuire. This book was produced from +scanned images of public domain material from the Google +Print archive. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h2><span class="smcap">Books by</span></h2> + +<h2>EDWIN LEFEVRE</h2> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'>SAMPSON ROCK OF WALL STREET. Illustrated. Post 8vo.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>H. R. Illustrated. Post 8vo.</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr style='width: 25%;' /> + +<h4>HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK</h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 416px;"> +<img src="images/ill_001.jpg" width="416" height="600" alt="SHE PETRIFIED HERSELF WHEN SHE BEHELD THE MAN WHO HAD MADE HER FAMOUS" title="" /> +<span class="caption">SHE PETRIFIED HERSELF WHEN SHE BEHELD THE MAN WHO HAD MADE HER FAMOUS</span> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_002.jpg" width="300" height="151" alt="H. R." title="" /> +</div> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>EDWIN LEFEVRE</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 81px;"> +<img src="images/ill_003.jpg" width="81" height="100" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h4>HARPER & BROTHERS</h4> + +<h4>NEW YORK AND LONDON</h4> + +<h4>MCMXV</h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center">Copyright, 1915, by Harper & Brothers</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>TO ROBERT HOBART DAVIS</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>My dear Bob: In dedicating this book to you, I do more than follow the +selfish impulse of pleasing myself. It was you who warned me that none +of the usual fiction-labels would fit "H. R." To irritate the reader by +compelling him to think in order to understand was, you told me, both +unfair and unwise. But a writer occasionally may be permitted to please +himself, and if his experiment fails there remains the satisfaction of +having tried. I have not labelled my jokes explicitly nor have I written +a single foot-note in the middle of a page. I have endeavored to +reproduce a recognizable atmosphere by intentionally exaggerating +certain phases of the attitude of New York toward the eternal verities. +Not even for purposes of contrast have I felt bound to have a nice +character in the book. But if the reader fails to get what you so +clearly understood, and if the critics point out how completely I have +failed to write a Satirical Romance of To-day, I can at least make +certain of having one line in this volume with which none may find +fault. And that, Great and Good Friend, is the line at the top of this +page.</i></p></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;"><i>E. L.</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;"><i>Dorset, Vt., June, 1915.</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#I"><b>CHAPTER I</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#II"><b>CHAPTER II</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#III"><b>CHAPTER III</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#IV"><b>CHAPTER IV</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#V"><b>CHAPTER V</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#VI"><b>CHAPTER VI</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#VII"><b>CHAPTER VII</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#VIII"><b>CHAPTER VIII</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#IX"><b>CHAPTER IX</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#X"><b>CHAPTER X</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XI"><b>CHAPTER XI</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XII"><b>CHAPTER XII</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XIII"><b>CHAPTER XIII</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XIV"><b>CHAPTER XIV</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XV"><b>CHAPTER XV</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XVI"><b>CHAPTER XVI</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XVII"><b>CHAPTER XVII</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XVIII"><b>CHAPTER XVIII</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XIX"><b>CHAPTER XIX</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XX"><b>CHAPTER XX</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XXI"><b>CHAPTER XXI</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XXII"><b>CHAPTER XXII</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XXIII"><b>CHAPTER XXIII</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XXIV"><b>CHAPTER XXIV</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XXV"><b>CHAPTER XXV</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XXVI"><b>CHAPTER XXVI</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XXVII"><b>CHAPTER XXVII</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XXVIII"><b>CHAPTER XXVIII</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XXIX"><b>CHAPTER XXIX</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XXX"><b>CHAPTER XXX</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XXXI"><b>CHAPTER XXXI</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XXXII"><b>CHAPTER XXXII</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#XXXIII"><b>CHAPTER XXXIII</b></a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2> + +<p>The trouble was not in being a bank clerk, but in being a clerk in a +bank that wanted him to be nothing but a bank clerk. That kind always +enriches first the bank and later on a bit of soil.</p> + +<p>Hendrik Rutgers had no desire to enrich either bank or soil.</p> + +<p>He was blue-eyed, brown-haired, clear-skinned, rosy-cheeked, tall, +well-built, and square-chinned. He always was in fine physical trim, +which made people envy him so that they begrudged him advancement, but +it also made them like him because they were so flattered when he +reduced himself to their level by not bragging of his muscles. He had a +quick-gaited mind and much fluency of speech. Also the peculiar sense of +humor of a born leader that enabled him to laugh at what any witty devil +said about others, even while it prevented him from seeing jokes aimed +at his sacred self. He not only was congenitally stubborn—from his +Dutch ancestors—but he had his Gascon grandmother's ability to believe +whatever he wished to believe, and his Scandinavian great-grandfather's +power to fill himself with Berserker rage in a twinkling. This made him +begin all arguments by clenching his fists. Having in his veins so many +kinds of un-American blood, he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> one of the few real Americans in his +own country, and he always said so.</p> + +<p>It was this blood that now began to boil for no reason, though the +reason was really the spring.</p> + +<p>He had acquired the American habit of reading the newspapers instead of +thinking, and his mind therefore always worked in head-lines. This time +it worked like this: <span class="smcap">more money and more fun</span>!</p> + +<p>Being an American, he instantly looked about for the best rung of the +ladder of success.</p> + +<p>He had always liked the cashier. A man climbs at first by his friends. +Later by his enemies. That is why friends are superfluous later.</p> + +<p>Hendrik, so self-confident that he did not even have to frown, +approached the kindly superior.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Coster," he said, pleasantly, "I've been on the job over two years. +I've done my work satisfactorily. I need more money." You could see from +his manner that it was much nicer to state facts than to argue.</p> + +<p>The cashier was looking out of the big plate-glass window at the +wonderful blue sky—New York! April! He swung on his swivel-chair and, +facing Hendrik Rutgers, stared at a white birch by a trout stream three +hundred miles north of the bank.</p> + +<p>"Huh?" he grunted, absently. Then the words he had not heard indented +the proper spot on his brain and he became a kindly bank cashier once +more.</p> + +<p>"My boy," he said, sympathetically, "I know how it is. Everybody gets +the fit about this time of year. What kind of a fly would you use for— +I mean, you go back to your cage and confine your attention to the K-L +ledger."</p> + +<p>A two hours walk in the Westchester hills would have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> made these two men +brothers. Instead, Hendrik allowed himself to fill up with that anger +which is apt to become indignation, and thus lead to freedom. Anger is +wrath over injury; indignation is wrath over injustice: hence the +freedom.</p> + +<p>"I am worth more to the bank than I'm getting. If the bank wants me to +stay—"</p> + +<p>"Hendrik, I'll do you a favor. Go out and take a walk. Come back in ten +minutes—cured!</p> + +<p>"Thanks, Mr. Coster. But suppose I still want a raise when I come back?</p> + +<p>"Then I'll accept your resignation."</p> + +<p>"But I don't want to resign. I want to be worth still more to the bank +so that the bank will be only too glad to pay me more. I don't want to +live and die a clerk. That would be stupid for me, and also for the +bank."</p> + +<p>"Take the walk, Hen. Then come back and see me."</p> + +<p>"What good will that do me?"</p> + +<p>"As far as I can see, it will enable you to be fired by no less than the +Big Chief himself. Tell Morson you are going to do something for me. +Walk around and look at the people—thousands of them; they are working! +Don't forget that, Hen; working; <i>making regular wages</i>! Good luck, my +boy. I've never done this before, but you caught me fishing. I had just +hooked a three-pounder," he finished, apologetically.</p> + +<p>Hendrik was suffocating as he returned to his cage. He did not think; he +felt—felt that everything was wrong with a civilization that kept both +wild beasts and bank clerks in cages. He put on his hat, told the head +bookkeeper he was going on an errand for Mr. Coster, and left the bank.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> + +<p>The sky was pure blue and the clouds pure white. There was in the air +that which even when strained through the bank's window-screens had made +Hendrik so restless. To breathe it, outdoors, made the step more +elastic, the heartbeats more vigorous, the thoughts more vivid, the +resolve stronger. The chimneys were waving white plumes in the bright +air—waving toward heaven! He wished to hear the song of freedom of +streams escaping from the mountains, of the snow-elves liberated by the +sun; to hear birds with the spring in their throats admitting it, and +the impatient breeze telling the awakening trees to hurry up with the +sap. Instead, he heard the noises that civilized people make when they +make money. Also, whenever he ceased to look upward, in the place of the +free sunlight and the azure liberty of God's sky, he beheld the +senseless scurrying of thousands of human ants bent on the same golden +errand.</p> + +<p>When a man looks down he always sees dollar-chasing insects—his +brothers!</p> + +<p>He clenched his fists and changed, by the magic of the season, into a +fighting-man. He saw that the ant life of Wall Street was really a +battle. Men here were not writing on ledgers, but fighting deserts, and +swamps, and mountains, and heat, and cold, and hunger; fighting Nature; +fighting her with gold for more gold. It followed that men were fighting +men with gold for more gold! So, of course, men were killing men with +gold for more gold!</p> + +<p>So greatly has civilization advanced since the Jews crucified Him for +interfering with business, that to-day man not only is able to use +dollars to kill with, but boasts of it.</p> + +<p>"Fools!" he thought, having in mind all other living<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> men. After he +definitely classified humanity he felt more kindly disposed toward the +world.</p> + +<p>After all, why should men fight Nature or fight men? Nature was only too +willing to let men live who kept her laws; and men were only too willing +to love their fellow-men if only dollars were not sandwiched in between +human hearts. He saw, in great happy flashes, the comfort of living +intelligently, brothers all, employers and employed, rid of the curse of +money, the curse of making it, the curse of coining it out of the sweat +and sorrow of humanity.</p> + +<p>"Fools!" This time he spoke his thought aloud. A hurrying broker's clerk +smiled superciliously, recognizing a stock-market loser talking of +himself to himself, as they all do. But Hendrik really had in mind bank +clerks who, instead of striking off their fetters, caressed them as +though they were the flesh of sweethearts; or wept, as though tears +could soften steel; or blasphemed, as though curses were cold-chisels! +And every year the fetters were made thicker by the blacksmith Habit. To +be a bank clerk, now and always; now and always nothing!</p> + +<p>He now saw all about him hordes of sheep-hearted Things with pens behind +their ears and black-cloth sleeve-protectors, who said, with the +spitefulness of eunuchs or magazine editors:</p> + +<p>"<i>You also are of us!</i>"</p> + +<p>He would <i>not</i> be of them!</p> + +<p>He might not be able to change conditions in the world of finance, not +knowing exactly how to go about it, but he certainly could change the +financial condition of Hendrik Rutgers. He would become a free man. He +would do it by getting more money, if not from the bank, from somebody +else. In all imperfectly Christianized<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> democracies a man must +capitalize his freedom or cease to be free.</p> + +<p>He returned to the bank. He was worth thousands to it. This could be +seen in his walk. And yet when the cashier saw Hendrik's face he +instantly rose from his chair, held up a hand to check unnecessary +speech, and said:</p> + +<p>"Come on, Rutgers. You are a damned fool, but I have no time to convince +you of it. You understand, of course, that you'll never work for us +again!"</p> + +<p>"I shall tell the president."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes. He'll fire you."</p> + +<p>"Not if he is intelligent, he won't," said Rutgers, with assurance.</p> + +<p>The cashier looked at him pityingly and retorted: "A long catalogue of +your virtues and manifold efficiency will weigh with him as much as two +cubic inches of hydrogen. But I warned you."</p> + +<p>"I know you did," said Hendrik, pleasantly.</p> + +<p>Whereupon Coster frowned and said: "You are in class B—eight hundred +dollars a year. In due time you will be promoted to class C—one +thousand dollars. You knew our system and what the prospects were when +you came to us. Other men are ahead of you; they have been here longer +than you. We want to be fair to all. If you were going to be +dissatisfied you should not have kept somebody else out of a job."</p> + +<p>Hendrik did not know how fair the bank was to clerks in class C. He knew +they were not fair to one man in class B. Facts are facts. Arguments are +sea-foam.</p> + +<p>"You say I kept somebody out of a job?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you did!"</p> + +<p>The cashier's tone was so accusing that Hendrik said:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Don't call a policeman, Mr. Coster."</p> + +<p>"And don't you get fresh, Rutgers. Now see here; you go back and let the +rise come in the usual course. I'll give you a friendly tip: once you +are in class C you will be more directly under my own eye!"</p> + +<p>Instead of feeling grateful for the implied promise, Hendrik could think +only that they classified men like cattle. All steers weighing one +thousand pounds went into pen B, and so on. This saved time to the +butchers, who, not having to stop in order to weigh and classify, were +enabled to slit many more throats per day.</p> + +<p>He did not know it, but he thought all this because he wished to go +fishing. Therefore he said: "I've got to have more money!" His fists +clenched and his face flushed. He thought of cattle, of the ox-making +bank, of being driven from pen A into pen B, and, in the end, +fertilizer. "I've got to!" he repeated, thickly.</p> + +<p>"You won't get it, take it from me. To ask for it now simply means being +instantly fired."</p> + +<p>"Being fired" sounded so much like being freed that Hendrik retorted, +pleasantly:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Coster, you may yet live to take your orders from me, if I am +fired. But if I stay here, you never will; that's sure."</p> + +<p>The cashier flushed angrily, opened his mouth, magnanimously closed it, +and, with a shrug of his shoulders, preceded Hendrik Rutgers into the +private office of the president.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Goodchild," said Coster, so deferentially that Hendrik looked at +him in surprise for a full minute before the surprise changed into +contempt.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild, the president, did not even answer. He frowned, +deliberately walked to a window and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> stared out of it sourly. A little +deal of his own had gone wrong, owing to the stupidity of a subordinate.</p> + +<p><i>He had lost <span class="smcap">money</span>!</i></p> + +<p>He was a big man with jowls and little puffs under the eyes; also +suspicions of purple in cheeks and nose and suspicions of everybody in +his eyes. Presently he turned and spat upon the intruders. He did it +with one mild little word:</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>He then confined his scowl to the cashier. The clerk was a species of +the human dirt that unfortunately exists even in banks and has to be +apologized for to customers at times, when said dirt, before arrogance, +actually permits itself vocal chords.</p> + +<p>They spoil the joy of doing business, damn 'em!</p> + +<p>"This is the K-L ledger clerk," said Coster. "He wants a raise in +salary. I told him 'No,' and he then insisted on seeing you." Years of +brooding over the appalling possibility of having to look for another +job had made the cashier a skilful shirker of responsibilities. He +always spoke to the president as if he were giving testimony under oath.</p> + +<p>"When one of these chaps, Mr. Coster," said the president in the +accusing voice bank presidents use toward those borrowers whose +collateral is inadequate, "asks for a raise and doesn't get it he begins +to brood over his wrongs. People who think they are underpaid +necessarily think they are overworked. And that is what makes socialists +of them!"</p> + +<p>He glared at the cashier, who acquiesced, awe-strickenly: "Yes, sir!"</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact," pursued the president, still accusingly, "we +should reduce the bookkeeping force. Dawson tells me that at the +Metropolitan National<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> they average one clerk to two hundred and +forty-two accounts. The best we've ever done is one to one hundred and +eighty-eight. Reduce! Good morning."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Goodchild," said Hendrik Rutgers, approaching the president, "won't +you please listen to what I have to say?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild was one of those business men who in their desire to +conduct their affairs efficiently become mind-readers in order to save +precious time. He knew what Rutgers was going to say, and therefore +anticipated it by answering:</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry for the sickness in your family. The best I can do is +to let you remain with us for a little while, until whoever is sick is +better." He nodded with great philanthropy and self-satisfaction.</p> + +<p>But Hendrik said, very earnestly: "If I were content with my job I +wouldn't be worth a whoop to the bank. What makes me valuable is that I +want to be more. Every soldier of Napoleon carried a marshal's baton in +his knapsack. That gave ambition to Napoleon's soldiers, who always won. +Let your clerks understand that a vice-presidency can be won by any of +us and you will see a rise in efficiency that will surprise you. Mr. +Goodchild, it is a matter of common sense to—"</p> + +<p>"Get out!" said the president.</p> + +<p>Ordinarily he would have listened. But he had lost money; that made him +think only of one thing—that he had lost money!</p> + +<p>The general had suddenly discovered that his fortress was not +impregnable! He did not wish to discuss feminism.</p> + +<p>Of course, Hendrik did not know that the president's request for +solitude was a confession of weakness and, therefore, in the nature of a +subtle compliment. And<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> therefore, instead of feeling flattered, Hendrik +saw red. It is a common mistake. But anger always stimulated his +faculties. All men who are intelligent in their wrath have in them the +makings of great leaders of men. The rabble, in anger, merely becomes +the angry rabble—and stays rabble.</p> + +<p>Hendrik Rutgers aimed full at George G. Goodchild, Esq., a look of +intense astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Get out!" repeated the president.</p> + +<p>Hendrik Rutgers turned like a flash to the cashier and said, sharply: +"Didn't you hear? <i>Get out!</i>"</p> + +<p>"You!" shouted Mr. George G. Goodchild.</p> + +<p>"Who? <i>Me?</i>" Hendrik's incredulity was abysmal.</p> + +<p>"Yes! You!" And the president, dangerously flushed, advanced +threateningly toward the insolent beast.</p> + +<p>"What?" exclaimed Hendrik Rutgers, skeptically. "Do you mean to tell me +you really are the jackass your wife thinks you?"</p> + +<p>Fearing to intrude upon private affairs, the cashier discreetly left the +room. The president fell back a step. Had Mrs. Goodchild ever spoken to +this creature? Then he realized it was merely a fashion of speaking, and +he approached, one pudgy fist uplifted. The uplift was more for +rhetorical effect than for practical purposes, which has been a habit +with most uplifts since money-making became an exact science. But +Hendrik smiled pleasantly, as his forebears always did in battle, and +said:</p> + +<p>"If I hit you once on the point of the jaw it'll be the death-chair for +mine. I am young. Please control yourself."</p> + +<p>"You infernal scoundrel!"</p> + +<p>"What has Mrs. Goodchild ever done to me, that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> I should make her a +widow?" You could see he was sincerely trying to be not only just, but +judicial.</p> + +<p>The president of the bank gathered himself together. Then, as one flings +a dynamite bomb, he utterly destroyed this creature. "You are +<i>discharged</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut! I discharged the bank ages ago; I'm only waiting for the bank +to pack up. Now you listen to me."</p> + +<p>"Leave this room, sir!" He said it in that exact tone of voice.</p> + +<p>But Hendrik did not vanish into thin air. He commanded, "Take a good +look at me!"</p> + +<p>The president of the bank could not take orders from a clerk in class B. +Discipline must be maintained at any cost. He therefore promptly turned +away his head. But Hendrik drew near and said:</p> + +<p>"Do you hear?"</p> + +<p>There was in the lunatic's voice something that made Mr. George G. +Goodchild instantly bethink himself of all the hold-up stories he had +ever heard. He stared at Hendrik with the fascination of fear.</p> + +<p>"What do you see?" asked Rutgers, tensely. "A human soul? No. You see +K-L. You think machinery means progress, and therefore you don't want +men, but machines, hey?"</p> + +<p>The president did not see K-L, as at the beginning of the interview. +Instead of the two enslaving letters he saw two huge, emancipating +fists. This man was far too robust to be a safe clerk. He had square +shoulders. Yes, he had!</p> + +<p>The president was not the ass that Hendrik had called him. His +limitations were the limitations of all irreligious people who regularly +go to church. He thus attached too much importance to To-day, though<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +perhaps his demand loans had something to do with it. His sense of humor +was altogether phrasal, like that of most multimillionaires. But if he +was too old a man to be consistently intelligent, he was also an +experienced banker. He knew he had to listen or be licked. He decided to +listen. He also decided, in order to save his face, to indulge in +humorous speech.</p> + +<p>"Young man," he asked, with a show of solicitude, "do you expect to +become Governor of New York?"</p> + +<p>But Hendrik was not in a smiling mood, because he was listening to a +speech he was making to himself, and his own applause was distinctly +enjoyable, besides preventing him from hearing what the other was +saying. That is what makes all applause dangerous. He went on, with an +effect of not having been interrupted.</p> + +<p>"Machines never mutiny. They, therefore, are desirable in your System. +At the same time, the end of all machines is the scrap-heap. Do <i>you</i> +expect to end in junk?"</p> + +<p>"I was not thinking of <i>my</i> finish," the president said, with much +politeness.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are. Shall I prove it?"</p> + +<p>"Not now, please," pleaded the president, with a look of exaggerated +anxiety at the clock. It brought a flush of anger to Hendrik's cheeks, +seeing which the president instantly felt that glow of happiness which +comes from gratified revenge. Ah, to be witty! But his smile vanished. +Hendrik, his fists clenched, was advancing. The president was no true +humorist, not being of the stuff of which martyrs are made. He was ready +to recant when,</p> + +<p>"Good morning, daddy," came in a musical voice.</p> + +<p>Hendrik drew in his breath sharply at the narrowness<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> of his escape. She +who approached the purple-faced tyrant was the most beautiful girl in +all the round world.</p> + +<p>It was spring. The girl had brought in the first blossoms of the season +on her cheeks, and she had captured the sky and permanently imprisoned +it in her eyes. She was more than beautiful; she was everything that +Hendrik Rutgers had ever desired, and even more!</p> + +<p>"Er—good morning, Mr.—ah—" began the president in a pleasant voice.</p> + +<p>Hendrik waved his hand at him with the familiar amiability we use toward +people whose political affiliations are the same as ours at +election-time. Then he turned toward the girl, looked at her straight in +the eyes for a full minute before he said, with impressive gravity:</p> + +<p>"Miss Goodchild, your father and I have failed to agree in a somewhat +important business matter. I do not think he has used very good +judgment, but I leave this office full of forgiveness toward him because +I have lived to see his daughter at close range, in the broad light of +day."</p> + +<p>The only woman before whom a man dares to show himself a physical coward +is his wife, because no matter what he does she knows him.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild was frightened, but he said, blusteringly, "That will do, +you—er—<i>you</i>!"</p> + +<p>He pointed toward the door, theatrically. But Hendrik put his fingers to +his lips and said "Hush, George!" and spoke to her again:</p> + +<p>"Miss Goodchild, I am going to tell you the truth, which is a luxury +mighty rare in a bank president's private office, believe me."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<p>She stared at him with a curiosity that was not far from fascination. +She saw a well-dressed, well-built, good-looking chap, with particularly +bright, understanding eyes, who was on such familiar terms with her +father that she wondered why he had never called.</p> + +<p>"Let me say," he pursued, fervently, "without any hope of reward, +speaking very conservatively, that you are, without question, the most +beautiful girl in all the world! I have been nearly certain of it for +some time, but now I <i>know</i>. You are not only perfectly wonderful, but +wonderfully perfect—all of you! And now take a good look at me—"</p> + +<p>"Yes; just before he is put away," interjected the president, trying to +treat tragedy humorously before this female of the species. But for the +fear of the newspapers, he would have rung for the private detective +whose business was to keep out cranks, bomb-throwing anarchists, and +those fellow-Christians who wished to pledge their word of honor as +collateral on time-loans of less than five dollars. But she thought this +friendly persiflage meant that the interesting young man was a social +equal as well as a person of veracity and excellent taste. So she smiled +non-committally. She was, alas, young!</p> + +<p>"They will not put me away for thinking what I say," asserted Hendrik, +with such conviction that she blushed. Having done this, she smiled at +him directly, that there might be no wasted effort. Wasn't it spring, +and wasn't he young and fearless? And more than all that, wasn't he a +<i>novelty</i>, and she a New York woman?</p> + +<p>"When you hear the name of Hendrik Rutgers, or see it in the newspapers, +remember it belongs to the man who thought you were the only perfectly +beautiful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> girl God ever made. And He has done pretty well at times, you +must admit."</p> + +<p>With some people, both blasphemy and breakfast foods begin with a small +"b". The Only Perfect One thought he was a picturesque talker!</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rutgers, I am sorry you must be going," said the president, with a +pleasant smile, having made up his mind that this young man was not only +crazy, but harmless—unless angered. "But you'll come back, won't you, +when you are famous? We should like to have your account."</p> + +<p>Hendrik ignored him. He looked at her and said:</p> + +<p>"Do <i>you</i> prefer wealth to fame? Anybody can be rich. But famous? Which +would you rather hear: <i>There goes Miss $80,000-a-year Goodchild or That +is that wonderful Goodchild girl everybody is talking about?</i>"</p> + +<p>She didn't know what to answer, the question being a direct one and she +a woman. But this did not injure Hendrik in her eyes; for women actually +love to be compelled to be silent in order to let a man speak—at +certain times, about a certain subject. Her father, after the immemorial +fashion of unintelligent parents, answered for her. He said, stupidly: +"It never hurts to have a dollar or two, dear Mr. Rutgers."</p> + +<p>"Dollar or two! Why, there are poor men whose names on your list of +directors would attract more depositors to this bank than the name of +the richest man in the world. Even for your bank, between St. Vincent de +Paul and John D. Rockefeller, whom would you choose? Dollars! When you +can <i>dream</i>!" Hendrik's eyes were gazing steadily into hers. She did not +think he was at all lunatical. But George G. Goodchild had reached the +limit of his endurance and even of prudence. He rose to his feet, his +face deep purple.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<p>However, Providence was in a kindly mood. At that very moment the door +opened and a male stenographer appeared, note-book in hand. Civilization +does its life-saving in entirely unexpected ways, even outside of +hospitals.</p> + +<p>"<i>Au revoir</i>, Miss Goodchild. Don't forget the name, will you?"</p> + +<p>"I won't," she promised. There was a smile on her flower-lips and firm +resolve in her beautiful eyes. It mounted to Hendrik's head and took +away his senses, for he waved his hand at the purple president, said, +with a solemnity that thrilled her, "<i>Pray for your future son-in-law!</i>" +and walked out with the step of a conqueror. And the step visibly gained +in majesty as he overheard the music of the spheres:</p> + +<p>"Daddy, who is he?"</p> + +<p>At the cashier's desk he stopped, held out his hand, and said with that +valiant smile with which young men feel bound to announce their defeat, +"I'm leaving, Mr. Coster."</p> + +<p>"Good morning," said Coster, coldly, studiously ignoring the +outstretched hand. Rutgers was now a discharged employee, a potential +hobo, a possible socialist, an enemy of society, one of the dangerous +Have-Nots. But Hendrik felt so much superior to this creature with a +regular income that he said, pityingly: "Mr. Coster, your punishment for +assassinating your own soul is that your children are bound to have the +hearts of clerks. You are now definitely nothing but a bank cashier. +That's what!"</p> + +<p>"Get out!" shrieked the bank cashier, plagiarizing from a greater than +he.</p> + +<p>The tone of voice made the private policeman draw near. When he saw it +was Hendrik to whom Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> Coster was speaking, he instantly smelled +liquor. What other theory for an employee's loud talking in a bank? He +hoped Hendrik would not swear audibly. The bank would blame it on the +policeman's lack of tact.</p> + +<p>"<i>Au revoir.</i>" And Hendrik smiled so very pleasantly that the policeman, +whose brains were in his biceps, sighed with relief. At the same time +the whisper ran among the caged clerks in the mysterious fashion of all +bad news—the oldest of all wireless systems!</p> + +<p><i>Hendrik Rutgers was fired!</i></p> + +<p>Did life hold a darker tragedy than to be out of a job? A terrible +world, this, to be hungry in.</p> + +<p>As Hendrik walked into the cage to get his few belongings, pale faces +bent absorbingly over their ledgers. To be fed, to grow comfortably old, +to die in bed, always at so much per week. Ideal! No wonder, therefore, +that his erstwhile companions feared to look at what once had been a +clerk. And then, too, the danger of contagion! A terrible disease, +freedom, in a money-making republic, but, fortunately, rare, and the +victims provided with food, lodging, and strait-jackets at the expense +of the state. Or without strait-jackets: bars.</p> + +<p>Hendrik got his pay from the head of his department, who seemed of a +sudden to recall that he had never been formally introduced to this Mr. +H. Rutgers. This filled Hendrik at first with great anger, and then with +a great joy that he was leaving the inclosure wherein men's thoughts +withered and died, just like plants, for the same reason—lack of +sunshine.</p> + +<p>On his way to the street he paused by his best friend—a little old +fellow with unobtrusive side-whiskers who turned the ledger's pages over +with an amazing deftness, and wore the hunted look that comes from +thirty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> years of fear of dismissal. To some extent the old clerk's +constant boasting about the days when he was a reckless devil had +encouraged Hendrick.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Billy," said Hendrik, holding out his hand. "I'm going."</p> + +<p>Little old Billy was seen by witnesses talking in public with a +discharged employee! He hastily said, "Too bad!" and made a pretense of +adding a column of figures.</p> + +<p>"Too bad nothing. See what it has done for you, to stay so long. I laid +out old Goodchild, and the only reason why I stopped was I thought he'd +get apoplexy. But say, the daughter— She is some peach, believe me. I +called him papa-in-law to his face. You should have seen him!"</p> + +<p>Billy shivered. It was even worse than any human being could have +imagined.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Rutgers," he whispered out of a corner of his mouth, never +taking his eyes from the ledger.</p> + +<p>"You poor old— No, Billy! Thank you a thousand times for showing me +Hendrik Rutgers at sixty. Thanks!" And he walked out of the bank +overflowing with gratitude toward Fate that had hung him into the middle +of the street. From there he could look at the free sun all day; and of +nights, at the unfettered stars. It was better than looking at the +greedy hieroglyphics wherewith a stupid few enslaved the stupider many.</p> + +<p>He was free!</p> + +<p>He stood for a moment on the steps of the main entrance. For two years +he had looked from the world into the bank. But now he looked from the +bank out—on the world. And that was why that self-same world suddenly +changed its aspect. The very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> street looked different; the sidewalk wore +an air of strangeness; the crowd was not at all the same.</p> + +<p>He drew in a deep breath. The April air vitalized his blood.</p> + +<p>This new world was a world to conquer. He must fight!</p> + +<p>The nearest enemy was the latest. This is always true. Therefore Hendrik +Rutgers, in thinking of fighting, thought of the bank and the people who +made of banks temples to worship in.</p> + +<p>All he needed now was an excuse. There was no doubt that he would get +it. Some people call this process the autohypnosis of the great.</p> + +<p>Two sandwich-men slouched by in opposite directions. One of them stopped +and from the edge of the sidewalk stared at a man cleaning windows on +the fourteenth story of a building across the way. The other wearily +shuffled southward. Above his head swayed an enormous amputated foot.</p> + +<p>Rutgers himself walked briskly to the south. To avoid a collision with a +hurrying stenographer-girl—if it had been a male he would have used a +short jab—he unavoidably jostled the chiropodist's advertisement into +the gutter. The sandwich-man looked meekly into Rutgers's pugnacious +face and started to cross the street.</p> + +<p>Hendrik felt he should apologize, but before his sense of duty could +crystallize into action the man was too far away. So Hendrik turned +back. The other sandwich-man was still looking at the window-cleaner on +the fourteenth story across the street. Happening to look down, he saw +coming a man who looked angry. Therefore the sandwich-man meekly stepped +into the gutter, out of the way.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was the second time within one minute! Hendrik stopped and spoke +peevishly to the meek one in the gutter:</p> + +<p>"Why did you move out of my way?"</p> + +<p>The sandwich-man looked at him uneasily; then, without answering, walked +away sullenly.</p> + +<p>"Here I am," thought Rutgers, "a man without a job; and there he is, a +man with a job and afraid of me!"</p> + +<p>Something was wrong—or right. Something always is, to the born fighter.</p> + +<p>Who could be afraid of a man without a job but sandwich-men who always +walked along the curb so they could be pushed off into the gutter among +the other beasts? Nobody ever deliberately became a sandwich-man. When +circumstances, the police, hopeless inefficiency, or shattered credit +prevented a hobo from begging, stealing, murdering, or getting drunk, he +became a sandwich-man in order to live until he could rise again. +Whatever a sandwich-man changed himself into, it was always advancement. +Once a sandwich-man, never again a sandwich-man. It was not boards they +carried, but the printed certificates of hopelessness.</p> + +<p>Men who could not keep steady jobs became either corpses or +sandwich-men. The sandwich illustrated the tyranny of the regular income +just as the need of a regular income illustrated the need of +Christianity.</p> + +<p>The sandwich thus had become the spirit of the times.</p> + +<p>The spring-filled system of Hendrik Rutgers began to react for a second +time to a feeling of anger, and this for a second time turned his +thoughts to fighting. To fight was to conquer. There were two ways of +conquering—by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> fighting with gold and by fighting with brains. Who won +by gold perished by gold. That was why a numismatical bourgeoisie never +fought. Hendrik had no gold. So he would fight with brains. He therefore +would win. Also, he would fight for his fellow-men, which would make his +fight noble. That is called "hedging," for defeat in a noble cause is +something to be proud of in the newspapers. The reason why all hedging +is intelligent is that victory is always Victory when you talk about it.</p> + +<p>The sandwich-men were the scum of the earth.</p> + +<p><i>Ah!</i> It was a thrilling thought: To lead men who could no longer fight +for themselves against the world that had marred their immortal souls; +and then to compel that same world to place three square meals a day +within their astonished bellies!</p> + +<p>The man who could make the world do that could do anything. Since he +could do anything, he could marry a girl who not only was very +beautiful, but had a very rich and dislikable father. The early +Christians accomplished so much because they not only loved God, but +hated the devil.</p> + +<p>Hendrik Rutgers found both the excuse and the motive power.</p> + +<p>One minute after a man of brains perceives the need of a ladder in order +to climb, the rain of ladders begins.</p> + +<p>The chest-inflating egotism of the monopolistic tendency, rather than +the few remaining vestiges of Christianity, keeps Protestants in America +from becoming socialists. Hendrik filled his lungs full of self-oxygen +and of the consciousness of power for good, and decided to draw up the +constitution of his union. He would do it himself in order to produce a +perfect document; perfect in everything. A square deal;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> no more, no +less. That meant justice toward everybody, even toward the public.</p> + +<p>This union, being absolutely fair, would be more than good, more than +intelligent; it would pay.</p> + +<p>Carried away by his desire to help the lowest of the low, he constituted +himself into a natural law. He would grade his men, be the sole judge +and arbiter of their qualifications, and even of their proper wages.</p> + +<p>Hendrik walked back toward the last sandwich-man and soon overtook him. +"Hey, there, you!" he said, tapping the rear board with his hand.</p> + +<p>The sandwich-man did not turn about. Really, what human being could wish +to speak to him?</p> + +<p>Hendrik Rutgers walked for a few feet beside the modest artist who was +proclaiming to a purblind world the merits of an optician's wares, and +spoke again, politely:</p> + +<p>"I want to see you, on business."</p> + +<p>The man's lips quivered, then curved downward, immobilizing themselves +into a fixed grimace of fear. "I—I 'ain't done no-nothin'," he whined, +and edged away.</p> + +<p>This was what society had done to an immortal soul!</p> + +<p>"Hell!" said Hendrik Rutgers between clenched teeth. "I'm not a fly-cop. +I've just got a plain business proposition to make to you."</p> + +<p>"If you'll tell me where yer place is, I'll come aroun'—" began the +man, so obviously lying that Rutgers's anger shifted from society and +tyranny on to the thing between sandwich-boards—the thing that refused +to be his brother.</p> + +<p>"You damned fool!" he hissed, fraternally. "You come with me—now."</p> + +<p>The inverted crescent of the man's lips trembled,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> and presently there +issued from it, "Well, I 'ain't done—"</p> + +<p>Charity, which is not always astute, made H. Rutgers say with a kindly +cleverness to his poor brother, "I'll tell you how you are going to make +more money than you ever earned before."</p> + +<p>The prospect of making more money than he ever earned before brought no +name of joy into the blear and furtive eyes. Instead, he sidled, +crabwise, into the middle of the street.</p> + +<p>"No, you don't!" said Rutgers so menacingly that the sandwich-man +shivered. It was clear that, to feed this starving man, force would be +necessary. This never discourages the true philanthropist. Rutgers, +however, feeling that Christian forbearance should be used before +resorting to the ultimate diplomacy, said, with an earnest amiability: +"Say, Bo, d'you want to fill your belly so that if you ate any more +you'd bust?"</p> + +<p>At the hint of a promise of a sufficiency of food the man opened his +mouth, stared at Rutgers, and did not speak. He couldn't because he did +not close his mouth.</p> + +<p>"All the grub you can possibly eat, three times a day. Grub, Bo! All you +want, any time you want it. Hey? What?"</p> + +<p>The sandwich-man's open mouth opened wider. In his eyes there was no +fear, no hunger, no incredulity, nothing only an abyss deep as the human +soul, that returned no answer whatever.</p> + +<p>"Do you want," pursued the now optimistic Hendrik Rutgers, "to drink all +you can hold? The kind that don't hurt you if you drink a gallon! Booze, +and grub, and a bed, and money in your pocket, and nobody to go through +your duds while you sleep. Hey?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<p>The sandwich-man spasmodically opened and closed his mouth in the +unhuman fashion of a ventriloquist's puppet. Rutgers heard the click, +but never a word. It filled him with pity. The desire to help such +brothers as this grew intense. Next to feeding them there was nothing +like talking to them about food and drink in a kindly way.</p> + +<p>"What do you say, Bo?" he queried, gently, almost tenderly.</p> + +<p>The man's teeth chattered a minute before he said, huskily, "Wh-what +m-must I do?"</p> + +<p>"Let's go to the Battery," said Rutgers, "and I'll tell you all about +it."</p> + +<p>The mission of history is to prove that Fate sends the right man for the +right place at the right time. While Hendrik Rutgers talked, the +sandwich-man listened with his stomach; and when Hendrik Rutgers +promised, the sandwich-man believed with his soul. Rutgers told Fleming +that all sandwich-men must join the union; that as soon as he and the +other present sandwichers were enrolled on its books no more members +would be admitted, except as a superabundance of jobs justified +additional admissions; and at that it would require a nine-tenths vote +to elect, thus preventing a surplus of labor and likewise a slump in +wages. The union would compel advertisers in the future to pay twenty +cents an hour and would guarantee both steady work and these wages to +its members; there would be neither an initiation fee nor strike-fund +assessments; the dues of one cent a day were collectible only when the +member worked and received union wages for his day's work. Any member +could lay off any time he felt like it, unmulcted and unfired. There was +only one thing that all sandwich-men had to do to be in good standing;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +obey the secretary and treasurer of the union—Mr. H. Rutgers—in all +union matters.</p> + +<p>The sandwich business, once unionized, would become a lucrative +profession and therefore highly moral, and therefore its members would +automatically cease to be pariahs, notwithstanding congenital fitness +for same. Anybody who cannot only defy Nature, but make her subservient +to the wishes of an infinitely higher intelligence, is fit to be a +labor-leader. And he generally is.</p> + +<p>Fleming agreed to round up those of his colleagues whose peregrinations +extended south of Chambers Street. He would ask them to come to the +Battery on the next day at noon.</p> + +<p>So thrilled was Hendrik by his rescue-work among the wreckages that it +never occurred to him to doubt his own success. This made him know +exactly what to say to Fleming.</p> + +<p>"Don't just ask them to come. Tell them that there will be free beers +and free grub. Tell them anything you damn please, but bring them! <i>Do +you hear me?</i>" He gripped the sandwich-man's arm so tightly that +Fleming's lips began to quiver. "And if you don't bring a bunch, God help +you!"</p> + +<p>"Ye-yes, sir; I will. Sure!" whimpered Fleming, staring fascinatedly at +those eyes which both promised and menaced.</p> + +<p>And in Fleming's own eyes Hendrik saw the four "B's" which form the +great equation of all democracies: <i>Bread + Bludgeon = Born Boss!</i></p> + +<p>Such men always know how to <i>say</i> everything. This is more important +than <i>thinking</i> anything.</p> + +<p>"Remember the beer!" Brother Hendrik spoke pleasantly, and Fleming +nodded eagerly. "And get<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> on the job," hissed Secretary Rutgers; and +Fleming shivered and hurried away before the licking came.</p> + +<p>Hendrik himself walked briskly up-town. When a man is pleased with +himself he can always continue in that condition by the simple expedient +of continuing to see whatever he wishes to see. Hendrik opened his eyes +very wide and continued to see the ladder of success that great men use +to climb to their changing heaven. Hendrik's heaven just then happened +to be one in which a man of brains could make the money-makers pay him +for allowing them to make money for him. After finding the ladder, all +that was necessary was for Hendrik to think of George G. Goodchild's +money. That made him see red; and whenever he saw red he could see no +obstacles whatever; and because of his self-inflicted blindness he was +intelligently ready to tackle anything, even the job of helping his +fellow-men. To be an efficient philanthropist a man must have not only +love, but murder, in his heart. That is one of the two hundred and +eighty-six reasons why scientific charities make absolutely no inroads +on the world's store of poverty.</p> + +<p>Mr. Rutgers met the charter members of his union at the time and place +indicated by Providence through the medium of Mr. Rutgers's lips.</p> + +<p>There were fourteen sandwich-men.</p> + +<p>Hendrik, not knowing what to say, gazed at the faces before him in +impressive silence. So long as you keep a man guessing, he is at your +mercy. Orators have already discovered this.</p> + +<p>"Holy smoke! What in the name of Maginnis do you call this?" shrieked a +messenger-boy. "Free freak show?"</p> + +<p>A crowd gathered about them by magic. Opportunity<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> held out its right +hand and Hendrik Rutgers grasped it in both his own. If all New York +could be made to talk about him, all New York could be made to pay him, +as it always pays for the privilege of talking of the same thing at the +same time. You cannot get anybody to talk about the Ten Commandments; +therefore, there is nobody to listen; therefore nobody capitalizes them.</p> + +<p>It <i>is</i> the first rung that really matters. All other rungs in the +ladder of success are easier to find and to fit. Hendrik could now +gather together his various impulses and thoughts and motives and +arrange them in their proper sequence, as great men do, to make easier +the work of the historian. It was a crusade that he had undertaken, for +the liberation of the most abject of all modern slaves; he had changed +the scum of the earth into respectable humanity.</p> + +<p>That was history.</p> + +<p>The facts, however, happened to be as follows: He threw up his job +because he wished to go fishing, which of course made him angry because +his fellow-clerks were slaves, and he therefore got himself discharged +by the president, which made him hate the president so that the hatred +showed in Hendrik's face and made two sandwich-men so afraid that he +couldn't help organizing the sandwich-men's union because he could boss +it, and that would make people talk about him, which would put money in +his pocket; and once he was both rich and famous he would be the equal +of the greatest and as such could pick and choose; and he would pick +Grace Goodchild and choose her for his wife, which would make him rich.</p> + +<p>In Europe the ability promptly to recognize the kindness of chance is +called opportunism. Here we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> boast of it as the American spirit. That is +why American bankers so often find pleasure in proudly informing you +that it pays to be honest!</p> + +<p>"Listen, you!" said Hendrik to the sandwich-men. These were the tools +wherewith he would hammer the first rung into place.</p> + +<p>They looked at him, incredulous in advance. This attitude on the part of +the majority has caused republics at all times to be ruled by the +minority. The vice of making money also arose from the fact that +suspicious people are so easy to fool that even philosophers succumb to +the temptation.</p> + +<p>"Just now you are nothing but a bunch of dirty hoboes. Scum of the +earth!" It would not do to have followers who had illusions about +themselves. This is fundamental.</p> + +<p>"Say, I didn't come here to listen to—"</p> + +<p>"You—!" said Hendrik Rutgers, and did not smile. "You came here just +exactly for that. See?" And he walked up to within six inches of the +speaker, not knowing that his anger gave him the fighting face. "You +came to listen to me just as long as I am talking—unless you are pining +to spend your last three hours in the hospital. Do you get me? Which for +yours?"</p> + +<p>"Listen!" replied the sandwich-man. He had been poor so long that from +force of habit he economized even in words.</p> + +<p>"By cripes! here I am spending valuable time so as to make you bums into +prosperous men—"</p> + +<p>"Where do you come in, Bill?" asked a voice from the rear.</p> + +<p>"I don't have to come in. I am in. You fellows have got to join the +union. Then you'll get good wages, easy hours, decent—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yeh; but—"</p> + +<p>Hendrik turned to the man who had interrupted—a short chap advertising +a chain of hat-stores and asked, "But what?"</p> + +<p>"Nutt'n!" The hatter had once helped about a prize-fighter's +training-quarters, hence the quick duck.</p> + +<p>"Also, you'll have easy—"</p> + +<p>"Easy!" The hatter had spoken prematurely again.</p> + +<p>"What?" scowled Hendrik.</p> + +<p>"Hours," hastily explained the man.</p> + +<p>"We ask only for fair play," pursued the leader.</p> + +<p>"Yeh; sure!" murmured Fleming, with the cold enthusiasm of all paid +lieutenants of causes.</p> + +<p>"And we must make up our minds to play fair with employers, so that +employers will play fair with us."</p> + +<p>"Like hell they will!" This was from a tall, thin, toothless chap. +Reason: Tapeworm and booze. Name: Mulligan. Recreation: Chiropodist's +favorite.</p> + +<p>"I'll prove it to you," said Hendrik, very earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps <i>to</i> but not <i>by</i> me," muttered Mulligan.</p> + +<p>"Union wages will be twenty cents an hour."</p> + +<p>"Never get it!" mumbled an old fellow with what they call waiter's +foot—flattened arch. "Never!"</p> + +<p>"Never," came in chorus from all the others, their voices ringing with +conviction.</p> + +<p>"I'll have the jobs to give out. I guess I know how much you'll get." +The flame of hope lit fourteen pairs of blear eyes. Maybe this boob had +the cash and desired to separate himself from it. All primitive people +think the fool is touched of God. Hunger makes men primitive.</p> + +<p>"I'll fix the wages!" declared Hendrik again. He saw himself feeding +these men; therefore he felt he owned them absolutely. It isn't, of +course, necessary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> actually to feed people, or even to promise to feed +them, to own them. Nevertheless, his look of possession imposed on these +victims of a democracy. They mutely acknowledged a boss.</p> + +<p>Instantly perceiving this, a sense of kindly responsibility came upon +Hendrik. These were his children. He said, paternally, "We'll now have a +beer—on me!"</p> + +<p>Fleming, to show his divine right to the place of vice-regent, led the +way to a joint on Washington Street.</p> + +<p>Hendrik saw, with carefully concealed delight, the sensation caused even +in the Syrian-infested streets of the quarter by the sight of a handful +of sandwich-men in full regalia. He heard the exclamations that fell +from polyglot lips. It was a foretaste of success, the preface of a +famous man's biography!</p> + +<p>The union drank fifteen beers, slowly—and quickly wiped the day's free +lunch from the face of the earth. The huskiest of the three bartenders +began to work with one hand, the other being glued to a bung-starter. He +felt it had to come.</p> + +<p>"I'm boss!" said Hendrik to his children as a preliminary to discussing +the by-laws.</p> + +<p>"I'm willin'!"</p> + +<p>"Same here!"</p> + +<p>"Let 'er go, cap!"</p> + +<p>"Suits <i>me</i>!"</p> + +<p>They were all eager to please him—too eager. It made him ask, +disgustedly:</p> + +<p>"Don't you fellows care who is boss?"</p> + +<p>"Naw! Don't we have to have one, anyhow?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But to have one crammed down your throats—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The beer helps the swallowing, boss," said the hatter with +conviction—and a fresh hope!</p> + +<p>"There doesn't seem to be a man among the whole lot of you," said +Hendrik.</p> + +<p>A young fellow of about twenty-eight, very pale, wearing steel-rimmed +spectacles, spoke back, "If you'd starved for three weeks and two days, +and on top of it been kicked and cheated and held up, there wouldn't be +a hell of a lot of fight in you, my wise gazabo."</p> + +<p>"That's exactly what would make me fight," retorted Hendrik, angrily. +"Each of you has a vote; each of you, therefore, has as much to say as +to how this country should be run as any millionaire. Don't you know +what to do with your vote?"</p> + +<p>"You're lucky to get a quarter and two nights' lodging nowadays," said +the old man with waiter's foot. "The time we elected Gilroy I made +fifteen bones and was soused for a mont'. Shorty McFadden made +thirty-five dollars—"</p> + +<p>"Any of you Republicans?"</p> + +<p>"No!" came in a great and indignant chorus.</p> + +<p>"I used to be!" defiantly asserted the young man with the spectacles and +the pale face and the beaten look.</p> + +<p>"And now?"</p> + +<p>"Just a lame duck, I guess."</p> + +<p>"Too much rumatism," suggested a husky voice, and all the others +laughed. The depths of degradation are reached when you can laugh at +your own degradation.</p> + +<p>"Are any of you socialists?" asked Hendrik.</p> + +<p>They looked at him doubtfully. They wished to please him and would have +answered accordingly if they had known what he wished to get from them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +What they wished to get from him, in the way of speech, was another +invitation to tank up. But when in doubt, all men deny. It is good +police-court practice. Three veterans, therefore, tentatively said:</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>Hendrik was disappointed, but did not show it. He asked, "Are any of you +Christians?"</p> + +<p>The crowd fell back.</p> + +<p>"Is there one man among you who believes in God?"</p> + +<p>They stared at one another in the consternation of utter hopelessness. +Mulligan was the first to break the painful silence. He said, with a sad +triumph:</p> + +<p>"I knew it. Stung again! They'll do anything to get you to listen. We +fell for it like boobs."</p> + +<p>"What is that?" said Hendrik, sharply.</p> + +<p>"I was sayin'," replied Mulligan, grateful that he was one schooner +ahead, anyhow, "that I can listen to a good brother like you by the hour +when I ain't thirsty. The dryness in my throat affects my hearin'. If +you blow again I'll believe in miracles. How could I help it?"</p> + +<p>Fourteen pairs of eyes turned hopefully toward the wonder-worker. But he +said in the habitual tone of all born leaders:</p> + +<p>"You—bums, get around! I'm going to lick hell out of Mulligan. And +after that, to show I'm boss, I'll blow again. But first the licking."</p> + +<p>Hendrik gave his hat to Fleming to hold and began to turn up his +sleeves. But Mulligan hastily said, "I'm converted, boss!" and actually +looked pious. How he did it, nobody could tell, for he was not a +Methodist by birth or education.</p> + +<p>"Mulligan, the union wages will be forty schooners<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> a day." Hendrik +said, sternly. Again it was genius—that is, to talk so that men will +understand you.</p> + +<p>"Kill the scabs!" shrieked Mulligan, and there was murder in his eyes.</p> + +<p>Hendrik Rutgers put his right foot firmly on the second rung of the +ladder. He did it by spending seventy-five cents for the second time. +Fifteen beers.</p> + +<p>"Everybody," he said, threateningly, "wait until the schooners are on +the bar!" thereby disappointing those who had hoped to ring in an extra +glass during the excitement. But all that Hendrik desired was to +inculcate salutary notions of discipline and obedience under +circumstances that try men's souls. He yelled:</p> + +<p>"Damn you, step back! All of you! <i>Back!</i>"</p> + +<p>They fell back.</p> + +<p>The quivering line, now two feet from the beer, did not look at the +glasses full of cheer, but at the eyes full of lickings. They gazed at +him, open-mouthed; they gazed and kept on gazing, two feet from the +bar—the length of the arm from the beer!</p> + +<p>Not obey? After that? There is no doubt of it; they are born!</p> + +<p>"To the union! All together! <i>Drink!</i>" They did not observe that this +man was regulating even their thirst. The reason they did not notice it +was that they were so busy assuaging it.</p> + +<p>They drank. Then they looked at Hendrik. He was a law of nature. He +shook his head. They understood his "No." It was like death. To save +their faces they began to clamor for free lunch.</p> + +<p>"Get to hell out of here!" said the proprietor.</p> + +<p>"Do you want your joint smashed?" asked Rutgers. He approached the man +and looked at him from across a gulf of six inches that made escape +impossible.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> Whatever the proprietor saw in Rutgers's eyes made him turn +away.</p> + +<p>"Come across with the free lunch," Hendrik bade the proprietor. To his +men he said, "Boys, get ready!"</p> + +<p>These men-that-were—miserable worms, scum of the earth, walking +cuspidors—began to take off their armor. The bartenders were husky, but +hadn't the boss commanded, <i>Get ready!</i> and didn't all men know he +meant, <i>Get ready</i> <span class="smcap">to eat</span>? Moreover, each sandwich felt he might dodge +the bung-starters, but not the boss's right flipper!</p> + +<p>The union was making ready to fight with the desperation of men whose +retreat is cut on by a foe who never heard of The Hague Convention.</p> + +<p>"Hey, no rough-house!" yelled the proprietor.</p> + +<p>"Free lunch!" retorted Hendrik. Then he added, "<i>Quick!</i>"</p> + +<p>The sandwich-men's nostrils began to dilate with the contagion of the +battle spirit. One after another, these beasts of the gutter took off +the boards and leaned them against the wall, out of the way, and eyed +the boss expectantly, waiting for the word—<i>men once more!</i> Hendrik, +with the eye of a strategist and the look of a prize-fighter, planned +the attack. Like a very wise man who lived to be the most popular of all +our Presidents, he did his thinking aloud.</p> + +<p>On occasions like this Hendrik's mind also worked in battle-cries and +best expressed itself in action.</p> + +<p>"Free lunch," said Hendrik, "is free. It is everybody's. It is therefore +<i>ours</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Give us our grub!" hoarsely cried the union.</p> + +<p>"Three to each bartender," said Hendrik. "When I yell 'Now!' jump in, +from both ends of the bar at once—six of you here; you six over there. +Fleming,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> you smash the mirrors back of the bar with those empty +schooners. Mulligan, you cop some bottles of booze, and wait outside—do +you hear? <i>Wait outside!</i>—for us. I'll attend to the cash-register +myself. Now, you," he said peremptorily to the proprietor, "do we get +the free lunch? <i>Say no; won't you, please?</i>"</p> + +<p>Hendrik radiated battle. The derelicts took on human traits as their +eyes lit up with visions of pillage. Fleming grasped a heavy schooner in +each hand. Mulligan had his eye on three bottles of whisky and, for the +first time in years, was using his mind—planning the get-away.</p> + +<p>The proprietor saw all this and also perceived that he could not afford +a victory. It was much cheaper to give them seven cents worth of spoiled +rations. Therefore he decided in favor of humanity.</p> + +<p>"Do what I told you, Jake," he said, with the smile of a man who has +inveigled friends into accepting over-expensive Christmas presents. "Let +'em have the rest of the lunch—<i>all they want</i>." He smiled again, much +pleased with his kindly astuteness. He was a constructive statesman and +would be famous for longevity.</p> + +<p>But the sandwich-men swaggered about, realizing that under the +leadership of the boss they had won; they had obtained something to +which they had no right; by threats of force they had secured food; the +boss had made men of them. They therefore crowned Hendrik king. The +instinctive and immemorial craving of all men for a father manifests +itself—in republics that have forgotten God—in the election of the +great promisers and the great confiscators to the supreme power. History +records that no dynasty was ever founded except by a man who fought both +for and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> with his followers. The men that merely fought for their +fellows have uniformly died by the most noble and inspiring death of +all—starvation. Names and posthumous addresses not known.</p> + +<p>When not a scrap remained on any of the platters, Hendrik called his men +to him and told them:</p> + +<p>"Meet me at the sign-painter's, corner Twenty-ninth Street and Ninth +Avenue next Friday night after seven. We'll be open till midnight. Be +sure and bring your boards with you."</p> + +<p>"We gotter give 'em up before we can get paid," remonstrated Mulligan. +"If we don't we don't eat."</p> + +<p>"That's right!" assented a half-dozen.</p> + +<p>"<i>Bring them!</i>" said Hendrik. The time to check a mutiny is before it +begins.</p> + +<p>"A' right!" came in a chorus of fourteen heroic voices.</p> + +<p>"Beginning next Monday, you'll get twenty cents an hour. I guarantee +that to you out of my own pocket. You must each of you bring all the +other sandwiches you run across. If necessary, drag them. We must have +about one hundred to start, if you want forty beers a day."</p> + +<p>"We do! We do!"</p> + +<p>"Then bring the others, because we've got to begin with enough men in +the union to knock the stuffing out of those who try to scab on us. Get +that?"</p> + +<p>"Sure thing!" they shouted, with the surprised enthusiasm of men who +suddenly understand.</p> + +<p>They were deep in misery and accustomed to a poverty so abject that they +no longer were capable of even envying the rich. They, therefore, could +hate only those who were poorer than themselves—the men who dared to +have thirsts that could be assuaged with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> less than forty beers per day. +Not obey the boss, when they already felt an endless stream trickling +down their unionized gullets? And not kill the scab whose own non-union +thirst would prolong theirs?</p> + +<p>No! A man owes some things to his fellows, but he owes everything to +himself. That is why, for teaching brotherhood, there is nothing like +one book: the city Directory, from a fourth-floor window.</p> + +<p>When the boss left them he was certain that they would not fail him. +Just let them dare try to stay away, after he had so kindly destined +them to be the rungs of the ladder on which he expected to climb to his +lady's window—and her father's pocket! As he walked away, his +confidence in himself showed in his stride so clearly that those who saw +him shared that confidence. It is not what they were when they were not +leaders, but what they can be when they become leaders, that makes them +remarkable men.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> + +<p>The next morning Hendrik went to his tailor. As he walked into the shop +he had the air of a man in whom two new suits a day would not be +extravagance. The tailor, unconscious of cause and effect, called him +"Mister," against the habit of years. Hendrik nodded coldly and said:</p> + +<p>"As secretary and treasurer of the National Street Advertising Men's +Association, I've got to have a new frock-coat. Measure me for one."</p> + +<p>Hendrik had the air of a man who sees an unpleasant duty ahead, but does +not mean to shirk it. This attitude always commands respect from +tailors, clergymen, and users of false weights and measures.</p> + +<p>"Left the bank?" asked the tailor, uncertainly.</p> + +<p>"I should say I had," answered Hendrik, emphatically.</p> + +<p>"What is the new job, anyhow?" asked the tailor, professionally. His +customers usually told him their business, their history, and their +hopes. By listening he had been able to invest in real estate.</p> + +<p>"As I was about to say when you <i>interrupted</i> me"—Hendrik spoke +rebukingly.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Mr. Rutgers," said the tailor, and blushed. He knew +now he should have said "position" instead of "job." The civilization of +to-day—including sanitary plumbing—is possible because price-tags were +invented. This is not an epigram.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> + +<p>"—the clothes must be finished by Thursday. If you can't do it, I'll go +somewhere else."</p> + +<p>"Oh, we can do it, all right, Mr. Rutgers."</p> + +<p>"Good morning," and Hendrik strode haughtily from the shop.</p> + +<p>To the tailor Hendrik had always been a clerk at a bank. But now it was +plain to see that Mr. Rutgers thought well of himself, as a man with +money always does in all Christian countries. Hendrik's credit at once +jumped into the A1 class. Some people and all tailors judge men by their +backs.</p> + +<p>Being sure of the guests, Hendrik Rutgers went forth in search of their +dinner. To feed fivescore starving fellow-men was a noble deed; to feed +them at the expense of some one else was even higher. So, dressed in his +frock-coat, wearing his high hat as though it was a crown, he sought +Caspar Weinpusslacher. The owner of the "Colossal Restaurant," just off +the Bowery, gave a square meal for a quarter of a dollar, twenty-five +cents; for thirty cents he gave the same meal with a paper napkin and +the privilege of repeating the potato or the pie. His kitchen +organization was perfect. His cooks and scullions had served in the +German army in similar capacities, and he ruled them like one born and +brought up in the General Staff. His waiters also were recruited from +the greatest training-school for waiters in the world. He operated on a +system approved by an efficiency expert. By giving low wages to people +who were glad to get them, paying cash for his supplies and judiciously +selecting the latter just on the eve of their spoiling, he was able to +give an astonishingly good meal for the money. His profits, however, +depended upon his selling his entire output. This did not always<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +happen. Some days Herr Weinpusslacher almost lost three dollars.</p> + +<p>No system is perfect. Otherwise hotel men would wish to live for ever.</p> + +<p>Hendrik stalked into the Colossal dining-room and snarled at one of the +waiters:</p> + +<p>"Where's your boss?"</p> + +<p>The waiter knew it couldn't be the Kaiser, or a millionaire. It must +therefore be a walking delegate. He deferentially pointed to a short, +fat man by the bar.</p> + +<p>"Tell him to come here," said Rutgers, and sat down at a table. It isn't +so much in knowing whom to order about, but in acquiring the habit of +ordering everybody about, that wins.</p> + +<p>Caspar Weinpusslacher received the message, walked toward the table and +signaled to a Herculean waiter, who unobtrusively drew near—and in the +rear—of H. Rutgers.</p> + +<p>Hendrik pointed commandingly to a chair across the table. C. +Weinpusslacher obeyed. The Herculean waiter, to account for his +proximity, flicked non-existent crumbs on the napeless surface of the +table.</p> + +<p>"Recklar tinner?" he queried, in his best Delmonico.</p> + +<p>"<i>Geht-weg!</i>" snarled Mr. Rutgers. The waiter, a nostalgic look in his +big blue eyes, went away. <i>Ach</i>, to be treated like a dog! Ach, the +Fatherland! And the officers! <i>Ach!</i></p> + +<p>"Weinpusslacher," said Rutgers, irascibly, "who is your lawyer and +what's his address?"</p> + +<p>C. Weinpusslacher's little pig-eyes gleamed apprehensively.</p> + +<p>"For why you wish to know?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Don't ask <i>me</i> questions. Isn't he your friend?"</p> + +<p>"Sure."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is he smart?"</p> + +<p>"Smart?" C. Weinpusslacher laughed now, fatly. "He's too smart for +<i>you</i>, all right. He's Max Ondemacher, 397 Bowery. I guess if you—"</p> + +<p>"All right. I'm going to bring him to lunch here."</p> + +<p>"He wouldn't lunch here. He's got money," said C. Weinpusslacher, +proudly.</p> + +<p>"He will come." Rutgers looked, in a frozen way, at Caspar +Weinpusslacher, and continued, icily: "I am the secretary and treasurer +of the <i>National</i> Street Advertising Men's Association. If I told you I +wanted <i>you</i> to give <i>me</i> money you'd believe me. But if I told you <i>I</i> +wanted to give <i>you</i> money, you wouldn't. So I am going to let your own +lawyer tell you to do as I say. I'll make you rich—for nothing!"</p> + +<p>And Hendrik Rutgers walked calmly out of the Colossal Restaurant, +leaving in the eyes of C. Weinpusslacher astonishment, in the mind +respect, and in the heart vague hope.</p> + +<p>This is the now historic document which Hendrik Rutgers dictated in Max +Onthemaker's office:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Hendrik Rutgers, secretary and treasurer of the National +Street Advertising Men's Association, agrees to make Caspar +Weinpusslacher's Colossal Restaurant famous by means of +articles in the leading newspapers in New York City. For +these services Hendrik Rutgers shall receive from said +Caspar Weinpusslacher, proprietor of said Colossal +Restaurant, one-tenth (1/10) of the advertising value of +such newspaper notices—said value to be left to a jury +composed of the advertising managers of the <i>Ladies Home +Journal</i>, the Jewish <i>Daily Forward</i>, and the New York +<i>Evening Post</i>, and of Max Onthemaker and Hendrik Rutgers. +It is further stipulated that such compensation is to be +paid to Hendrik Rutgers, not in cash, but in tickets for +meals in said Colossal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> Restaurant, at thirty cents per +meal, said meal-tickets to be used by said Hendrik Rutgers +to secure still more desirable publicity by feeding +law-abiding, respectable poor people.</p></div> + +<p><i>Panem et circenses!</i> He had made sure of the first! The public could +always be depended upon to furnish the second by being perfectly +natural.</p> + +<p>M. Onthemaker accompanied H. Rutgers to the Colossal. He had some +difficulty in persuading C. Weinpusslacher to sign. But as soon as it +was done Hendrik said:</p> + +<p>"First gun: The National Street Advertising Men will hold their annual +dinner here next Saturday, about one hundred of us, thirty cents each; +regular dinner. <i>That</i> is legitimate news and will be printed as such. +It will advertise the Colossal and the Colossal thirty-cent dinner. You +won't be out a cent. We pay cash for our dinner. I'll supply a few +decorations; all you'll have to do is to hang them from that corner to +this. You might also arrange to have a little extra illumination in +front of the place. Have a couple of men in evening clothes and high +hats on the corner, pointing to the Colossal, and saying: +'<i>Weinpusslacher's Colossal Restaurant! Three doors down. Just follow +the crowd!</i>' Arrange for all these things so that when you see that I am +delivering the goods you won't be paralyzed. Another thing: There will +be reporters from every daily paper in the city here Saturday night. +Provide a table for them and pay especial attention to both dinner and +drinks. <i>They</i> will make you famous and rich, because you will tell them +that they are getting the regular thirty-cent dinner. It will be up to +you to be intelligently generous now so that you may with impunity be +intelligently stingy later, when you are rich. I advise you to have Max +here, because you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> seem to be of the distrustful nature of most damned +fools and therefore must make your money in spite of yourself. Next +Saturday at six <span class="smcap">p.m</span>.! You'll make at least two hundred thousand dollars +in the next five years. Now I am going to eat. Come on, Onthemaker."</p> + +<p>H. Rutgers sat down, summoned the Herculean waiter, and ordered two +thirty-cent dinners.</p> + +<p>C. Weinpusslacher, a dazed look in his eyes, approached Max and +whispered, "Hey, dot's a smart feller. What?"</p> + +<p>"Well," answered M. Onthemaker, lawyer-like, "you haven't anything to +lose."</p> + +<p>"You said I should sign the paper," Caspar reminded him, accusingly.</p> + +<p>"You're all right so long as you don't give him a cent unless I say so."</p> + +<p>"I won't; not even if you say so."</p> + +<p>With thirty cents of food and thirty millions of confidence under his +waistcoat, Hendrik Rutgers walked from the Colossal Restaurant down the +Bowery and Center Street to the City Hall. At the door of the Mayor's +room he fixed the doorkeeper with his stern eye and requested his Honor +to be informed that the secretary of the National Street Advertising +Men's Association would like to see his Honor about the annual dinner of +the association, of which his Honor had been duly informed.</p> + +<p>One of the Mayor's secretaries came out, a tall young man who, as a +reporter on a sensational newspaper, had acquired a habit of dodging +curses and kicks. Now, as Mayor's secretary, he didn't quite know how to +dodge soft soap and glad hands.</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon," said Hendrik, with what might be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> called a +business-like amiability. "Will the Mayor accept?"</p> + +<p>"The Mayor," said the secretary with an amazing mixture of condescension +and uneasiness, as of a man calling on a poor friend in whose parlor +there is shabby furniture but in whose cellar there is a ton of +dynamite—"the Mayor knows nothing about your asso—of the <i>dinner</i> of +your association." The secretary looked pleased at having caught himself +in time.</p> + +<p>"Why, I wrote," began H. Rutgers, with annoyance, "over a week—" He +silenced himself while he opened his frock-coat, tilted back his high +hat from a corrugated brow, and felt in his pocket. It is the delivery, +not the speech, that distinguishes the great artist. Otherwise writers +would be considered intelligent people.</p> + +<p>"Hell!" exclaimed Hendrik, looking at the secretary so fixedly and +angrily that the ex-reporter flinched. "It's in the other coat. I mean +the copy of the letter I sent the Mayor exactly a week ago to-day. I +wondered why he hadn't answered."</p> + +<p>"He never got it," the secretary hastened to say.</p> + +<p>Hendrik laughed. "You must excuse my language; but you know what it is +to arrange all the details of an annual meeting and banquet—menu, +decorations, music, <i>and</i> speeches. Well, here is the situation: the +annual dinner of the National Street Advertising Men's Association will +be held at Weinpusslacher's. Reception at six; dinner at eight; speeches +begin about ten.</p> + +<p>"What day?" asked the secretary.</p> + +<p>"My head is in a whirl, and I don't— Let me see— Oh yes. Next Saturday, +April twenty-ninth. I'll send you tickets. Do you think the Mayor will +come?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't know. Saturdays he goes to his farm in Hartsdale."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know; but couldn't <i>you</i> induce him to come? By George! there is +nothing our association wouldn't do for you in return."</p> + +<p>"I'll see," promised the secretary, with a far-away look in his eyes as +if he were devising ways and means. Oh, he earned his salary, even if he +was a Celt.</p> + +<p>"Thank you. And— Oh yes, by the way, some of our members will arrive at +the Grand Central Station Saturday afternoon. Any objections to our +marching with a band of music down the avenue to the Colossal? We'll +wear our association badges; they are hummers." He felt in his +coat-tails. "I wish I had some with me. Is it necessary to have a permit +to parade?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; but there will be no trouble about that."</p> + +<p>"Oh, thanks. Will you fix that for us? I've got to go to Wall Street +after one of the bankers on the list of speakers, and I'll be back in +about an hour. Could I have the Mayor's acceptance and the permit to +parade then? You see, it's only a couple of days and I hate to trust the +mail. Thank you. It's very kind of you, and we appreciate it."</p> + +<p>The secretary pulled out a letter and a pencil from his pocket as if to +make a note on the back of the envelope, and so Hendrik Rutgers +dictated:</p> + +<p>"<i>The National Street Advertising Men's Association.</i> Altogether about +one hundred and fifty members and one band of music. So long, and thank +you very much, Mr.—er—"</p> + +<p>"McDevitt.</p> + +<p>"Mr. McDevitt. I'll return in about an hour from now, if I may. Thank +you." And he bowed himself out.</p> + +<p>Hendrik Rutgers had spoken as a man speaks who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> has a train to catch +that he mustn't miss. That will command respect where an appeal in the +name of the Deity will insure a swift kick. Republics!</p> + +<p>In an hour he was back, knowing that the Mayor had gone. He sent in for +Mr. McDevitt. The secretary appeared.</p> + +<p>"Did he say he'd come?" asked H. Rutgers, impetuously.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to say the Mayor has a previous engagement that makes it +absolutely impossible for him to be present at your dinner. I've got a +letter of regret."</p> + +<p>"They'll be awfully disappointed, too. I'll get the blame, of course. +<i>Of</i> course!" Mr. Rutgers spoke with a sort of bitter gloom, spiced with +vindictiveness.</p> + +<p>"Here it is. I had him sign it. I wrote it. It's one of those letters," +went on the secretary, inflated with the pride of authorship, "that can +be read at any meeting. It contains a dissertation on the beneficent +influence of advertising, strengthened by citations from Epictetus, +Buddha, George Francis Train, and other great moral teachers of this +administration."</p> + +<p>"Thank you very much. I appreciate it. But, say, what's the matter with +you coming in his place? I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I have a +hunch that when it comes to slinging after-dinner oratory you'd do a +great deal better."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said McDevitt, with a loyal shake of negation and a smile of +assent. "No, I couldn't."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure—"</p> + +<p>"And then I'm going to Philadelphia on Saturday morning to stay over +Sunday. I wish you'd asked me earlier."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So do I," murmured H. Rutgers, with conviction and despair judiciously +admixed.</p> + +<p>The secretary had meant to quiz H. Rutgers about the association, but H. +Rutgers's manner and words disarmed suspicion. It was not that H. +Rutgers always bluffed, but that he always bluffed as he did, that makes +his subsequent career one of the most interesting chapters of our +political history.</p> + +<p>"And here's the permit," said the secretary.</p> + +<p>H. Rutgers, without looking at it, put it in his pocket as if it were +all a matter of course. It strengthened the secretary's belief that +non-suspiciousness was justified.</p> + +<p>"Thanks, very much," said H. Rutgers. "I am, I still repeat, very sorry +that neither you nor the Mayor can come." He paid to the Mayor's +eloquent secretary the tribute of a military salute and left the room.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2> + +<p>The union of the sandwich-men was an assured success. Victory had come +to H. Rutgers by the intelligent use of brains. The possession of brains +is one of the facts that can always be confirmed at the source.</p> + +<p>Next he arranged for the band. He told the band-master what he wished +the band to do. The band-master thereupon told him the price.</p> + +<p>"Friend," said H. Rutgers, pleasantly, "I do not deal in dreams either +as buyer or seller. That's the asking price. Now, how much will you +take?" Not having any money, Hendrik added, impressively, "Cash!"</p> + +<p>The band-master, being a native-born, repeated the price—unchanged. But +he was no match for H. Rutgers, who took a card from his pocket, looked +at what the band-master imagined was a list of addresses of other bands, +and then said, "Let me see; from here to—" He pulled out his watch and +muttered to himself, but audible by the band-master, "It will take me +half an hour or more."</p> + +<p>H. Rutgers closed his watch with a sharp and angry snap and then +determinedly named a sum exactly two-thirds of what the band-master had +fixed as the irreducible minimum. It was more than Hendrik could +possibly pay.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> + +<p>The band-master shook his head, so H. Rutgers said, irascibly:</p> + +<p>"For Heaven's sake, quit talking. I'm nearly crazy with the +arrangements. Do you think you're the only band in New York or that I +never hired one before? Here's the Mayor's permit." He showed it to the +musical director, who was thereby enabled to see <i>National Street +Advertising Men's Association</i>, and went on: "Now be at Grand Central +Station, Lexington Avenue entrance, at 3.45 Saturday afternoon. The +train gets in at 4. I'll be there before you are. We'll go from the +depot to Weinpusslacher's for dinner."</p> + +<p>"Of course, we get our dinners," said the band-master in the tone of +voice of a man who has surrendered, but denies it to the reporters.</p> + +<p>"Yes. You'll be there sure?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But, say, we ought to get—"</p> + +<p>"Not a damned cent more," said H. Rutgers, pugnaciously, in order to +forestall requests for part payment in advance.</p> + +<p>"I wasn't going to ask you for more money, but for a few—"</p> + +<p>"Then why waste my time? Don't fail me!"</p> + +<p>Then Hendrik Rutgers put the finishing touches on the work of +organization. He rented offices in the Allied Arts Building, sent a +sign-painter to decorate the ground-glass doors, and ordered some +official stationery in a rush. He promised the agent to return with the +president and sign the lease.</p> + +<p>Where everybody distrusts everybody else there is nothing like promising +to sign documents!</p> + +<p>He bought some office furniture on exactly the same plan.</p> + +<p>On Friday night the unionized sandwich-men took<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> their signs and boards +to the trysting-place, Twenty-ninth Street and Ninth Avenue, to have new +advertisements of Hendrik's composition painted thereon. The boards did +not belong to the members, but in a good cause all property is the +cause's. Each of the original fourteen brought recruits. The street was +almost blocked. The two sign-painters worked like nine beavers, and +Hendrik and the young man in steel-rimmed spectacles helped. When the +clamor became threatening Hendrik counted his men twice, aloud. There +were eighty-four of them. They knew it was eighty-four, having heard him +say it, as he intended they should. He then took them to the corner +boozery.</p> + +<p>He had only two dollars. There were eighty-four thirsty. Therefore, +"Eighty beers!" he yelled, majestically.</p> + +<p>"<i>Eighty-four!</i>" shouted eighty-four voices.</p> + +<p>"That's twenty cents more," said Hendrik to himself in the plain hearing +of the hitherto distrustful bartender. He had a small green roll in his +left hand consisting of two dollars and two clippings. With his right he +loudly planked down two large dimes on the counter and shoved them +toward the bartender, who took them while Hendrik began to count his +greenbacks.</p> + +<p>The bartender saw the exact change and began to draw beer. He even +yelled for assistance.</p> + +<p>Hendrik knew better than to enforce discipline now, but he could not +officially countenance disorder.</p> + +<p>"Give the other fellows a chance," he said, paternally, to those near +by. Then he saw the rear entrance. It inspired him.</p> + +<p>He waited until there were about sixty glasses on the bar. Then he +yelled in the direction of the front door: "Come in, boys! Everybody +gets one!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> + +<p>The tidal-wave carried him and twenty others to the end of the room. But +while the twenty others fought to get back to the schooners, he +intelligently went out by the back door.</p> + +<p>The police reserves were called. They responded. Then six ambulances.</p> + +<p>Those who survived sought Hendrik to complain, but he beat them to it by +scolding them angrily. He all but licked them on the spot, so that they +forgot their grievance in their haste to defend themselves. He then +divided them into squads of five and took them to another saloon—one +squad and a quarter of a dollar at a time. He only used one dollar and +fifty cents cash that way.</p> + +<p>He then promised all of them forty beers a day beginning on Monday. He +told them to get recruits, who would not be admitted to the union, but +could have the privilege of parading. They must be thirsty men and look +it. They would receive two beers apiece.</p> + +<p>On Saturday morning there was not a sandwich-man to be seen at work in +Greater New York.</p> + +<p>At noon the city editors of all the metropolitan dailies received neatly +typewritten notices that the sandwich-men had formed a union and would +"peacefully strive for higher wages, shorter hours, and reduced +peregrinations. The sandwich-men had no desire to precipitate another +internecine strife between Labor and Capital." They were "willing to +submit their differences to a board of arbitration consisting of John D. +Rockefeller, Charles F. Murphy, Theodore Roosevelt, Woodrow Wilson, and +Hendrik Rutgers."</p> + +<p>These notices were one and all thrown into waste-paper baskets as cheap +humor—to be dug up later and used.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2> + +<p>On Saturday afternoon at 3.35 the Harlem contingent, carrying their +armor under one arm, their tickets given into the conductor's own hand +by the lieutenant, Fleming, entrained at the One Hundred and +Twenty-fifth Street station of the New York Central and Hudson River +Railroad.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later they arrived at the Grand Central Station. And as the +first pair of sandwiches descended, the waiting band burst into a joyous +welcome.</p> + +<p>The exits were crowded. Martial music and parading men always draw +crowds. So long as there is no charge, gaping audiences automatically +supply themselves in New York.</p> + +<p>And so, along Forty-second Street, following the musicians, himself +followed by his starving sandwiches, Hendrik Rutgers walked into Fifth +Avenue and into history at one and the same time.</p> + +<p>The procession turned southward. The band played Chopin's "Funeral +March." Hendrik Rutgers at the head of his pauperized cohorts, anger in +his heart, light in his soul, defiance in his eyes, marched down Fifth +Avenue with an effect as of a man in armor treading on prostrate +millionaires as over so many railroad-ties. Men who had money in their +pockets for a minute felt the wind squeezed out of them by his foot. And +as they saw the led sandwiches they looked thoughtful.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + +<p>The first of Rutgers's infantry was an old man. His long, gray beard was +dirty and ragged, like his clothes and the rest of him. In his eyes you +saw the unutterable weariness of a man who has lived fifty suffering +years too long. Underneath his eyes were dark rings; from the sidewalk +his sockets looked finger-deep. On his cheeks was the pallor of death.</p> + +<p>H. Rutgers, fighting for fairness and justice, had justly picked out the +old fellow to be his Exhibit "A." Society must see what it did to human +beings! Therefore the old man slid one foot along the asphalt and let +the other follow it, with a spent, mechanical movement, as an engine, +after the power is turned off, keeps on going from the momentum of +years. The legs seemed to move from force of habit—a corpse on foot, +with a concealed galvanic battery somewhere.</p> + +<p>And on the breastplate and backplate of this armored corpse, printed in +funereal black, beautiful women and intellectual men on Fifth Avenue, +where the unforgivable crime is to be poor and show it, read:</p> + +<h4>Yesterday I walked 19 miles.</h4> + +<h4>They paid me 35 cents cash</h4> + +<h4>And 2 meal tickets.</h4> + +<p>He had been well coached as to his gait and, thrilled by the success he +was making, the old chap became an artist and limped worse.</p> + +<p>Behind him was our friend Mulligan, pale, thin to emaciation. He looked +famished. It came from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> possession of a tapeworm, as before stated. +To him Hendrik Rutgers had given this standard to bear:</p> + +<h4>They call us Sandwich-men because:</h4> + +<h4>We don't know what a Square Meal is!</h4> + +<p>He was followed by the raggedest human being that Anthony Comstock ever +allowed to exhibit himself in public. On his boards the Fifth Avenue +crowd on this fair spring day saw this:</p> + +<h4>Do you thank God you are alive?</h4> + +<h4>So do we!</h4> + +<h4>And notice the DIFFERENCE!</h4> + +<p>The shabby-genteel man, ex-Republican, with steel-rimmed spectacles, who +now looked for all the world like a bookkeeper out of a job, had this:</p> + +<h4>I am the Result.</h4> + +<h4>The Cause was not Drink.</h4> + +<h4>It was HUNGER.</h4> + +<p>A young fellow who looked so much as if he had just left a hospital that +thousands of spectators imagined they smelled iodoform carried this:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + +<h4>All men must die.</h4> + +<h4>Knowing this, WE HOPE!</h4> + +<p>An octogenarian, not over four and one-half feet tall, very +frail-looking, was next. To him H. Rutgers had assigned this banner:</p> + +<h4>If Society won't feed us</h4> + +<h4>We'll feed the Society of Worms—</h4> + +<h4>POTTER'S FIELD</h4> + +<p>Under a big foot—property of a popular chiropodist on lower Broadway; +terms twenty-five cents per, five for a dollar—was this:</p> + +<h4>We are the World's Unfortunates:</h4> + +<h4>BORN TO BE KICKED!</h4> + +<p>Then followed a haggard-faced man who looked like an exaggerated picture +of poverty. He carried:</p> + +<h4>There are poorer than we.</h4> + +<h4>HELP THEM!</h4> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> +<h4>A man with the stride of a conqueror bore a banner:</h4> + +<h4>AND STILL WE BELIEVE IN GOD!</h4> + +<p>The crowd looked puzzled. What the dickens did believing in God have to +do with anything? To end the bother of thinking they looked at the next +one.</p> + +<h4>Look at Fifth Avenue!</h4> + +<h4>WHY?</h4> + +<h4>See what we are!</h4> + +<h4>WHY?</h4> + +<p>They obeyed. They saw Fifth Avenue. Why? They did not know why. And then +they saw what the sandwich-men were. And they wondered why the +sandwich-men asked why. Why not? Pshaw! The placard that followed was:</p> + +<h4>If you wish to see</h4> + +<h4>One hundred starving men</h4> + +<h4>Follow us.</h4> + +<h4>YOU WILL REMEMBER IT!</h4> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> + +<p>Say, that was something that nobody had seen and therefore everybody +could joke about. Every woman had the same remark and the same grin: +"Haven't I seen my husband?"</p> + +<p>Before the parade had gone half a square Fifth Avenue was blocked. Apart +from the interference of the band and the sandwiches with vehicular +traffic, there was the paralysis of the pedestrians. The Peacock Parade +halted. Slim figures, half-naked, flat-bosomed, stalked swayingly to the +curb and stared with eyes in which was the insolent sex challenge that +New York males answer with furs and jewels. And as they looked the +challenge of sex died in the eyes of the women: the marchers had no sex; +anybody could see they had no money!</p> + +<p>And the men, too, ceased to look stallion-eyed at the women and gazed on +the parade of sandwich-men, who, in the middle of the street, with the +machines and the horses, slouched on—almost rubbing valuable varnish on +automobiles and carriages, careless beasts!</p> + +<p>Presently the hurrying crowds slowed their gait and kept step to +Chopin's dirge—<i>slowly! slowly!</i>—until all Fifth Avenue was a vast +funeral procession; only the marchers could not have told you what it +was that long since had died of gold on Fifth Avenue! Slowly! Slowly! +And with the funereal gait other changes came—in the grimace of the +over-red lips and the look of the over-bold eyes. But never the +slightest change in the color of the cheeks, which was there to stay, in +rain, shine, or snow.</p> + +<p>"What is it? What is it?" whispered ten thousand people.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> + +<p>From the middle of the street it sounded like the whimper of ten +thousand little foamy waves dying on a flat beach. It made the filthy +bipeds who marched look at the thronged sidewalks.</p> + +<p>They saw the usual Fifth Avenue crowd. They saw the full-fed, +clock-hating faces of professional idlers; the drawn features of the +busy money-maker with his perennial anxieties; the suddenly immobilized +grimaces of millionaires intended to conceal the fear of God knew what; +the contemptuous countenances of waiters from fashionable restaurants, +who, like ordained priests, knew America at its worst, but, unlike +priests, could not pity; healthy American boys with clean faces and the +eyes of animals.</p> + +<p>And the sexless marchers saw also healthy American girls with delicate +features and dreadful, price-quoting eyes, and faces not clean and +healthy, but dead-white and dead-crimson; they saw not women's faces, +but marble tombstones on which the epitaphs were scarlet letters that +told what the price was, so that the professional prostitutes no longer +wasted time advertising with the same ink, but used downcast eyes as +bait.</p> + +<p>There was a gap of about thirty feet between the first detachment of +Rutgers's marching advertisements and the next. The spectators, seeking +explanations, saw a cadaverous-looking man, hollow-cheeked, sunken-eyed, +white-lipped, who stepped as though the avenue were full of puddles of +nitroglycerine—uncertainly, fearfully! And this death-on-foot carried a +white-cloth board black-bordered like a funeral-card. And thereon +money-makers and money-spenders, clubmen and waiters, shop-girls and +millionairesses—all Fifth Avenue!—saw this:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<h4>HAIL, NEW YORK!</h4> + +<h4>WE WHO ARE ABOUT TO DIE</h4> + +<h4>SALUTE YOU!</h4> + +<p>There followed another gap of thirty feet, so that the valedictorian of +the doomed might be seen of all. Then came eighty-odd sandwich-bearers, +appositely legended. From time to time the valedictorian would stagger +as you have seen horses do on their last trip to the glue-factory. +Whereupon a couple of the non-descripts behind him would shuffle up and +endeavor to uphold him. And the others slouched on, deep-eyed, gaunt, +famine-stricken, rum-ravaged, disease-smitten—ex-bookkeepers, and +superannuated mechanics, and disgraced yeggmen, and former +merchants—and former men, too!</p> + +<p>At Thirty-ninth Street a young woman dressed richly but in perfect taste +stood on the very corner. Her hair had glints of sunshine and her eyes +were like twin heavens, clean, and clear, and blue, and infinitely deep. +And the Madonna face saw the Death face, looked at the thing that had +been a man, and read his salutation. And in one of the pauses of the +"Funeral March" a thousand people heard her laugh, and heard her exclaim +with a contagious relish, spiced with undisguised admiration:</p> + +<p>"<i>If that ain't the limit!</i>"</p> + +<p>New York had spoken!</p> + +<p>And the chauffeurs near her laughed in sympathy. And gray heads stuck +out of limousine windows, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> millionaires and their female stood up in +their snail-moving touring-cars, and top-hatted coachmen turned +impassive heads on neck-hinges long since rusted with the arrogance of +menials. And upon their faces and along the ranks that lined both sides +of the great avenue a slow grin spread—uncertain, hesitating, dubious! +The great American sense of humor was trying to assert itself. Hendrik's +joke was not labeled "Joke" plainly enough. Otherwise the spectators +would have shown much earlier their ability to laugh at death, hunger, +disease, misery, drunkenness, honesty, despair—anything, so long as it +was the death, hunger, disease, misery, drunkenness, honesty, and +despair of others.</p> + +<p>But at Tiffany's corner the traffic policeman stopped the leader of the +band; and he stopped the band; and the band stopped Rutgers; and Rutgers +stopped his army; and that stopped all traffic on the Avenue up to +Forty-second Street.</p> + +<p>Hendrik Rutgers hurried forward and explained, calmly: "Here, officer. I +am the secretary of the National Street Advertising Men's Association. +We have a permit from the Mayor. Here it is."</p> + +<p>"Oh, advertising! I see!" said the policeman, and smiled appreciatively. +He had feared they might be starving men.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said H. Rutgers, quite loudly, "advertising the fact that a man +out of a job in New York, who is too proud to beg and too honest to +steal, has to become a sandwich-man and make from twenty-five to +forty-five cents for ten hours work—not in China or Mexico, but in New +York, to-day; men who are willing to work, but are old or sickly or have +no regular trade. You know how the Mayor feels about the rights of +citizens<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> who are not rich and the duty of paid officials of this city. +He and I are opposed to too much law in the way of clubs. So kindly pass +the word down the line, officer."</p> + +<p>The big traffic policeman, far more impressed by the delivery than by +the speech itself, touched his hand to his cap so very respectfully that +the grinning crowd at once became serious. Each woman turned on her +neighbor and frowned furiously the unuttered scolding for the other's +unseemly levity.</p> + +<p>"What does it mean?" asked hundreds. All looked toward Hendrik Rutgers +for explanation, for official permission to laugh at a spectacle that +was not without humorous suggestions. But he kept them guessing. This is +called knowledge of stage effects; also psychological insight; also +cheap politics. Historians even refer to it as statesmanship.</p> + +<p>Something that makes one hundred thousand New-Yorkers gasp and stare is +not necessarily news; an ingenius street-sign or a five-dollar-a-day +Steeple Jack could do it. But that not one of one hundred thousand +omniscient New-Yorkers knew whether to laugh, to curse, or to weep at +what they saw made that sight very decidedly "news." An interrogation +marker in one hundred thousand otherwise empty heads loomed gigantic +before the hair-trigger minds of the city editors. They sent their star +men to get answers to the multitudinous question; and, if possible, also +the facts.</p> + +<p>Just south of Thirty-fourth Street the <i>Herald</i>, <i>Times</i>, <i>Sun</i>, and +<i>Evening Journal</i> reporters overtook H. Rutgers. He made the procession +halt. That again made all Fifth Avenue halt. He waited until all the +reporters were near him, and then he spoke very slowly, for he guessed +that shorthand and literature do not necessarily coexist.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The sandwich-men have formed a union. It includes sandwich-men from the +five boroughs. We are going to have an annual dinner at six o clock—we +are not fashionable folk, you know. There will be speeches. Did you ask +why we should have a union? I'll tell you why: because we didn't have +one; because employers have not thought of us as human beings, but as +human derelicts. A starving man who doesn't want to steal and is ashamed +to beg will sandwich for thirty cents a day ten hours; and he can't +always collect his wages. And who is going to fight for him? When you +think of the importance of all advertising, do you consider the peculiar +picturesqueness of advertising through sandwiches? In the Middle Ages +they had their heralds and their pursuivants—the sandwich-men of +feudalism; and later the town criers; and later still, <i>us</i>. Do you know +in what esteem sandwich-men are held in the south of France and in the +Orient? Did you know that sandwich-men take the place of bells on Good +Friday in Moldavia? Do you know why there are no commercial sandwich-men +in Russia or in Spain? Did you ever read what Confucius wrote about +'Those men who with letters on their garments dispel the ignorance of +buyers,' and a lot more? Did you? Did any clergyman ever tell you that +sandwich-men are, beyond the shadow of a doubt, alluded to twice in the +Old and five times in the New Testament? Don't you think that as +intelligent investigators of industrial conditions and of the submerged +tenth it would be worth your time to come to our annual dinner and hear +our version of it? And also see how starving men eat the first square +meal of the year?"</p> + +<p>Of course it was pure inspiration and, as such, impressive.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," respectfully replied the <i>Evening Journal</i> man—a tall, dark +chap with gold-rimmed spectacles and a friendly smile. "What's the name +of the restaurant?"</p> + +<p>"Caspar Weinpusslacher's Colossal Restaurant," said H. Rutgers.</p> + +<p>"Spell it!" chorused the reporters; and H. Rutgers did, slowly and +patiently. At once the <i>Evening Journalist</i> rushed on to telephone the +caption of a story to his paper. That would enable the office to get out +an extra; after which would come another edition with the story itself. +He was the best head-line reporter in all New York.</p> + +<p>Long before the National Street Advertising Men's Association reached +the Colossal Restaurant, Caspar Weinpusslacher converted himself into a +Teutonic hurricane and changed thirty short tables into three, long +ones. On his lips was a smile, and in his heart a hope that glowed like +an incandescent twenty-dollar gold piece, for Max Onthemaker had rushed +in breathlessly and gasped:</p> + +<p>"He <i>is</i> a smart feller, all right. What?" And he gave an <i>Evening +Journal</i> to Caspar Weinpusslacher, wherein he read this:</p> + +<h4>SANDWICH PARADE</h4> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Pathetic Protest against Industrial Slavery</span></h4> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Paupers Who Will Neither Steal Nor Beg Forced by Society to Starve</span></h4> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Sandwich Wages, Two Cents an Hour</span></h4> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Men About to Die Salute New York</span></h4> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The Sandwich-men's Union will hold their annual meeting at +Weinpusslacher's Colossal Restaurant.</p> + +<p>They have been saving up for this, their one square meal this +year.</p> + +<p>They are paid from twenty to forty cents a day and walk from +fifteen to thirty miles in the ten hours.</p> + +<p>Did you know that twice in the Old and five times in the New +Testament mention is made of the sandwich-men?</p> + +<p>Do you know why Catholic Spain and anti-Semitic Russia alike +permit no sandwich-men to ply their time-honored occupation +within their confines? +</p></div> + +<p>There the article abruptly ended.</p> + +<p>"Weinie," said Max, exultingly, "this makes you. Be very nice to Mr. +Rutgers. You'll have to pay him thousands of dollars—"</p> + +<p>"Then, you vas in league mit him?"</p> + +<p>"No. But he's a genius!"</p> + +<p>"I thought he was German," said C. Weinpusslacher, controversially.</p> + +<p>"Get busy, Weinie. The crowd will be here in a minute. And don't ask Mr. +Rutgers to pay for his dinner."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" growled Weinie. He was on his way to a sure million. That +made the growl natural.</p> + +<p>"What is thirty dollars for their dinner to thirty thousand dollars +worth of free advertising?"</p> + +<p>"Thirty dollars," observed C. Weinpusslacher, thriftily, "is <i>thirty +dollars</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Bah!"</p> + +<p>"I tell you, it is, mister." C. Weinpusslacher frowned pugnaciously.</p> + +<p>But Onthemaker knew his man. So he said: "I'll get Meyer Rabinowitz to +give us an option on the property to-night before he reads the +newspapers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> As Rutgers said, once your place is a success, you'll have +to pay any price the landlord wants. Meyer's got you! I can hear your +squeals of agony already!"</p> + +<p>Max shook his head so gloomily that C. Weinpusslacher actually began to +tremble with joy. The thought of making money did not move him. The +thought of losing the money he had not made, did. Oh yes; born +money-makers!</p> + +<p>By the time H. Rutgers arrived at the Colossal Restaurant Caspar +Weinpusslacher, Esq., and the Hon. Maximilian Onthemaker had constituted +themselves into a highly enthusiastic reception committee, for the crowd +that came with H. Rutgers filled the street so that all you heard was +the squealing and cursing of persons that were pressed against iron +newel-posts of the old-fashioned stoops or precipitated into basements +and cellars. Sixty policemen, impartially cursing the Mayor, Epictetus, +and H. Rutgers, and yearning for the days of Aleck Williams, when clubs +were made to be used and not to be fined for, endeavored to keep the +crowd moving.</p> + +<p>"You'll find everything ready, Mr. Rutgers," said M. Onthemaker. "Here +is one of my cards. The name, you will see," he almost shouted, "is +spelled with a <i>k</i> not <i>h</i>—O-n-t-h-e-m-a-k-e-r. Everything is ready, +Mr. Secretary." He looked at the reporters out of a corner of his eye.</p> + +<p>"And it won't cost you nothing, not one cent," interjected C. +Weinpusslacher, eagerly and distinctly. "Any feller wot's smart like +you, Mr. Rutchers—"</p> + +<p>"And the poor starving men," quickly interjected M. Onthemaker, not +wishing for character-analyses yet, "who are the victims of a ruthless +industrial system—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yah, sandwiches!" put in C. Weinpusslacher.</p> + +<p>M. Onthemaker grimaced horribly, and C. Weinpusslacher was silent for a +minute. Presently he told Rutgers, "They get enough to eat here, +anyways, I bet you."</p> + +<p>He glared with a sort of malevolent triumph at M. Onthemaker, until he +heard the boss say in stern accents:</p> + +<p>"That, of course, Weinpusslacher, includes a couple of beers apiece."</p> + +<p>"Of course! Of course!" put in M. Onthemaker, hastily. "The +representatives of the press will sit at their own table, at which I am +to have the honor of presiding, Max Onthemaker—O-n-t-h-e-m—"</p> + +<p>"We got it down," the <i>Evening Journal</i> man assured him, amiably.</p> + +<p>C. Weinpusslacher was so angry that anybody should help him to make +money, when half the pleasure is in making it yourself out of your +fellow-men, that he said, spitefully, "There will be free beer!"</p> + +<p>Hendrik Rutgers took an innkeeper's notion and made of it the most +remarkable platform in the history of party government. He said, +sternly, "Everything free for free men!"</p> + +<p>A grunting murmur ran down the line of derelicts—the inarticulate +tribute of great thirst to great leadership. In a hundred pairs of eyes +a human hope kindled its fire for the first time in two hundred years!</p> + +<p>Great indeed was Hendrik Rutgers!</p> + +<p>His faithful sandwiches would go through fire for him! A man who can get +free beer for Sahara throats could put out the fire—with more beer.</p> + +<p>The boards were hung around the great hall in plain sight of the +reporters, who copied the legends, that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> all America might read. While +they were writing, Caspar was hiring thirty extra waiters and turning +people away. Hendrik went from man to man, sternly warning that no one +must begin to eat until he gave the order. A violation of his order +would entail the loss of the dinner and most of the scalp. He also said +they must not linger over their victuals, and told them that two extra +beers apiece would be awarded to the ten men who finished first.</p> + +<p>He had made up his mind that the cold and callous world should be told +how starving men eat.</p> + +<p>What do people who get enough to eat know about starving men?</p> + +<p>Nothing!</p> + +<p>They impede the world's progress by being content. Human pigs!</p> + +<p>In a surprisingly short time one hundred complete dinners were in front +of one hundred starving men. Six bartenders were busy filling +schooners—in plain sight of the starving men. But the boss's awful +frown held them in check. Each man began to tremble in advance—fearing +he might not be one of the ten to win the extra schooners.</p> + +<p>The reporters looked at the hundred faces and began to write like mad.</p> + +<p>Hendrik rose. There was an awed silence. The reporters stopped writing. +One hundred inferior maxillaries began to castanet away like mad. The +boss held up a hand. Then he said in measured tones:</p> + +<p>"May God be good to us sandwich-men again this year! <i>Eat!</i>"</p> + +<p>When he said eat, men ate. Don't forget the moral effect of commanding +and being obeyed!</p> + +<p>They flung themselves on the food like wild beasts,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> and made animal +noises in their throats. They disdained forks, knives, and spoons. They +used claws and jaws on meat, coffee, bread, potatoes, soup, or pie +whichever was nearest.</p> + +<p>No man wanted to be the last to finish.</p> + +<p>"My God!" exclaimed the <i>Evening Post</i> man. "This is absolutely +horrible!"</p> + +<p>"Pippin!" said the creative artist from the Sun.</p> + +<p>All of them would treat it as a Belasco production. That is, they would +impart to it all the dignity and importance of a political convention.</p> + +<p>At 8 <span class="smcap">p.m</span>. Hendrik Rutgers, man of destiny, rose to speak. He never even +glanced at the reporters. He said, very earnestly, to his tattered +cohorts:</p> + +<p>"Comrades! Ours is beyond question the only labor union in the United +States, and, for all I know, in the entire world, that is not +monopolistic in its tendencies. We are individualists because +advertising is not a science nor a trade, but an art, and we are +artists. When the advertisers' greed saw the artists' hunger, the result +was <i>that</i>!" He pointed to five score dehumanized faces before him.</p> + +<p>"Great!" murmured the <i>Sun</i> man.</p> + +<p>"Hereafter watch the sandwich-man, and in one corner of the sign look +for the union label—a skeleton carrying a coffin, to remind us that no +matter what a man is when he is born, he goes to his Maker between +boards. In death all men are equal, and in his coffin a man is the +Ultimate Sandwich!"</p> + +<p>"That's literature!" muttered the serious young man from the <i>Journal</i>.</p> + +<p>"We refuse to be thieves. Therefore we decline to do any sandwiching for +patent medicines, banks, quack cures, fraudulent stores, immoral books, +coal-dealers,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> fake doctors, suburban real estate, bum chiropodists, or +disreputable people of any kind, class, or nature whatsoever. We start +with professional ethics, which is where most professions end. We who +have been the lowest of the low class that work for their daily bread +are now the S. A. S. A.—the Society of American Sandwich Artists. All +we ask is permission to live! Our headquarters will be in the Allied +Arts Building on Fifth Avenue."</p> + +<p>His speech had quotable phrases. A country that once cast the biggest +vote in its history for the square deal, that makes minions of dollars +out of asking you if you see that hump, and from promising to do the +rest if you push the button, and boasts of the thorn that made a rose +famous, is bound to be governed by phrases. The only exceptions are the +Ten Commandments. They are quotable, but not memorable.</p> + +<p>All the newspapers spread themselves on that story. In their clubs the +managing editors heard their fellow-members talk about the parade, and +this made each M. E. telephone to the city editor to play it up. It was +too picturesque not to be good reading, and since good reading is always +easy writing, both reporters and editorial writers enjoyed themselves. +That made them artists instead of wage-earners.</p> + +<p>Hendrik Rutgers possessed the same quality of political instinct that +nearly made the luckiest man in the world President of the United +States. By blindly following it, young Mr. Rutgers jumped into the very +heart of a profound truth. And once he landed, the same sublimated +sagacity impelled him to stamp with both feet hard. Then, unemotionally +perceiving exactly what he had done, he proceeded very carefully to pick +out his own philosophical steps, in order to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> able later on to prove +that he had been coldly logical. Impulsive humanity always distrusts +impulsiveness in others. Leaders, therefore, always call them carefully +considered plans.</p> + +<p>In all irreligious countries, as Hendrik Rutgers, astutely arguing +backward, told himself, the people who buy, sell, and vote are alive +only to To-day and therefore dare not take heed of the Hereafter. This +has exalted <i>news</i> to the dignity of a sacred commandment.</p> + +<p>In such communities success is necessarily a matter of skilful +publicity.</p> + +<p>Who is the greatest of all press agents, working while you sleep and +even when you blunder?</p> + +<p>The People!</p> + +<p>The front page of the newspaper is therefore the arena of to-day!</p> + +<p>To live in that page, all you have to do is to become News.</p> + +<p>Once you become News all the king-making reporters of all the +nation-making newspapers become your press agents. The public does the +rest and pays all salaries.</p> + +<p>Thrilled by his discovery, Hendrik called Max Onthemaker to one side +and, with the air of a man risking one hundred and two millions of cash, +said to him: "I have decided to make you chief counsel of my society. +Your services will entitle you to represent me."</p> + +<p>Never had man been so lavishly overpaid for breathing since the dawn of +historical time. Hendrik went on, still imperial in bounty:</p> + +<p>"I have in mind some great things. Every one of them will be worth as +much space as the newspapers will give to this dinner. Do you see your +chance?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can't live on newspaper articles," began Max, elated but dissembling.</p> + +<p>"You can die without them. Chronic obscurity; acute starvation," said +Hendrik Rutgers in his clinical voice. "I not only do not propose to pay +you a cent, but I expect you to pay all necessary expenses out of your +privy purse without a murmur—unless said murmur is intended to express +your legal opinion and your gratitude. I shall give you an opportunity +to represent my society"—you would have sworn he was saying <i>my +regiment</i>—"in actions involving the most famous names in America."</p> + +<p>"For instance?" asked M. Onthemaker, trying to speak skeptically, that +his eagerness might not show too plainly.</p> + +<p>Hendrik Rutgers named six of the mightiest.</p> + +<p>"You're on, Mr. Rutgers," said Max, enthusiastically. "Now, I think—"</p> + +<p>"Wait!" interrupted Hendrik, coldly. "Never forget that I am not your +press agent. You are mine."</p> + +<p>"There will be glory enough to go around," said Max Onthemaker in his +police-court voice. "When do we begin?"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. And now—"</p> + +<p>"My <i>now</i> is your <i>when</i>! Your job is to find the legal way of helping +the Cause."</p> + +<p>"I will!" promised Onthemaker, heartfully. The Cause would be his Cause. +He'd fix it so they couldn't leave out his name.</p> + +<p>But Hendrik saw the gleam in the lawyer's eye.</p> + +<p>That's the worst of all thoughts of self. They invariably are +undisguisable.</p> + +<p>"The Cause, Onthemaker," said Hendrik, sternly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> "is the cause of the +Society of American Sandwich Artists. We are not associated to make +money for ourselves, but for our employers. This is revolutionary. +Moreover, we are not working-men, but artists. Therefore our men not +only love their work, but are law-abiding. This will make the employers +helpless to retaliate. We shall never do anything without invoking the +aid of the law, for I believe that the law will help the poor not less +than the rich if properly—"</p> + +<p>"Advertised," prompted Max. "I get you. In the forum of the people's +liberties—the daily papers—is the place to try—"</p> + +<p>Hendrik held up a hand. He had chosen the right lawyer. The +interpretation of the law depends exclusively upon the tone of voice. +All reporters are trained to be judges of elocution. They have to be, in +republics.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow—" Here Hendrik paused.</p> + +<p>Max's face paled slightly as he waited. What was coming?</p> + +<p>Hendrik finished: "<i>I shall telephone to you!</i>"</p> + +<p>Max drew in his breath sharply.</p> + +<p>Hendrik then nodded. It meant, "You have my permission to retire!"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mr. Rutgers," said Max, respectfully, and withdrew from the +presence on tiptoe.</p> + +<p>Hendrik then beckoned to his sandwich lieutenant. "Fleming!" he said, +sternly.</p> + +<p>Fleming threw up an arm defensively from force of habit—the slave's +immemorial salute. Then he grinned sheepishly. Then he said, eagerly, +"Yes, boss!"</p> + +<p>"I'm going to make you chief of the Meal Ticket Department, and I expect +you to maintain discipline. But if I ever hear of any graft, such as +accepting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> bonuses—" He closed his jaws and his fists. When you close +both at the same time you inevitably win the debate. It is, however, +difficult.</p> + +<p>"Honest, b-boss," stammered Fleming, his eyes on Hendrik's right fist. +"Honest, I—"</p> + +<p>The boss's right unclenched itself. Fleming drew in a deep breath.</p> + +<p>"Get the names and addresses of all the men here—in their own writing. +Ask Onthemaker for a blank-book, and when the men have signed give the +book back to him. They've got to sign!"</p> + +<p>Fleming's face was pale but resigned. Signatures are lethal weapons in +all industrial democracies. Ask the note-teller in any bank. But the +boss had said, "<i>Sign!</i>"</p> + +<p>Kismet!</p> + +<p>"And you keep a book of your own so that when I want ten or twenty men +of a certain type and appearance you will know where to find them. I +hold you responsible!"</p> + +<p>Poor Fleming almost collapsed. Responsibility in a republic really means +accountability. Our entire system of law, as a great psychologist has +pointed out, is based upon the same confusion of definitions.</p> + +<p>Hendrik saw the fear of statutory punishment seep into his lieutenant's +soul. He stopped it at exactly the right point.</p> + +<p>"Fleming," he said, kindly, "I trust you!"</p> + +<p>Fleming felt himself decorated with the Grand Cross of the Order of +Unearned Food. It made him into an active citizen.</p> + +<p>"I'll get the men when you shout, boss!" he promised, proudly, realizing +the meaning of the duty of a voter.</p> + +<p>However, it would never do to have your creatures<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> think they also have +the power to create. Therefore Hendrik said, "If you don't—"</p> + +<p>"I'll get 'em for you, b-boss. Honest, I will!" meekly promised Fleming, +taking his place in the ranks. He was an ideal cabinet officer.</p> + +<p>Hendrik Rutgers did not <i>know</i> men. He <i>guessed</i> them. He thus saved +himself the fatigue of thinking.</p> + +<p>Weinpusslacher swaggered by, counting his millions. He had begun to feel +haughty. Hendrik stopped him by lifting his right forefinger and then +smartly moving it Hendrikward.</p> + +<p>"Weinie, I guess you're famous. You give the free meal tickets to +Onthemaker. And don't try to cheat!"</p> + +<p>"I never do such—" began Caspar, angrily.</p> + +<p>"You never will to me," interrupted Hendrik, making Weinie's unuttered +words his own. It took away from Weinie all sense of proprietorship in +his own property.</p> + +<p>This also is called genius. Such men should be tax-collectors instead of +railroad bankers.</p> + +<p>Hendrik glanced toward the reporters and saw that Mr. Onthemaker was +talking to them and looking at him—looking at him both ingratiatingly +and proudly. He therefore knew that Max was being quoted by the +newspaper men, and the only subject on which they would quote him was +Hendrik Rutgers. He also knew that the desire for reflected glory, in +all newspaper-reading countries, is so strong that Max would be a great +political historian. The best way to blow your own horn is to lend it to +an obscure friend.</p> + +<p>Hendrik Rutgers left the Colossal Restaurant certain that he was News, +and that his job consisted of continuing to be News.</p> + +<p>To become News and then to continue to be News a man must be plausible, +persistent, and picturesque.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was no altitude of success to which he might not climb, provided +he lost six-sevenths of his name and mutilated his surname in like +degree.</p> + +<p>He must become two letters: <i>H. R.</i></p> + +<p>He thus would become an immortal during his own lifetime, which was +immortality enough for any man who merely wished to acquire fame, +wealth, and one wife in his own country.</p> + +<p>So brightly lighted was his road that he knew exactly where to plant +each foot—in the front page!</p> + +<p>He must do it all. Therefore he must make others do the work. But this +man who now was a million miles beyond all bank clerks knew exactly +<i>what</i> he needed, which made it easy for him to know exactly <i>whom</i> he +needed. This knowledge would establish the basis on which the workers +must work.</p> + +<p>He sought a newspaper-advertising agency; ordered the manager to insert +in all the morning papers the same advertisement, in large type, with +triple spacing, to show that money was no object.</p> + +<p>This always impresses people who wish to make money.</p> + +<p>The advertisement read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>WANTED—<span class="smcap">first-class advertising canvassers. i am anxious to +pay 50 per cent. more than is customary to such men. this +does not mean you, my hungry and hopeful friend</span>! Apply +between 9 and 10 <span class="smcap">a.m</span>. to</p></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;">H. R.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;">ALLIED ARTS BLDG.</span><br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>P. S. The better the men the fewer I need. The fewer I use +the greater the profit to the lucky ones. Keep away unless +you are a Wonder.</i></p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was the first time that an advertisement for "Help Wanted" had +contained a postscriptum. H. R. did it because he knew that the +unusualness of it would make professional people talk. Every experienced +advertising man must realize that H. R. had not written an +advertisement, but had dictated a brief letter to him. The signer was +too busy and too much in earnest to compose a regular advertisement.</p> + +<p>Genius neglects no opportunity, however slight. Consider the small but +efficient yellow-fever microbe.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2> + +<p>Monday morning, at 8.30 <span class="smcap">a.m</span>., H. R. was in his office. At 8.35 he had +engaged a stenographer by telephone and told the starter and the +elevator-men who H. R. was. Later on the dozen men who answered the +advertisement made it impossible for either starter or elevator-men ever +to forget who H. R. was without the use of gratuities, profanity, or +promises.</p> + +<p>H. R.'s first task was to compose memoranda for the use and guidance of +Max Onthemaker and Lieutenant Fleming. At 8.45 the first-class +advertising canvassers began to appear in numbers. Really efficient men +are never modest. Neither are really inefficient men. Efficiency is +always a matter of personal judgment. Even efficiency experts will tell +you that nobody is really efficient until efficiency experts have said +so.</p> + +<p>H. R. allowed the applicants to accumulate in the anteroom. The new +stenographer had been told to write, "Now is the time for all good men +to come to the aid of their party" two thousand times and to time +herself. The spectators thereby realized that this was a busy office.</p> + +<p>He was confronting his first crisis—the selection of a man who must not +only be highly competent, but must be made to realize that H. R. was a +pioneer, a man to whom tradition, precedents, and custom were less<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> than +nothing. H. R. studied the situation and then went out to the anteroom +and looked at the waiting dozen slowly.</p> + +<p>There are a few men in the world who can look a crowd from head to foot +and manage to make each man in it feel guilty. After H. R. had so looked +at them, he asked, skeptically, "Are <i>all</i> of you first-class men?"</p> + +<p>To their honor be it said, not one of them answered No. Men collectively +may be cruel or blind, but seldom petty or egotistical. Observe mobs.</p> + +<p>H. R. turned his back on the crowd and returned to his private office. +He did it on purpose. Men usually follow those who act as if they do not +care whether they have a following or not. It is wiser to be wrong and +not hesitate than to vacillate and be right. Besides, much quicker.</p> + +<p>At the threshold he half turned and, without looking at any one in +particular, said: "I need only four first-class men. The others might as +well go away."</p> + +<p>Twelve men heard him. Twelve men followed him.</p> + +<p>He sat down at his new desk, put the unpaid bill for same in a drawer, +and confronted them.</p> + +<p>"Eight of you can go," he observed, and waited.</p> + +<p>Each man cast a glance of pity at his neighbor.</p> + +<p>"Don't be so modest," H. R. told them, kindly.</p> + +<p>"You said first-class men?" politely inquired a young man, +smooth-shaven, blond, blue-eyed, and very clean-looking.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered H. R.</p> + +<p>"That's what I understood," said the young man, extending his hand. +"Barrett's my name."</p> + +<p>H. R. ignored the outstretched hand and stared at the clean-looking +young man.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> + +<p>On the faces of eleven Christian gentlemen came a fraternal look of +self-conscious modesty. But young Mr. Barrett, unabashed, said, +cheerily:</p> + +<p>"Keep on looking. <i>I</i> know you want me. When <i>you</i> discover it, we'll do +business."</p> + +<p>"Go to the foot of the class," said H. R., impassively. You could tell +nothing from his voice. It is a valuable gift.</p> + +<p>The young man eyed H. R. shrewdly, then walked to a corner of the room, +sat down, pulled a memorandum-book from his pocket, and began to count +his contracts in advance.</p> + +<p>"Your <i>last</i> name, please," said H. R., looking as if what he had asked +for was the <i>right</i> name. The assumption of guilt has the effect of +putting even the innocent on the defensive. The strategic inferiority of +the defensive is always acknowledged by the defeated—even before the +defeat.</p> + +<p>He jotted down the replies, one after another. Within one and +three-quarter minutes these men felt themselves deprived of their +individual entities. They had been turned into a list of surnames, a +fragment of the rabble.</p> + +<p>The leader stood alone—he alone had a <i>first</i> name! Smith merely votes; +John Smith has his own opinion. H. R. had acted instinctively. He never +would have had the conscious wisdom of an editorial writer. There are +many editorial writers in all republics. Hence, practical politics.</p> + +<p>"Where did you see my advertisement?" asked H. R. "One at a time, +please. Also, state why you looked in that particular newspaper?"</p> + +<p>They told him, one at a time, in the hearing of the others, thereby +intensifying their own feeling of having<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> been lumped into an +electorate. He made notes as they answered. Some had seen it in the +<i>Herald</i>. Others blamed the <i>World</i> or the <i>Times</i> or the <i>Sun</i>, or the +<i>Tribune</i>. Three gave two papers; one had seen three. They expressed +their professional opinion of that particular advertising medium, +feeling that said opinion was a qualification of fitness.</p> + +<p>Young Mr. Barrett from his chair answered: "In all the papers. I also +looked in the German, Yiddish, and Italian papers; in the <i>Courier des +Etats-Unis</i>, and in the first morning edition of every afternoon paper. +I did it to get a line on <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>H. R. did not look as if he had heard Barrett. He said to the others: "I +thank you all for coming. I shall not need Wilson, Streeter, Manley, +Hill, Roberts, Smith, Jenks, or MacDuffy."</p> + +<p>One of the rejected came forward, scowling. He was naturally a +robust-looking person. He said, "Say, this is—"</p> + +<p>H. R. did not allow the full expression of individual opinion—a form of +salutary discipline which explains why people are governed. He snarled +in a tone of voice that made his shoulders look a yard wide: "Mr. Book +Agent, I've picked the men I want. What I don't want is to hear any +remarks. Talk them into a dictagraph and send the cylinders by parcels +post to my secretary."</p> + +<p>He had risen. But when he finished speaking, as though the unarmed +proletariat were in full retreat, he sat down again. It was the way he +did it.</p> + +<p>Men always do what they are expected to do. The eight non-successfuls +went out. It was only when they were outside, where the female was +typewriting away, that they began to talk loudly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + +<p>H. R. had judged rightly. They were not first-class men. He turned to +the others and asked:</p> + +<p>"Can you <i>sell</i> advertising?"</p> + +<p>Young Mr. Barrett came forward. The four answered, "Yes!"</p> + +<p>"Then you can sell anything!"</p> + +<p>He stood up suddenly, when they were not expecting such a thing. This is +always subtly disconcerting. Business men and beautiful women invariably +resent it.</p> + +<p>He asked, sharply, "What is the one thing none of you can sell to me?"</p> + +<p>He looked challengingly at the first. The man stared back at H. R. and, +with the canvasser's professional look of congratulation, replied, "A +gold brick!"</p> + +<p>"Good answer! Not <i>the</i> answer. And you?" he asked the second man.</p> + +<p>"Newspaper space—not to you."</p> + +<p>"Still better answer. But not the answer."</p> + +<p>He looked at the third man, who promptly said: "Opinions!"</p> + +<p>"Excellent. But not the answer. And you, young man?"</p> + +<p>The accusation of youth is never successfully repulsed. Young Mr. +Barrett, ingeniously admitting his youth to remove the sting from his +humor, replied triumphantly, "Smallpox!"</p> + +<p>"The tendency of American youth is toward the clown. It keeps us in an +attitude of perennial apology toward the perennial juvenility of our +nation. What none of you can sell me is—"</p> + +<p>He paused. They were looking at him with the intentness with which all +men look at an armed lunatic—or at their master.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<p>After the second minute of suspense they exclaimed in chorus:</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>They couldn't help it!</p> + +<p>"Cold feet!" said H. R. calmly.</p> + +<p>They looked relieved. Then they looked anxious. The reason the ruled +masses never win is because they inflict upon themselves their own +doubts.</p> + +<p>"How many times your own salary do you wish to earn for me?" asked H. R. +in the tone of voice in which a philanthropist asks strangers for +subscriptions to his pet charity. This always makes people feel that +extravagance is a sin.</p> + +<p>"I'd expect to earn for you—" began one of the victims.</p> + +<p>"Not what you would <i>expect</i>, but what you would <i>like</i>," corrected H. R. +He spoke so kindly that they at once knew it was a trap. A look of +brotherhood always is, to all clever men of an editorial type of mind.</p> + +<p>"Four or five times," answered No. 1.</p> + +<p>"And you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to work for you at all," answered No. 2, feeling that his +answer was sure not to be right.</p> + +<p>"Good morning," said H. R. in such a voice and with such a look that No. +2 instantly ceased to exist. When he walked out he didn't hear his own +footsteps.</p> + +<p>"And you?"</p> + +<p>"It depends," answered No. 3 in the earnest voice of a man trying to be +fair at all costs, "upon what the work will be."</p> + +<p>"I sha'n't need you. Please don't ask me questions. Good day, sir."</p> + +<p>"I have a right—"</p> + +<p>"None whatever. It would be cruelty if I told you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Barrett laughed. No. 3 said, angrily, "You can't come that on me and +get away with it, you damned—"</p> + +<p>"Go while the going is good, friend." H. R. spoke with the cold kindness +of a man warning an objectionable inebriate. Then, when the loss of +patience of a prize-fighter who, however, has not quite lost sight of +the electric chair: "Get out! D'ye <i>hear</i>?"</p> + +<p>The man left. H. R. stared out of the window. They could see it was to +cool off. It gave the remaining pair a great respect for him and also a +resolve not to stimulate the heat verbally. At length H. R. turned to +No. 1 and said, "Wolverton is your name?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Wolverton. Then he added, "Sir."</p> + +<p>"Do you always get what you want?"</p> + +<p>"I get my share."</p> + +<p>"Barrett, do you get what you want?"</p> + +<p>"Always!" promptly answered Barrett. "But I've got to be sure I want +it."</p> + +<p>"The more money you two wish to make the better you please me. It will +give you something to brag of. In working for me you will receive your +share of prosperity and the pleasure of becoming somebody."</p> + +<p>He looked as if the three of them stood in the plain sight of two and +one-half millions of spectators. He went on, even more impressively, +"You will now go on Fifth Avenue and graciously permit the swellest +shops to employ our union sandwich-men to advertise their wares."</p> + +<p>Wolverton rose to his feet. His color also rose.</p> + +<p>"You didn't want me to waste your time, did you?"</p> + +<p>"No, but you have. Good day. Now, Barrett, listen to me. I never +repeat."</p> + +<p>Mr. Wolverton opened his mouth, perceived that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> H. R. was not looking at +him, closed his mouth and went out. He was a well-dressed man with a +determined chin. If it had not been for that chin he would have been a +bookkeeper. Determination minus imagination equals stubbornness.</p> + +<p>Mr. Wolverton therefore walked out unbleeding.</p> + +<p>"Barrett, do you see the possibilities?"</p> + +<p>"Do I? Didn't I see the parade? Say, I can only think when I talk. Trust +<i>me</i>! Speaking of terms—" He looked at H. R., nodded amiably, and said, +"After you, kind friend."</p> + +<p>"You will ask our clients five dollars per day per man, they to pay for +the boards, which must be artistic and approved by me. The union label +will be on them. Forty per cent. goes to the artist, forty per cent. to +you, and ten per cent. to the society. Don't try Valiquet's. Tackle +everybody else first. I'll be here all the afternoon. Barrett, I expect +you to do your damnedest!"</p> + +<p>He rose, shook hands with young Mr. Andrew Barrett, escorted him to the +door, and returned to his desk.</p> + +<p>He sat there, thinking. He intended Barrett should fail in order that +when H. R. made him succeed, later, Barrett should know to whom the +credit should go, though the commissions would fall into Barrett's +pocket. That would make the young man really useful.</p> + +<p>The telephone people had not yet installed the apparatus in his office, +so he went downstairs and called up Mr. Maximilian Onthemaker.</p> + +<p>"Onthemaker?... This is H. R. speaking.... Of course I saw the +papers.... Yes, all of them. Come up to my office. At once!... I can't +help it; I need you—this means the front page again. If you don't want +the job.... I thought you would! Remember, I'm waiting. Do you hear me? +<i>Waiting!</i>"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> + +<p>The greatest stroke of political genius on the part of Louis XIV. was +his rebuke: "I almost have been made to wait!"</p> + +<p>What, wait?—H. R.?</p> + +<p>If it had not been that taxicabs cost actual money, M. Onthemaker would +have taken one. But he knew he soon would have one of his own—if the +newspapers did their share.</p> + +<p>Before Max could decide whether he ought to say good morning to H. R. in +a sulky tone of voice at being called from an important conference, or +smile pleasantly, H. R. said:</p> + +<p>"Onthemaker, I am going to advertise a shop without permission and +without pay."</p> + +<p>"Another restaurant, like—"</p> + +<p>"Like nothing. Don't interrupt again, not even to approve. I am going to +have Valiquet's, the jewelers, brought to the notice of Fifth Avenue +through the medium of our sandwich-men. I anticipate objections. The +statute clearly says we must not use a person's name for purposes of +trade without his consent. But I'm not going to use the name of a +person, but of a corporation, <i>for its own trade and profit</i>. There is +no law that can prevent me from putting money into a corporation's +treasury—"</p> + +<p>"A commission of lunacy—"</p> + +<p>"Be quiet. They can't stop me legally, if you are our counsel." Max +bowed, opened his mouth, and promptly closed it when he saw H. R.'s +face. "They might try to get out an injunction, but you must beat them +to it. They will probably try to get the police to stop us by alleging +breach of the peace, disorderly conduct, or some violation of a city +ordinance. I want you to prepare in advance restraining orders or +applications<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> for injunctions or whatever is needed to prevent +interference with us. You are the counsel of the Society of American +Sandwich Artists. Prepare papers also in the names of individual +members. The poor sandwich artist, working for a mere pittance, without +money to pay his able but charitable and indignant counsel, will fight +the richest jewelry-shop in the world. The pearl showcase alone would +feed one hundred and eighty-six thousand, four hundred and fifty-one men +one week. Do you get that?"</p> + +<p>"Do I?" Max Onthemaker, able and indignant, was rushing to embrace H. R., +on whose face he saw ten thousand front-page head-lines, when H. R. +said, coldly:</p> + +<p>"Sit down. This is only the beginning."</p> + +<p>Max sat down. He felt very much more like kneeling in adoration before +this god of success.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," he murmured, prayerfully, and looked with his very soul.</p> + +<p>"Be ready with the papers for the papers."</p> + +<p>Perceiving a puzzled look on the lawyer's face, H. R. explained: "Draw +the legal papers up so they will be news. And remember that <i>I</i> am the +society. You are merely a lawyer lucky enough to be <i>its</i> lawyer. If you +don't know what the reporters like to print, bring the injunctions and +typewritten argument to me this afternoon. Go away now. I'm going to +Valiquet's."</p> + +<p>"Not to—"</p> + +<p>"Not to anything you may think."</p> + +<p>Max Onthemaker walked away, and even as he walked he began to fear that +the newspapers would not let him have more than twenty-eight columns. It +behooved him to be brief. What with the immemorial wrongs of the poor, +and the inalienable rights of American citizens, and the abuse of +wealth, and the arrogance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> of unconvicted millionaires, and the supine +subservience of the police and the politicians to Big Business, how +could he use less than three pages? How?</p> + +<p>But he must do it. He asked himself what steps he would take to prevent +the sandwich-men, or anybody, from advertising him, and he could find no +objection. But he had imagination. He indignantly put himself in the +place of Valiquet's and hired M. Onthemaker, Esq., to stop the beasts. +And then he proceeded to make the able counsel of the S. A. S. A. punch +the great jewelers' case full of holes—such holes as would let out the +law in the way the reporters would like. This would make said holes the +kind that no judge, thinking of re-election and the recall, would dare +to plug up. When your client is poor and doesn't use dynamite, sympathy +is the best law with juries. And when it came to picking out jurors, Max +had inherited a vision for dollars which enabled him to tell the +contents of a juror's inside pocket to the penny, and therefore the +exact hatred of riches of each of the twelve peers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2> + +<p>H. R. sent word to Fleming, <i>via</i> Caspar Weinpusslacher, that he desired +to meet about fifty members of the society at the Colossal Restaurant +that evening at seven sharp. He then went to Valiquet's. The firm's name +was not visible on the façade; only a beautiful bronze clock. Everybody +was expected to know that this was Valiquet's, and everybody did, +particularly those who could not afford to buy jewels. It had engendered +throughout the entire country that familiar form of American snobbery +which consists not only of having the best that money can buy, but of +telling everybody that the watch or the necklace or the solitaire or the +stick-pin came from Valiquet's.</p> + +<p>He entered the most beautiful store in the world as though his feet had +carried him thither automatically, from force of habit. He looked +approvingly, as for the millionth time, at the wide teak boards of the +floor and the ornate but beautiful solid-silver ceiling and the cool +variegated purple-gray marble columns. He paused by the pearl-counter +and stared at the one-hundred-thousand-dollar strings with what you +might call an amiable tolerance; it wasn't their fault, poor things!</p> + +<p>He moved on, reluctantly, six feet farther and examined, with a little +more insistence, the emeralds, the fashionable gems of the season.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very fair! Very fair, indeed!" he seemed to be saying encouragingly to +the dazzling green things.</p> + +<p>The well-trained clerks looked at him, took a respectfully eager step +toward him as if to place themselves unreservedly at his orders, and +then abruptly immobilized themselves in their tracks—their tribute to +expert knowledge!</p> + +<p>He did not look up, but, as if he were aware that the world was looking +on, ready to obey, he rested his finger-tip on the showcase immediately +above an eighteen-carat cabochon emerald surrounded by very white +diamonds set in platinum. By instinct he had picked out the best.</p> + +<p>A clerk opened the case, took out the emerald, and respectfully laid it +before the connoisseur. H. R. fumbled in his waistcoat pockets, then in +his coat, allowed himself to look annoyed at having forgotten his pocket +magnifying-glass, picked up the jewel, looked at it closely for flaws, +then at arm's-length for general effect.</p> + +<p>He laid it on the velvet mat, raised his eyes and met the clerk's.</p> + +<p>The clerk smiled uncertainly. H. R. unsmilingly raised his +eyebrows—very slightly.</p> + +<p>"Sixty-eight thousand five hundred, Mr.—eh—"</p> + +<p>H. R. hesitated. Then he shook his head resolutely. Having mastered the +temptation, he nodded to the clerk, and said, kindly, "Thank you."</p> + +<p>"Not at all, sir," gratefully said the clerk.</p> + +<p>H. R. walked on, a marked man, high in the estimation of the clerks +because he had <i>not</i> bought a sixty-eight-thousand-dollar emerald.</p> + +<p>Don't you wonder how they do it? What is it? Intuition? Genius?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + +<p>A floor-walker who had taken in H. R.'s introduction of himself to +Valiquet's bowed deferentially to H. R. and blamed his memory for not +remembering the name. He was certain he knew the gentleman well.</p> + +<p>H. R. nodded and asked: "I wish to have a bronze statuette designed and +cast for me. Which department, please?"</p> + +<p>"Up-stairs, Mr.—er— Second floor, sir. Mr. Gwathmey is in charge, +and—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Gwathmey!" H. R. was obviously much relieved.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. He's still with us, sir. Elevator on the left."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said H. R., and the man smiled gratefully.</p> + +<p>You don't have to buy to be treated politely in New York. The mere +suspicion of the power of purchase is enough. It is thus that the +principle "Politeness pays" has been established among stock-brokers and +jewelers.</p> + +<p>H. R. was directed to the head of the department, to whom he said, with +a sort of boyish eagerness, "Mr. Gwathmey, I'm very much interested in +the Movement, as you probably know, and I wish my little society to have +a <i>very</i> artistic emblem."</p> + +<p>He looked expectantly at Mr. Gwathmey, who thereupon bowed at the +implied compliment, but, not knowing what to say, said nothing.</p> + +<p>"You read in the papers about the parade my poor fellows had Saturday?"</p> + +<p>"Not the—er—sandwich-men's parade?"</p> + +<p>"Yes!" H. R. smiled so gratefully and congratulatory that Mr. Gwathmey +felt himself enrolled among the honorary vice-presidents. "That's it. +The society<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> emblem is a skeleton and the sandwich-boards are a +coffin—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I read that," and Mr. Gwathmey smiled at the delightful humor of +the conceit.</p> + +<p>H. R. instantly frowned at the levity—all very rich men frown at all +smiles aimed at their pet hobbies.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gwathmey, knowing the ways of millionaires, hastened to explain, +gravely, "There is a great deal to that idea!"</p> + +<p>"Nobody helped me!" H. R. spoke eagerly, as all youthful aristocrats +speak when they speak of their own ideas. "The Ultimate Sandwich! What +you and I shall be at least once. I am glad you agree with me. Now, I +wish statuettes made in bronze in three sizes, two, four, and six inches +high, so they can be used by my friends as desk ornaments. And can you +put on a nice <i>patine</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes! And—er—Mr.—ah—" Gwathmey looked ashamed of himself.</p> + +<p>But H. R. smiled pleasantly and said: "It is easy to see you are +not a Rutgers College man. I'm Mr. Rutgers. <i>My</i> father—" He +stopped—naturally.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry to say I'm Harvard, Mr. Rutgers," said Mr. Gwathmey, +contritely. "But don't you think it would be a little gruesome for a +desk ornament?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. The Egyptians used to bring in a skeleton at their feasts +so that the timid guests should cease to fear dyspepsia. And the +<i>Memento Mori</i> of later centuries had its <i>raison d'être</i>. I have a +Byzantine ivory carving of a skull that is a gem. Holbein's 'Dance of +Death' is not inartistic. It is up to you people to keep my skull from +being repulsive. I wish to get something that will drive home the fact +to us careless Americans that the richest is no better than the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +poorest. For we are <i>not</i>!" H. R. said this decisively. When the +aristocrat tells you that you and he are not a bit better than the +proletariat, what you understand him to say is that you also are an +aristocrat. A democratic aristocracy is invincible.</p> + +<p>"No," agreed Mr. Gwathmey, proudly, "we are not!"</p> + +<p>"Let me have a sketch as soon as possible. It is to raise funds for our +superannuated sandwiches."</p> + +<p>Mr. Gwathmey saw no humor in either the intention or the phrase. As an +alert business man who studied the psychology of customers, he knew that +society leaders had advocated the cause of the shirtwaist workers and of +certain educational movies—especially society leaders who had reached +the age when their looks and their pearls no longer entitled them to the +pictorial supplements. How else could they stay in the newspapers except +by indignation over the wrongs of social inferiors? By espousing the +cause of the lower classes, the latter also remained lower.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gwathmey smiled tolerantly and nodded. Then he looked dreamy and +murmured: "I see! I see <i>exactly</i> what you want: a skeleton carrying a +coffin as sandwich-boards. The Ultimate Sandwich."</p> + +<p>He saw it in the air, two feet from the tip of his nose; he was a +creative artist. Then he became a salesman.</p> + +<p>"We can submit designs to you, Mr. Rutgers—"</p> + +<p>"To-day?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, gracious, no! We couldn't—"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow, then. You have grasped the idea completely. No, Mr. +Gwathmey; no!" And H. R. held up a hand—the hand of Fate. "To-morrow, +at the latest! Must have it! I hate waiting. That's why I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> came to +Valiquet's instead of Shoreham's. And now," he went on before Mr. +Gwathmey could protest, "I wish also a series of designs for +sandwich-boards—heraldic shields, scutcheons and bucklers, +spade-shapes, rectangular boards of the right proportion, circles, and a +keystone for use by the Pennsylvania Railroad. I propose to raise the +sandwich to the highest form of art. I shall experiment with various +materials—wood, metal, and composition, with raised as well as with +sunken letters, in divers colors, vert antique and beautiful soft grays, +and iridescent-glass mosaic. Can't you imagine a sandwich being made +artistic, if I get competent experts to design them?" H. R. looked +anxiously at the competent expert.</p> + +<p>"Indeed I can," replied Mr. Gwathmey, with conviction. "Indeed I can, +Mr. Rutgers. It is an excellent idea!"</p> + +<p>"Thank you. Do you know, I thought so, too!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Gwathmey, being a kindly man, was so pleased at having suggested, +evolved, and improved a great idea that he filled with enthusiasm. +Enthusiasm always made him take out his pencil and reach for a pad. He +did so now.</p> + +<p>"For instance—" he said, and he began to design.</p> + +<p>"Exactly! Exactly!" said H. R., with such eager admiration that Mr. +Gwathmey was inspired by love of the young man. "I'd give everything I +own, Mr. Gwathmey, to have your gift!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Gwathmey modestly felt his talents overcapitalized. Everything this +eccentric but clever scion of the Knickerbockers owned? Mr. Gwathmey +almost saw the old Rutgers farm! It must have had at least one hundred +and fifty acres bounded by Broadway, Wall, Fulton, and the East River. A +very nice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> young man, with agricultural ancestors in New Amsterdam.</p> + +<p>"Won't you give me these, Mr. Gwathmey?" pleaded H. R.</p> + +<p>"We never send out such rough—"</p> + +<p>"These are not the firm's, but Gwathmey's. Just sign your name and let +me keep these as souvenirs. Please!" And H. R. smiled with boyish +eagerness.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gwathmey signed his initials, and reluctantly gave the drawings to +H. R., shaking his modest head deprecatingly.</p> + +<p>H. R. reverently put the precious sheets in his pocket and said: "Thank +you very much. Now you get your best sculptor to model my Ultimate +Sandwich by to-morrow, won't you?" Then he proceeded to contradict in +advance—a purely feminine habit, sometimes used with great effect by +masculine leaders—"Oh yes, he can. I'm sure <i>you</i> can make him do it if +you wish to be nice!"</p> + +<p>What reply could Mr. Gwathmey possibly make? He made it. "I'll do my +best, Mr. Rutgers; but—"</p> + +<p>"Then it's done," said H. R., with such conviction that Mr. Gwathmey +filled his own lungs with oxygen. "And the designs for the various kinds +of sandwich-boards, in color, with the different materials indicated. +Send them to me, Allied Arts Building, won't you?"</p> + +<p>H. R. forgot to say anything about costs. Only the nobility forget such +things, for the nobility know that Valiquet's work is perfect. Mr. +Gwathmey therefore forgot to be cautious. He said, "Very well, Mr. +Rutgers."</p> + +<p>"Thank you so much!" That little phrase of gratitude in that same tone +of voice has often made plebeians feel like dying to prove <i>their</i> +gratitude. Then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> H. R. hesitated, looked at Mr. Gwathmey, and, +recklessly vaulting over all caste-barriers, said, "I wish to shake +hands with the man who designed my sandwiches!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Gwathmey actually blushed as he shook hands warmly. The moment H. R. +left, Mr. Gwathmey rushed to his office to take steps to please young +Mr. Rutgers.</p> + +<p>Rutgers College—culture; Hendrik—Knickerbocker; no question about +price—inherited wealth; newspaper front page—somebody!</p> + +<p>A nice boy, bless him!</p> + +<p>Mr. Gwathmey at that moment was the only man who really knew H. R. Like +a book!</p> + +<p>Thus are historic characters analyzed by intimate friends. Invaluable +testimony! Interesting side-lights!</p> + +<p>H. R. went back to his office and began to copy Mr. Gwathmey's designs. +He had barely finished when Andrew Barrett entered. He looked humorous. +Young men always do when they are angry at having failed but do not wish +to call it failure, and therefore must not look angry. Defeat is never a +joke. Therefore a joke can never be an acknowledgment of defeat. Very +easy! Origin: U. S. A. Reason: national juvenility.</p> + +<p>Before Barrett could speak H. R. asked, "Nobody would be first?"</p> + +<p>"No; nor second."</p> + +<p>"They will. Did you properly play up the wisdom and glory of being +first?"</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>"Go back and tell them that Valiquet's will advertise with our +sandwiches as soon as they have prepared artistic boards. The other men +have lost the chance to be first. They are asses. Tell them so and book<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +them for second place. Dwell strongly on the fact that the commercial +standing of each shop will be determined by the richness of the +sandwich-boards. Tell them confidentially that Valiquet's will do some +wonderful stunts with real bronze and iridescent-glass mosaics valued at +ten thousand dollars. The firm are taking big chances with breakage in a +crowded avenue, but that's why they are on top of the heap. The +department stores might try real lace edging and gold-thread +hand-embroidery on Genoese velvet."</p> + +<p>Valiquet's advertising campaigns were models of ultra-conservatism and +costly refinement. And now, sandwiches!</p> + +<p>"Have you—" began young Mr. Barrett in awed tones.</p> + +<p>"I have. Get busy! Tell them to watch. On next Monday begins the +greatest revolution in advertising this country ever experienced. We are +making history! Pledge them to advertise through us, if we deliver the +goods. It will be the only swell way. Get that?"</p> + +<p>"Betcherlife!" And Mr. Andrew Barrett rushed off.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2> + +<p>H. R. went out to have his boards made. He distributed orders among +wood-carvers and plaster-casting ateliers, and devised a method by which +boards could be made on the principle of stereotypers' matrices, only +the letters were raised. He pledged the makers to deliver the boards +within twenty-four hours, and as he did not haggle over the price by the +simple expedient of not asking for it, they promised. When a man is +permitted to fix his own profit he will do anything except go to church.</p> + +<p>At seven sharp, accompanied by Andrew Barrett, H. R. went to Caspar +Weinpusslacher's. He could not get a seat. People stood in dozens, +waiting for the early dinner to finish. And most of the waiting +customers were fashionably dressed. The Colossal Restaurant had become a +fad.</p> + +<p>Caspar greeted H. R. with respect. He did not yet feel strong enough to +display ingratitude.</p> + +<p>"I'll fix a special table, Mr. Rutchers," he said.</p> + +<p>H. R. nodded assent and then sought Fleming. At the longest table sat +twenty-seven unionized artists.</p> + +<p>"Are you getting the full thirty-cent dinner?" he asked, paternally.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," Fleming hastily assured him.</p> + +<p>H. R. looked at his men. They looked away uneasily. Was this to be their +last free meal?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> + +<p>H. R. turned to Andrew Barrett and said in a voice that did not reach +the members and therefore increased their uneasiness:</p> + +<p>"Barrett, in unionizing these men, thereby making them free sandwiches, +I had in mind several things; one of them was the absolute control of +the New York papers."</p> + +<p>"How?" asked Barrett in utter non-comprehension.</p> + +<p>"By organizing my men into a Public Sentiment Corps. Their duty will be +to write letters to the newspapers. I figure that one bona-fide letter +to each thirteen thousand one hundred and eighty-six circulation creates +an irresistible demand. The <i>Evening Post</i>, of course, needs about one +to five hundred readers. I think eleven letters will be enough there. +Our men already have names, and hereafter they will have permanent +addresses."</p> + +<p>"And then?"</p> + +<p>"I furnish the paper, the stamps, and the literature. The men copy the +letters. The newspapers will do the rest. Did you bring the pads and +pencils I told you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Pass 'em around, one to each man."</p> + +<p>Barrett did so. The men edged away in ill-concealed terror.</p> + +<p>"Take up the pencils!" commanded H. R.</p> + +<p>The members acted as if the pencils were rattlesnakes.</p> + +<p>"Did you hear me?" asked H. R., calmly.</p> + +<p>They trembled. But they were not slaves. No man can be compelled to +write in a free country.</p> + +<p>By feeding these men H. R. had given them the courage to refuse to obey +him! Was the food an error, as charitable philosophers have declared?</p> + +<p>The pencils remained untouched before the men.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> Fleming was the only one +who obeyed. But he was by now almost a capitalist—he was a distributor +of meal-tickets.</p> + +<p>"Mutiny!" muttered Andrew Barrett, and looked anxiously at his chief. +How would H. R. meet this crisis? The absolute control of the New York +papers hung in the balance.</p> + +<p>But H. R. merely asked, pleasantly, "Ready?"</p> + +<p>Not a man stirred. They had forgotten that he could fight!</p> + +<p>"I will dictate and each of you must write down what I say. I want to +know how well you can write."</p> + +<p>Two of the men began to shake their heads with growing independence. +Others followed, for moral courage is contagious, even in industrial +democracies.</p> + +<p>H. R. smiled confidently. That made them waver. Confidence is the most +demoralizing of all social factors. "Now write what I say and sign your +name after you finish."</p> + +<p>All of them shook their heads and frowned pugnaciously.</p> + +<p>H. R. dictated, "<i>Please pay us five dollars a day!</i>"</p> + +<p>They grabbed the pencils with one lightning-like movement, and wrote, +very plainly. They signed their names even more plainly.</p> + +<p>"Give them to Fleming. On Monday we begin work. I shall consider the +writing carefully."</p> + +<p>In this wise was organized the Public Sentiment Corps of the S. A. S. A. +Literature, it had once more been demonstrated, is merely a matter of +demand and supply.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2> + +<p>After dining in the company of Barrett and Caspar Weinpusslacher, H. R. +went to the agency that had handled his newspaper advertising, opened a +charge account, and told them to send to all the morning papers the +following advertisement:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>WANTED.</i>—An actor who can look like a gentleman in good +health before a critical audience of 250,000. Apply in +person, without press notices.</p></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;">H. R.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;">Allied Arts Bldg.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>It was rather late in the evening when he sent for Max Onthemaker, but +this only served to strengthen the learned counsel's high opinion of H. R. +When H. R. told him what he proposed to do Max jumped in the air for +joy. Then he sat down limply. It suddenly occurred to him that H. R. was +far too intelligent. This is fatal to the right kind of newspaper +publicity. But H. R. soothed him and dispelled Max's doubts by showing +him exactly how to become an efficient and altogether legal <i>agent +provocateur</i>. The legal mind always concerns itself over the particular +paragraph. It comes from numbering the statutes. Max worked till dawn on +his papers and arguments.</p> + +<p>On the next morning H. R. selected, out of several<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> dozen applicants, +four actors who looked really distinguished. The others walked away +cursing the trust. They are never original, as a class, by reason of +their habit of also reading the press notices of their colleagues.</p> + +<p>H. R. told the lucky four that he would give them the hardest part of +their lives.</p> + +<p>They looked at him pityingly.</p> + +<p>He then guaranteed to get their pictures in all the papers.</p> + +<p>They looked blasé.</p> + +<p>He began to speak to them about fame and about money, and then about +money and fame—the power to go into any restaurant and cause an instant +cessation of all mastication, or walk into any manager's office and be +entreated to sign, at any price, only sign—sign at once!</p> + +<p>They accepted on the spot, and asked when the engagement began. In their +eagerness to be artists they forgot to ask the salary.</p> + +<p>H. R. then told them that they must introduce the art of sandwiching to +New York. They must command the union sandwiches.</p> + +<p><i>Never!</i></p> + +<p>He explained to them very patiently, for he was dealing with +temperaments, that to make sandwiching an art required the highest form +of histrionic ability. Anybody could look like a gentleman on the stage +or in any of the Fifth Avenue drawing-rooms to which they were obviously +accustomed. But, unmistakably to look like a gentleman between +sandwich-boards would require a combination of Richard Mansfield and +ancient lineage. He asked them kindly to ponder on the lamented Edward +VII. How would the Kaiser<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> act? That is the way he wanted his artists to +act—like royalty. It was the highest art ever discovered. They would be +the cynosure of all eyes on Fifth Avenue, where most eyes belong to +wealthy women who always look for, as well as at, handsome men of +discretion and bona-fide divorce decrees. The artists themselves would +represent Valiquet's, the world's greatest jewelers, and the newspapers +would be told of the enormous salaries paid. Some of the boards would be +of real gold, to be valued at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in +the most conservative of the newspapers. The men also would be paid in +cash, two dollars a day.</p> + +<p>"The idea is not to sandwich in the ordinary commercial way, but to give +our press agents the swellest opportunity of the century. Managers have +used real diamonds on the stage. Money buys them. I am using real +gentlemen. Money cannot make them. Valiquet's never does anything +inexpensive, and this is merely the first and most dazzling chapter in +the history of the New Art of Advertising. The newspapers will duly +chronicle the fact that each artist received one thousand dollars a +week—which the artists have turned over to charity, like gentlemen. To +be the Theodore Roosevelts of street advertisements is more than a +privilege, more than an honor, more than art—it is <i>cash</i>! There have +been sandwich-men. There shall be <i>sandwich-artists</i>! Gentlemen, you +will make history. If you feel you don't measure up to the job, you can +get the hell out of here!"</p> + +<p>They not only signed, but begged to begin on that day, even though it +was Friday. But H. R. was adamant.</p> + +<p>"Monday!" he said, "and no more remarks. Report at nine <span class="smcap">a.m</span>., dressed +like gentlemen."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> + +<p>Andrew Barrett reported enthusiastically that nearly every shop on the +Avenue was ready to sign contracts if Valiquet's began. There had been +some skepticism, and expectations were keyed up to the snapping-pitch.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gwathmey sent a dozen designs for boards and the model of the +Ultimate Sandwich. It was really a beautiful piece of work. H. R.'s luck +was with him. The young Frenchman who did it came into his own years +later.</p> + +<p>H. R. accepted them on official stationery of the society, ordered one +hundred of each size, and also asked that the designs of the +sandwich-boards be engraved in color. He told Barrett to get Valiquet's +written acceptance of his order.</p> + +<p>On Sunday all the newspapers were impressively notified that there would +be some novel and revolutionary advertising on the Avenue. To insure +attention, the newspapers were simultaneously informed also that the +Fifth Avenue Merchants' Guild had decided to advertise more extensively +in the daily press. New York would give an object-lesson in optimism and +confidence to the rest of the country. This would allay all fears as to +the fundamental soundness of the general business situation. Wall Street +might be in the dumps, but the legitimate merchants, up to the full-page +size, were more truly representative of the metropolis.</p> + +<p>Fleming had been told to detail himself, Mulligan, and the four most +typical sandwiches in the society to act as the advance-guard. He and +the five were at the office early Monday morning, so were the four +histrionic artists, so was Max Onthemaker with nineteen injunctions, +writs, and legal documents neatly typewritten, three process-servers, +and thirty copies of a statement for the newspapers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> + +<p>Each sandwich-man received his board and a copy of his own speech. It +was a plea for equal rights and the cessation of hostilities against a +poor man simply because he had no money, a prayer for the enforcement of +the Constitution, and three quotations from that obsolete Book that +taught sandwich-men how to turn the other cheek. Also a post-Scriptural +assertion that each man went to church to pray and not to ask for +unearned bread or jump on Standard Oil.</p> + +<p>Max himself made them memorize the speech. They were letter perfect +before he stopped.</p> + +<p>"This will kill 'em dead," he said, enthusiastically. "Why, Mr. Rutgers, +even the newspapers will think they are Christians and—"</p> + +<p>"Make them early Christians," wisely advised H. R. "Thats what the world +needs to-day!"</p> + +<p>"You are right, as usual. Hey, you fellows, add, <i>If we must die, we die +forgiving our fellow-men in the knowledge that after death we shall come +into our own.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Hey, I ain't going to be killed just to—" began Mulligan, edging +toward the door.</p> + +<p>"In the newspapers, ass! In the front page, imbecile!" shrieked Max.</p> + +<p>Mulligan shook his head doggedly.</p> + +<p>"Mulligan!" said H. R., and clenched his right fist.</p> + +<p>"Ye-es, boss."</p> + +<p>"I'll be there to see that you get the forty beers and I'll guarantee +that you'll have a chance to assuage your thirst <i>after</i> business +hours."</p> + +<p>"All right, boss," said Mulligan. "And I'll guarantee the thirst."</p> + +<p>"Say, can you beat it?" admiringly asked Max of Andrew Barrett. "Where +does he get it?" And he tapped his own cranium sadly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And, Mulligan, if you should be locked up," added H. R., "the first +thing you do when you get to jail is to declare a hunger strike. This +will stamp you as Crusaders! And Crusaders never frighten Business."</p> + +<p>"Great heavens!" whispered Max.</p> + +<p>"Do we get the—" began Mulligan, anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Nothing need be said about drinking. You'll get your forty."</p> + +<p>"They can do their damnedest," said Mulligan, looking like a +hero-martyr.</p> + +<p>"Refer all reporters to your counsel," finally advised Max. "Forget +everything else, but not that, not that!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h2> + +<p>The four great actors, distinguished-looking, positively Beau +Brummelesque, in shining top-hats of the latest fashion, went out of the +Allied Arts Building to make history. They walked ahead abreast, their +eyes fixed straight ahead. Pedestrians instinctively parted to let them +by. Then they asked questions.</p> + +<p>Andrew Barrett's agents answered the questions.</p> + +<p>"They are the advance-guard. You ought to see what's coming!"</p> + +<p>The faint sense of waiting for something worth waiting for, that so far +only the annual police parade has been able to arouse in New York was +discernible on the faces of the spectators. They began to cluster on the +edges of the sidewalks. The chauffeurs began to look anxious. Honestly, +they did!</p> + +<p>Andrew Barrett had shown to the other shop-keepers the Valiquet designs +and told them to watch for the great jewelers' astounding coup. He +booked twenty-two orders for the next week.</p> + +<p>At two o'clock the artists sallied forth once more. The throngs opened +for them to pass. Those spectators who had put off lunching to see the +epoch-making stunt were rewarded. They saw four perfectly attired +gentlemen in top-hats, carrying dazzling escutcheons worthy of the +premier jewel-shop in the world.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + +<p>The six, walking professionally, carried the most beautiful boards ever +seen, with these legends:</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 330px;"> +<img src="images/ill_004.jpg" width="330" height="400" alt="THIS BOARD DESIGNED BY VALIQUET'S PREMIER JEWELERS OF AMERICA" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 349px;"> +<img src="images/ill_005.jpg" width="349" height="400" alt="WONDERS OF THE WORLD! THE OLD WORLD HAD SEVEN! THE NEW WORLD HAS ONLY ONE: VALIQUET'S" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>They were followed by the six picked sandwiches, in their +working-clothes, but with wonderful boards.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 426px;"> +<img src="images/ill_006.jpg" width="426" height="400" alt="FOR SILVER AND GOLD, PEARLS, DIAMONDS, RUBIES, EMERALDS, +EXCLUSIVE DESIGNS VALIQUET'S WHO DESIGNED THIS BOARD" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 333px;"> +<img src="images/ill_007.jpg" width="333" height="400" alt="VALIQUET'S OFFICIAL DESIGNERS OF THE AMERICAN SOCIETY OF +SANDWICH ARTISTS" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>The sandwich was the thing!</p> + +<p>The sandwich-men were merely artists.</p> + +<p>The spectators recalled that ultimately all men and all women must +become sandwiches.</p> + +<p>It made New-Yorkers realize that Death was still on the job. This gave +them something to talk about that night at dinner, before dancing.</p> + +<p>Also three hundred and fifty thousand people saw the O. K. of "<i>H. R.</i>"</p> + +<p>It is easy to remember two letters.</p> + +<p>It was an extraordinary sensation. The big shops emptied themselves. In +McQuery's and Oldman's and Mann & Baker's the rush to the Avenue doors +was so great that floor-walkers who tried to stem the tide were crushed, +manlike, by the women and borne, half-clad, upon the sidewalk. The +proprietors looked at the crowds, heard the same remark, "What is it?" +by the tens of thousands, saw the sandwiches, saw the looks on the tens +of thousands of faces, and said, "Damn!"</p> + +<p>They had not heard the knock of opportunity, and Valiquet's had. No +wonder the jewel firm's regular<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> two-hundred-per-cent. quarterly +dividends were regular. It wasn't the big profit in gems; it was the +cars!</p> + +<p>The proprietors blamed their advertising managers.</p> + +<p>The triumphal march of the sandwiches was more than a success, more than +a sensation. It was an event. The four top-hatted histrions then and +there forswore the stage. No artist had ever won such triumphs since +Nero. They had started as Beau Brummels. They had become Kaisers—only +infinitely more Cæsarean. And the union sandwiches following in Indian +file, oblivious, like true artists, of the admiration of the rabble, +thought of the end of the day, of the forty beers and the free food—of +unearned wealth!—and actually swaggered so that their parasite-infested +hirsuteness and their beast-faces took on an aspect of aristocratic +eccentricity, of zeal for a noble cause. Their rags, in juxtaposition to +the dazzling gorgeousness of their sandwich-boards, thus became +ecclesiastical vestments—pilgrims<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> wearing tatters in fulfillment of +Lenten vows of renunciation.</p> + +<p>It was, of course, the masterly combination. Valiquet's was the last +word in swellness, the label of utterly inutilitarian wealth.</p> + +<p>The sandwich business was therefore the postscript.</p> + +<p>"Only Valiquet's would think of doing such a thing!" said all Fifth +Avenue, as usual giving credit to commercial genius instead of to the +creative artist.</p> + +<p>The other mercantile geniuses, seeing that their shoppers had declared a +legal holiday, frantically telephoned to Mr. Andrew Barrett to send out +<i>their</i> sandwiches at once. They would pay ten dollars per man; yes, +twenty dollars. Only do it now! They did not wish to be put in the +position of <i>following</i>. This is fatal on Fifth Avenue.</p> + +<p>Valiquet's was skimming the cream! Never mind submitting the legends! +Get a hustle on! Never mind striking catch-phrases. That would come +later. Get the sandwiches on the Avenue! The bare name and the +sandwiches!</p> + +<p>The crowd, who had not had time to forget about the sandwich-men's +parade of a few days before, cleverly saw that this was the second +chapter. They therefore knew all about it and could and would say so to +their less-clever fellow-beings. Completeness of knowledge is one of the +nicest feelings in the world.</p> + +<p>Barrett excitedly reported the avalanche of orders to H. R. and was +promptly and calmly despatched to the board-makers to order fifty boards +each of the six Valiquet designs, three hundred in all. H. R. then +dictated a statement for publication, as to the real meaning of +sandwiching on Fifth Avenue. It was not merely advertising—it was +philanthropy. Much more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> went to feeding starving artists at the +Colossal Restaurant than to the militant brethren in the shape of wages. +It was also the best way of advertising Fifth Avenue's wares.</p> + +<p>Mr. Wilberforce Josslyn, president of Valiquet's corporation, was told +of the sandwich desecration of the holy name. His private secretary +alone had the courage to impart the news.</p> + +<p>Mr. Wilberforce Josslyn, feeling that he had to be to his help what his +firm was to the world, turned around in his Circassian-walnut +swivel-chair, said, "<i>Stop 'em!</i>" and revolved again.</p> + +<p>The secretary carried the order to the first vice-president, Mr. Angus +MacAckus; the first vice-president took it upon himself not only to stop +'em, but to punish 'em. He hastily descended to the main floor. What he +saw through the Fifth Avenue doors appalled him, and worse. Even within +the sacred precincts of the shop the reckless jewel-buying public and +the conservative charge-accounts alike were talking about it, actually +congratulating the gentlemanly salesmen and the courtly +department-managers and the obliging watch-repairers.</p> + +<p>Two men, whom he recognized as reporters by their intellectual faces, +approached him, but he ran away from them toward the door.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Vandergilt, undisputed Tsarina of society, was in one of the +compartments of the plate-glass and solid-silver stile, and he waited in +order to welcome her. They did not make a hundred thousand a year out of +her, for she was not from Detroit, but they had been official jewelers +to the family for sixty years, as they were of all the Vans who were Van +Somebody. The annual storage of the Vandergilt crown jewels was a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +regular yearly story, like the police parade and the first snow-storm.</p> + +<p>"MacAckus," said Mrs. Vandergilt in her sharp, imperious voice, "why did +you do it? Not to advertise?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," answered Mr. MacAckus, forgetting himself and speaking +with heat.</p> + +<p>"I thought not. Well, I am glad you are helping. I shall send my check +to them. Poor men!" Then she had one of those moments of kindliness that +made people worship her: "It was a very clever thing to do, MacAckus. I +am glad you had not only the brains, but the courage."</p> + +<p>The reporters heard her. It was their business to get the news. Mr. +MacAckus realized that Mrs. Vandergilt's approval had changed the +complexion of the affair. At the same time, Valiquet's never talked for +publication, and the remarks of their clients were sacred. He turned to +the reporters and said in the peremptory tone that makes reporters so +obedient:</p> + +<p>"Not a word of this! Do you understand?"</p> + +<p>"We understand perfectly," said the <i>American</i>. "We certainly do!" and +wrote what Mrs. Vandergilt had said and what she was wearing. It would +be a text for one of Arthur Migraine's editorial sermons, proving that +millionaires, instead of being blown into <span class="smcap">atoms</span>, should be freely +permitted to give <span class="smcap">money</span> for starving men to convert into <span class="smcap">food</span>. In fact, +<span class="smcap">nature</span> wisely provided that millionaires should have <span class="smcap">money</span> to give away. +The more the <span class="smcap">poor</span> received the <span class="smcap">less</span> the millionaire would take to the +<span class="smcap">useless grave</span>.</p> + +<p>Mr. MacAckus, greatly perturbed by this deviation from the norm, rushed +to the president's office to tell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> him Mrs. Vandergilt's opinion. +Before he could speak, Mr. Wilberforce Josslyn said:</p> + +<p>"Did you stop 'em?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir. Let me explain. Mrs. Vandergilt just came in and—"</p> + +<p>"I sent word to have 'em stopped!" said Mr. Josslyn, frowning.</p> + +<p>"Let me explain, Mr. Josslyn—"</p> + +<p>Disobedience cannot be explained away. Discipline must be enforced. It +is better to blunder under orders than to prevent disorganization from +interfering with dividends. The obvious advantage that a corporation +president has over his subordinates is that he does not have to be +hampered by petty details.</p> + +<p>"Stop 'em!" he said, coldly.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Vandergilt said—"</p> + +<p>"And Mr. Josslyn said stop 'em!" He turned his back on MacAckus, who +thereupon rushed downstairs, frowning angrily. He'd stop 'em.</p> + +<p>He walked out into the Avenue. It was blocked. He tried to elbow his way +through the intelligent femininity and was nearly run in by a traffic +policeman. The women refused to budge—the sandwiches were coming.</p> + +<p>And would you believe it? As the shining top-hats drew near, the crowd +actually divided itself, Red-Sea-wise, to let H. R.'s chosen people pass +safely.</p> + +<p>Mr. MacAckus did not faint, because he was too angry. He stepped in +front of the four obvious gentlemen and held up a hand. He could not +speak.</p> + +<p>But the four, who had been elevated to imperial dignity by New York, +moved on so majestically that Mr. MacAckus began to retreat before them, +waving his hand frantically. He stepped backward, keeping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> time to their +steps, his hand moving up and down in his wrath. It looked for all the +world like a band-master indicating to his artists just how to play it.</p> + +<p>Backward he stepped; onward they marched; until speech returned to him:</p> + +<p>"Stop! <i>Stop! STOP!</i>"</p> + +<p>They did not hear him.</p> + +<p>He called to a policeman, "Stop 'em!"</p> + +<p>H. R. had won!</p> + +<p>The officer ran up. He was a policeman. He therefore said, "What's the +matter?"</p> + +<p>"These men have no right to use our name. We did not authorize them. We +wish them stopped from using our firm's name for—er—advertising +purposes. It's against the law. I'll make a complaint against them. Stop +'em!"</p> + +<p>Max Onthemaker came forward, his face pale with determination. Four +reporters trailed along.</p> + +<p>"Touch these gentlemen at your peril!" he said to the policeman. "Here +is a sworn copy of the statute referred to by that person." He shoved a +typewritten document under the officer's nose. There were two seals on +it; one was in anarchistic red and the other in Wall Street gold.</p> + +<p>"Observe," pursued Mr. Onthemaker, impressively and very distinctly, +that the reporters might not misquote, "that the statute says <i>the name +of a living person</i> must not be used. But Valiquet's is a corporation. +Do you get that, officer? A <i>corporation</i>!"</p> + +<p>The officer read the newspapers. He knew what corporations were. They +bought votes for the Republicans; and, besides, they only paid the men +higher up. He therefore informed Mr. MacAckus:</p> + +<p>"I can't do not'n."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And even if you could, officer," said Mr. Onthemaker to the reporters, +"the magistrate would let them go with a reprimand for you. We are ready +for him." Then he said to MacAckus: "Get out of the way, or I'll have +you arrested for blocking traffic, causing a crowd to collect, for +assuming that you own the sidewalk, and for interfering with honest +working-men who are trying to earn a peaceful living. Also for +oppressing the poor. We have not asked you for money. We do not wish +your charity." He paused, and, shaking a finger at Mr. MacAckus, said, +loudly, "<i>We spurn your tainted money!</i>"</p> + +<p>H. R. had not made a mistake in picking out this man to represent the +society. Indeed, one reporter, in a stage whisper, actually hissed:</p> + +<p>"<i>Bribery!</i>"</p> + +<p>The officer looked at Mr. MacAckus and said, "Please move on, sir."</p> + +<p>"That's polite enough," said one of the reporters, making a note of it. +But Mr. MacAckus said:</p> + +<p>"Why, you infernal—"</p> + +<p>"<i>Move on!</i>" said the cop.</p> + +<p>"I am Mr. MacAckus, of Valiquet's—"</p> + +<p>"Tell him who you are, officer," said the diabolic Onthemaker, guessing +the cop's nationality.</p> + +<p>"I am Mr. McGinnis, of the thirty-first precinct."</p> + +<p>People began to clap their hands—people who never went into Valiquet's. +Mr. McGinnis thereupon laid a hand proudly on Mr. MacAckus's arm.</p> + +<p>Mr. MacAckus lost his head; that is, he shook off the white-gloved hand +of the law.</p> + +<p>The law blew its whistle, as the law always does in civilized +communities.</p> + +<p>Instantly, as though the whistle had been the cue,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> the stirring sound +of galloping steeds smote the asphalt of Fifth Avenue.</p> + +<p>"Let him go, Officer McGinnis," said Max Onthemaker, magnanimously. "We +do not care to appear against him."</p> + +<p>"Ain't he fine-looking?" a woman asked her companion, looking at the +law. She even pointed at him.</p> + +<p>Mr. McGinnis therefore haughtily said, "Resisting an officer—"</p> + +<p>H. R. on horseback, in correct riding attire, following seven mounted +traffic-squad men, appeared on the scene.</p> + +<p>"There he is!" said Mr. Onthemaker to the reporters, dutifully yielding +the center of the stage to its rightful possessor. After all, there was +only one H. R., and both H. R. and Max Onthemaker knew it.</p> + +<p>"That's the commissioner," said a clerk to the atmosphere.</p> + +<p>"It's young Vandergilt!" asserted the fickle one who had thought +McGinnis was fine-looking.</p> + +<p>Before the traffic squad could dismount, H. R. jumped down from his +horse, threw the reins to one of the mounted officers, said, "Look after +him!" so decisively that no remonstrance was possible, approached the +group, and said, "I'm Mr. Rutgers!"</p> + +<p>Fifth Avenue was impassable now.</p> + +<p>"<i>Who</i> is it?" asked ten thousand who had been asking, "<i>What</i> is it?"</p> + +<p>Those who had heard proudly repeated the name to those who had not. +Within forty seconds, as far as Thirty-fourth Street, intelligent +New-Yorkers were saying, "It's Mr. Rutgers!"</p> + +<p>Officer McGinnis touched his white-gloved hand to his cap.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's Hendrik Rutgers!" explained Max Onthemaker to the reporters.</p> + +<p>H. R. looked Mr. MacAckus in the eye and said, with patrician frigidity: +"If you think you have any ground for a civil action, go ahead. My +office is in the Allied Arts Building. I'll accept service in person or +through my counsel here."</p> + +<p>A murmur went up: these were law-abiding men. They therefore must be not +only right, but mighty sure of it. All the lieutenant dared say, when he +saw the representative of business and the representative of the leisure +class was: "Gentlemen, I'm afraid you're blocking traffic. Perhaps, if +you went inside—"</p> + +<p>"Follow me!" said H. R. to his men, and he led them into Thirty-seventh +Street. He halted fifty feet from the corner.</p> + +<p>Mr. MacAckus had followed and unlimbered his heavy artillery.</p> + +<p>"This infernal outrage—"</p> + +<p>H. R. lost all patience. He said to the mounted lieutenant, "Take us to +the magistrate!" To Max Onthemaker he whispered, "Got the papers with +you?"</p> + +<p>"And the reporters, too," answered the able counsel with much pride, as +though the reporters were his own private property loaned to the cause +for the occasion without charge.</p> + +<p>Seeing that the police made no move, H. R. said, determinedly: "I insist +upon going before the magistrate. You can report it at the station later +and save us time."</p> + +<p>This made the police officer hesitate. It always does. It works on the +principle of treating your opponent as if he were a taxicabby who has +overcharged.</p> + +<p>"I guess that's the best way," said the lieutenant.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Thank you, Inspector. Will you kindly tell one of your men to bring my +mount along? Thank you!" said H. R.</p> + +<p>Politeness pays. By saying "thank you" in advance of the service no +gentleman can refuse.</p> + +<p>At the Magistrate's Court the session was short and sweet.</p> + +<p>Mr. Onthemaker looked eloquent. The clerk who had typewritten the +restraining orders whispered, "It's No. 5!" and his chief picked it out +of the seventeen without hesitation. Everybody was impressed by the +obvious efficiency. Efficiency must never be hidden.</p> + +<p>The argument prepared by Mr. Onthemaker was one of the best his Honor +had ever heard. He needed it for his own fall campaign. It certainly +read well. He even read it in print—in advance.</p> + +<p>"Let me see your argument," said the magistrate, and when Mr. Onthemaker +gave him the speech he put it in his inside pocket. He did not know what +to say until he saw the reporters taking notes. Then he knew.</p> + +<p>"Discharged!" he said. It was the most popular decision in New York.</p> + +<p>Max Onthemaker looked at his watch. Morris Lazarus by this time had +doubtless applied for an order restraining Valiquet's from interfering +with the lawful business of Jean Gerard, Walter Townsend, J. J. Fleming, +William Mulligan, William F. Farquhar, Marmaduke de Beanville, Wilton +Lazear, Percival Willoughby, and Francis Drake.</p> + +<p>"We have secured an injunction against Valiquet's. Here it is," said Mr. +Onthemaker. "You are the vice-president of your <i>corporation</i>. You might +as well learn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> your own business from me." Then, with a fierce frown +that there might be no back talk, he explained, with utter finality, +"This is a <i>certified copy</i>!"</p> + +<p>He approached Mr. MacAckus and took advantage of the contiguity to +whisper: "If you don't wish to make your concern the laughing-stock of +America get busy and keep the newspapers from printing that you were +fool enough to oppose us in our perfectly legal position. Bear in mind +that if you fight us you make us."</p> + +<p>"No compromise!" said H. R., sternly.</p> + +<p>"No, sir," answered Onthemaker, meekly. Then he hissed at MacAckus, "Do +as I tell you, you boob!"</p> + +<p>Mr. MacAckus clearly realized that this was a conspiracy. That always +makes business men fear that they may lose money. The fear of that +always sharpens their wits. It comes from a lifetime's training.</p> + +<p>It was all Mr. Josslyn's fault. This made Mr. MacAckus almost despair. +But he said, very kindly, to the reporters, "Gentlemen, will you all be +good enough to call at our office before you print anything?"</p> + +<p>The reporters, very kindly also, told him they would.</p> + +<p>The free sandwiches returned to Fifth Avenue.</p> + +<p>It was an ovation!</p> + +<p>Art again had triumphed!</p> + +<p>Proudly, up and down, from Thirty-fourth to Forty-second and back on the +other side, they marched unhindered.</p> + +<p>The reporters did justice to the story. Like all really big stories, it +was legitimate news. They had indeed suspected advertising until H. R. +refused to speak about himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> + +<p>"All you please about my poor sandwiches, but not one word about me. I +have merely tried to rehabilitate the pariahs of the great mercantile +world by reviving the lost art of perambulating publicity. If I have +succeeded in making sandwiches free in New York, my work is done. Please +do not mention my name!" Then he leaned over confidentially and said, +very earnestly: "My family is conservative, and they hate to see the old +name in print. Don't use it, boys. Please! That's why I never sign more +than my initials!"</p> + +<p>Ah, it was not alone modesty, but high social position and inherited +wealth that were responsible for "H. R." instead of the full name? And +the reporters? News is what is novel; also what is rare. H. R. was +therefore doubly news. The minds of the reporters did not work like H. R.'s, +but they arrived at the same point at the same time. This is +genius—on the part of the other man.</p> + +<p>Keeping your mouth shut after it happens is a still higher form of +genius.</p> + +<p>The newspapers gave him from two to six columns. Since the reporters +could not get anything about H. R. from H. R., they got everything from +Max Onthemaker, from the sandwich-men, from Andrew Barrett, and also +from their inner consciousness and psychological insight.</p> + +<p>Nine newspapers; nine different heroes; one name—and initials at that!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h2> + +<p>Andrew Barrett was made office-manager as well as business-getter. He +was ordered to pay for the two additional clerks and the bookkeeper out +of his own commissions or resign. He paid. This was real business +because even then young Mr. Barrett was overpaid for his work. But his +real acumen was in recognizing a great man.</p> + +<p>Since the pay-roll was a matter of Mr. Andrew Barrett's personally +selected statistics, H. R. was certainly a wonder.</p> + +<p>On Tuesday morning H. R., feeling that his own greatness had already +become merely a matter of greater greatness, turned, manlike, to +thoughts of love: he would share his greatness!</p> + +<p>He would make Grace Goodchild marry him. He was sure he would succeed. +He saw very clearly, indeed, how Mr. Goodchild, being a conservative +banker, could be compelled to say yes.</p> + +<p>In addition he would make Grace love him.</p> + +<p>The strongest love is that love which is stronger than hatred or fear. +Therefore the love that begins by hating or fearing is best. To overcome +the inertia of non-loving is not so difficult as to stop the backward +motion and turn it into forward.</p> + +<p>He sat down and wrote a note:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Dear Grace</span>, I am sending you herewith a few clippings. +Remember what I told you. Don't let father prejudice you. +Hope to see you soon. Busy as the dickens.</p></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;">Yours,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;">H. R.</span><br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>P.S.</i>—I love you because you are <i>You!</i> Certainly I am +crazy. But, dear, <i>I know it</i>!</p></div> + +<p>With the note he sent her eighty-three inches of clippings and fourteen +pictures. If that wasn't fame, what was? He also sent flowers.</p> + +<p>That afternoon before the <i>thé dansant</i> hour he called at the Goodchild +residence.</p> + +<p>"Miss Goodchild!" he said to the man, instead of asking for her. He +pulled out his watch, looked at it, and before the man could say he +would see if she were at home to H. R., added, "Yes!"</p> + +<p>He was punctual, as the man could see. The man therefore held out a +silver card-tray.</p> + +<p>"Say it's Mr. Rutgers," H. R. told him. "And straighten out that rug. +You've walked over it a dozen times!"</p> + +<p>It was plain to see that it was H. R. who really owned this house. He +must, since he wasn't afraid of the servants. And the worst of it was +that the footman could not resent it: the gentleman was so obviously +accustomed to regarding servants as domestic furniture. He dehumanized +footmen, deprived them of souls, left them merely arms and legs to obey, +machine-like. They call such "well-ordered households." Certainly not. +It isn't a matter of the orders, but of the soul-excision.</p> + +<p>Grace Goodchild walked in—behind her mother. The footman stood by the +door, evidently by request.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> + +<p>Everything in civilized communities is by request.</p> + +<p>"How do you do?" said H. R., pleasantly. "Is this mother?" He bowed to +Mrs. Goodchild—the bow of a social equal—his eyes full of a highly +intelligent appreciation of physical charm. Then he asked Grace, "Did +you read them?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Goodchild had intended to be stern, but the young man's undisguised +admiration softened her wrath to pleasant sarcasm.</p> + +<p>"I wished to see for myself," she said, not very hostilely, "if you were +insane. I see you are—"</p> + +<p>"I am," agreed H. R., amicably, "and have been since I saw her. And the +worst of it is, I am very proud of it."</p> + +<p>"Will you oblige me by leaving this house quietly?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," H. R. assured her. "I didn't come to stay—this time. I'm +glad to have seen you. Has Grace told you I'm to be your son-in-law?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her proudly, yet meekly. It was wonderful how well he +managed to express the conflict. Then he apologized contritely. "I was +too busy to call before. My grandmother has never met you, has she?" He +looked at her anxiously, eager to clear Mrs. Goodchild's name before the +court of his family.</p> + +<p>At one fell swoop H. R. had deleted the name of Goodchild from the +society columns.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Goodchild said, huskily, "Frederick, ring for a policeman."</p> + +<p>"I'll break his damned neck if he does," said H. R., with patrician +calmness. "Don't you ever again dare to listen while I am here, +Frederick. You may go."</p> + +<p>H. R. looked so much as if he meant what he said that Grace was +pleasantly thrilled by his masterfulness. But not for worlds would she +show it facially. When<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> a woman can't lie to the man who loves her she +lies to herself by looking as she does not feel.</p> + +<p>"Do you wish me to go? For the sake of peace?" he asked Grace, +anxiously.</p> + +<p>There was nothing he would not do, no torture too great to endure, for +her sake—not even the exquisite agony of absence. That there might be +no misunderstanding, he added, softly, "Do you?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you talk to my daughter!" said Mrs. Goodchild, furious at being +excluded from the supreme command. Hearing no assent, she was compelled +by the law of nature to repeat herself: "Don't you talk to my daughter!"</p> + +<p>H. R. looked at her in grieved perplexity. "Do you mean that you are +deliberately going to be a comic-weekly mother-in-law and make me the +laughing-stock of my set?"</p> + +<p>Feeling the inadequacy of mere words to express the thought she had not +tried to express, Mrs. Goodchild called on her right hand for aid; she +pointed. Being concerned with gesture rather than intent on direction, +she, alas! pointed to a window.</p> + +<p>He shook his head at her and then at the window, and told her: "To jump +out of that one would be as bad as having me arrested. Do you want the +infernal reporters to make you ridiculous? Do you realize that I am the +most-talked-about man in all New York? Don't you know what newspaper +ridicule is? Don't you? Say no!"</p> + +<p>To make sure of her own grasp of the situation Mrs. Goodchild, who was +dying to shriek at the top of her voice, compressed her lips. H. R. +instantly perceived the state of affairs and double-turned the key by +fiendishly placing his right forefinger to his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> own lips. This would +give to his mother-in-law the two excellent habits of obedience and +silence.</p> + +<p>He turned to the girl and said: "Grace, don't hide behind your mother. +Let me look my fill. It's got to last me a whole week!"</p> + +<p>Grace saw in his face and knew from his voice that he was neither acting +nor raving. His words were as the gospel, the oldest of all gospels, +which, unlike all others, is particularly persuasive in the springtime. +He was a fine-looking chap, and the newspapers were full of him, and he +was in love with her. He interested her. But of course he was +impossible. But also she was New York, and, to prove it, she must be +epigrammatic. All her life she had listened to high-class vaudeville. +She said, icily, yet with a subtle consciousness of her own humor, "If +you wish to worship, why don't you try a church?"</p> + +<p>"Which?" he retorted so promptly and meaningly that she almost felt the +wedding-ring on her finger. He pursued: "And when? I have the license +all ready. See?"</p> + +<p>He pulled out of his pocket a long envelope containing a communication +from Valiquet's lawyer. "Here it is!" and he held it toward her.</p> + +<p>Being young and healthy, she laughed approvingly.</p> + +<p>"Has it come to this, in my own house?" exclaimed Mrs. Goodchild in +dismay. Being rich and living in New York, she did not know her +daughter's affairs.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" asked H. R., with rebuking coldness. "In whose house should +our marriage be discussed?" Then he spoke to Grace with a fervor that +impressed both women: "I love you as men used to love when they were +willing to murder for the sake of their love. Look at me!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> + +<p>He spoke so commandingly that Grace looked, wonder and doubt in her +eyes.</p> + +<p>In some women incertitude expresses itself in silence. Her mother was of +a different larynx. She wailed: "What shall I do? What shall I do?" And +sank back in her arm-chair. After one second's hesitation Mrs. Goodchild +decided to clasp her own hands with a gesture of helplessness such as +Pilate would have used had he been Mrs. Pontius. She did so, turning the +big emerald <i>en cabochon</i>, so that she could plaintively gaze at it. +Eight thousand dollars. Then she turned the gem accusingly in the +direction of this man who might, for all she knew, be penniless. He was +good-looking. Hendrik was Dutch. So was Rutgers. Could he belong?</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, moth—Mrs. Goodchild," said H. R. so very +courteously and contritely that he looked old-fashioned. "You must +forgive me. But she <i>is</i> beautiful! She will grow, God willing, to look +more like you every day. By making me regard the future with pleasurable +anticipation, you yourself give me one more reason why I must marry +Grace."</p> + +<p>Grace looked at her mother and smiled—at the effect. Mrs. Goodchild +confessed to forty-six.</p> + +<p>"I am making Grace Goodchild famous," H. R. pursued, briskly, and paused +that they might listen attentively to what was to follow.</p> + +<p>Mother and daughter looked at him with irrepressible curiosity. Their +own lives had so few red-blooded thrills for them that they enjoyed +theatricals as being "real life." This man was an Experience!</p> + +<p>He shook his head and explained, mournfully: "It is very strange, this +thing of not belonging to yourself but to the world. It is a sacrifice +Grace must make!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> + +<p>His voice rang with a subtle regret. But suddenly he raised his head +proudly and looked straight at her.</p> + +<p>"It is a sacrifice worth making—for the sake of the downtrodden whom +you will uplift with your beauty. <i>Au revoir</i>, Grace. <i>I am needed!</i>"</p> + +<p>He approached her. She tried to draw back. He halted before her, took +her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it.</p> + +<p>"I am the dirt under your feet," he murmured, and left the room.</p> + +<p>His was the gait of the Invincibles. He had cast a bewitching spell of +unreality over the entire drawing-room that made Grace feel like both +actress and audience.</p> + +<p>She heard him in the hall calling, "Frederick!" And, after a brief +pause, "My hat and cane!"</p> + +<p>There was another pause. Then she heard Frederick say, infinitely more +respectfully than Frederick had ever spoken to Mr. Goodchild, "Thank +<i>you</i> very much, sir."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Goodchild paid Frederick by the month for working. H. R. had given +Frederick twenty dollars for being an utterly useless menial. Hence +Frederick's logical gratitude and respect.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI</h2> + +<p>H. R. walked to his office, thinking of the engagement-ring. He +therefore rang for Maximilian Onthemaker, Esquire.</p> + +<p>"Come up at once!"</p> + +<p>"Damnation, I will," said Max. "I'm busy as the dickens, but an order +from you is—"</p> + +<p>"Another front page—with pictures!"</p> + +<p>"I'm half-way up, already!" said Max. Before the telephone receiver +could descend on the holder, H. R. heard a voice impatiently shriek, +"Down!" to an elevator-man two and one-half miles away.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Onthemaker, his face alight with eagerness to serve the cause +of the poor sandwich-men free gratis, for nothing, could speak, H. R. +told him, calmly:</p> + +<p>"Max, I am going to marry the only daughter of George G. Goodchild, +president of the Ketcham National Bank. Get photographs of her. Try La +Touche and the other fashionable photographers. They will require an +order from Miss Goodchild."</p> + +<p>"Written?" asked Mr. Onthemaker, anxiously.</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"I'll call up my office, and Miss Hirschbaum will give the order."</p> + +<p>"Can she talk like—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, she goes to the swell Gentile theaters," Max reassured him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Don't say I'm engaged, and tell 'em not to bother the parents." He +meant the reporters.</p> + +<p>Max thought of nothing else. "Leave it to me. Say, Hendrik—"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rutgers!" The voice and the look made Max tremble and grow pale.</p> + +<p>"I was only joking," he apologized, weakly. He never repeated the +offense. "I'll attend to it, Mr. Hendrik— I mean Mr. Rutgers."</p> + +<p>"When Barrett comes in I'll send him down to you. Good day."</p> + +<p>When Andrew Barrett returned he said, impetuously, "I'm afraid I'll have +to have some help, H. R."</p> + +<p>"I was going to tell you, my boy, that from to-morrow on you will have +to go on salary."</p> + +<p>Barrett's smiles vanished. He shook his head.</p> + +<p>H. R. went on, in a kindly voice: "You've done very well and I'm much +pleased with your work. But you mustn't be a hog."</p> + +<p>Barrett had made bushels of money by taking advantage of the opportunity +to do so. The victorious idea was another's, the machinery was the +society's, the work was done by the sandwiches. But Mr. Andrew Barrett +was the salesman, the transmuter into cash. He was entitled to all he +desired to make so long as he didn't raise prices. Injustice stared him +in the face with smiles! Reducing his gain and smiling! H. R. would as +lief get another man! Barrett forgot that he could get no business until +H. R.'s astounding Valiquet's coup made the agent's job one of merely +writing down names. He forgot it, but he did not forget his own +successor. All he could say, in a boyishly obstinate way, was, "Well, I +think—"</p> + +<p>"You mustn't think, and especially you must not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> think I'm an ass. You +know very well that this is only the beginning of a very remarkable +revolution in the advertising business. I need your services in +installing the machinery and organizing the office, details that I leave +to you because you have brains. Your salary will be a hundred a week and +five per cent. on all new business. After I pass on to a still higher +field I will make you a present of this business for you to have and to +hold till death do you part. The Barrett Advertising Agency will be all +yours. It will do a bigger business every year. And if you don't like +it, you may leave this minute. You are young yet. Is it settled?"</p> + +<p>Andrew Barrett nodded.</p> + +<p>H. R. said, seriously: "It's about time sandwiching spread. How many on +the Avenue to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Nineteen firms; one hundred and eleven men. I think—"</p> + +<p>H. R. knew what Barrett was about to say. He therefore said it for +Barrett. "Now that you have Fifth Avenue, move west and east to Sixth +and Madison and Fourth and try Broadway and Twenty-third and +Thirty-fourth and Forty-second—"</p> + +<p>"I was just going to propose it to you," said Barrett, aggrievedly.</p> + +<p>"I know you have brains. That's why you are here. I trust you +implicitly. This is a man's job. There will be big money in it for you. +For me—" He ceased speaking, and stared meditatively out of the window.</p> + +<p>Andrew Barrett wondered with all his soul what the chief was reading in +big print in the future.</p> + +<p>Andrew Barrett waited. Presently H. R. frowned. Then he smiled slightly.</p> + +<p>Barrett stared fascinatedly. Ah, the lure of mystery!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> If more men +appreciated it, polygamy would be inevitable—and liberal divorce laws.</p> + +<p>H. R. looked up.</p> + +<p>"Oh, are you here?" he smiled paternally, forgivingly.</p> + +<p>Barrett beamed.</p> + +<p>"My boy, I wish you'd run over to Max Onthemaker's or get him on the +telephone. The newspapers are going to publish it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, I will. Er—what are they—what are you going to spring on an +enraptured metropolis?</p> + +<p>"My impending marriage to Grace Goodchild, only daughter of Goodchild, +president of the Ketcham National Bank. See that it is well handled. +And, Barrett?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir?"</p> + +<p>"The old people don't relish the idea. She is the most beautiful girl in +New York."</p> + +<p>"I've seen her! Pippinissima!" exclaimed Andrew Barrett, heartfully.</p> + +<p>"Ten millions," said Hendrik Rutgers, calmly.</p> + +<p>"My God!" whispered young Mr. Barrett, New-Yorker.</p> + +<p>He meant what he said.</p> + +<p>Ten millions!</p> + +<p>Mr. Onthemaker, Andrew Barrett, and their faithful phalanx of star space +men who always signed their stuff called in a body on La Touche, the +photographer of the moment.</p> + +<p>He refused to give them Miss Goodchild's photograph. He wished his name +used, of course, but he was too sensible to disregard professional +ethics.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rutgers said we could get it," said Andrew Barrett, sternly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I must have her permission. Hang it, boys, I am just as anxious as +you—as I can be to do what I can for you. But I don't dare. These swell +people are <i>queer</i>!" the photographer explained, aggrievedly.</p> + +<p>"I'll call her up myself," said Max Onthemaker, resolutely. "What's the +Goodchild number?"</p> + +<p>He went to the telephone and gave the number of his own office in low +tones. Presently he said, loudly enough to be heard by all, "Is this 777 +Fifth Avenue?"</p> + +<p>He alone heard the answer. He would not lie. He was a lawyer. It was +unnecessary.</p> + +<p>"Can I speak with Miss Goodchild? No; <i>Miss</i> Goodchild."</p> + +<p>After a judiciously measured pause he spoke again: "Good afternoon. This +is Mr. Onthemaker speaking. Quite well, thank you. I hope you are the +same!... That's good!... Yes, miss, I saw him this morning. The papers +wish to publish your photograph.... I'm sorry, but they say they simply +must!... I am at La Touche's studio.... They doubtless do not do you +justice, but they are the best ever taken of you—... No, I don't think +they can wait for new ones.... One moment, please—"</p> + +<p>He held his hand in front of the transmitter so she couldn't hear him +say to La Touche:</p> + +<p>"She wants some new ones."</p> + +<p>"To-morrow at two," said La Touche.</p> + +<p>"Give us the old ones now," chorused the reporters. "We'll publish the +new ones for the wedding."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry"—Max again spoke into the telephone—"but they say they +want some now. They'll use the others later.... Which one?... The one +Mr. Rutgers likes?... Yes, ma'am. Thank you very much."</p> + +<p>Foreseeing unintelligent incredulity, Mr. Onthemaker<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> did not hang up +the receiver. It was just as well, for the cautious La Touche said, "I +want to talk to her."</p> + +<p>"Certainly," said Max, and hastily rose.</p> + +<p>"Miss Goodchild," said the photographer, respectfully, "will it be all +right if I let the reporters have—"</p> + +<p>"Give him the one Mr. Rutgers likes," came in a sweet voice, without the +slightest trace of Yiddish or catarrh. They would be wonderful +linguists, if they didn't always begin by, "Say, listen."</p> + +<p>"Which one is that?"</p> + +<p>"The one he likes. And please send the bill to me, not to papa," with +the accent properly on the last syllable.</p> + +<p>"There will be no charge, Miss Goodchild. Thank you. I only wished to +make sure you approved."</p> + +<p>La Touche rose and, turning to the friendly reporters, asked, +wrathfully, "How in blazes do I know which is the one Mr. Rutgers +liked?"</p> + +<p>"Let us pick it out," said one reporter. He wore his hair long.</p> + +<p>"Any one will do," said another, considerately.</p> + +<p>"I think I know which it is," said Barrett, taking pity on the +photographer. To Mr. Onthemaker he whispered, "Max, you're a second H. R."</p> + +<p>"I try to be," modestly said Sam.</p> + +<p>And so the newspapers published the official preference of the lucky +man. They published it because she was going to marry H. R.</p> + +<p>That same morning Mr. Goodchild called up the city editors. He was so +stupid that he was angry. He threatened criminal action and also denied +the engagement. Rutgers was only a discharged clerk who had worked in +his bank. He had been annoying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> his daughter, but he, Mr. Goodchild, +would take steps to put an end to further persecution. Rutgers would not +be allowed to call. He had, Mr. Goodchild admitted, called—uninvited. +Had a man no privacy in New York? What was the matter with the police? +What was he paying taxes for—to be annoyed by insane adventurers and +damned reporters? He didn't want any impertinence. If they didn't print +the denial of the engagement and the facts he would put the matter in +his lawyer's hands.</p> + +<p>The afternoon papers that day and the morning papers on the next printed +another portrait of Miss Grace Goodchild because she was not engaged to +H. R.</p> + +<p>It was so exactly what a Wall Street millionaire father would do that +everybody in New York instantly recognized a romance in high life!</p> + +<p>Grace Goodchild never had known before how many people knew her and how +many more wished to know her. The reporters camped on her front +door-steps and the camera specialists could not be shooed away by Mr. +Goodchild when he was going out on his way to the bank.</p> + +<p>He assaulted a photographer. The papers therefore printed a picture of +the infuriated money power in the act of using a club on a defenseless +citizen. They did it very cleverly: by manipulating the plates they made +Mr. Goodchild look four times the size of the poor photographer.</p> + +<p>Max Onthemaker brought suit for fifty thousand dollars damages to the +feelings, cranium, and camera of Jeremiah Legare, the <i>Tribune</i>'s +society snapper.</p> + +<p>From 10 <span class="smcap">a.m</span>. to 7 <span class="smcap">p.m</span>. Grace held a continuous levee. Mrs. Goodchild was +in handsomely gowned hysterics. Mr. Goodchild got drunk at his club.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + +<p>Yes, he did. The house committee ignored it. When they saw the afternoon +papers they condoned it. And yet all that the newspapers said was that +Grace Goodchild and Hendrik Rutgers were <i>not</i> married.</p> + +<p>And they blame the papers for inaccuracy.</p> + +<p>H. R. knew that he must make his love for Grace plausible, and his +determination to marry her persistent and picturesque.</p> + +<p>His concern was with the public. He therefore called up Grace on the +telephone. At the other end they wished to know who was speaking. He +replied, "Tell Frederick to come to the telephone at once!"</p> + +<p>Frederick responded.</p> + +<p>"Are you there?" asked H. R., after the fashion of Frederick's +compatriots. "Frederick, go instantly to Miss Grace and tell her to come +to the telephone on a matter of life and death. It's Mr. Rutgers. Don't +mention my name."</p> + +<p>This wasn't one of Frederick's few duties when he deigned to accept +employment in the Goodchild household. But H. R. expected to be obeyed. +Therefore he was obeyed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; very good, sir," said Frederick, proud to act as Mercury. He +rushed off.</p> + +<p>"Telephone, Miss Grace. He said it was a matter of life and death."</p> + +<p>"Who is it? Another reporter?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no, ma'am. He's waiting, my lady."</p> + +<p>Once in a while Frederick proved that he was worth his weight in gold by +forgetting that he was in America. When he did, he always called Grace +my lady.</p> + +<p>She therefore went to the telephone. Of course H. R. was born lucky. +But, as a matter of fact, by deliberately establishing Frederick on a +plane of perennial<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> inferiority he had made such a stroke of luck +inevitable.</p> + +<p>Since it was a matter of life and death, Grace instantly asked, "<i>Who</i> +is it?"</p> + +<p>"Listen, Grace. The entire country is going wild about you. Your +portrait is being admired from Maine to California. But bear up with +what's coming. We've got to bring father around to our way of thinking, +and—"</p> + +<p>"Who is it? Who is it?"</p> + +<p>"Great Scott! Can't you recognize the voice? It's Hendrik."</p> + +<p>Her exasperated nerves made her say, angrily, "I think you are—"</p> + +<p>"Don't think I'm conceited, but I know it."</p> + +<p>"I feel like telling you—"</p> + +<p>"I'll say it for you. Close your ears till I'm done." After a pause: +"I've insulted myself. I love you all the more for it! Grace, you must +be brave! If you survive this next week—"</p> + +<p>"My God!" she said, invoking divine aid for the first time since they +moved to Fifth Avenue, thinking of what the newspapers could say.</p> + +<p>"He's with us, sweetheart," Hendrik assured her. "Are you an +Episcopalian?"</p> + +<p>"Yes!" she replied before she could think of not answering.</p> + +<p>"Good! I love you. Wait!"</p> + +<p>His voice as he entreated her to wait rang with such anguish that she +irrepressibly asked, "What?"</p> + +<p>"<i>I love you!</i>"</p> + +<p>He left the telephone and gathered together sixty-eight clippings, which +he put in an envelope. He went to a fashionable florist, opened an +account, and ordered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> some exquisite flowers. They were going to ask for +financial references, but the flowers he ordered were so expensive that +they felt ashamed of their own distrust. He stopped at Valiquet's, where +they hated him so much that they respected him, bought a wonderful gold +vanity-box, inside of which he sent a card. On the card he wrote:</p> + +<h4><i>More than ever!</i></h4> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;">H. R.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>He sent clippings, flowers, and vanity-box to Miss Goodchild, 777 Fifth +Avenue, by messenger. Charge account.</p> + +<p>He sent for Fleming and told him he wished the Public Sentiment Corps to +tackle their first job. H. R. had prepared a dozen letters of protest +which the artists must copy before receiving their day's wages—one copy +for each paper. The letters expressed the writers' admiration, contempt, +approval, abhorrence, indignation, and commendation of the journalistic +treatment of the Goodchild-Rutgers affair. Real names and real addresses +were given. It beat Pro Bono Publico, Old Subscriber, and Decent Citizen +all to pieces. H. R. supplied various kinds of stationery—some with +crests, others very humble. The chirography was different. That alone +was art.</p> + +<p>The newspapers realized that H. R. had become news. The public wanted to +read about him. The papers were the servants of the public. Circulation +was invented for that very purpose.</p> + +<p>Not content with the services of the Public Sentiment Corps, H. R. +commanded Andrew Barrett to tip off the friendly reporters—Andrew by +this time was calling them by their first name—to watch the Goodchild<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +residence on Fifth Avenue and also the Ketcham National Bank on Nassau +Street.</p> + +<p>Thinking that this meant elopement up-town and shooting down-town, the +reporters despatched the sob artists to Fifth Avenue and the veteran +death-watch to the bank.</p> + +<p>They were rewarded.</p> + +<p>Parading up and down the Goodchild block on the Avenue were six +sandwich-men. They carried the swellest sandwiches in Christendom. This +was the first use of the famous iridescent glass mosaic sandwich in +history. It was exquisitely beautiful. But the legends were even more +beautiful:</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 344px;"> +<img src="images/ill_008.jpg" width="344" height="400" alt="I SHALL MARRY GRACE GOODCHILD NO MATTER WHO SAYS NO!" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>This last he stationed in front of the Goodchild house.</p> + +<p>Across the street, leaning against the Central Park wall, was Morris +Lazarus, Mr. Onthemaker's able associate counsel. His pockets were +bulging with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> numbered legal documents in anticipation of hostilities +from Christians, policemen, and other aliens. He had told the reporters +that he was one of Mr. Rutgers's counsel and did not propose to allow +the sandwich-men to be interfered with by anybody. He also distributed +his card, that the name might not be misspelled. He had not yet changed +Morris into Maurice.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 416px;"> +<img src="images/ill_009.jpg" width="416" height="400" alt="NO OPPOSITION CAN KEEP ME FROM MARRYING GRACE GOODCHILD" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 331px;"> +<img src="images/ill_010.jpg" width="331" height="400" alt="SEE THE NEWSPAPERS FOR ACCOUNTS OF THE MARRIAGE OF GRACE +GOODCHILD TO HENDRIK RUTGERS" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 345px;"> +<img src="images/ill_011.jpg" width="345" height="400" alt="WEDDING OF GRACE GOODCHILD AND HENDRIK RUTGERS FOR DATE +WATCH THIS SPACE" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 418px;"> +<img src="images/ill_012.jpg" width="418" height="400" alt="ALL THE WORLD LOVES A LOVER. LOVE GRACE GOODCHILD AND ME +TOO" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 335px;"> +<img src="images/ill_013.jpg" width="335" height="400" alt="DO YOU BLAME ME FOR WISHING TO MARRY THE MOST BEAUTIFUL +GIRL IN THE WHOLE WORLD? SHE LIVES HERE!" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>The sandwiches paraded up and down the Avenue sidewalk, never once going +off the block. As two of the artists passed each other they saluted—the +sandwich union's sign a rigid forefinger drawn quickly across the throat +with a decapitating sweep: lambs expecting execution in the world's vast +abattoir. The answering sign was a quick mouthward motion of the rigid +thumb to represent the assuaging of thirst at the close of day. Thus did +H. R. reward industry.</p> + +<p>Before the sandwich-men had made the beat a dozen times all upper Fifth +Avenue heard about it. A stream of limousines, preciously freighted, +halted before the Goodchild mansion and poured out into the sidewalk +friends and acquaintances of the Goodchilds.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> On the dowagers' faces you +could see the smug self-congratulations that their daughters, thank +goodness, did not have to be wooed thus vulgarly to get into the +newspapers. And on the daughters the watching reporters saw smiles and +envious gleams of bright eyes. Why couldn't <i>they</i> be thus desperately +wooed in public? To let the world know you were desired, to have a man +brave all the world in order to let the world know it! It was heroism! +And even more: it was great fun!</p> + +<p>The dowagers went in to express both surprise and condolence to Mrs. +Goodchild. The girls rushed to Grace's boudoir to ask questions.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Goodchild tried to brazen it out. Then she tried to treat it +humorously. But the dowagers called both bluffs. Then she foolishly told +them, "The poor young man is quite insane."</p> + +<p>They chorused, "He must be!" with conviction—the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> conviction that she +was lying like a suburban boomer. Of course she paid him for the work.</p> + +<p>Grace was in an unphilosophical frame of mind. H. R. had made her the +laughing-stock of New York. It would have been ridiculous if it were not +so serious to her social plans. She hated him! Being absolutely helpless +to help herself, her hatred embraced the world—the world that would +laugh at her! All the world! Particularly the women. Especially those of +her own age. They would laugh! This is the unforgivable sin in women +because their sense of humor is <i>minus</i>. And when they laugh—</p> + +<p>Just then the avalanche of those she hated the most swooped down upon +her. Her eyes were red from acute aqueous mortification. They saw it. +They said in chorus, sorrowfully, "You poor thing!"</p> + +<p>Who said the rich had no hearts? The girls had given to her poverty +without her asking for it. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> always makes people charitable when they +create poverty unasked.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't stand it!" cried one.</p> + +<p>"Nor I!" chorused fourteen of Grace's best friends.</p> + +<p>Outside, the Avenue, for the first time in its dazzling history, was +blocked by automobiles. You would have sworn it was the shopping +district in the Christmas week. The reason was that the occupants of the +autos had told the chauffeurs to stop until they could read the +sandwiches.</p> + +<p>The reporters were ringing the front-door bell and the rapid-fire +tintinnabulation was driving Frederick frantic. Mrs. Goodchild had told +him not to send for the police. The reporters, feeling treated like rank +outsiders, were in no pleasant frame of mind.</p> + +<p>Up-stairs Grace, hiding her wrath, overwhelmed by the accursed sympathy +of her best friends, said, helplessly, "What can I do?" She didn't like +to tell them she wished to bury them with her own hands.</p> + +<p>From fifteen youthful throats burst forth the same golden +word—"<i>Elope!</i>"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + +<p>She gasped and stared blankly.</p> + +<p>"It's the greatest thing I ever heard. I don't know him, but if he is +half-way presentable you can teach him table manners in a week. I'd make +my father give him a job in the bank!" asserted Marion Beekman.</p> + +<p>"Me, too!" declared Ethel Vandergilt.</p> + +<p>"He's just splendid," volunteered a brunette, enthusiastically.</p> + +<p>"And did you see the papers!" shrieked Verona Mortimer. "I say, <i>did</i> +you see the papers? <i>And</i> the pictures! Girls, she's a regular devil, +and we never knew it! Where did you hide your brains all these years, +Gracie, dear?"</p> + +<p>"I never would have thought it possible," said the cold, philosophical +Katherine Van Schaick. "I call it mighty well engineered. Did <i>you</i> tell +him to do it, Grace? If so you are a genius!"</p> + +<p>"What does he look like?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is he of the old New Jersey Rutgers?"</p> + +<p>"If he's good-looking and has money, what's wrong with him? Booze?" +asked a practical one.</p> + +<p>"He isn't married, is he?" asked a doll-face with Reno in her heavenly +eyes.</p> + +<p>At this a hush fell on the group. It was the big moment.</p> + +<p>"How exciting!" murmured one.</p> + +<p>"Is he married, Grace?"</p> + +<p>Fifteen pairs of eyes pasted themselves on Gracie's. She barely caught +herself on the verge of confessing ignorance. She was dazed by the new +aspect of her own love-affair.</p> + +<p>These girls envied her!</p> + +<p>"No!" she said, recklessly.</p> + +<p>"It's her father," prompted a slim young Sherlock Holmes.</p> + +<p>"No; Mrs. Goodchild!" corrected a greater genius.</p> + +<p>"Maybe it's Grace herself," suggested the envious Milly Walton.</p> + +<p>"How can I stop it?" asked Grace, angrily.</p> + +<p>"<i>What?</i>" shrieked all.</p> + +<p>"Why, girls," said Miss Van Schaick, "she isn't responsible for it, +after all!"</p> + +<p>Before the disappointment could spoil their pleasure one of them said, +impatiently, "Oh, let's look at 'em!"</p> + +<p>They rushed to the window.</p> + +<p>"Let's go downstairs. We can see 'em better!" And Grace's friends +thereupon rushed away. One of them was considerate enough to say, "Come +on, Grace!" and Grace followed, not quite grasping the change in the +situation. Her fears were not so keen; her doubts keener.</p> + +<p>They nearly overturned their respective mammas in their rush to get to +the windows.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Grace," said Miss Van Schaick, who had never before called her anything +but "Miss—er—Goodchild," "send out and tell them to stop and face this +way. I don't think I read all the sandwiches."</p> + +<p>"Yes! Yes!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, do!"</p> + +<p>"Please, Grace, tell 'em!" It sounded like election, when women shall +vote. Much more melodious than to-day.</p> + +<p>The dowagers were made speechless. They had acquired that habit before +their daughters.</p> + +<p>Grace capitulated to the incense.</p> + +<p>"Frederick, go out and tell them to stop and face this way," commanded +Grace, with a benignant smile.</p> + +<p>"My de—" began Mrs. Goodchild, mildly.</p> + +<p>"I have lived," said Miss Van Schaick in her high-bred, level voice that +people admiringly called insulting, "to see a New York society man do +something really original. I must ask Beekman Rutgers why his branch of +the family did not inherit brains with the real estate."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Goodchild gasped—and began to look resigned. From there to pride +the jump would be slight. But hers was not a mind that readjusted itself +very quickly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, look!" and the girls began to read the legends aloud.</p> + +<p>The dowagers rose, prompted by the same horrid fear. Chauffeurs were bad +enough. But sandwich-men!</p> + +<p>The world moves rapidly these days. One week ago these mothers did not +know sandwich-men even existed. A new peril springs up every day.</p> + +<p>They decided, being wise, not to scold their daughters.</p> + +<p>The girls shook hands with Grace with such warmth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> that she felt as if +each had left a hateful wedding-gift in her palm. Mrs. Goodchild went +up-stairs weeping or very close to it. She could not see whither it all +would lead, and she was the kind that must plan everything in advance to +be comfortable. By always using a memorandum calendar she cleverly +managed to have something to look forward to in this life.</p> + +<p>Grace remained. She was thinking. When she thought she always tapped on +the floor with her right foot, rhythmically. She realized that H. R.'s +courtship of her had changed in aspect. She knew that girls in her set +thought everything was a lark. But they themselves did not visit those +who had larked beyond a certain point. An ecstatic "What fun!" soon +changed to a frigid "How perfectly silly!" It was not so difficult to +treat the sandwich episode humorously now, or even to take intelligent +advantage of the publicity. She knew that, with the negligible exception +of a few old fogies, the crass vulgarity of H. R.'s public performances +would not harm her unless her father took it seriously enough to appeal +to the law about it, when the same old fogies would say she should have +ignored it. But she could not clearly see the end of it—that is, an +ending that would redound to her glory. This man was a puzzle, a +paradox, an exasperation. He was too unusual, too adventurous, too +clever, too dangerous; he had too much to gain and nothing to lose. How +should she treat him? He did not classify easily. He was masterful. He +loved her. Masterful men in love have a habit of making themselves +disagreeable.</p> + +<p>In how many ways would this masterful man, who was resourceful, +original, undeterred by conventions, indifferent to the niceties of +life, unafraid of public<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> opinion as of social ostracism, make himself +disagreeable? Was he serious in his determination to marry her? Or was +it merely a scheme to obtain notoriety? Was he a crank or a criminal? +She couldn't marry him. What would he do? What wouldn't he do? How long +would he keep it up? Must she flee to Europe?</p> + +<p>Her foot was tap-tapping away furiously. She ceased to think in order to +hate him! Then because she hated him she feared him. Then because she +feared him she respected him. Then because she respected him she didn't +hate him. Then because she didn't hate she began to think of him. But +all she knew about him was that he said he loved her and everybody in +New York knew it! Who was he? What was he? Should she start an inquiry? +And yet—</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon, miss. But the men—" Frederick paused.</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"They are standing." He meant the sandwiches.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"They are," he reminded her, desperately but proudly, "Mr. Rutgers's +men."</p> + +<p>"Tell them to go away," she said.</p> + +<p>He stared a moment, for as the consort of the owner of the men she had +feudal obligations to fulfil. He remembered that this was America.</p> + +<p>"Very good, miss," he said.</p> + +<p>She went up-stairs. She wished to think. It would probably make her head +ache. She therefore told her maid to wake her at six and, taking up one +of Edwin Lefevre's books, she went to sleep.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII</h2> + +<p>On Nassau Street twenty sandwich-men were parading, ten on each side of +the street, in the block where the Ketcham National Bank stood. Each +sandwich bore this legend:</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 348px;"> +<img src="images/ill_014.jpg" width="348" height="400" alt="ASK THE PRESIDENT OF THE KETCHAM NATIONAL BANK WHY? HE +WON'T LET ME MARRY HIS DAUGHTER. ASK HIM!" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Besides 12,466 men and 289 women, 13 reporters read the sandwiches.</p> + +<p>The men looked pleased; they were seeing a show on D. H. tickets. The +women sighed enviously and opened their latest Robert W. Chambers in the +street as they walked on. The thirteen reporters walked into the bank, +went straight into the president's office, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> while he was still +smiling his welcome asked him why he would not let H. R. marry Grace.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild nearly sat in the electric chair. The vice-president +fortunately was able to grasp in time the hand that held the big +paper-weight.</p> + +<p>"Remember the bank!" solemnly counseled the vice-president.</p> + +<p>"To hell with the bank!" said Mr. George G. Goodchild for the first and +only time in his Republican life.</p> + +<p>"Unless you talk to us fully and politely," said the <i>Globe</i> man, "we +propose to interview your directors and ask each and every one of them +to tell us the name of your successor. If you raise your hand again I'll +not only break in your face, but I'll sue you and thus secure vacation +money and a raise in salary. The jury is with me. Come! Tell us why you +won't let Mr. Rutgers marry Grace."</p> + +<p>Here in his own office the president of a big Wall Street bank was +threatened with obliterated features and the extraction of cash. The +cause of it, H. R., was worse than a combination of socialism and +smallpox; he was even worse than a President of the United States in an +artificial bull market.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild walked up and down the room exactly thirteen times—one +for each reporter—and then turned to the vice-president.</p> + +<p>"Send for the police!" he commanded.</p> + +<p>"Remember the newspapers," agonizedly whispered the vice-president.</p> + +<p>The <i>Globe</i> man overheard him. "Present!" he said, and saluted. Then he +took out a lead-pencil, seized a pad from the president's own desk, and +said, kindly, "I'll take down all your reasons in shorthand, Mr. +Goodchild!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Take yourself to hell!" shrieked the president.</p> + +<p>"<i>Après vous, mon cher Alphonse</i>," retorted the <i>Globe</i> man, with +exquisite courtesy. "Boys, you heard him. Verbatim!"</p> + +<p>All the reporters wrote four words.</p> + +<p>The <i>Globe</i> man hastily left the president's room and went up to the +bank's gray-coated private policeman who was trying to distinguish +between the few who wished to deposit money and the many who desired to +ask the sandwich question or at least hoped to hear the answer. The +sacred precincts of the Ketcham National Bank had taken on the aspect of +a circus arena. H. R.'s erstwhile fellow-clerks looked the only way they +dared—terrified! They would have given a great deal to have been able +to act as human beings.</p> + +<p>"The reporters are in the president's room!" ran the whisper among the +clerks. From there it reached the curious mob within the bank. From +there it spread to the congested proletariate without the doors. Said +proletariate began to grow. Baseball bulletin-boards were not displayed, +but the public was going to get something for nothing. Hence, free +country.</p> + +<p>The <i>Globe</i> man heard one of the bank's messengers call the policeman +"Jim." Being a contemporary historian, he addressed the policeman +amicably.</p> + +<p>"Jim, Mr. Goodchild says to bring in Senator Lowry and party."</p> + +<p>With that he beckoned to the <i>Globe</i>'s militant photographers and five +colleagues and preceded them into the president's private office.</p> + +<p>"Quick work, Tommy," warned the reporter.</p> + +<p>"Flash?" laconically inquired "Senator Lowry." He was such a famous +portraitist that his sitters never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> gave him time to talk. Hence his +habit of speaking while he could. He prepared his flash-powder.</p> + +<p>"Yep!" and the reporter nodded.</p> + +<p>The others also unlimbered their cameras. The <i>Globe</i> man threw open the +door.</p> + +<p>The president was angrily haranguing the reporters.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Goodchild," said the <i>Globe</i> man, "look pleasant!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild turned quickly and opened his mouth.</p> + +<p><i>Bang!</i> went, the flash-powder.</p> + +<p>"Hel—" shrieked Mr. Goodchild.</p> + +<p>"—p!" said the pious young <i>Journal</i> man, with an air of completing the +presidential speech. A good editor is worth his weight in pearls.</p> + +<p>The photographers' corps retreated in good order and record time.</p> + +<p>"For the third and last time will you tell us why you won't let your +daughter marry Mr. Rutgers!" asked the <i>Globe</i>.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Then will you tell us why you won't let Mr. Rutgers marry your +daughter?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild was conservative to the last. Too many people who needed +money had talked to him in the borrower's tone of voice. He could not +grasp the new era. He said, "You infernal blackmailer—"</p> + +<p>"Sir," cut in the <i>Globe</i> man, with dignity, "you are positively +insulting! Be nice to the other reporters. I thank you for the +interview!" He bowed and left the office, followed by all the others +except the <i>Evening Post</i> man, who, unfortunately, had never been able +to rid himself of the desire to get the facts. It was partly his editor, +but mostly the absence of a sense of humor.</p> + +<p>"I think, Mr. Goodchild, that you'd better give me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> an official +statement. I'll give the Associated Press man a copy, and that will go +to all the papers."</p> + +<p>"But I don't want to say anything," protested Mr. Goodchild, who always +read the <i>Post</i>'s money page.</p> + +<p>"The other reporters will say it for you. I think you'd better."</p> + +<p>"He's right, Mr. Goodchild," said the vice-president.</p> + +<p>"But what the dickens can I say?" queried Mr. Goodchild, helplessly, not +daring to look out of the window for fear of seeing the sandwiches.</p> + +<p>"If I were you," earnestly advised the <i>Post</i> man, "I'd tell the truth."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Say why you won't let your daughter—"</p> + +<p>"It's preposterous!"</p> + +<p>"Say it; but also say why it is preposterous."</p> + +<p>Two directors of the bank came in. They were high in high finance. In +fact, they <i>were</i> High Finance. They therefore knew only the newspapers +of an older generation, as they had proven by their testimony before a +Congressional Committee. The older director looked at Mr. Goodchild and +began:</p> + +<p>"Goodchild, will you tell me why—"</p> + +<p>"You, too?" interrupted Mr. Goodchild, reproachfully but respectfully. +"First the reporters and now—"</p> + +<p>The directors gasped.</p> + +<p>"You didn't—actually—talk—for—<i>publication</i>?"</p> + +<p>They stared at him incredulously.</p> + +<p>"No. But I'm thinking of giving out a carefully prepared statement—"</p> + +<p>The higher of the high financiers, with the masterfulness that made him +richer every panic, assumed supreme command. He turned to the <i>Post</i> man +and said: "I'm surprised to see you here. Your paper<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> used to be decent. +Mr. Goodchild has nothing to say."</p> + +<p>"But—" protested the anguished father of Grace Goodchild.</p> + +<p>"You haven't!" declared $100,000,000.</p> + +<p>"I have nothing to say!" meekly echoed one-tenth of one hundred.</p> + +<p>The <i>Post</i> man walked out with a distinctly editorial stride. He began +to envy the yellows and their vulgar editors, as all <i>Post</i> men must at +times.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild's efforts to suppress the publication of his family +affairs were in vain. He unfortunately sought to argue over the +telephone with the owners.</p> + +<p>The owners spoke to the editors.</p> + +<p>"It's <i>News</i>!" the editors pointed out.</p> + +<p>"It's <i>News</i>," the owners regretfully explained to the bank president.</p> + +<p>"But it's a crime against decency," said Mr. Goodchild.</p> + +<p>"You are right. It's a damned shame. But it's <i>News</i>!" said the owners, +and hung up.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild summoned his lawyer. The lawyer looked grave. He +recognized the uselessness of trying to stop the newspapers, and +realized that there would be no fat fees, even if he were otherwise +successful. He tried to frighten H. R., but was referred to Max +Onthemaker, Esquire.</p> + +<p>Max Onthemaker, Esquire, was in heaven. He finally had butted into +polite society! From the Bowery to Wall Street! At last he was opposed +by the very best. A lawyer is known by his opponents!</p> + +<p>Mr. Lindsay protested with quite unprofessional heat. It was an outrage.</p> + +<p>"<i>Amare et sapere vix deo conceditur</i>," Mr. Onthemaker<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> solemnly +reminded the leader of the corporation bar. "Also, dear Mr. Lindsay, I +am ready to accept service of any paper you may see fit to honor us +with. My client means to fight to the bitter end."</p> + +<p>"Yes, in the newspapers!" bitterly said the eminent Mr. Lindsay through +his clenched teeth.</p> + +<p>"And with sandwiches! When we ask for bread you give us a stone. But we +give you a sandwich. There's no ground for criminal action in view of +the public's frame of mind toward the money power. But if you will sue +us for one million dollars damages I'll name my forthcoming baby after +you."</p> + +<p>Mr. Lindsay hung up with violence, mistaking the telephone-holder for +Mr. Onthemaker's cranium.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>XIII</h2> + +<p>The reporters of the conservative journals sought H. R. later in the +day—simply because the reporters for the live newspapers did. The +system was to blame. A daily paper may eschew vulgarity, but it must not +be beaten. By using better grammar and no adjectives they intelligently +show they are never sensational.</p> + +<p>The newspaper-men confronted H. R. eagerly. It was the day's big story. +They asked him about it.</p> + +<p>He said to them, very simply, "I love her!"</p> + +<p>They wrote it down. He waited until they had finished. Then he went on:</p> + +<p>"She is the most beautiful girl in the world—to me. Don't forget +that—<i>to me</i>!"</p> + +<p>Those two words would prevent two million sneers from the other most +beautiful girls in the world who at that moment happened to reside in +New York. Indeed, all his words would be read aloud to young men by said +two million coral lips. Perfect Cupid's bows. She was beautiful—<i>to +him</i>!</p> + +<p>"Her parents oppose my suit," went on H. R., calmly.</p> + +<p>"Is this a free country," interjected Max Onthemaker, vehemently, "or +are we in Russia? Has Wall Street established morganatic marriages in +this Republic, or—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> + +<p>H. R. held up a quieting hand. Max Onthemaker smiled at the rebuke. Two +reporters had taken down his remarks.</p> + +<p>"I have told her parents that I propose to marry Miss +Goodchild—peacefully. Get that straight, please. Peacefully! I am a +law-abiding citizen. She is very beautiful. But I am willing to wait—a +few weeks."</p> + +<p>"Yes. But the sandwiches," began a reporter who entertained hopes of +becoming a Public Utility Corporation's publicity man.</p> + +<p>H. R. stopped him with an impressive frown. He cleared his throat.</p> + +<p>The reporters felt it coming.</p> + +<p>"What I have done—" he began.</p> + +<p>"Yes! Yes!"</p> + +<p>"—is merely the employment for the first time in history of +<i>psychological sabotage</i>!"</p> + +<p>The reporters, now having the head-line, rushed off. All except one, who +whispered to H. R.'s counsel:</p> + +<p>"What in blazes <i>is</i> sabotage? How do you spell it?"</p> + +<p>"Quit your joking," answered Max. "You know very well what it is. Isn't +he a wonder? Psychological sabotage!"</p> + +<p>The newspapers gave it space in proportion to the extent of their Wall +Street affiliations. The <i>Evening Post</i>, having none, came out with an +editorial on "Psychological Sabotage." It held up H. R. as a product of +the times, made inevitable by T. Roosevelt. The <i>World</i> editorialized on +"The Wall Street Spirit <i>versus</i> Love"; the <i>Times</i> wrote about "The +Ethics of Modern Courtship"; and the <i>Sun</i> about "The Decay of Manners +under the Present Administration and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> its Mexican Policy." The +<i>American</i>'s editorial was "Intelligent Eugenics and Unintelligent +Wealth."</p> + +<p>But all of them quoted "Psychological Sabotage." This made the Socialist +papers espouse the cause of H. R.</p> + +<p>The <i>Globe</i>, however, beat them all. It offered to supply to the young +couple, free of charge, a complete kitchen-set and the services of a +knot-tier. It printed the names and addresses of sixteen clergymen, two +rabbis, three aldermen, and the Mayor of the City of New York.</p> + +<p>The Public Sentiment Corps copied two hundred and thirty-eight letters +prepared by the boss, praising and condemning H. R. and Mr. Goodchild. +This compelled the newspapers that received the letters to run Grace's +portrait daily—a new photograph each time.</p> + +<p>As for Grace herself, crowds followed her. She could not go into a +restaurant without making all heads turn in her direction. People even +stopped dancing when they saw her. And six of New York's bluest-blooded +heiresses became her inseparable companions. They also had their +pictures printed.</p> + +<p>Grace hated all this notoriety. She said so, at times. But her friends +soothed her and developed the habit of looking pleasantly at cameras.</p> + +<p>H. R. on the third day sent all the clippings to Grace with beautiful +flowers and a note:</p> + +<h4><i>For your sake!</i></h4> + +<p>One of Grace's friends asked to be allowed to keep the note. It reminded +her, she said, of the early Christians; also of the days of knighthood.</p> + +<p>The commercial phase of the mission of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> Society of American Sandwich +Artists had become in the meanwhile a matter of real importance to the +business world. Business men, not being artists, are stupid because they +deal with money-profits, and they are imitative because money-making in +the ultimate analysis is never original. When the merchants of New York +perceived that Fifth Avenue had sanctified sandwiching by paying cash +for it, and that the better shops elsewhere had perforce resorted to it, +they accepted it as one of the conditions of modern merchandising. It +did not become a fad, but worse—an imagined necessity and, as such, an +institution. The little Valiquet-made statuettes of the Ultimate +Sandwich sold by the thousands, greatly adding to the personal assets of +the secretary and treasurer of the society. And what New York did, other +cities wished to do.</p> + +<p>Then the blow fell!</p> + +<p>On the same day that H. R. sent his early Christian message to Grace, +Andrew Barrett reported that while some of the streets were almost +impassable for the multitude of sandwiches, the greater part of the +latter, alas! were <i>non-union men</i>!</p> + +<p>"They are using their porters and janitors to carry boards," said Andrew +Barrett, bitterly. "I tell you, H. R., this is a crisis!"</p> + +<p>H. R., thinking of Grace, nodded absently and said, "Send for +Onthemaker."</p> + +<p>Max came on the run. Nearly three days had elapsed without a front-page +paragraph for him.</p> + +<p>Barrett told him about the crisis. Their idea had been stolen and +utilized by unscrupulous merchants who were sandwiching without +permission and using scabs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I get you," said Max Onthemaker. Then he turned to the chief and told +him:</p> + +<p>"H. R., you've got to do something to make George G. Goodchild sue you +for a million dollars." He had drawn and kept ready for use sixty-three +varieties of restraining orders, writs, etc.</p> + +<p>"What's that got to do with our—" began Andrew Barrett, impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Certainly!" cut in Mr. Onthemaker. "We must fight Capital with its own +weapon. The Money Power is great on injunctions. I wish to say that when +it comes to injunctions I've got Wall Street gasping for breath and—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but what about the scabs? Can't you stop 'em?" persisted Barrett.</p> + +<p>The future of the Barrett Itinerant Advertising Agency was at stake.</p> + +<p>"Sure! We can hire strong-arm—"</p> + +<p>"No!" said H. R., decisively.</p> + +<p>Andrew Barrett, who had begun to look hopeful, frowned at his leader's +negative, and said, desperately, "Something has got to be done!"</p> + +<p>When human beings say "Something" in that tone of voice they mean +dynamite by proxy.</p> + +<p>"Certainly!" agreed H. R., absently, his mind still on Grace.</p> + +<p>Andrew Barrett stifled a groan. He whispered to Max, "It's the girl!"</p> + +<p>Max looked alarmed, then hopeful. Grace was almost as much News as H. R. +himself.</p> + +<p>Andrew Barrett turned to H. R., and said, reproachfully:</p> + +<p>"Here we've made sandwiching what it is, and these infernal +tightwads—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's the word, Barrett," cut in H. R. "Go to it, my son!"</p> + +<p>"How do you mean?" asked Barrett.</p> + +<p>"Advertise in all the papers, morning and evening."</p> + +<p>Young Mr. Barrett stared at him, then he shook his head, tapped it with +his knuckles, and confessed: "Solid!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Give me a pencil!</i>" said H. R. It sounded like "Fix bayonets!"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," Mr. Onthemaker permitted himself to observe, judicially, "is +so conducive to front-page publicity as intelligent violence. This is +not a strike, but a cause. Look at the militants—"</p> + +<p>"There is something in that," admitted A. Barrett.</p> + +<p>"There is something," said H. R., gently, "in everything, even in Max's +cranium. But, this is not a matter of principle, but of making money."</p> + +<p>"But if you first establish—"</p> + +<p>"No," interrupted H. R. "If you make money, the principle establishes +itself. The situation does not call for a flash of inspiration, but for +common sense. Listen carefully: Nothing is so timid as Capital!"</p> + +<p>He looked at them as if further talk were redundant, superfluous, +unnecessary, a waste of time, and an insult.</p> + +<p>"Well?" said Barrett, forgetting himself and speaking impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Utilize it. Treat it as you would a problem in mathematics. You start +with an axiom. Build on it. Capital is timid. Therefore, people who have +money never do anything original; that is to say, venturesome; that is +to say, courageous. All new enterprises are begun and carried through by +people<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> who have no money of their own to lose. I, single-handed, could +defeat an army commanded by Alexander, Cæsar, Napoleon, and U. S. Grant, +if I could put into the pockets of each of the enemy's private soldiers +six dollars in cash. No man likes to be killed with money in his +clothes. Money is fear! Fear is unreasoning. I am opposed to injecting +fear into the situation. No, sir; instead, we must capitalize another +human force. Have this printed. Big blank margin. All the papers."</p> + +<p>He gave them what he had written:</p> + +<h4>TO THE PUBLIC</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>We are Union Men but we are for Peace.</p> + +<p>We do not hate scabs: we pity them!</p> + +<p>We do <i>not</i> pity Tightwads who make scabs possible.</p> + +<p>We made Sandwiching an Art, also an Honorable Occupation.</p> + +<p>We feed our hungry men out of our Hunger Fund. Those who +work support those who can't, until they in turn find work.</p> + +<p>We ask for living wages, but also for the respect of the +public.</p> + +<p>Our Emblem is the Sign of the Ultimate Sandwich.</p> + +<p>Every time you see a Sandwich-Board without it you may be +sure it belongs to a merchant who skimps his Advertising +Appropriation.</p> + +<p>If he skimps in that, what won't he skimp in?</p> + +<p>How about the <i>quality</i> of his goods and his <i>values</i>?</p> + +<p>We advertise the High-class Trade, honest advertisers who +skimp in nothing to please the public.</p> + +<p>No merchant can misrepresent his goods through us.</p> + +<p>We do not Advertise Frauds nor Misers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> + +<p>We could frighten off the Poor Men whose hunger makes scabs +of them.</p> + +<p>We would have the approval of the Labor Organizations and of +the thinking public.</p></div> + +<h4><i>But we are for the Law!</i></h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>They can join our Union if they wish.</p> + +<p>There is no Initiation Fee.</p> + +<p>There is no compulsion to join.</p> + +<p>They are American Citizens!</p></div> + +<h4><i>So Are We!</i></h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The Tightwad Merchant may not be Dishonest. But—</p> + +<p>The Public Must Judge—Calmly.</p> + +<p>Look for the Ultimate Sandwich in all signs!</p></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 26em;">American Society of Sandwich Artists.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 26em;">H. R.,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 26em;"><i>Sec.</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<h4>WE NEVER SOLICIT SUBSCRIPTIONS!</h4> + +<p>Andrew Barrett read it. His jaw dropped and he stared at H. R. Then he +declared with conviction:</p> + +<p>"Next to the Gettysburg address, this! +<span class="smcap">We—nev-er—so-li-cit—sub-scrip-tions</span>! Where does it all come from?"</p> + +<p>H. R. solemnly pointed to the ceiling of his office, meaning thereby, +like most Americans, heaven. Max Onthemaker looked at him dubiously, the +Deity being extra-judicial. Then he shook his head uncertainly. History +had told of Peter the Hermit, Mohammed, and others. It was a familiar +hypothesis.</p> + +<p>The public, when it read in the newspapers that these poor men did not +believe in killing scabs, but hated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> tightwads and never asked for +subscriptions, unmistakably and unreservedly espoused their cause. The +man who skimped was the common foe of the free citizen. They wrote +letters to the newspapers.</p> + +<p>So did the Public Sentiment Corps.</p> + +<p>To hate tightwads and never to ask for subscriptions were admirable +American traits. Christian merchants and even heretics in trade called +them Virtues!</p> + +<p>Big business took the trouble to tell the reporters that this was the +kind of labor organization everybody could approve of. It was a check to +Socialism. Big business believes in some kinds of checks.</p> + +<p>The labor organizations could not condemn a union. They said they also +were for peace and against the wretches who capitalized the hunger of +their fellows.</p> + +<p>In twenty-four hours the scab-users surrendered!</p> + +<p>More clippings for Grace.</p> + +<p>The Society of American Sandwich Artists prudently leased three more +offices and prepared for the rush. It came. Orders poured in from scores +of merchants. The premises were so crowded with men both with and +without sandwich-boards that the other tenants complained.</p> + +<p>The agent of the Allied Arts Building requested H. R. to vacate. He +requested it three times an hour, from nine to six.</p> + +<p>"The other tenants object to your sandwiches," the agent explained to H. R.</p> + +<p>"Let 'em move out. We'll take the whole building—at a fair concession.</p> + +<p>"Move out yourself!" shrieked the agent.</p> + +<p>"See our lawyer," said H. R., and turned his back on the agent.</p> + +<p>The agent called on Mr. Onthemaker.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Fifty thousand dollars!" said Max.</p> + +<p>The agent fled, holding his watch in place.</p> + +<p>In the mean time the treasury of the society was growing apace. H. R. +transferred his account. He now deposited the funds with the National +Bank of the Avenue.</p> + +<p>The president, Mr. Wyman, told Mr. Goodchild about it. Mr. Goodchild, +who had turned red as H. R.'s name was mentioned by a highly esteemed +colleague, looked thoughtful—he might have had the account.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>XIV</h2> + +<p>In the very hour of his great success H. R. suddenly was thus confronted +by the greatest menace to a political career—wealth!</p> + +<p>In one morning's mail he received three hundred and eighty-four offers +to become the advertising Napoleon of national concerns; no limit to the +advertising appropriations. He added up the aggregate offers of salary +and maximum commissions.</p> + +<p>His income, if he accepted all the offers, would amount to $614,500 per +annum.</p> + +<p>So great is the danger and so widely recognized is it that nobody is +worthy of respect until he is threatened by wealth with wealth.</p> + +<p>Should H. R. accept greatness to-day and let to-morrow bring the +littleness?</p> + +<p>He did not reply to his correspondents. He thus went up in their +estimation. To refuse to take money is something. To refuse even to +refuse it is everything!</p> + +<p>He prepared a memorandum containing all the offers he had received, with +the sum total of same, and sent the originals of the letters and +telegrams to Mr. Goodchild.</p> + +<p>His only comment, in careless lead-pencil, was what it should be:</p> + +<p>"<i>Not enough!</i>"</p> + +<p>He knew Mr. Goodchild would speak about it. How<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> could Mr. Goodchild +help it? Didn't $614,500 begin with a $?</p> + +<p>But H. R. did not think of what he had not done, not even of what he had +done, but of what he would do. Doers of deeds always think that way. To +them yesterday is as dead as Cæsar. To-day is settled. To-morrow alone +is greater opportunity!</p> + +<p>He therefore thought of himself. That made him think of Grace.</p> + +<p>He had no illusions about himself, but, what was far more intelligent, +he had none about anybody else. He was aware that already the world was +divided in their opinion of him. To some he was a humbug, to others a +crank; to some a genius, to a few a dangerous demagogue.</p> + +<p>People respect what they fear. Fear always puts humanity in the attitude +of a rat in a corner. That is why people with a passion for making money +naturally think of corners.</p> + +<p>To make millions of men follow is to make millions of dollars shake.</p> + +<p>But his was an infinitely more difficult problem. How to become the fear +of the rich and at the same time be respected by the best element? He +had no precedents by which to guide his steps, no example that he might +modernize and follow.</p> + +<p>He reduced the problem to its simplest form? To bring this about he +would preach Brotherhood.</p> + +<p>To stop the mouths that thereupon would call him Socialist he would +cover his effort.</p> + +<p>Then, in the chemical reactions of his mind, something flashed! He would +do something to attract the best element. That would bring in the mob. +What begins by being fashionable always ends by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> being popular. Nobody +had ever thought of making goodness a fad. Hence, poverty, and therefore +wealth!</p> + +<p>He would take the first step that night.</p> + +<p>About 11 <span class="smcap">p.m</span>. an excited feminine voice, without the slightest trace of +Yiddish—indeed, more fashionable than a Fifth Avenue voice ever dared +to be—called up, one after another, the city editors of the best papers +and asked:</p> + +<p>"Is it true that Grace Goodchild has eloped with Hendrik Rutgers?"</p> + +<p>"We had not heard that—"</p> + +<p>"It is not true! <i>It is not true!</i>" shrieked the voice in the highest +pitch of dismay and rang on.</p> + +<p>Having been told that it was not true, the city editors, after vainly +trying to get the speaker again, honorably called up the Goodchild +residence.</p> + +<p>Nobody home!</p> + +<p>That was enough corroboration for any intelligent man, but the city +editors despatched their most reliable reporters to the former residence +of the bride. Being prudent men, the editors prepared the photographs, +and the head-line was all a matter of final punctuation:</p> + +<h4>MISS GOODCHILD ELOPES</h4> + +<p>It remained for the make-up man to put a "!" or a "?" after "ELOPES."</p> + +<p>The reporters could not get to either Mr. or Mrs. Goodchild or to H. R. +or Grace. The papers therefore did not say that the young people, whose +courtship was a Fifth Avenue romance, had eloped. That might not be +true. But they printed Grace's photographs and H. R.'s and reviewed H. R.'s +meteoric career and called the rumor a rumor. That was common +sense.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> + +<p>Also, all the newspapers spoke about the Montagues and the Capulets. At +about 2.30 <span class="smcap">a.m</span>. the reporters returned with expurgated versions of Mr. +Goodchild's denial. But the pages were cast. The late city editions +honorably printed:</p> + +<p class="center">Mr. Goodchild, when seen early this morning, denied the +rumor.</p> + +<p>It was thus, at one stroke, that the nuptials of Grace Goodchild and H. R. +were definitely placed among the probabilities. The average +New-Yorker now knew it was only a matter of days.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>XV</h2> + +<p>H. R. dressed to resemble an undertaker, but wearing a beautiful orchid +to show he did not do it for a living, called a taxicab, drove to the +Diocesan House and sent in his card to the Bishop of New York.</p> + +<p>The Bishop was a judge of cards. He therefore received H. R. in his +study instead of the general waiting-room of which the decorative scheme +consisted of "In His Name" in old English and therefore safe from +perusal. It might as well have been, "Be Brief!"</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Bishop Phillipson?" And H. R. held out his hand with +such an air of affectionate respect that the Bishop was sure he had +confirmed this distinguished-looking young man.</p> + +<p>But the head of the diocese has to know more than theology. Therefore +the Bishop answered, very politely:</p> + +<p>"I am very well, thank you."</p> + +<p>"Did you recognize the name?" modestly asked H. R.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes," said the Bishop, who recently had read about some meeting in +Rutgers Square and therefore remembered Rutgers.</p> + +<p>He was a fine figure of a man with clean-cut features and a look of +kindliness so subtly professional as to keep it from being +indiscriminatingly benevolent; a good-natured man rather than a strong. +One might<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> imagine that he made friends easily, but none could visualize +him as a Crusader. He was cursed with an orator's voice, sensitive ears, +and the love of words.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you've read the newspapers? They've been full of me and my +doings these many weeks," said H. R., looking intently at the Bishop.</p> + +<p>"My dear boy!" expostulated Dr. Phillipson.</p> + +<p>"I need your help!" said H. R., very earnestly.</p> + +<p>The Bishop knew it! Those to whom you cannot give cheering words and +fifty cents are the worst cases. To relieve physical suffering is far +easier than to straighten out those tangles that society calls +disreputable—after they get into print.</p> + +<p>H. R. went on, "I want you to help me to help our church."</p> + +<p>"Help you to help our church?" blankly repeated the Bishop. The +unexpected always reduces the expectant kind to a mere echo.</p> + +<p>"Exactly!" And H. R. nodded congratulatorily. "Exactly! In order that we +may stop losing ground!"</p> + +<p>There were so many ways in which this young man's words might be taken +that his mission remained an exasperating mystery. But the Bishop smiled +with the tolerance of undyspeptic age toward over-enthusiastic youth and +said kindly:</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, but—"</p> + +<p>"Pardon <i>me</i>," interrupted H. R., "but since it is only the Roman +Catholics who are growing—"</p> + +<p>"Our figures—" interjected the Bishop, firmly.</p> + +<p>"Ah yes, figures of speech. Don't apply to <i>our</i> church. The reason is +that the Catholics leave out the possessive pronoun. They never say +<i>their</i> church any more than they say <i>their</i> God. Now, why did we build +our huge Cathedral?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Bishop stared at H. R. in astonishment. Then he answered, austerely, +confining himself to the last question:</p> + +<p>"In order to glorify—"</p> + +<p>"Excuse me. There already existed the Himalayas. The real object of +building cathedrals hollow, I take it, is to fill 'em with the flesh of +<i>living</i> people. Otherwise we would have made sarcophagi. We Protestants +don't bequeath our faith to our posterity; only our pews. They are +to-day empty. Hence my business. I, Bishop Phillipson, am a +People-Getter."</p> + +<p>"You are what?" The Bishop did not frown; his amazement was too abysmal.</p> + +<p>"I fill churches. Since this is really a family affair, let us be frank. +Of course, you could fill 'em with paper—"</p> + +<p>"Paper?"</p> + +<p>"Theatrical argot for deadheads, Bishop; people who don't pay, but +contribute criticisms of the show. I am here to tell you how to go about +the job efficiently."</p> + +<p>H. R.'s manner was so earnest, it so obviously reflected his desire to +help, that the Bishop could not take offense at the young man's +intentions. The words, however, were so much more than offensive that +the Bishop said, with cold formality:</p> + +<p>"You express yourself in such a way—"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you the reason. Deeds never convert until they are <i>talked</i> +about. Dynamic words are needed. Ask any business man. I have made a +specialty of them. I may add that I am not interested in making money, +only in efficiency!"</p> + +<p>The Bishop saw plainly that this well-dressed young man with the keen +eyes and the resolute chin was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> neither a lunatic nor an impostor. +Therefore the Bishop instantly realized that the young man could not +help the Church and equally that the Church could not help the young +man. Further talk was a waste of time.</p> + +<p>"I fear this discussion is fruitless—"</p> + +<p>"I wasn't discussing; I was asserting. I am the man who is going to +marry Grace Goodchild—"</p> + +<p>The Bishop straightened in his chair and looked at H. R. with a new and +more personal interest.</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" he said, so humanly that it sounded like "Do tell!" Grace was +one of his flock. He remembered now that his friends the Goodchilds had +been in print lately and that editorials had been written about the +young man who proposed to marry the only daughter.</p> + +<p>"I promised Grace that I would help our Church—"</p> + +<p>To the Bishop these words, which the young man had used before, now had +a different meaning. It was no longer an utter stranger, but an +eccentric acquaintance; a character, as characterless people call them.</p> + +<p>"Yes?" And the Bishop listened attentively.</p> + +<p>"I've doped it out—" pursued H. R., earnestly.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon?" said the Bishop and blushed.</p> + +<p>"I have arrived at a logical conclusion," translated H. R. "In short, I +have found what will put Episcopalians, Presbyterians, Methodists, +Lutherans, Jews, Parsees, and native-born Americans on the Christian map +of New York. And it will not necessitate turning the unoccupied churches +into restaurants or vaudeville shows."</p> + +<p>H. R. turned his hypnotic look full on the Bishop, who read therein the +desire to do.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Thus must have looked HILDEBRAND!" thought the Bishop, in Roman +capitals, in spite of himself. On second thought he remembered to +characterize the language of Grace Goodchild's fiancé as "bizarre." +Experience teaches that it is wisdom to encourage good intentions. This +is done by listening.</p> + +<p>Since the Bishop was now obviously glad to listen, H. R. said, more +earnestly than ever:</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Bishop, what is it that is desirable to possess and more +desirable to give, elevating, rare beyond words, thrice blessed, and +beautiful as heaven itself?"</p> + +<p>"Truth!" exclaimed the Bishop, his voice ringing with conviction and the +pride of puzzle-solving. Being a human being, he had answered promptly.</p> + +<p>H. R. shook his head and smiled forgivingly: "That's only theology; +possibly metaphysics. Forget rhetoric and get down to cases. <i>Truth!</i> +Pshaw! Can you imagine that combination of four consonants and one vowel +serving as a political platform or included in any live concern's +instructions to salesmen? Never! No, sir. Guess again! I've found it. +Rare, picturesque, with great dramatic possibilities and easy to +capitalize. It is—"</p> + +<p>He paused and looked at the Bishop. The Bishop returned the look +fascinatedly. This young man was from another world. What would he say +next? And what would whatever he said mean?</p> + +<p>"<i>Charity!</i>" exclaimed H. R., proudly.</p> + +<p>The Bishop's face fell. You almost heard it.</p> + +<p>H. R. shook a rigid forefinger at the Bishop's nose and said, in a +distinctly vindictive voice:</p> + +<p>"<i>'But the greatest of these is charity'</i>!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We always preach—" began the Bishop, defensively.</p> + +<p>"That's the trouble. <i>Don't!</i> We'll tackle charity by easy steps. We'll +begin by the very lowest form, in order to break in American Christians +gradually. Feeding the hungry is spectacular and leads to the higher +forms. Show people that you will not only fill their bellies, but send +the caterer's bills direct to the Lord for payment, and the populace +will supply not only the food-receptacles, but the stationery. A great +deal," finished H. R., reflectively, "depends upon the right +stationery."</p> + +<p>"I fear," said the Bishop, uncomfortably, "that we are talking to each +other across an impassable gulf."</p> + +<p>"Not a bit, Bishop. The human intellect, properly directed, can bridge +any chasm. Let us be philosophical." H. R. said this as one who proposes +to speak in words of one syllable. "Now, good people—I don't mean +<i>you</i>, Bishop; you know: <i>good</i> people!—always do everything wrong end +foremost. Now, what do you, speaking collectively, do to feed the +hungry?"</p> + +<p>"We support St. George's Kitchens—"</p> + +<p>"Ah yes, you astutely work to eliminate poverty by tackling the poor, +instead of operating on the rich. You give tickets to the hungry! Think +of it—<i>to the hungry</i>! Tickets! A green one means a bowl of pea soup; a +pink one, a slice of ham; a brown one, a codfish ball. The +polychromatics of systematized charity whereby you discourage the +increase of a professional pauper class! Tickets! To the hungry! Ouch!"</p> + +<p>The Bishop more than once had despaired of solving<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> that very problem. +He shook his head sadly rather than rebukingly and said, "I have no +doubt that you are a very remarkable young man and very up to date and +very hopeful, but in a huge city like New York how can any one solve the +problem of helping everybody who really needs—"</p> + +<p>"By using brains, Bishop Phillipson," cut in H. R., so sternly that the +Bishop flushed. But before his anger could crystallize, H. R. continued, +challengingly: "Who in New York are in need of charity? Five thousand +empty bellies? No. Five million empty souls!"</p> + +<p>It was a striking figure of speech. Before the Bishop could say anything +H. R. went on, very politely:</p> + +<p>"Will you oblige me by torturing the ears?"</p> + +<p>"Torturing the ears?" echoed the Bishop in a daze.</p> + +<p>"Yes; by listening. Do you hear"—H. R. pointed to a corner of the +room—"do you hear a voice from heaven saying, 'Let them that hunger +bring a physician's certificate of protracted inanition? You don't? Then +there's hope. What I propose to do, Bishop, is to revolutionize the +industry." H. R. spoke so determinedly that the Bishop could not help +forgetting everything else and asking:</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"By giving the ticket to the full belly; not to the empty. We utilize +the machinery already in existence, but the ticket goes to the man +who pays twenty-five cents, not to the man who needs or accepts +the quarter's worth of food. There are people who would compel a +fellow-man made by God after His image to convert himself into a +first-trip-to-Europe dress-suit case and paste labels all over himself: +<i>Pauper! Hungry! Wreck!</i> My tickets will be precious tags<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> marked: +<i>Charitable! Decent! Christian!</i> I accomplish this by giving to the +giver! Success is a matter of labels."</p> + +<p>"But I can't see—"</p> + +<p>"My dear Bishop, everybody acknowledges that it is much nicer to give to +those you love than to receive. That is why we are exhorted to love our +fellows—that we may love to give to them. It follows that everybody at +heart likes to be charitable. Vanity was invented pretty early in +history. But it has not been properly capitalized by the Churches. Now, +listen to the difference when real brains are used. Remember that though +all is vanity, vanity is not all. Each person who gives twenty-five +cents receives a ticket. Since he lives in America, he gets something +for something! I have planned a mammoth hunger feast in Madison Square +Garden. Each donor from his seat will see with his own eyes a fellow-man +eat his quarter."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear Mr. Rutgers—"</p> + +<p>"I am glad you see it as I do. The ticket-buyer goes to the Garden. He +knows his ticket is feeding one man. But he sees ten thousand men +eating. He looks for the particular beneficiary of his particular +quarter. It might be any one of the ten thousand eaters! Within +thirty-seven seconds each donor will feel that his twenty-five cents is +feeding the entire ten thousand! Did a quarter of a dollar ever before +accomplish so much? Of anybody else," finished H. R., modestly, "I would +call that genius!"</p> + +<p>The Bishop shook his head violently.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to treat it as a spectacle—"</p> + +<p>"What else was the Crucifixion to the priests of the Temple?" asked H. R., +sternly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Bishop waved away with his hand and said, decidedly:</p> + +<p>"No! No! Would you compel starving men—"</p> + +<p>"To eat?" cut in H. R.</p> + +<p>"No; to parade their needs, to vulgarize charity and make it offensive, +a stench in the nostrils of self-respecting—"</p> + +<p>"Hold on! Charity, reverend sir, is never offensive. The attitude of +imperfectly Christianized fellow-citizens makes it a disgrace to show +charity, but not to display poverty. The English-speaking races, being +eminently practical, lay great stress upon table manners. They treat +charity as if it were a natural function of man, and therefore to be +done secretly and in solitude. Our cultured compatriots invariably +confound modesty with the sense of smell. Etiquette is responsible for +infinitely greater evils than vulgarity. Feed the hungry. When you do +that you obey God. Feed them <i>all</i>!"</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>"That is exactly what I propose to do—with your help: feed all the +starving men in New York. Has anybody ever before tried that? <i>All the +starving men!</i>" He finished, sternly, "Not one shall escape us!"</p> + +<p>The Bishop almost shuddered, there was so grimly determined a look on H. R.'s +face. Then as his thoughts began to travel along their usual +channel he felt vexed. He had patiently endured the disrespectful +language of a young man whose point of view differed so irritatingly +from that of the earnest men who were laboring to solve the problem. All +he had heard was confusing talk, words he could not remember, but left a +sting. Time had been spent to no purpose.</p> + +<p>"I still," said the Bishop with an effort, "do not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> see how you solve +the problem that has baffled our best minds."</p> + +<p>"Nobody else could do it," acknowledged H. R., simply. "But I have +carefully prepared my plans. They cannot fail. And now you will give me +your signature."</p> + +<p>"My signature to what?" asked the Bishop in the tone of voice in which +people usually say, "Never!" He felt that the interview was ended. A +suspicion flashed in his mind that this young man might reply, "To a +check!" But he paid H. R. the compliment of instantly dismissing the +suspicion. This was, alas! no common impostor.</p> + +<p>"To an appeal to New York's better nature," said H. R., +enthusiastically. "The masses always follow the classes; if they didn't +there wouldn't be classes. Mr. Wyman, of the National Bank of the +Avenue, will act as treasurer."</p> + +<p>It was the fashionable bank. Stock in demand at seventy-two hundred +dollars a share, and all held by Vans.</p> + +<p>"Has he—"</p> + +<p>"He will," interrupted H. R. so decisively that the Bishop forgot to be +annoyed at not being allowed to finish his question. "We shall appeal to +all New-Yorkers. Your name must therefore lead the signatures. Much, +Bishop Phillipson, depends upon the leader! Of course there will be +other clergymen, and leading merchants, and capitalists, and the mayor, +and the borough presidents, and the reform leaders, and everybody who is +Somebody. They must give the example. Do you not constantly endeavor, +yourself, to be an example, reverend sir?"</p> + +<p>Before the Bishop could deny this H. R. gave into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> his hands a book +beautifully bound in hand-tooled morocco. The leaves were vellum. On the +first page was artistically engrossed:</p> + +<h4><i>Hunger knows no denomination.</i></h4> + +<h4><i>There must not be starving men, women, or children in New +York.</i></h4> + +<h4><i>We who do not hunger must feed those who do.</i></h4> + +<h4><i>LET US FEED ALL THE HUNGRY!</i></h4> + +<p>"Here, Bishop Phillipson, is the place at the head of the list. It will +be signed by men and women whose names stand for Achievement, Fame, and +Disinterestedness."</p> + +<p>H. R. held a fountain-pen before him and pursued: "If you sign, I'll +feed all the hungry—<i>all</i>! Have you ever seen a starving man? Do you +know what it is to be hungry?"</p> + +<p>The Bishop shook his head at the fountain-pen. He had seen starving men, +but he had read about signatures. He could not officially sanction a +plan of which he knew so little. No grown man can say that he did not +know what he was signing.</p> + +<p>"Listen!" commanded H. R., sternly. "Do you hear your Master's voice?"</p> + +<p>"Your intentions, I make no doubt, are highly praiseworthy. But your +language is so close to blasphemy...."</p> + +<p>"All words that invoke God in unrhymed English are so regarded in the +United States. Grace would have it that you would sign in Chinese if by +so doing it fed the hungry. '<i>But the greatest of these is charity.</i>' +The reporters are waiting for the list. Everybody else will sign if you +head the list."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Of course." And the Bishop's voice actually betrayed the fact that he +had been forced into self-defense. "Of course. I should be only too glad +to sign if I were certain such an action on my part would actually feed +the hungry—"</p> + +<p>"<i>All</i> the hungry," corrected H. R.</p> + +<p>"Even a tenth of the hungry of New York," the Bishop insisted. "But, my +dear young man, excellent intentions do not always succeed. Your methods +might not commend themselves to men who have made this work the study of +a lifetime."</p> + +<p>"They have not gone about their work intelligently, for there are still +unfed men in New York. I am a practical man, not a theorist. Emotions, +respected sir, are all very well to appeal to at vote-getting times, but +they are poor things to think with. Now I don't suppose I have devoted +more than one hour's thought to this subject, and yet see the +difference. <i>All</i> the hungry!" In H. R.'s voice there was not the +faintest trace of self-glorification nor did his manner show the +slightest vanity. Both were calmly matter-of-fact. The Bishop had to +have an explanation. So he asked:</p> + +<p>"And your—er—quite unemotional and sudden interest in +this—er—affair, Mr. Rutgers...."</p> + +<p>"You mean, where do I come in?" cut in H. R.</p> + +<p>The Bishop almost blushed as he shook his head and explained:</p> + +<p>"Rather, your motive in undertaking so difficult...."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes. You mean, <i>why</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the Bishop, and looked at H. R. full in the eyes.</p> + +<p>"Because I desire to marry Grace Goodchild and I wish to be worthy of +her. It is a man's job to jolt New York into a spasm of practical +Christianity."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Bishop smiled. After all, this was a boy, and his enthusiasm might +make up for what his motive lacked in profundity of wisdom.</p> + +<p>"And besides," went on H. R., in a lowered voice, "I hate to think that +men can starve when I have enough to eat without earning my food." He +smiled shamefacedly.</p> + +<p>"My boy!" cried the Bishop, and shook the boy's hand warmly, "I'm afraid +you are—"</p> + +<p>"Don't call me good, Bishop!"</p> + +<p>"I was going to say it, but I won't. Do you think you can do what you +propose?"</p> + +<p>"I know it!" And H. R. looked at Dr. Phillipson steadily.</p> + +<p>The Bishop looked back. He was no match for H. R.</p> + +<p>"I will sign!" said the Bishop.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a>XVI</h2> + +<p>H. R. walked slowly to his office. Spring was in the air. The sky was +very blue and the air sparkled with sun-dust. Life thrilled in waves. +The breeze sang, as it does at times in the city. It had not the harps +of the trees to strum on, but it made shift with the corners of the +houses. Hand in hand with the breeze from the south came the joy of +living that, after all, is merely the joy of loving.</p> + +<p>The soul of God's beautiful world—light, heat, beauty, love—percolated +into the soul of Hendrik Rutgers and filled it—filled it full.</p> + +<p>It called for the One Woman in songs—the same songs the breeze was +humming.... Ah, the encouragement of the wind! It bade him take her! It +told him exactly whither the breeze was going, whither he should carry +her in his arms. It whispered to him the place where he might lay down +his burden!</p> + +<p>He walked on, head erect, chest inflated, fists clenched. He would take +her from the world and make her his world. Their world!—his and hers; +his first, then hers. After that they would share it equally.</p> + +<p>The breeze sang on.</p> + +<p>As he crossed Madison Square he was made aware that the sparrows also +had heard the song and, phonograph-like, were repeating it. A little +shriller, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> the same song. Ten thousand sparrows—and each thought it +was original! And the little pale-green leaves were nodding approval. +And the azure smile of the sky was benignantly telling all creation to +go ahead—as it was in the beginning, as it would be in the end.</p> + +<p>He loved her! He would love her even if she were not the most beautiful +girl in all the round world. He would love her if she were penniless; +even if her father were his best friend. He loved her and he loved his +love of her. Her eyes were two skies that smiled more bluely than God's +one. Her hair had the rust of gold and the dust of sun, and radiated +light and glints of love. From her wonderful lips came, in the voice of +the flowers, the one command that he, a hater of slaves, would obey, +gratefully kneeling. And the lips said it, flower-like, in silence!</p> + +<p>She was not there to be loved. But he loved her, and because he loved +her he loved everybody, everything. Even his fellow-men.</p> + +<p>They also should love! All of them! Love to love and love to live!</p> + +<p>Did they?</p> + +<p>He looked for the first time at his fellow-men on the park benches.</p> + +<p>He saw sodden faces, reptile-like sunning themselves, warming their +skins; no more.</p> + +<p>They were men without money.</p> + +<p>They therefore were men without eyes, without ears, without tongues. +They therefore were men without love. Everything had been cleanly +excised by the great surgeon, Civilization!</p> + +<p>A wonderful invention, money. To think that puny man had, by means of +that ingenious device, thwarted not only Nature, but God Himself!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> + +<p>If money had not been invented, there would not be great cities to be +loveless in!</p> + +<p>But those on the park benches, lizard-like sunning themselves, were +tramps. The pedestrians had money. They, therefore, must have love.</p> + +<p>He looked at them and saw that what they had was their hands in their +pockets. Doubtless it was to keep their money there. By so doing they +did not have to sit on park benches and fail to see the sky and the +buds, and fail to hear the birds and the breeze.</p> + +<p>And yet, as he looked he saw on their faces the same blindness and the +same deafness.</p> + +<p>On the benches sat immortal souls drugged with misery. On the paths +walked men asleep with Self.</p> + +<p>He alone was alive and awake!</p> + +<p>The appalling solitude of a great city was all about him. He was the +only living man in New York!</p> + +<p>And Grace Goodchild was the only woman in the world! He loved her. He +loved everybody. He wished to give, give, give!</p> + +<p>"You'll be fed!" he said to the park benches.</p> + +<p>"You'll feed em!" he told the sidewalks.</p> + +<p>"I'll marry you! he wirelessed to Grace.</p> + +<p>"You," he said to all New York, "will pay for every bit of it!"</p> + +<p>He walked into his office, frowning. Andrew Barrett was there.</p> + +<p>"Come with me," H. R. told him, and led the way into the private office.</p> + +<p>He sat down at his desk, brushed away a lot of letters, and said to his +aide:</p> + +<p>"Barrett, I've got a man's job this time."</p> + +<p>Sandwiching for banks that had deposits of over one hundred millions +appealed to Andrew Barrett.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> And the Standard Oil and the Steel Trust, +also, held possibilities. After the S. A. S. A. got those he would go +into business for himself.</p> + +<p>"Who is it?" he asked, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Grace Goodchild!" answered H. R., absently.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I thought—"</p> + +<p>H. R. started. "What? Oh! You are thinking of business. Well, I'm going +to put New York on the map at one fell swoop."</p> + +<p>Andrew Barrett beamed. At last, millions! All New York using sandwiches +at regular rates!</p> + +<p>H. R. looked at his lieutenant and smiled forgivingly. After all, it was +not Andrew's fault that the spring was not in his soul.</p> + +<p>"Barrett, men and women in all civilized communities desire three +things. All of them begin with a B. Can you guess?"</p> + +<p>"Not I!" answered Barrett, with diplomatic self-depreciation. There are +questions whose answers gain you mortal enmity by depriving the +questioner of the greatest of all pleasures.</p> + +<p>"Bread, beauty, and bunco. You satisfy all the natural wants of humanity +by supplying these three. Now men pay for their necessities with +whatever coin happens to be current. I have sometimes thought of a state +of society in which payment need not be made in interchangeable labor +units, but in the self-satisfaction of accomplishment. I have even +dreamed," he finished, sternly, "of making goodness fashionable!"</p> + +<p>"Merciful Heaven!" exclaimed Barrett, in indescribable awe.</p> + +<p>H. R. shook his head gloomily. "The trouble," he said, bitterly, "is +that it is so damned easy to be good, so obviously intelligent, so +natural! Men are bad, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> firmly believe, because badness is so +roundabout and expensive. How else can you explain it? Society, since +money was invented, has craved for expensive things. Society is, in +truth, expense."</p> + +<p>"Say, Chief, I don't get the dope about goodness being easy."</p> + +<p>"Probably not; it is too obvious. The early Christians died gladly. It +was good form. Dying for God ceased to be fashionable. Hence universal +suffrage. To die for God merely means to live for God. Do you see?"</p> + +<p>"No. The Christian part bothers me."</p> + +<p>"Let us be heathen, then. The Spartan mother loved her sons. Sent them +to battle saying, <i>With your shield or on it!</i> The axiom of the locality +is the fashion of the place. To die bravely in Sparta was to be +fashionable. If I can make goodness fashionable I'll do something that +is very easy and very difficult. If men were not such damned fools it +would be so restful to be wise."</p> + +<p>"Yes, H. R., but human nature—"</p> + +<p>"Exactly. We go against human nature always. God gave to men the +precious gift of fear in order that they might overcome it. Man's fear +to-day is to be good. Once upon a time men feared hell. It is now the +fashion for Americans to think, <i>To hell with hell!</i>"</p> + +<p>Andrew Barrett shook his head dubiously. He was not really interested in +abstractions. But he desired to be on good terms with his chief. The +best way to be nice to a man is to put up a weak argument. He began, +feebly defending, "But there must be some people—"</p> + +<p>"It is perfectly proper to be selfish if you are alone.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> It is stupid to +be selfish when you are one of a group. Therefore, my inveterately young +friend and typical compatriot, we must do something for nothing. Tip off +the papers."</p> + +<p>Barrett shook his head. "I don't get you," he confessed, sadly.</p> + +<p>"Few people do when you tell them they have to do something and not be +paid for it. To-morrow and the day after our men must display a new +sandwich for the cause for two hours." He paused, then he finished, +sternly, "Tell them I said so!"</p> + +<p>"I will," hastily said Barrett, only too glad to shift the +responsibility.</p> + +<p>"You might request the regular advertisers to pay full time, just the +same."</p> + +<p>"You bet I will! And what will the boards say?"</p> + +<p>"Let me have your pencil," said H. R., and he wrote:</p> + +<h4>NEXT WEEK</h4> + +<h4>THE MEN WHO HAVE MADE</h4> + +<h4>NEW YORK</h4> + +<h4>THE EMPIRE CITY OF</h4> + +<h4>GOD'S OWN COUNTRY</h4> + +<h4>WILL FEED</h4> + +<h4>ALL THE HUNGRY</h4> + +<h4>WHO HAVE NO MONEY</h4> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;">O. K.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;">H. R.,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 36em;"><i>Sec.</i></span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There!" said H. R.</p> + +<p>Andrew Barrett read it. "If it was anybody else—" he muttered.</p> + +<p>"Convey to your reporter friends that this is the biggest story of the +year. Particularly impress upon them that it is a secret!"</p> + +<p>"I'll impress that on them, all right," promised Barrett, with profound +sincerity. "It is really pleasant not to have to lie."</p> + +<p>H. R. rose and said: "I must get the other names. I have begun with the +Bishop. And he showed Barrett the signature of Dr. Phillipson.</p> + +<p>"Why his?" asked Barrett.</p> + +<p>"I expect him to officiate at my wedding. Also, he is a Conservative, +and Wall Street is for him, strong. Don't you see? Get the sandwiches +ready."</p> + +<p>H. R. no longer bothered with details. He had discovered that by +resolutely expecting people to do things, people did them. Every eight +hundred and thirty-one years a man is born who can throw upon his +fellow-men the yoke of responsibility so that it stays put.</p> + +<p>He decided that it would look well in print to play up the +non-sectarianism of the affair. He would therefore have the prominent +people meet in the Granite Presbyterian Church, attracting the +Presbyterians who otherwise might have objected to Bishop Phillipson's +leadership. But the meeting would be presided over by Bishop Barrows, a +Methodist. Bishop Phillipson would agree to this. Did not his name come +first in the stirring call to the metropolis?</p> + +<p>But, of course, to give to the project an attractive and, indeed, a +compelling interest he would resort to the great American worship of +bulk. It must be big. It must be the biggest ever!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a>XVII</h2> + +<p>He had no trouble in getting the other names. The bankers were easy. He +told each that the cash was to be handled by a committee of bankers, +thereby insuring efficient management. If Jones, of the small Nineteenth +National, signed, Dawson, of the big Metropolitan, must do likewise or +be convicted of lack of sympathy with a popular cause. The "Dawson +party," comprising, as it did, the richest men in the world, needed +popularity, Heaven knew. He also told the bankers that they would not +have to pay out anything. It won them. He clenched it by comparing +charity to the income tax.</p> + +<p>Yes, he did!</p> + +<p>"Nobody," he argued, "objects to an income tax that embraces +<i>everybody</i>! The great good of such a tax is to make every man feel that +he is supporting the government and to see to it that the government is +spending his money wisely. The income tax should lead to more +intelligent citizenship."</p> + +<p>Each banker agreed heartily to that.</p> + +<p>"The same with charity. Compel everybody to be charitable, the clerk +equally with the president, that the burden may fall not on the rich, +but on the many. Just sign here, will you, please? Thank you."</p> + +<p>The other signatures were equally easy to get.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> The so-called experts in +charity work always give <i>their</i> reasons. Result: $.00.</p> + +<p>On parting, H. R. told each signer the same thing:</p> + +<p>"The reporters will be present at the meeting. They may not stay till +the very end. All they want is an advance copy of the speeches and the +names of the people in the first three rows. The meeting begins at +eight-thirty sharp!"</p> + +<p>He did not urge a single signer to attend, but at eight-twenty every +seat in the Granite Presbyterian Church was filled by prominent people +who hated reporters and their loathsome prying into a man's private +affairs.</p> + +<p>It was a distinguished gathering, for H. R. had picked out nobody whose +name was not familiar to readers of newspaper advertisements, society +news, and government anti-corporation suits. Entire pews were filled +with Success in Art, Literature, Science, Commerce, Finance, and +Christianity.</p> + +<p>On the stage, formerly called chancel, were seated four bank presidents, +four bishops, four merchants, four social leaders, four great writers, +four great editors, four great painters, four great landlords, four +great statesmen; in short, four great everything.</p> + +<p>H. R. rose and said: "Before introducing the chairman I desire the +uninvited to retire instantly. The invitations were sent exclusively to +the men who have made New York what it is!"</p> + +<p>Would you believe it? Not one man retired. And they all knew what New +York was, too!</p> + +<p>They really thought New York was something to be proud of.</p> + +<p>"Those who do not rightfully belong here will retire!" repeated H. R. so +threateningly that each<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> man instantly sweated mucilage and remained +glued to his seat.</p> + +<p>"I present our temporary chairman, Bishop Barrows."</p> + +<p>"The meeting will come to order," said the Bishop.</p> + +<p>Profound silence reigned. This so flabbergasted the reverend chairman +that he fidgeted. Then he offered a prayer. When he had finished and the +audience had drawn the customary long breath that follows "Amen" the +chairman hesitated.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell 'em why we are here, if you wish," whispered H. R. Then, +exactly as though the Bishop had acquiesced, he said, "Very well, +Bishop," and he obediently arose.</p> + +<p>The Bishop repeated, hypnotically, "Mr. Rutgers will tell you why we are +here."</p> + +<p>H. R. bowed to him and to the congregation. The reporters woke up. Here +was something better than oratory or facts: News. This explains why the +newspapers give more space to who speaks than to what is said.</p> + +<p>"Fellow New-Yorkers! We have been accused of provincialism. They tell us +we don't care for the rest of the country. This is not true. We do care. +We ought to: we own it! We supply to the rest of the country the money +to be prosperous with, the paintings to be artistic with, the magazines +to be cultivated with, the gowns to be beautiful with, and a place to +spend money in, unsurpassed in the world. We have built the best hotels +in the universe expressly to accommodate the people that hate New York. +This is the soul of hospitality. New York leads. Other cities follow. +They copy our clothes, our dances, our financiering, our barbers, our +sandwiches,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> and the uniform of our street-cleaners. Our superiority is +not only acknowledged, but resented. We have decided to do something +that never before has been attempted, not even by automobile +manufacturers. Let other cities copy us if they will. We are going to +feed all the hungry who have no money! We are going to do it on the New +York plan completely, intelligently, efficiently, and, above everything, +picturesquely. You have seen the sandwich announcements?"</p> + +<p>They had. For two days all New York had seen them and all New York had +talked about them, for the announcements had taken on the aspect of a +puzzle. The answer was now expected. On vaudeville stages shining stars +were at that very moment volunteering humorous solutions through their +noses.</p> + +<p>"We propose to do it by means of improved tickets. No man shall buy more +than one. The millionaire and the minister, the merchant and the mut, +all will help. And all will help equally that each may benefit his soul +in like degree without injury to any pocketbook. And, gentlemen, we are +going to do it in an entirely new way."</p> + +<p>Everybody stared intently at H. R.</p> + +<p>An entirely new way!</p> + +<p>"Nobody will be allowed to buy more than one ticket. The price will be +twenty-five cents! That sum will buy one Ideal Meal. The ticket not only +will entitle the holder thereof to admission to Madison Square Garden, +but it will also carry a coupon worth ten thousand dollars in cash!"</p> + +<p>He paused. The assemblage went pale. Hands were seen hastily buttoning +up coats.</p> + +<p>"I personally will give the money," said H. R., sternly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> + +<p>A great sigh of relief soughed its way himward.</p> + +<p>"The meal will be a revelation to those who talk about the high cost of +living and will conclusively prove the advantage of being permitted to +do business in a large way without ill-advised interference by a +grandfatherly government. It thus will have an important bearing on +current legislation. Each ticket-buyer will see with his own eyes the +entire journey of the quarter from the pocket to the empty stomach. Also +the coupon attached to every ticket, worth ten thousand dollars in cash, +will be a reward not of charity alone, but of the combination of charity +and brains."</p> + +<p>The audience fidgeted. They did not believe it. It was too remarkable. +But, anyhow, it was the orator's own money.</p> + +<p>"There will be," pursued H. R., accusingly, "no waste, no scientific +un-Christianity, no half-baked philanthropy, no nonsense. On one day +next week the sun will set on our city, and not one man, woman, or child +will go to bed hungry, unless it is by his doctor's orders. All the +hungry who have no money shall be fed. As for the coupon, I have myself +already contributed the necessary funds to take care of that."</p> + +<p>Instead of feeling irritation at the repetition, they looked at him with +a respect not often seen in a church.</p> + +<p>"It has never been attempted. I realize that we cannot make lazy men +prosperous nor put in brains where they were left out by a wise +Providence; but we are going to abolish hunger for one day, and then see +what we can do to make conditions improve permanently. And the burden +will be shared alike by all—nobody more than twenty-five cents."</p> + +<p>A look of resolve came over the faces of the entire audience. It was an +experiment worth trying!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Gentlemen," added H. R., sternly, "we are going to call the bluff of +the anarchistic labor agitators!"</p> + +<p>A storm of applause burst from the audience. H. R. held up a hand.</p> + +<p>"In giving, it is always wise to know to whom you are giving. The +Society of American Sandwich Artists, with the aid of those who have +made New York what it is, pledges itself to see to it that the meals +find the proper bellies. There is no such thing as scientific charity +any more than there is unscientific poverty. Nobody hates to give, but +everybody wishes to give wisely. I guarantee that nobody who has money +to buy food with will be fed at our expense. <i>I guarantee this!</i>"</p> + +<p>"<i>HOW?</i>" burst from three hundred and eighteen throats.</p> + +<p>"That is our secret. I may add that the coupon, worth exactly ten +thousand dollars in cash, is not a lottery scheme. Gentlemen, I count +upon your cooperation. I thank you." He bowed, modestly stepped back and +nodded to Bishop Barrows. "Adjourn," he whispered.</p> + +<p>"I have a few—" began Dr. Barrows, protestingly.</p> + +<p>"Adjourn. The reporters will print them from your manuscript."</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>H. R. took out his handkerchief and wiped his cool, unfevered brow. He +had foreseen the chairman's speech. Max Onthemaker, who had been waiting +for the signal, jumped to his feet and yelled:</p> + +<p>"I move we adjourn!"</p> + +<p>"Second the motion!" shrieked Andrew Barrett from a rear pew.</p> + +<p>The Bishop had to put the motion. Not having<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> been called upon to pledge +money, the assembly decided it was prudent to get out before the +situation changed. The motion was unanimously carried.</p> + +<p>H. R. received the reporters in the vestry-room. He even shook hands +with them. Then he said, as usual giving them the "lead" for their +stories:</p> + +<p>"These are the points to emphasize: The tickets are unlike any other +tickets ever invented. They cost twenty-five cents. They will carry a +coupon. To a person with brains that same coupon will be worth ten +thousand dollars in cash. Chance has nothing to do with it. Brains! In +any event, the twenty-five cents will buy one Ideal Meal. The menu will +be prepared by the Menu Commission, composed of competent persons, which +is another novelty in commissions—the highest-paid chefs in New York, +the proprietors of the three best restaurants, the three leading diet +specialists, and three experts on hunger. No food fads and no disguised +advertisements of breakfast foods or nerve-bracers. What Dr. Eliot's +Five-foot Book-shelf did for literature the S. A. S. A. Ideal +Hunger-Appeaser will do for the masses. That menu inaugurates a +revolution without bloodshed, vulgar language, or the destruction of +fundamental institutions. The low price of our meal is made possible by +the application of automobile-factory methods and the fact that we have +no profit to make. Play fair with the restaurant-keeper, boys, and make +this strong:</p> + +<p>"The S. A. S. A., after epoch-making experiments, psychological and +physiological, has succeeded in making fraudulent hunger impossible. We +have a cash-detector which will enable us to discard any applicant who +can pay for his food, and our alcoholic thirst-tester automatically +eliminates booze-fighters. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> mammoth hunger feast will be held at +Madison Square Garden. Each ticket admits the buyer to the feast—as an +eye-witness that he may see where his money has gone. The coupon will be +detached by the ticket-taker at the entrance and returned to the +ticket-holder. Uncharitable people who have no brains need not buy a +ticket.</p> + +<p>"No shop, church, or bank will offer the tickets for sale; only our own +sellers in person and only one to each customer. We are not going to pay +anybody twenty thousand dollars. That's flat! The names of the members +of our various commissions will be announced later." He nodded +dismissingly. Then he seemed to remember that these were gentlemen. He +said: "My secretary, who has taken down my remarks in shorthand, will +give you typewritten copies of same. Use what you will. Only correct my +English, won't you? I'm not literary."</p> + +<p>That made them his friends. But the <i>Tribune</i> man said:</p> + +<p>"I'm from Missouri and I'm not going to print anything unless—"</p> + +<p>"I don't expect you to print news. These gentlemen know I receive no +salary. They know as well as I do that my sole object is to win the hand +of Grace Goodchild."</p> + +<p>The <i>Journal</i> man, who was sweet on the "Advice to the Love-Lorn" +editress, feverishly wrote the head-line,</p> + +<h4>ALL FOR LOVE!</h4> + +<p>"I needn't say to you," went on H. R., with a look that made the +reporters respect his reticence, "that if I were an advertising man the +publicity methods<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> that I have introduced would have made me richer than +I am. <i>What in hell would I do with more money?</i> Answer me that!"</p> + +<p>The <i>Tribune</i> man answered by turning pale. The others looked uneasy. +When a well-dressed young man asks that question in New York there can +be but two answers: Bloomingdale or Standard Oil.</p> + +<p>H. R. was going to marry a rich banker's only daughter. He was therefore +no lunatic.</p> + +<p>H. R. was thenceforth regarded by the newspapers, and therefore by the +public, as a fabulously rich man. This made him definitely Front Page. +No other man ever became chronically that without committing murder or +playing for the labor vote.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a>XVIII</h2> + +<p>All the morning papers spread themselves on the story and thereby gained +the respect of those present at the meeting whose names were mentioned. +Only one of the journals featured Grace Goodchild. Two dwelt strongly on +the ten-thousand-dollar coupon and on the fact that the wealth of those +present at the Granite Presbyterian Church aggregated $3,251,280,000. +One pure-food featurer played up the ideal meal, and two the hope that +at last charity would be discriminating.</p> + +<p>At 9.14 <span class="smcap">a.m</span>. messages began to rain down on H. R. They came by livened +youth, by telephone, and by secretaries.</p> + +<p>"Why," asked the Fitz-Marlton, "was not our chef considered enough? Why +drag in others?"</p> + +<p>"How does it happen that our fifty-thousand-dollars-a-year Piccolini, +who possesses eighteen decorations from crowned heads, is not one of the +Public Menu Commission? Don't you want the best?" This came from the +Vandergilt in writing that looked like ornamental spaghetti.</p> + +<p>"Please call at your earliest convenience and see what we give for +$17.38 in the way of a substantial breakfast," laconically invited Herr +Bummerlich of the Pastoral.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p> + +<p>Caspar Weinpusslacher called in person. He asked, reproachfully:</p> + +<p>"How it comes, Mr. Rutchers, that your best friend—"</p> + +<p>"Weinie," interrupted H. R., "this will cost you two thousand five +hundred tickets for your thirty-cent meal. You are put down as one of +the best three restaurateurs, together with Perry's and the +Robespierre."</p> + +<p>"But say, Mr. Rutchers, two thousand five hundred—" began Weinie, +trying to look angry at the extortion. He was rich now; he was even one +of the sights of New York.</p> + +<p>"Three thousand! That's what your haggling has done," cut in H. R., with +the cold determination that made him so formidable.</p> + +<p>"All right!" And Caspar ran out of the room. A terrible man, this. But +Frau Weinpusslacher would be in society now.</p> + +<p>"I trust you will not be misled by <i>newspaper scientists</i> into fool +dietetics," wrote McAppen Dix, M.D., the hygiene expert of an afternoon +paper.</p> + +<p>H. R. promptly stopped reading the letters and told one of his +stenographers, "Reply to all telephone inquiries that the personnel of +the commission has not yet been definitely decided upon."</p> + +<p>The three highest-salaried chefs in New York, their emoluments duly +quadrupled by the reporters after eating sample ideal luncheons, the +three best restaurateurs, and the three leading experts on stomachic +functions had their names printed as "Probable Public Menu Commission" +by the afternoon prints.</p> + +<p>Doubtless in order not to be accused of plagiarism each afternoon paper +published a different set of names. Tentative menus also were given, to +be repudiated by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> H. R. and by indignant competitors in the next +morning's papers.</p> + +<p>That is how, in its glorious march to charity, all New York began to +take an interest in menus. It was the first symptom of an awakened civic +conscience and intelligent humanitarianism. "Tell me what you eat and I +will tell you what you are," long ago observed Brillat-Savarin. H. R. +wrote it for the reporters. It furnished the text for learned editorial +sermons.</p> + +<p>When Andrew Barrett ventured to express his admiration, H. R. murmured:</p> + +<p>"Plausible, persistent, and picturesque."</p> + +<p>"I don't quite get you," said Barrett.</p> + +<p>"Watch me and learn," retorted H. R.</p> + +<p>Other men have disregarded persistence, but H. R. did not. He kept up +the firing; no broadside, but one big gun at a time—once a day. As a +result, the H. R. plan for feeding the hungry of New York assumed a +serious aspect. The right bill of fare would change potential Socialists +into sensible citizens. This was so obviously true that everybody said +no living man could do it. But everybody anxiously looked for the +publication of the Public Menu Commission's report. It thus became news +plus suspense.</p> + +<p>The moment H. R. had selected the personnel of the commission he went to +the Goodchild house.</p> + +<p>"Frederick, tell Miss Goodchild to come down at once. I have only a +minute to stay. Make haste!"</p> + +<p>The imperturbable English menial actually ran.</p> + +<p>Grace rushed down in alarm. Frederick's incoherent words had made her +fear it was a message from her dressmaker telling why it was absolutely +impossible to have it ready in time as promised under oath.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> + +<p>She petrified herself when she beheld the man who had made her famous. +She did this in order not to betray her glad relief.</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>"Grace!" exclaimed H. R., fervently. He quickly approached her, took her +hand and led her into her own drawing-room. He then waved his disengaged +left at all the chairs with an air that said, "I give all this +magnificence to you!" He waved again and commanded, "Sit down!"</p> + +<p>She obeyed, but he did not let go her right hand. He sat beside her. +Just as she was about to pull it away indignantly he patted it twice +very kindly and himself laid it on her own lap.</p> + +<p>Her anger was on the very brink of turning itself into oratory when he +stood up, squarely before her, clenched his fists in order to hold +himself in a vanadium-steel clutch, and whispered, huskily:</p> + +<p>"Merciful Heaven, but you're beautiful!"</p> + +<p>The vocal storm, checked for an instant by his extraordinary exhibition +of self-control, gave him time to go on: "Don't look at me! Don't you +know how beautiful you are? It isn't fair!"</p> + +<p>He turned from her, walked over to one of the windows, and stared out of +it.</p> + +<p>It showed more than self-control. It showed respect. And there are times +when a New York girl likes to feel that the man who wishes to marry her +also respects her. Grace knew it would be absurd to ring for a +policeman; as absurd as to encourage H. R. to stay. And she really had +not studied him cold-bloodedly. She looked at his back and wondered.</p> + +<p>Presently H. R. turned from the window and with a semblance of composure +said to her:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> + +<p>"If you will scold me, or laugh at me, or turn your back on me, I'll +find it easier to speak calmly."</p> + +<p>Since such was the case, she decided not to do any of the things he +desired her to do. She also said nothing. It is a very wise woman who, +being beautiful, can keep her mouth shut.</p> + +<p>"Grace, you and I are now at the door of the church. Our wedding will be +positively a national event. Have you read the papers? Did you see what +I have undertaken to do for your sake?"</p> + +<p>She turned away her head. But she heard him say, with the calmness of a +man who is sure of himself, and therefore to be respected:</p> + +<p>"I am cool again. You may turn your head this way."</p> + +<p>Her foot was tap-tapping the polar-bear skin eighty-four times to the +minute. She was trying to find a way of getting rid of him once for all. +She did not desire more sensational newspaper articles, and she realized +that she must be more than careful if she was not to supply the material +for them. She was clever enough to realize that this was not a man to be +shooed away, chickenwise. What had seemed so easy to do was in truth an +appalling problem.</p> + +<p>"Listen, Grace. For your sake I gave to New York free sandwiches."</p> + +<p>She sniffed before she could help it.</p> + +<p>"You are right," he admitted, "even if it made you famous"—she was +unmoved—"and me rich!"</p> + +<p>She started slightly. She had never thought of the business end of his +crusade. The motive is everything, in love as in murder.</p> + +<p>"You are right," he pursued. "But, really, I am not bragging about it. +But now I'm going to give<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> free dinners. Millions are affected— I mean +millions of dollars, not people. But I must have your help. Even your +da—</p> + +<p>"Sir!" began the loyal daughter, angrily.</p> + +<p>"<i>Dad</i>, I was going to say, not <i>damn</i>, as you naturally assumed," he +explained, with dignity. "Even dad is on the Mammoth Hunger Feast +Commission. I put him on. When he sees I got the other bank presidents +he'll stay on. But I'll tell you why I came to see you—"</p> + +<p>"Uninvited," she frowned.</p> + +<p>"Of course. I haven't asked for the latch-key. By the way, is this house +big enough for the wedding reception?" he pondered, anxiously.</p> + +<p>"It is—for mine," she said, pointedly. Then she wondered why she didn't +order him away. The reason was that she couldn't. He wasn't that kind of +man!</p> + +<p>"That's good," he exclaimed with relief. "Well, I want you to sell +tickets. You read about the tickets for the Mammoth Hunger Feast?"</p> + +<p>"No! And I don't wish to know anything about it."</p> + +<p>"Quite so," he said, approvingly. "That being the case, you know all +about it. The tickets are to be sold by the one hundred perfectly +beautiful girls in New York. You head the list."</p> + +<p>She turned her face to him, a sneer on her lips. But before she could +speak he said, apologetically:</p> + +<p>"I know it isn't a subtle compliment. It happens to be a fact. There is +going to be tremendous pressure brought to bear on me for places on the +corps. I tell you this because your best friends will drive you crazy +asking you to use your influence with me. People who decry favoritism +always expect favors. I'd do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> anything for you. But I can't have any but +perfectly beautiful ones. I simply can't!"</p> + +<p>She looked at him with irrepressible interest. Then, remembering her +position, said, coldly, "Will you please leave now and never come back?"</p> + +<p>He went on: "It is going to make enemies for you. That will be your +first payment for being famous. You will be Number One of the perfectly +beautiful hundred because God made you what you are and not because you +are my wife—"</p> + +<p>"I am not!"</p> + +<p>"—to be. You didn't let me finish. Tell your friends you can't. If they +pester you, tell 'em flatly you won't. And for Heaven's sake don't use +the photograph of your pearls any more, nor the Crane portrait. Use the +picture <i>Vogue</i> had last week. Or get some fresh ones and give La Touche +an order to supply 'em to the reporters. They won't cost you a cent that +way, because they print his name. Good-by, Grace."</p> + +<p>He held out his hand. She quickly put hers behind her back. His face +thereat lighted up.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you love me!" he exclaimed. "It was only a question of time, +Empress. And you will never know how much I love you until you realize +what it costs me to go away from here, unkissing, unkissed, and yet +without regrets! But some day—" He paused, and then, with a fierce +hunger that made his voice thick, "Some day I'll <i>eat</i> you!"</p> + +<p>He walked out. She made an instinctive movement toward him, but checked +herself. As he left the room she confronted the mirror and looked at +herself.</p> + +<p>It brought the usual mood of kindliness.</p> + +<p>She forgave him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> + +<p>She rang for Frederick. "The Menaud motor, at once!" and went up-stairs +to telephone. If the reporters had to use photographs, she couldn't stop +them.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later she had kindly given La Touche the photographer +eighteen poses.</p> + +<p>La Touche thanked her with the perfervid sincerity of a man whose +irreducible minimum is forty-eight dollars a dozen. Then he asked, +anxiously:</p> + +<p>"In case the reporters—"</p> + +<p>"I suppose they'd get them, anyhow." She spoke cynically.</p> + +<p>"Not unless they stole 'em," he denied, dignifiedly. "We never give any +out without permission. Of course they'd use snapshots, which are not +always—er—artistic."</p> + +<p>Remembering that she had been snapped when she had a veil on and also +with her mouth open, as all mouths must be in active speech, she told +him in a bored tone:</p> + +<p>"It doesn't interest me."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, mademoiselle! Thank you!" effusively exclaimed the artist. +"It is no wonder—"</p> + +<p>She turned on him a cold, haughty stare.</p> + +<p>He was all confusion.</p> + +<p>"<i>Pardon!</i> I—I— Monsieur Rutgers—" he stammered. "I—I— He—"</p> + +<p>She left the shop, a vindictive look in her wonderful eyes. She hated H. R. +Was she merely the advertised vulgarity of that unspeakable man whom +her family so foolishly had not jailed? What had he made of her? She +might not mind being called beautiful by the newspapers, but—</p> + +<p>The photographer's liveried flunky on the sidewalk opened the door of +her motor.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p> + +<p>Nine pedestrians, two of them male, stopped.</p> + +<p>"That's Grace Goodchild!" hissed one of the women, tensely.</p> + +<p>"See her?" loudly asked another.</p> + +<p>In the time consumed between the opening of the car's door and her +taking her seat eleven more New-Yorkers gathered about the Menaud.</p> + +<p>"Home!" she snapped, angrily.</p> + +<p>The photographer's flunky stepped away to tell the chauffeur. Instantly +a young man's head was thrust through the window of the car. Behind him +crowded a dozen disgusting beasts—female.</p> + +<p>"You're a pippin!" came from the young man's face a foot from her own. +She shrank back. "Say, <i>he's</i> right! I wisht I was in his—" Then the +motor started and nearly, but, alas! not quite, decapitated the +loathsome compatriot.</p> + +<p>If this was fame, she didn't wish any of it, she decided.</p> + +<p>"I hate him!" she said to the cut-glass flower-holder. "He has given me +this absurd notoriety and— What delays us?"</p> + +<p>She looked out of the window.</p> + +<p>They were halted at Thirty-fourth Street. Presently the traffic +policeman's whistle blew. The motor started again.</p> + +<p>She looked at the policeman. He instantly touched his helmet to her. And +she saw also that he nodded eagerly to his mounted colleague across the +street.</p> + +<p>The man on horseback also saluted her militarily!</p> + +<p>She bowed to him. She had to, being well-bred. She also smiled. She was +of the logical sex.</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless, I hate—" But she left her thought unfinished in her +quick desire to lie to herself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The policeman must know papa," she said, aloud, to show H. R. what she +thought of him.</p> + +<p>And that made her wonder what H. R. had up his sleeve now. What did he +mean by saying that her troubles were only beginning and that she soon +would feel the heavy price of fame? What absurd thing was that about the +perfectly beautiful hundred and the tickets and the Beauty Commission +and the free sandwiches—hateful word!—and the free dinners, and the—</p> + +<p>She almost ran up to her room, pretending not to hear the voices of her +tea-drinking friends in the Dutch room. In her boudoir she quickly read +all the newspaper clippings. She learned all about the Mammoth Hunger +Feast because, this being the second time, she now read intelligently, +instead of looking for a certain name.</p> + +<p>If H. R. could do all he said he would, he would be a wonder. And he was +a very clever chap, anyhow.</p> + +<p>Her father must be wrong.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild himself could never get the newspapers to say about him +all the nice things they said about H. R. And Bishop Phillipson and the +fathers of girls she knew, and people she had heard of and painters and +novelists and—er—people were helping H. R.</p> + +<p>The tickets and the ten-thousand-dollar coupons and the ideal menu!</p> + +<p>"He <i>is</i> clever!" she admitted, and smiled. Then she decided, "If he +makes me ridiculous—" and frowned. "I could kill him!" she said, +calmly, as befits a Christian assassin. That desire compelled her to +think of H. R. and of what he had said from their first meeting at the +bank. He had said much and had done more.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> In the end she spoke aloud: +"I wonder if he really loves me?"</p> + +<p>A knock at the door was the only answer—a servant who came to tell her +that Mrs. Goodchild wished her to know they were waiting for her +downstairs in the Dutch room.</p> + +<p>"Very well," she said to the servant. To herself she said, firmly, "Even +if he loves me and is everything he should be I can never marry a man +who has made me feel like a theatrical poster!"</p> + +<p>Her determination was adamantine. To break it H. R. must be more than +clever.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a>XIX</h2> + +<p>H. R. at that very moment was in his office. He had prepared a few model +epistles for his Public Sentiment Corps to write to the newspapers, +asking whether the composition of the ideal hunger-appeaser had been +printed and when the tickets for the Mammoth Hunger Feast would be +offered for sale. This would keep alive interest in his plans and in the +personnel of his public commissions. People had grown to believe that +all sorts of commissions were necessary not only to free but even to +intelligent government.</p> + +<p>He had his list of names ready for the reporters when they called.</p> + +<p>"The announcement as to how we shall sell the tickets—each at +twenty-five cents—to pay for a wonderful meal for a hungry person and a +coupon attached, with ten thousand dollars in cash if you have +brains—will be made to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"But—" expostulated a fat reporter.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow!" said H. R., feeling strong enough now to be nasty to the +press. Either he was or he was not yet News. He would decide that matter +for all time.</p> + +<p>"Do you think we are your hired press agents to—" angrily began the fat +one.</p> + +<p>"I don't give a damn if I never see you again. I don't care what you +print or what you don't print, nor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> when. We do our advertising through +the medium of sandwiches. Get to hell out of here and remember the libel +laws; also that I pay my lawyers by the year. They are not very busy +just now." To the others he said, kindly, "That's all to-day, boys. I'm +busy as blazes."</p> + +<p>Cursing the absurd libel laws which prevent all newspapers from printing +the truth, the fat reporter took his list of names and his leave at one +and the same time. You can't treat even frauds humorously nowadays.</p> + +<p>H. R. had won again!</p> + +<p>He summoned Andrew Barrett and said to him: "Get this sandwich out +to-morrow. It is one of our own. S. A. S. A. account; all-day job."</p> + +<p>"The men objected to the other—"</p> + +<p>"Seven thirty-cent tickets to Weinpusslacher's apiece," interrupted H. R., +impatiently. "Get them from Weinie. He owes us three thousand."</p> + +<p>"Great! Greatissimo!" shouted young Mr. Barrett. He hated to pay out +real money, and the members were getting ugly. They wanted pay for +everything, even for sandwiching for the Cause.</p> + +<p>"Go to the costumer of the Metropolitan Opera House, to Madame Pauline, +and to Monsieur Raquin of the Rue de la Paix who is stopping at the +Hôtel Regina, and to the fashion editor of the <i>Ladies' Home Mentor</i>, +and ask each to send us a design for a ticket-seller's costume. They +will be worn by perfectly beautiful girls. There will be one hundred of +them. I myself vote for the Perfect Thirty-eight, about five feet seven +and one-half tall. My model of perfection is Miss Goodchild. Get busy. +And, Barrett—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Here is the text for the sandwich." H. R. handed a sheet of paper to his +lieutenant, who read thereon:</p> + +<h4>ONE HUNDRED GIRLS</h4> + +<h4>WILL SELL TICKETS</h4> + +<h4>TO THE</h4> + +<h4>MAMMOTH HUNGER FEAST</h4> + +<hr style='width: 25%;' /> + +<h4>THEY ARE THE ONLY</h4> + +<h4>PERFECTLY BEAUTIFUL GIRLS</h4> + +<h4>IN ALL NEW YORK</h4> + +<hr style='width: 25%;' /> + +<h4>LOOK FOR THEM!</h4> + +<h4>LOOK AT THEM!</h4> + +<h4>PERFECTLY BEAUTIFUL!</h4> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;">O. K.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;">H. R.,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 36em;"><i>Sec.</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>"Say, H. R., this is the master-stroke! commented Andrew Barrett.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow," said H. R. coldly, "one hundred sandwiches on the Avenue. +One of them in front of Goodchild's all day. White canvas. Heliotrope +letters. Pea-green border. Design number eleven. Also insert this ad. in +all the papers."</p> + +<p>This was the copy of the advertisement:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Wanted:</i> Perfectly Beautiful Girls. Not merely pretty, nor +merely young, nor merely hopeful, but Perfectly Beautiful! +Object: To make New-Yorkers thank Providence they live in +the same town. Apply H. R., Allied Arts Bldg.</p></div> + +<p>Andrew Barrett read it and left the room shaking his head, unable to +speak coherently.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> + +<p>H. R. looked up a few addresses in the Directory and went out. He called +on the president of the National Academy of Design, on the Professor of +Anatomy of the College of Physicians and Surgeons, on the president of +the National Sculpture Society, the president of the Magazine Cover +Designers' Guild, the president of the Equal Suffrage League, who was +Mrs. Vandergilt, and Professor Tangolino, late of the Argentine +Republic. These, with H. R., would constitute the Public Beauty +Commission and would decide who was perfectly beautiful.</p> + +<p>To each he pointed out that the noble cause of charity must be advanced. +Also an American standard of perfect beauty would be established for all +time, their decision being unappealable. The artists instantly approved +the plan, the method being artistic and therefore strictly logical. The +president of the Suffrage League at first demurred. She objected to sex +being dragged into the affair, and, besides, mere physical beauty too +long had been accorded a disproportionate importance in social and +political matters. It degraded a sex fit for higher things than to be +man's plaything. H. R., however, earnestly pointed out that it involved +the recognition of the superior salesmanship of women—not +sales<i>woman</i>ship, but sales<i>man</i>ship, for while man was no better than +woman in the conduct of the government or anything else, woman was +infinitely the superior of man in many things. He finally induced Mrs. +Vandergilt and the others to serve on the commission.</p> + +<p>But the damned newspapers, he warned them, would print names and would, +alas! devote much space to their deliberations.</p> + +<p>They said that the regrettable publicity would not stop them from doing +their duty.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> + +<p>He returned to his office and prepared a series of questions for the +papers to ask him. This is the most intelligent form of newspaper +interview because it is always printed. Answers to the reporters' own +questions always appear in the papers when the reporters themselves have +to supply them.</p> + +<p>These were the questions—which later on the Public Sentiment Corps +answered with judiciously varied ayes and noes.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>1. Were there one hundred Perfectly Beautiful Girls in New +York?</p> + +<p>2. Would there be a second Judgment of Paris?</p> + +<p>3. Was the Public Beauty Commission really competent?</p> + +<p>4. How many points for complexion and coloring? For teeth? +For figure? For hands and feet and hair?</p> + +<p>5. Would not a uniform garment, on the lines of Annette +Kellerman's bathing-suit, be the only fair way?</p> + +<p>6. Would the wives, daughters, or fiancées of the members of +the commission be <i>hors concours</i>?</p> + +<p>7. At what age did a girl cease to be a <i>Girl</i>?</p> + +<p>8. Should Morality be allowed to interfere with Art?</p></div> + +<p>When the reporters called at the S. A. S. A. offices H. R. gave to each +a typewritten set of the questions and said:</p> + +<p>"The commission will hold meetings. They will be public to the +applicants. Nobody else, excepting male reporters, will be allowed to be +present. And you might add, gentlemen, that the commission considers the +requirements for success so uncommon as to render unnecessary the lease +of the Madison Square Garden to hold the candidates. The sessions will +be held in a room not much larger than this room. And," added the +diabolic H. R., "we have no fear of overcrowding. They have to be +<i>perfectly beautiful girls</i>,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> beautifully perfect. Now, don't quote me, +boys, but you might print, as a report on good authority, that the only +one thus far chosen is Miss Grace Goodchild!"</p> + +<p>Though all reporters are human, most of them are grateful. They duly +published the "rumor" and Grace's latest photographs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XX" id="XX"></a>XX</h2> + +<p>Long before the tea was over, Grace Goodchild, two miles north of him, +realized that H. R. was one of those detestable persons who are always +right. A dozen of her intimates surrounded her in the Dutch room. They +all talked at once. When eleven stopped for lack of breath the twelfth, +who very cleverly had saved hers, asked:</p> + +<p>"Did they really pick you out, Grace?"</p> + +<p>The speaker was not perfectly beautiful. But she was wise and therefore +a virgin.</p> + +<p>"No!" said Grace. "But really, I don't want to have anything to do with +it."</p> + +<p>"If Hendrik was <i>my</i> Hendrik, I'd be <i>It</i>," said the wise virgin, +determinedly, "or he'd know it!"</p> + +<p>"He told me," Grace spoke modestly, "that only perfectly beautiful girls +would be chosen. And so of course that lets me out!"</p> + +<p>"Oh-h-h-h!" came in chorus. There ensued much whispering. Grace flushed. +No woman likes to be accused of mendacity monosyllabically. It made her +dislike H. R. more than ever.</p> + +<p>"Does your father," asked the wise one, "still oppose—"</p> + +<p>"He does," answered Grace. Then she added, "Of course."</p> + +<p>"I think your father—" And the wise one bit her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> lips. You would have +thought she was snipping off thread with her teeth. A well-bred person +must do this oftener than a seamstress—to keep herself from telling the +truth.</p> + +<p>"<i>My</i> father," tactfully observed Marion Molyneux, "could oppose until +the cows came home."</p> + +<p>"Mamma is on the commission and I'm not eligible, so <i>I</i> am not after +his vote," said Ethel Vandergilt. "But I'd love to meet him, Grace. Is +he all they say he is?"</p> + +<p>Grace Goodchild for the first time began to realize that H. R. was a +remarkable man. She realized it by the simple expedient of disliking +Ethel.</p> + +<p>"Is it true that he'll do anything you tell him?" cut in Cynthia +Coleman, enviously. She was a very pretty girl, with the absurd doll +face that makes men feel so manly. She had brains. A girl with that face +always has. She shows it by never showing them. The face does the trick +more quickly.</p> + +<p>Grace said, calmly, "H. R. never—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, girls, she calls him H. R., too!" exclaimed Marion.</p> + +<p>Feeling herself one of a multitude made Grace feel a mere human being. +Created in the image of God, each of them naturally desires to feel like +a goddess.</p> + +<p>"I do not call him H. R.," said Grace, coldly.</p> + +<p>"It is more important to know what he calls her," observed the wise one.</p> + +<p>Grace remembered what H. R. had called her. She felt herself blushing +with anger. Truly, the gods were kind to H. R.</p> + +<p>"Coming back to our muttons, are you going to introduce us?" asked Ethel +Vandergilt.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm not going to have anything to do with the affair," said Grace, +decisively.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you?" said the wise one. It barely missed being a sneer.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" asked Ethel. She was the best-gowned woman in the United +States. And she was <i>ex-officio hors concours</i>.</p> + +<p>Grace Goodchild felt the stare of twenty pairs of eyes of differing +degrees of brightness, but of the same degree of unbelief. They +irritated her by flattering her. No woman can concentrate when watched +by other women. Grace, therefore, was compelled to live up to the rôle +which society had assigned to her, whether she liked it or not.</p> + +<p>When you tell a man he is wise and ask for advice, he looks as wise as +he can and answers ambiguously. When you tell a woman you don't believe +her she indignantly tells you the truth.</p> + +<p>"One of the reasons"—she spoke very sweetly—"is that he said my +friends would ask me to do it but he did not wish me to add to his +troubles."</p> + +<p>The girls were listening with their very souls, for this was inside +news.</p> + +<p>Grace went on: "The commission will be absolutely impartial—"</p> + +<p>"You don't know mother!" muttered Ethel Vandergilt.</p> + +<p>Grace heard her, and she said, rebukingly, "Yes, absolutely impartial +and—"</p> + +<p>"Are you chosen one of the hundred?" asked the wise virgin.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am!" answered Grace, defiantly. "I had nothing to do with it. +This whole affair is exceedingly distasteful to me."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Of course!" came in a great chorus.</p> + +<p>To agree with her in that tone of voice was intolerable.</p> + +<p>Grace's hatred shifted from the unspeakable H. R. to these bosom +friends. If it were not that H. R. was always right, she wouldn't +dislike <i>him</i> so much.</p> + +<p>"It is not that I mind not being one of the hundred, but the not being +asked to be," muttered the doll face.</p> + +<p>It was obviously what all of them minded.</p> + +<p>Ethel Vandergilt said: "If I could make my mother resign I'd offer my +services. But she is not the resigning kind. Good-by. I'm crazy to meet +your H. R."</p> + +<p>Well, they were welcome to him—if she made up her mind she did not want +him for herself.</p> + +<p>The moment the last false friend left, Grace's tolerant smile vanished.</p> + +<p>Was she, in sooth, chosen Number One? The papers said it was only a +rumor.</p> + +<p>Suppose she was not Number One, after all? Supposing the commission—</p> + +<p>"I could kill him!" she hissed, and left the room.</p> + +<p>Frederick came to her. "Miss Goodchild, there are five reporters waiting +to see you."</p> + +<p>"Say I'm not at home!" Then she called the man back. "Ask them what they +want," and went up-stairs to her room.</p> + +<p>Frederick returned presently and reported: "They say they will do +themselves the honor to inform you in person if you will be kind enough +to see them. And, Miss—" He paused. He had exceeded his duty.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Frederick?" asked Grace, knowing that the imperturbable +cockney was perturbed.</p> + +<p>"There is quite a crowd outside. They are photographing the ladies, +ma'am."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What ladies?"</p> + +<p>"Begging your pardon, Miss Vandergilt and the others, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"Just in front of the door. Mr. Goodchild had some trouble in getting +in, ma'am. He's quite vexed about it, but it wasn't my fault, ma'am," he +said, forgetting that he was a menial; that is, protesting against +injustice. "I couldn't help it, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"Very well, Frederick," she said, graciously, and descended.</p> + +<p>Five reporters were politely listening to Mr. Goodchild's vituperations. +Therefore his daughter walked down the stairs as majesty descends from +the dais. One of the reporters started to meet her half-way.</p> + +<p>"Hey! confound you, come down!" shrieked papa.</p> + +<p>"Miss Goodchild, we wished to ask you if you had been chosen as the +first of the perfectly beautiful hundred. Now that we have seen you at +close range, the question is unnecessary."</p> + +<p>She smiled slightly; then ceased to smile. The intelligent young man +proceeded courteously: "Will you therefore kindly tell us when the +wedding will be?"</p> + +<p>All reporters are psychologists in their interrogations. The other +reporters ceased listening to Mr. Goodchild and as politely as the +circumstances permitted took out paper and pencils.</p> + +<p>When an angry man is suddenly deprived of his audience he becomes a +mental assassin.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild blamed it on H. R.</p> + +<p>"She'll never marry that infernal idiot!" he shrieked. He was the head +of the house.</p> + +<p>"Ah yes," said the diplomatist on the stair, looking as though he had +memorized the exact words. "Ah<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> yes! June! Thank you." He nodded +gratefully at Mr. Goodchild, jotted down a date, and put the paper in +his pocket.</p> + +<p>"Congratulations, Miss Goodchild," he said to her, with profound +respect, and descended. In the hall he said to his colleagues: "Come on, +boys. We've got the month. She <i>is</i> Number One, and—"</p> + +<p>"If you dare to print anything I'll have you fired," fumed Mr. +Goodchild.</p> + +<p>"If you were a younger man I'd tell you to fire your grandmother, sir. +But I fear me she is, alas! no more. In the mean time, Mr. Goodchild, +will you be good enough to pose for our artist? Look pleasant, please. +You'll have to close your mouth to do it. Wilson, you may begin filming +when ready!" he said to his photographer, who had just pushed past +Frederick.</p> + +<p>Sounds of cheering and applause came from the street. The +ultra-fashionable friends of Grace Goodchild, having been photographed, +were shaking hands with the artists and spelling their own names to the +reporters.</p> + +<p>The gaping proletariate, seeing such graciousness, recognized the +aristocracy of the democracy and were cheering madly. An aristocracy +whose sense of humor makes it kindly is lasting.</p> + +<p>"Them's real swells!" shrieked a red-headed girl who carried a large +bandbox.</p> + +<p>More cheers.</p> + +<p>At that moment Grace Goodchild, impelled by an irresistible curiosity +appeared at her door.</p> + +<p>"<i>There she is!</i> Hooray!" proudly shrieked two hundred and eighteen +potential Socialists, making room for Bishop Phillipson.</p> + +<p>Hoping they were not too late for the wedding, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> throngs clapped +furiously. Even at marriages there are encore fiends.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, my child?" inquired the Bishop, with a tolerant smile.</p> + +<p>"Please turn around, Bishop!" shrieked the <i>Journal</i> artist. He was paid +by the portrait.</p> + +<p>The Bishop did so, smiled benignantly, saw the shutter open and close, +and then said, deprecatingly:</p> + +<p>"I do not wish my picture taken, sir."</p> + +<p>"No, sir. Will you give us another shot, Bishop?"</p> + +<p>The reverend gentleman waited a moment and then shook his head and +turned his back rebukingly on the photographers, who a second time had +not respected his wishes.</p> + +<p>"Such is fame, Bishop Phillipson," Grace told him, with a smile.</p> + +<p>"Reflected greatness, rather," said the Bishop, with his courtly +kindliness.</p> + +<p>"It's an infernal outrage!" came in a husky voice from the house.</p> + +<p>"It's papa. He doesn't understand—"</p> + +<p>"He and I are too old, I fear," smiled the Bishop, mournfully. "And how +is H. R., my dear?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head and frowned. Always that person!</p> + +<p>"A most remarkable young man," pursued the Bishop, congratulatorily. He +had received three and one-half bushels of letters from utter strangers, +commending his practical Christianity and his highly intelligent plan +for feeding the hungry. Five vestry-men also had expressed their +gratification that his name headed the list of the men who had made New +York the greatest city of the hemisphere. It looked as though the hungry +were to be fed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Bishop and Grace moved out of the doorway to allow the reporters to +pass, and were themselves about to enter the house when a sound of +cheering made them halt in their tracks.</p> + +<p>A vast crowd was walking up the Avenue. In the van marched one of H. R.'s +free sandwiches. He was dressed in crimson broadcloth (from Morton +& Co. as per the next morning's accounts) and he wore a shining silk hat +(Fox Brothers, as per same in the <i>Times</i>, <i>Herald</i>, and <i>Tribune</i>). The +sandwich-board was a most gorgeous affair—a shield of burnished gold +(by Cellini & Co., Florentine frame-makers) on which were the arms of +the City of New York in heraldic colors. Beneath, in six-inch letters of +glittering turquoise enamel, was:</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 347px;"> +<img src="images/ill_015.jpg" width="347" height="400" alt="THE FIRST OF THE PERFECTLY BEAUTIFUL 100 IS GRACE +GOODCHILD OF 777 FIFTH AVENUE." title="" /> +</div> + +<p>In front of the Goodchild mansion the stalwart free sandwich stopped, +faced Miss Goodchild, raised his glittering top-hat, and held it in the +air, Beau Brummelesquely.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p> + +<p>Andrew Barrett was immediately behind the herald of the free and +intelligent people of the greatest city of the New World.</p> + +<p>A hush fell on the multitude.</p> + +<p>"Speech!" shrieked Andrew Barrett.</p> + +<p>"Speech!" shrieked twelve hundred and thirty-eight intelligent +New-Yorkers and seven bankers.</p> + +<p>"There's Bishop Phillipson!" shrilled a correctly gowned elderly lady, +pointing a jeweled lorgnette at the Bishop of New York. It meant the +Church approved.</p> + +<p>"Hooray for the Bishop! Bishop! Bishop!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Vox populi, vox Dei</i>," murmured the Bishop to himself.</p> + +<p>"Say something, my child," he gently urged Grace. "After all, we may +dislike the way it is done, but if the hungry are fed we may be +forgiven."</p> + +<p>Grace Goodchild burned with desire to make a wonderful speech to prove +that her greatness was her very own. They wanted her, not H. R., this +time! It was <i>her</i> triumph, not his.</p> + +<p>Alas! She did not know what to say. She did not even know how to say it. +She therefore shook her head angrily.</p> + +<p>"Speech!" shouted the crowd, twice as vehemently as before. They always +want to hear what you don't wish to say.</p> + +<p>The cameras were clicking away madly. They sounded like the +telegraph-room of a national convention.</p> + +<p>Five-dozen healthy young persons began chanting, rhythmically:</p> + +<p>"Speech! Speech! Speech!—speech!—speech!"</p> + +<p>Grace thought they were saying:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> + +<p>"His Peach! His Peach! His Peach! Peach! Peach!"</p> + +<p>She hotly resented the intimation of H. R.'s ownership, but the +sincerity of the tribute paralyzed her. The sandwich-man had been +amiably told by Andrew Barrett, "Hold the pose, you slob!" and did so. +His immobility was most impressive. His shield dazzled Grace. She +recalled, in a flash, Geraldine Farrar.</p> + +<p>She bowed to the sandwich, then to right and left, kissed her hand to +the crowd of voters and not-yet voters, and ran blushing into the house.</p> + +<p>The storm of applause broke loose. The very house rocked drunkenly as +the sound-waves dashed themselves against the façade.</p> + +<p>The strenuous, nerve-racking life of New York compelled the crowd to +linger for an hour. It was not until they began to break off bits of the +bronze railing and chip souvenirs from the portico columns that the +Goodchilds' butler sent a hurry call for the police.</p> + +<p>The lieutenant's official version was cold and formal.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXI" id="XXI"></a>XXI</h2> + +<p>The Public Menu Commission had been having pitched battles. The Public +Sentiment Corps had been bombarding the newspapers with letters asking +for the official menu, but the commission refused to be hurried by +popular clamor, and said so to the reporters. Their own sessions were +held behind locked doors. Omelette soufflée au curaçoa was definitely +stricken off Signor Piccolini's tentative menu, on the theory that the +filling was not permanent.</p> + +<p>"Air is cheap," protested Piccolini, "and we have to consider the +expense."</p> + +<p>"But we want something that will stay by the hungry more than fifteen +minutes."</p> + +<p>"Then," said Piccolini, scathingly, "give them sliced rubber boots."</p> + +<p>"If <i>you</i> prepared the sauce, dear master," interjected H. R., who +happened to be present, "I'd rather eat it than any other artist's filet +Châteaubriand aux—"</p> + +<p>Piccolini bowed to him profoundly. Then he shrugged his shoulders at the +others.</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless," he said, with conviction, "Omelette soufflée—"</p> + +<p>"What can you expect from the other members?" whispered H. R. to him. +"If we prolong the debate there won't be any hungry men alive to eat our +dinner.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> Yield, dear master, for the sake of humanity." Then he said +aloud, "Let's try beans."</p> + +<p>The Commission therefore reported progress and adjourned for the day.</p> + +<p>The newspapers, spurred thereto by the avalanche of letters and favorite +recipes from charitable ladies in Brooklyn, who gave their names, +addresses, and terms per week, devoted much space to the ideal +hunger-appeaser.</p> + +<p>For the first time in history New York began to take an intelligent +interest in menus. Everybody talked about eating as if Hungarian +orchestras and Brazilian dances did not exist.</p> + +<p>Presently the newspapers announced on unimpeachable authority that +serious dissensions existed among the members of the Public Menu +Commission. It was hinted that resignations would be called for.</p> + +<p>Applications for the vacant places and suggestions from really competent +men poured into the editorial rooms. It made the commission, as usual, +an editorial target. More space!</p> + +<p>That impelled the Commission, speaking with difficulty by reason of the +swollen lips of the chairman, to announce the menu. H. R. had it printed +on academy board.</p> + +<p>New York, on the tiptoe of expectation to learn what an ideal +hunger-appeaser would consist of, and how it could be done for +twenty-five cents and how the commission could decide without bloodshed, +made haste to read the menu:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p><div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'>Soup à la Piccolini</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Entrée à la Hôtel Regina</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Roast à la Perry</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Vegetable à la Weinpusslacher</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Dessert à la Fitz-Marlton</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Bread à la Prof. Preston</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Milk à la Pasteur</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Coffee à la Manhattan</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Tea as Wanted</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;">O. K.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;">H. R.,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 36em;"><i>Sec.</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>The exact recipe of each dish would be made public after the Hunger +Feast. It would remain a secret until then!</p> + +<p>More space! See? Could the newspapers help it? Didn't people have to +have something to talk about? If they didn't, what could the editorial +writers have to write about?</p> + +<p>Knowing that talk must continue in order that interest in the Hunger +Feast might not abate, H. R. himself went to the shops on Fifth Avenue. +The shops elsewhere would follow the Avenue fashions.</p> + +<p>He told each window-dresser the same thing.</p> + +<p>"I come to you <i>first</i> because you are an artist concerned with color +effects and striking arrangements. You also are a psychologist, since +you compel people to halt on the sidewalk and then mutely induce them to +use the doors. You really are the man who declares the dividends on the +firm's capital stock. Yes, you do, and I'll see that the big chief +acknowledges it, too. Now I've come to you—<i>first</i>! Whatever you do +will be copied. It makes you plagiarizable, and that is merely the +recognition of greatness. You have the window. In order to dissociate +the idea of money from your shop in the public's mind I'm going to give +you a chance to prove that you are above mere money-making, which is +something no Fifth Avenue shop<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> ever did before. Remember in this +connection the psychology of the crowd and of the money they wish to +spend and at the same time keep in their pockets. You and your windows +are New York—the New York that draws the crowd of natives and +Americans. Give a whole window, not to <i>my</i> charity, but to New +York's—to yours! Put this menu on an easel, with a background of that +wonderful velvet you had the other day—the one that killed your +competitors. It was wonderful!"</p> + +<p>Before the artist could draw his breath H. R. had warmly bid him +good-by, leaving a menu in the astonished artist's hand.</p> + +<p>They did. It was original, as they explained to the boss. And even +department-store bosses know that originality means novelty, and novelty +is what New York pays for.</p> + +<p>Within six hours the first edition of menus was exhausted. In every shop +window in New York the public could read the Public Menu Commission's +masterpiece. Cost: $68.14 + H. R.</p> + +<p>The undoubted possessors of perfect beauty gave more trouble than the +menu, and therefore got more space in the newspapers. A regular detail +of police guarded not only the Allied Arts Building day and night, but +also the honor and features of the Public Beauty Commission. Grace +Goodchild was compelled to make use of her neighbor's house, Mrs. +Vantine's, in order to reach the street. She used the Seventy-sixth +Street entrance. Mrs. Vantine congratulated Grace each time on her +deserved triumph and asked her to look at Louise, her youngest.</p> + +<p>H. R. had told Barrett to convey delicately to the press that the +relatively young wife of one of the members<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> of the commission had left +for Reno. No name was mentioned. Therefore the portraits of all the male +members were impartially published. A neat little interrogation-mark +after each name did <i>not</i> constitute libel.</p> + +<p>The commissioners were thereafter compelled to be particularly nice to +their own wives in public.</p> + +<p>The theatrical profession howled individually, collectively, in person, +in writing, by telephone, and through press agents. Nightly these +favorites would ask, more or less nasally and slightly below pitch, +whether they were not perfectly beautiful, and gave the audience the +opportunity to judge of fifteen-sixteenths of their persons. And the +unanimous reply was, "You are!"—from the claque. It became the topic of +the day, and as such divided families and parted friends.</p> + +<p>At the end of three days H. R. diabolically announced that only +sixty-eight had been selected.</p> + +<p>"Aren't there one hundred perfectly beautiful girls in Greater New +York?" he feverishly asked the reporters. "Aren't there?"</p> + +<p>The literary misogynists propounded the same query—in the head-lines, +at that! On the very morning that saw that insulting question printed it +was estimated by one of the newspapers that 318,029 answered, "Present." +It was probably an exaggeration, as there doubtless was some repeating.</p> + +<p>The Public Beauty Commission added fourteen to the list of utter +pulchritudes. Names, addresses, and portraits duly printed.</p> + +<p>Elderly persons signing William H. P. or James G. C. in feminine +hand-writing asked the most conservative newspapers whether there was +nothing else fit to print<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> but the disgusting travesty on charity or the +appalling vulgarity of immodest females.</p> + +<p>The newspapers printed the letters. One of them, an afternoon sheet, +stopped printing names and portraits of the successful. It stopped for +one issue.</p> + +<p>The circulation department interviewed the city department. The paper +went back, under a new city editor, to the business of printing all the +news that was fit to print.</p> + +<p>The public demanded it.</p> + +<p>On Sunday all the newspapers published the full list of one hundred +perfectly beautiful girls who alone would sell tickets admitting the +holder to the Mammoth Hunger Feast in the capacity of spectator. One to +each customer; no more.</p> + +<p>On Monday they printed a facsimile of H. R.'s ticket.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/ill_016.jpg" width="400" height="68" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>No. 1 was a coupon to be detached by the seller. It was in the nature of +both wages and a vote to show which was the perfectest of the perfect. +It would mean the only fair election ever held in America. Only one +ticket to each customer. There would be no rich man buying tickets by +the thousand, no stuffing of the ballot-boxes by the gallant commander +of a militia regiment, no undue influence on the part of high political +officials. No man could resist a perfectly beautiful girl who asked him +to buy one ticket for a quarter of a dollar, twenty-five cents.</p> + +<p>No bribing by kisses was necessary.</p> + +<p>The rest of the ticket was retained by the buyer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> It bought what the +masses were beginning to speak of as the dandy belly-filler for a hungry +person who was warranted not to have any money. No. 3 coupon was to be +detached by the doorkeeper at Madison Square Garden and returned to the +ticket-buyer. If the holder of said coupon exercised his or her brains +he or she would receive ten thousand dollars in cash. Conditions +governing the collection of said ten thousand dollars would be published +on Saturday morning. It would <i>not</i> be a lottery.</p> + +<p>It now behooved charitable New-Yorkers to buy the tickets which would +feed all hungry persons who positively had no money to buy food with, +and at the same time receive ten thousand dollars in cash, brains being +present—all for twenty-five cents.</p> + +<p>The ten thousand would be paid in cash, with United States Treasury +notes obtained from the National Bank of the Avenue. This insured their +genuineness.</p> + +<p>On Monday the perfectly beautiful started. It was, fittingly, a +perfectly beautiful day. In automobiles (makers' names given, since it +was for charity) decked with beautiful flowers (donating florists also +honorably mentioned in the public prints, and paid advs. besides) the +perfectly beautiful hundred went forth to appeal to the great heart of +New York.</p> + +<p>They were indeed beautiful. At least the men, being blind and possessing +the suffrage, thought so. Why, they even clamored to be allowed to buy. +And found ways and means of repeating. They never can vote honorably.</p> + +<p>The newspapers reported that by 11 <span class="smcap">p.m</span>. 38,647 tickets had been sold. +Also they announced twenty-three engagements of perfectly beautiful +ticket-sellers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> + +<p>Grace Goodchild's name led the list. This time Mr. Goodchild did not +deny it. The reporters refused to listen to him, damn 'em!</p> + +<p>On Tuesday the receipts fell on. Only 7,363 were sold.</p> + +<p>No engagements.</p> + +<p>On Wednesday the sales rose. The <i>offers</i> of marriage aggregated 18,889. +Sixteen engagements of poor but perfectly beautiful girls to rich but +devilishly wise old men!</p> + +<p>A truly remarkable thing happened. Everybody ceased to be concerned with +the sales of tickets or the object thereof. Crowds before the newspaper +offices patiently watched for announcements of fresh betrothals. Every +time one went on the bulletin-board the spectators cheered as if it were +a home run instead of a prospective marriage.</p> + +<p>The betrothed reported to H. R. that they found the display of the +solitaires interfered with the sales of tickets. He advised them to +remove it. They refused.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, coldly, "the one who sells the most tickets will be +declared the most beautiful of the hundred. Of course you don't care +what men think of your looks so long as one man thinks you are the most +beautiful. He must, since he is your fiancé. By all means show the +solitaire. I respect your modesty. Besides, it keeps you from receiving +offers that you cannot, with honor, entertain."</p> + +<p>They therefore removed their engagement-rings during business hours.</p> + +<p>In Thursday's papers were printed the facsimile of a certified check for +ten thousand dollars signed by H. R. It was a sample prize. All checks +would be exchanged for cash before the Hunger Feast began.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Save your coupons!</i></p> + +<p>This was already the commercial slogan of a great nation.</p> + +<p>On Friday H. R., knowing that even perfectly beautiful girls cannot hold +the attentive interest of New York unless infractions of the Seventh +Commandment are provided in relays, gave out a statement for the +newspapers. The newspapers not only printed it, but featured it.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Heretofore [said H. R.] when charitable folks have given +money to organized charity they have never been able to feel +certain that the money went to the right people. Organized +charity has been compelled to be careful. While the merits +of the case were under investigation it has frequently +happened that the case has died of starvation. Now, genuine +destitution needs not life-insurance examination, but common +sense and ordinary Christianity on the jump. We have +undertaken to feed the hungry who have no money to buy food +with. If anybody out of the thousands who will be fed by us +is proven to be an undeserving object of our charity I will +give one hundred thousand dollars par value in gilt-edged +securities to any organized charity approved by Mr. George +G. Goodchild, president of the Ketcham National Bank, who, +being my prospective father-in-law against his wishes, will +be glad to have me lose the money.</p> + +<p>Modern methods of efficiency have been applied to charity +for the first time. Hence this meal, scientifically studied, +artistically concocted, digestible, delicious, and filling. +There will be no graft, no throwing away of the public's +nobly given money, no dietetic fads, no scientific sawdust, +no waste, no salaries, no fraudulent hungers, no inhumanity, +no maudlin sentiment, nothing but common sense now first +applied to charity by New York. The Mammoth Hunger Feast, +marking an era in the life of the great metropolis, will +begin at 8.30 <span class="smcap">p.m</span>. in order to give time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> for all +ticket-holders to dine at home. Well-fed New-Yorkers will +therefore be able to see with their own eyes how starving +people eat—people who have no money to buy food with. +Before each ticket-holder takes the seat to which he is +entitled he, or more probably she, will receive ten thousand +dollars in cash, by simply using brains. Let us see if +New-Yorkers are as clever as they are charitable. Also, I +shall marry Grace Goodchild in June.</p></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;">[Signed] H. R.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>A great many people announce an epoch-making idea and expect the world +to remember it ever thereafter. H. R. knew that, living in a republic, +he must iterate, reiterate, repeat, and sign every time.</p> + +<p>On Saturday morning the ninety-nine other perfectly beautiful girls were +engaged. Grace Goodchild, when asked point-blank if she were engaged to +H. R., now answered, "Do you see any engagement-ring?" Then she held up +her slim and beautiful hands. No ring.</p> + +<p>All told, 186,898 tickets had been sold. It was plain that repeating had +been indulged in. The fair sellers could not be blamed.</p> + +<p>"If susceptible men have bought more than one ticket," H. R. said to the +reporters, "they need not think they will get more than ten thousand +dollars. But the fact remains that we have more than enough money."</p> + +<p>This entitled H. R. to the respect of the most conservative dailies. +And, moreover, he paid full rates for a half-page in which he printed +this advertisement:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">hungry people who can't buy food because they have no money +will receive a fine dinner free by going to madison square +garden to-night before 8.30. fourth avenue entrance</span>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">no matter how you came to be hungry and penniless; no matter +what your life has been or what your religion now is; no +matter what your habits are or what your political opinions +may be, without regard to your jail record, disease, state +of mind, or favorite newspaper, if you are hungry and have +no money, come and eat</span>!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">to the public: come and see them eat your tickets</span>!</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">under the auspices of the society of american sandwich +artists</span>.</p></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;">H. R.,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;"><i>Sec.</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">sponsors: the men who have made new york what it is</span>!</p></div> + +<p>Then followed three hundred and seventeen famous names.</p> + +<p>"What I have to say," H. R. modestly told the reporters, "I have stated +in my advertisement. However, if you wish to ask any questions, or if +you think the public is interested in any particular point—"</p> + +<p>"It is! We do!" exclaimed the reporters. "Tell us about the ten thousand +dollars!"</p> + +<p>"It is very simple and very easy," said H. R., with the deadly +earnestness of a man who knows he will not be believed when he speaks +the truth in New York. "As each person passes the ticket-taker he will +go, coupon in hand, into the superintendent's office. There he will be +asked one question. It is not a catch question. No puns permitted. No +double meaning. No particularly deep or recondite significance. It is a +plain question, vital to the welfare of all New-Yorkers, affecting the +destiny of the American nation. The answer is perfectly obvious. The +Mayor has been invited to be present, and he will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> see to it that no +fraud is perpetrated on the thousands of people who have bought tickets +in good faith—"</p> + +<p>"I thought the object of the tickets was to feed hungry—" began a +serious-eyed reporter.</p> + +<p>"It is; but charity carries a reward in cash. It is the modern way. You +might add that there will be no reserved seats, no privileged classes. +Where all men are alike charitable, all men are equal before God and +man!"</p> + +<p>Napoleon revolutionized the art of war by moving quickly and +overwhelming the foe with artillery. H. R. made charity a success by +appealing not alone to the charitable instinct of New-Yorkers, but to +every other instinct he could think of. Therefore everybody who was not +hungry logically decided to go to the Mammoth Hunger Feast. The +newspapers printed long and reassuring accounts of the police +arrangements.</p> + +<p>H. R., being a republican at heart, had reserved the Imperial Box for +Grace Goodchild and her friends, and ninety-nine Royal boxes for the +other ticket-sellers and their fiancés. His free sandwich men occupied +the front row of arena seats and had been coached by the leader of the +Grand Opera claque. At a given signal they were to cheer Grace +Goodchild. When the bugle announced H. R.'s entrance they were to go +crazy.</p> + +<p>Ten beers <i>after</i> the show.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXII" id="XXII"></a>XXII</h2> + +<p>At half after seven that night H. R., accompanied by eighteen +contemporary historians and six magazine psychological portraitists, +went to the entrance of the hungry. It was in the rear of the Garden and +was dark and narrow.</p> + +<p>Symbolism!</p> + +<p>It was the same entrance that a few weeks previously had admitted the +circus's beasts; only the beasts were not hungry.</p> + +<p>Fourth Avenue seethed with humanity. A blind man afflicted with stone +deafness could have told that hungry people were there provided his nose +worked.</p> + +<p>The street-cars had stopped running at 6.30 <span class="smcap">p.m</span>., after the +twenty-seventh accident.</p> + +<p>The crowd was orderly and silent, as really hungry people are. And they +had good manners, as the physically weak always have. And they were not +impatient, for the prospect of eating always makes the starving hopeful.</p> + +<p>A merciful darkness covered the hideousness of ten thousand faces. The +reporters began to fidget like nervous women at a military play just +before the execution.</p> + +<p>H. R., seizing the exact psychological moment, said to the reporters:</p> + +<p>"Let us press the button!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is the modern way—the press and the pressure.</p> + +<p>He pressed the button. It turned on the lights of an electric sign hung +above the entrance. The starving men read in blazing letters:</p> + +<h4>IF YOU ARE HUNGRY AND</h4> + +<h4>HAVE NO MONEY WALK IN!</h4> + +<p>By their light the reporters were able to see the faces of the crowd +plainly.</p> + +<p>"My God!" said the young man from the <i>Times</i>.</p> + +<p>The dazzling invitation was so worded as to prevent unseemly haste and +unnecessary crowding. It said, "<i>Walk</i> in."</p> + +<p>"It is easy to assume, gentlemen," said H. R., calmly, to the reporters, +"that all these people are hungry."</p> + +<p>"Yes, let 'em all in!" entreated those reporters who were not jotting +down impressions.</p> + +<p>H. R. shook his head sternly.</p> + +<p>"We have our duty to the public to perform. We must determine whether +they have no money."</p> + +<p>"Your duty is to feed them <i>all</i>," said the <i>Sun</i> man.</p> + +<p>"You can't afford to make a single mistake. Did you see that +white-haired woman—"</p> + +<p>"Come with me, gentlemen," cut in H. R., leading the way within.</p> + +<p>Streams of people began to flow in at each entrance, sedately; four big +policemen, representing the majesty of the law, stood, two on either +side of each entrance. The majesty was of locust wood, held in the air, +ready to descend on the cranium of the lawless and even of the +ill-mannered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> + +<p>As the starving entered the door they found themselves in a passageway +with sides of heavy plank that narrowed until they were walking in +single file, just as they do in abattoirs and sheep-dipping pens.</p> + +<p>One by one they thus came. There was a small inclosure on one side of +the passage. There stood H. R. and his reporters. Beside them was a +small table. A heap of shining silver quarters was on the table in plain +sight of all.</p> + +<p>H. R. asked the first man, "Are you hungry?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I haven't had a bite in—"</p> + +<p>H. R. held up a hand to check the autobiography. He inquired, sternly:</p> + +<p>"Got any money?"</p> + +<p>"Nope."</p> + +<p>"Sure?"</p> + +<p>"Yep."</p> + +<p>The reporters began to sneer. What did this H. R., who was said to be +clever, expect such people to answer? That's the trouble with all +wealthy philanthropists. They are damned fools. They don't know human +nature nor their own compatriots.</p> + +<p>"Do you want a quarter?" asked H. R., kindly, at the same time lifting a +big handful of silver to show there was plenty.</p> + +<p>"You bet!"</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't you rather have a dollar?" asked H. R. He picked up four +quarters and jingled them in his open palm by bouncing them up and down +in the air, gently, invitingly.</p> + +<p>The man stared at H. R. and refused to answer.</p> + +<p>It must be a trap!</p> + +<p>"Don't you or do you? Speak quickly!" said H. R., impatiently.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Of course!"</p> + +<p>"You'll have to let us search you to see how much you've got on you if +you really want a dollar instead of the quarter."</p> + +<p>"Say, yous—" began the man.</p> + +<p>"Frisk him!"</p> + +<p>"To hell with your dollar," said the man, defiantly clapping one hand to +his pocket. "I knew it was a plant!"</p> + +<p>"This way," politely said the plain-clothes men, leading away the pauper +who didn't wish to be searched.</p> + +<p>The colloquy had not been overheard by the other hungry guests. The man +was led into a storeroom, where he was kept so that he might not empty +his pockets and come in again from the street for the dollar he did not +really want.</p> + +<p>"You see how we will eliminate those who have money and—"</p> + +<p>But the reporters were not listening to H. R. They were too busy +writing. This man was no philanthropist. He was intelligent.</p> + +<p>There were some guests who said they objected to the indignity of being +searched, though they had no money. They joined the first man in the +storeroom.</p> + +<p>"No taxpayers' subterfuges tolerated," H. R. said.</p> + +<p>But most of the hungry were perfectly willing to be searched and prove +they had no money. They were told by H. R. to pass on. To those who +asked for the money H. R. said, sternly:</p> + +<p>"Do you wish to swallow a quarter or do you want to eat food?"</p> + +<p>They grumbled. They were human. They passed on. They were hungry.</p> + +<p>Having shown the reporters how the undoubted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> penury of the deserving +hungry was established, H. R. led them into the presence of the +Infallible Booze-detector.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but when those poor people said they were willing to be searched +and thereby prove they had no money, I notice you didn't give 'em the +quarter," observed young Mr. Lubin of the <i>Onward</i>.</p> + +<p>"We never promised to give money. We asked them if they wanted a quarter +and then if they wouldn't prefer a dollar."</p> + +<p>"Yes. But you cruelly raised their hopes," remonstrated Lubin. "These +are human beings—"</p> + +<p>"And we are going to fill their bellies," interrupted H. R. "Giving +<i>money</i> to those who haven't any simply perpetuates Capitalism besides +alienating the Christian vote. We <i>share</i> food. That's Socialism. We do +not give alms. That's insulting. Besides, we do not own the quarters. +They're borrowed."</p> + +<p>Lubin was silenced.</p> + +<p>That silence from the Socialist reporter was H. R.'s greatest triumph +thus far.</p> + +<p>As the penniless guests left the glittering heap of stage quarters +unsearched they walked on along a gallery. At the end of it was another +glittering electric sign. It said:</p> + +<h4>THIS WAY IF YOU ARE HUNGRY!</h4> + +<p>The hungry walked on eagerly. A few feet from the door that led into the +arena where the waiting tables were they had to pass by a wide-open +door. Within, in plain sight of the passers-by, was a long bar. Behind +the bar were white-jacketed bartenders. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> beer-kegs formed an +inspiring background. On the bar itself stood dozens of big +schooners—full.</p> + +<p>Above the bar could be read:</p> + +<h4>FREE BEER! Frei! Gratis!</h4> + +<p>A few walked on—straight to the dining-hall.</p> + +<p>But every one who walked into the free-beer room was told to go through +a door on the left.</p> + +<p>"That way!" a policeman told the thirsty.</p> + +<p>The first man who went into the inner room found a policeman standing +beside a table on which were a dozen full schooners.</p> + +<p>"If you drink now you don't eat," courteously said the cop.</p> + +<p>"Kismet!" said the starving man, and reached for a schooner.</p> + +<p>"It's for <i>after</i> eating!" gently warned the policeman.</p> + +<p>"Life is uncertain. I'll drink now and—"</p> + +<p>"This way!" The policeman now spoke in his regular voice.</p> + +<p>He led the thirsty out of the room by another door which led into still +another room used for storing the heavy circus impedimenta.</p> + +<p>"Do you see?" asked H. R., sweetly, to the reporters and the students of +sociology from the magazines. "Do you?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rutgers, Columbus and his egg had nothing on you," said the earnest +young theorist from the <i>Evening Post</i>.</p> + +<p>The others were busily turning out literature.</p> + +<p>"It won't cheat 'em out of a meal," H. R. whispered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> to young Mr. Lubin +from the <i>Onward</i>. "But they don't eat with the others."</p> + +<p>That is how H. R. kept his promise to the business men of New York. He +had circumvented fraud, which is the chief aim of modern charity. Also +he had discouraged the formation of a professional pauper class—the one +danger against which all commonwealths must guard.</p> + +<p>"I'd like to know what you are going to do with the culls," the <i>Sun</i> +man asked H. R. He had of late been trying to elevate the tone of the +magazines with real fiction; which they refused to print.</p> + +<p>"Those who fell through thirst will be fed later," H. R. answered.</p> + +<p>"And those that wouldn't be searched? They looked mighty hungry to me." +He was an expert in hunger. It drove him out of Literature.</p> + +<p>"We'll sell the left-over meals to them at cost. We are intelligent +philanthropists. We shall now have a beer, gentlemen, and let us pass +on."</p> + +<p>That beer had taken on a subtle quality of exclusiveness. All the +reporters drank with gusto.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXIII" id="XXIII"></a>XXIII</h2> + +<p>At eight sharp the main entrance of the Garden was thrown open. The +reporters promptly noted that the crowd of sight-seers exceeded the +number of the hungry. It restored their belief in republican +institutions.</p> + +<p>As each ticket-holder presented his ticket he demanded the instant +return of the ten-thousand-dollar coupon. Even the skeptics who knew +they'd never get the ten thousand dollars did this.</p> + +<p>The coupon-holder was then ushered into the superintendent's office, in +which sat the Mayor of New York, the presidents of seven banks, the +proprietors of six hotels, one United States Senator, H. R., and the +reporters.</p> + +<p>Behind them was a large frame inclosing stretched white oil-cloth. +Printed thereon in large black letters was this:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>YOU WILL BE ASKED ONE QUESTION. YOU WILL HAVE TEN SECONDS IN +WHICH TO ANSWER. BRAIN-CAPACITY IS MEASURED BY THE QUICKNESS +OF PSYCHOLOGICAL ASSOCIATION. IF YOU CAN'T ANSWER IN TEN +SECONDS, YOU ARE NOT ENTITLED TO THE $10,000 IN CASH.</p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> + +<p>As the first coupon-holder entered H. R. rose and took from his pocket a +huge roll of bills, all yellow-backs. He carelessly peeled off one of +them and with a bow handed it to the Mayor.</p> + +<p>Everybody sat up straight. His Honor looked at it. It was for ten +thousand dollars. He nodded and then silently passed it to a bank +president, who in turn examined it, nodded, and passed it on to a +colleague. The reporters pressed forward.</p> + +<p>"Experts in all kinds of small change," smiled H. R., pointing to the +bankers.</p> + +<p>The reporters' eyes followed the return of the ten-thousand-dollar bill +to the Mayor. They also decided that H. R.'s roll was the most +impressive demonstration of brute strength ever seen in New York.</p> + +<p>Then H. R. asked his question, slowly, distinctly, enunciating carefully +and smiling the while:</p> + +<p>"What is it we have all heard about from earliest childhood and that we +acknowledge exists; that is neither a person nor a beast, neither a +thing nor an object, but something that no man can kill, though it is +dead to-day; that all men need and most New-Yorkers neglect; that should +be present everywhere and is found in no trade? The answer is a word of +five letters and begins with A—the first letter of the alphabet, the +first of the five vowels. There is another word, a synonym, which is now +obsolescent, though it is at times used in poetry. But while either word +will win the ten thousand dollars in cash now in the custody of the +Mayor of New York, the word I particularly have in mind has five +letters, of which the first is appropriately A, the Alpha of the Greeks, +the Aleph of the Hebrews, and now the first of all the alphabets of +European languages. It is logically the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> first letter because it is the +first sound that man naturally makes—'A' or 'Ah!' The first letter! +What is the word of five letters beginning with A that will give you ten +thousand dollars? With 'A'! <i>Now!</i>"</p> + +<p>Stop-watch in hand, H. R. began to move his left arm up and down like a +referee at a prize-fight. He had astutely emphasized the fact that the +word had five letters, of which the first was A. The mind of the +coupon-holder was thus made to study the dictionary instead of thinking +about the question itself.</p> + +<p>It was inevitable as fate itself. The first man could not guess. Neither +could the second nor any of the thousands. But before the applicant's +indignation at the unfairness of the question and the shortness of the +time could grow into fury H. R. exclaimed, "Time's up." Approaching the +non-guesser, he whispered: "The name of the unsuccessful will <i>not</i> be +given to the newspapers. Not by <i>us</i>! I thank you in the name of the +poor starving people whose lives you have prolonged. That way to the +seats. You can have your pick of the very best!"</p> + +<p>In that simple way was bloodshed and the cry of fraud averted at one and +the same time.</p> + +<p>H. R. then delegated the task of propounding the aureate question to a +dozen lieutenants. Without varying one word the lieutenants asked the +men whose charity would feed the starving.</p> + +<p>Not one won the ten thousand dollars.</p> + +<p>One of the reporters with the air of a man whose life depends upon the +bulletin-board asked H. R.:</p> + +<p>"What's the answer?"</p> + +<p>The others heard H. R. reply:</p> + +<p>"Ten thousand dollars in cash!"</p> + +<p>"Yes; but the word?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is worth ten thousand of my dollars. You can make them yours."</p> + +<p>"I guess it's a fake."</p> + +<p>"That begins with an 'F.' Mine begins with an 'A.' The Mayor has the +cash."</p> + +<p>The reporter looked at the Mayor. His Honor's lips were moving +inaudibly. He was going over all the words of five letters that began +with an "A."</p> + +<p>Among them was <i>Agony</i>.</p> + +<p>Lubin again looked at the ten-thousand-dollar yellow-back and at H. R. +and suddenly rushed out. On the way he collected nine erudite friends. +They went to the nearest branch of the public library. Each got a +dictionary and divided all the definitions under "A" into nine parts.</p> + +<p>Nothing doing!</p> + +<p>"I knew it was a fraud!" yelled the <i>Onward</i> man. "It isn't in the +dictionary."</p> + +<p>He fairly flew back to the Garden.</p> + +<p>H. R. was just about to go into the arena. Lubin yelled:</p> + +<p>"There is no such word in the dictionary. I protest against this—"</p> + +<p>"You talk like an old-school Republican," said H. R., coldly, to Lubin.</p> + +<p>It killed speech in the young man.</p> + +<p>The Mayor clenched his right fist tightly. The ten-thousand-dollar +treasury note lay crumpled within.</p> + +<p>"Sir," said H. R. to him, with real dignity, "you have my word that the +word <i>is</i> in the dictionary."</p> + +<p>The Mayor, naturally thinking of political consequences, spoke, "Of +course, Mr. Rutgers, I expect you to prove it."</p> + +<p>"Sir, I shall see to it that you are re-elected!" H. R.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> said this so +positively that his Honor blushed guiltily. "I am not stupid enough to +endeavor to perpetrate so transparent a fraud as this young man charges +me with. But it would be even greater stupidity to be unfair to honest +guessers by telling Mr. Lubin or anybody else what the word is. It is of +five letters and begins with an 'A' and it is in the dictionary. But I +will tell you, your Honor, and you, Mr. Lubin, what I will do. I shall +ask the question and give the answer to a man who will say whether it is +a fair question and whether the word is a fair answer. His decision will +be final. He will not, I am sure, send for the ten thousand dollars +after he hears the answer."</p> + +<p>The Mayor shook his head dubiously.</p> + +<p>"Who is the man?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Lubin, being young, went much further.</p> + +<p>"There is no man in New York whose word—"</p> + +<p>"Silence, sir! I know the man. If he says that the word answers the +question, everybody in New York will be convinced—Socialists, +Democrats, Republicans, Progressives, Suffragists, newspaper editors, +and all."</p> + +<p>"There can't be such a man," said Lubin, decisively.</p> + +<p>H. R. smiled and turned to the Mayor.</p> + +<p>"Your Honor, the man whom I will ask to vouch for my honesty and +intelligence after I have confidentially disclosed the word to him, is +the Cardinal Archbishop of New York. His word will be enough, I take +it."</p> + +<p>The Mayor beamed and said, "Certainly, Mr. Rutgers." He made up his mind +then and there that H. R. must conduct his campaign for re-election.</p> + +<p>"Even young Mr. Lubin, I take it, will not doubt the word of his +Eminence."</p> + +<p>Lubin was no fool. "Mr. Rutgers," he said, earnestly, "we hate our +enemies, the capitalists. But we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> respect the only foes who are fighting +us as we are fighting capitalism with honest convictions and real ardor. +Of course, we think the Catholics—"</p> + +<p>"Hold on, Lubin," said H. R., "that policeman's name is Flannery."</p> + +<p>Lubin explained: "I was afraid you were going to give us a banker, Mr. +Rutgers."</p> + +<p>"<i>Never!</i>" said H. R. so emphatically that Lubin extended his right +hand. They shook warmly.</p> + +<p>A sound of applause came to their ears. The Mayor flushed with vexation. +It was premature, he thought. He was wrong. It was Grace Goodchild.</p> + +<p>Andrew Barrett ran in excitedly.</p> + +<p>"Did you hear it?" he asked his chief. "Say, she is smiling to beat the +band and the crowd is going crazy. Hear that?" And he began to dance a +jig.</p> + +<p>H. R. seized him by the arm and said:</p> + +<p>"In exactly two minutes I shall enter."</p> + +<p>Andrew Barrett rushed away to tip on the <i>vox populi</i>.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen," said H. R. to the reporters, "you had better go in."</p> + +<p>They obeyed him. They were escorted to their table on the stage. They +found there seven military bands that had volunteered their services and +also their own weapons.</p> + +<p>In the background of the stage was a huge placard:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>FIFTY THOUSAND PEOPLE CAN BE SERVED, FED, AND FIRED IN 6¾ +MINUTES BY OUR SYSTEM!</p></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;">S. A. S. A., Dept. T.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;">O. K.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 36em;">H. R.,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 38em;"><i>Sec.</i></span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p> + +<p>At each reporter's place was a typewritten sheet containing intelligent +statistics of this stupendous charity.</p> + +<p>The reporters saw in the arena long strings of tables, each six hundred +and eighteen feet long, and benches to match. Each guest was allowed +nineteen and one-half inches. The dishes were of water-proofed paper +stamped S. A. S. A. Above each table were aluminum-painted pipes with +faucets every ten seats for soup, milk, tea, and coffee.</p> + +<p>"By keeping the tea, coffee, and soup in circulation wholesome warm +drinks are secured," read the official statement, "besides obviating the +assistance of eight hundred and sixteen waiters, who would have had to +walk an aggregate of six hundred and seventy-seven miles from tables to +kitchen."</p> + +<p>The solid food was brought to the scores of small serving-tables by +means of overhead conveyors and traveling-cranes, a sort of gigantic +cash-carrier system operated by electricity. The food came in individual +covered dishes, also of water-proofed paper. Everything was automatic. +The S. A. S. A. system prevented spilling, waste, delay, inefficient +waiters, and the dissatisfaction of the guests.</p> + +<p>"You will observe," went on the official statement, "that for the first +time in history the beneficiaries of the bounty of their fellow-men are +treated as honored cash guests and not compelled to wait. The bread of +charity is hard, but not when served by the S. A. S. A."</p> + +<p>Leaflets containing much the same information had been placed in each of +the thousands of seats in the Garden in lieu of programs. As each man +entered he saw the pipes and the traveling-cranes and the mechanical +waiters, and read the placard on the stage.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ain't it great?" inquired every charitable ticket-buyer. "<i>In six and +three-quarter minutes!</i> No regiments of waiters. Everything automatic. +Say, that H. R. is a wonder!"</p> + +<p>It naturally took some time before they remembered to look at the +starving people who were sitting at the long tables waiting to be fed.</p> + +<p>They saw haggard faces, sunken-eyed, pale-lipped men and women and +children. They saw trembling hands that fidgeted with knives and forks +that were obviously unnecessary. They saw women at the tables trying to +still whining children. They saw gray-haired heads fallen on soup-plates +utterly exhausted from inanition.</p> + +<p>They saw starving and penniless human beings by the thousand.</p> + +<p>And the spectators, hosts of these guests, ran over the faces and the +forms of the men and women and children—all alike in that all were +hungry and all were penniless. And the same thought struck them all, and +they expressed it audibly, with gusto, as though they were original +thinkers, with the modesty of professional epigrammatists. All the +spectators said:</p> + +<p>"Say, it will be great to see them eat!"</p> + +<p>New York's great big heart had spoken in no uncertain accents!</p> + +<p>"And the greatest of these is charity."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXIV" id="XXIV"></a>XXIV</h2> + +<p>Just after the applause that greeted Grace Goodchild's arrival had begun +to subside, and the public was about to demand that the feast, for which +they had paid, begin a bugle blew.</p> + +<p>H. R., who was Fame since he was initials, entered the arena.</p> + +<p>Instantly the well-trained Public Sentiment Corps began to shout, +angrily:</p> + +<p>"<i>Sit</i> down! <i>Sit down!</i>"</p> + +<p>That, as intended by H. R., made all rise to their feet.</p> + +<p>Then, and only then, did H. R. advance into the arena, followed by the +Mayor of the City of New York, the Bishop of the Diocese of the same, +and the other dignitaries.</p> + +<p>The applause that came from the members of the Society of American +Sandwich Artists was not applause. It was fervor, frenzy, fury. They +yelled and shouted with the enthusiastic recklessness of free men who +knew that after their throats went dry ten beers, also free, would cure.</p> + +<p>The audience, seeing and hearing their fellow-men applaud, felt +themselves left out of something. They were free men. They therefore +also applauded, even more frenziedly.</p> + +<p>No beers; not even knowledge; merely insistence upon political +equality!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p> + +<p>In front of the Goodchild box H. R., whose progress resembled Buffalo +Bill's minus the curls, paused. He looked intently at Grace Goodchild.</p> + +<p>She knew something was expected of her—something spectacular, +thrilling, befitting the imperial consort. She stared back at H. R. +agonizedly. Couldn't he prompt her? What was she to do, and how and +when?</p> + +<p>"Grace! Grace! Grace!" shouted the free sandwiches.</p> + +<p>Instantly as well as instinctively the other ninety-nine beautiful +perfections rose in their boxes and waved their handkerchiefs.</p> + +<p>The crowd, drawn thither by one of the noblest charities of the age, +went wild. Grace was rich! She was theirs! They cheered what belonged to +them!</p> + +<p>Grace Goodchild, actually urged by her aristocratic friends, rose and +bowed to H. R. with a queenly air.</p> + +<p>H. R. bowed low to her and walked on.</p> + +<p>When he reached the stage all the bands began to play the national +anthem almost together.</p> + +<p>A huge American flag was dropped from the middle of the roof to remind +New York what its nationality was.</p> + +<p>When the bands finished playing there flashed a dazzling electric sign +over the stage.</p> + +<p>In huge letters of light the people read:</p> + +<h4>WELL DONE, NEW YORK!</h4> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;">H. R.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>The great building rocked under the applause.</p> + +<p>New York can always be trusted to applaud itself.</p> + +<p>The lights of the sign went out. H. R. motioned to his stage-manager.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p> + +<p>In the back of the stage the curtain that told of the wonderful feeding +system—50,000 people, 6¾ minutes!—fell.</p> + +<p>A hush also fell on the audience, for back of it was another white sheet +on which everybody read:</p> + +<h4>WATCH YOUR GUESTS EAT</h4> + +<h4>YOU ARE FEEDING THEM!</h4> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;">H. R.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>The audience, metamorphosed against its will into charitable hosts, now +remembered the starving fellow-beings who were there to eat.</p> + +<p>H. R. motioned. A bugler advanced to the front of the stage and sounded, +<i>Charge</i>!</p> + +<p>The soup began to pour out of the faucets. In fourteen seconds 12,137 +cups of steaming soup <i>à la Piccolini</i> were before the guests.</p> + +<p>The audience applauded madly. It was perfectly wonderful what charity +could do—in fourteen seconds!</p> + +<p>The guests were very hungry. The soup, however, was very hot. This made +the drinking audible to the remotest recesses of the Garden.</p> + +<p>Again the bugle blew. The charitable crowd instantly ceased to look at +their guests and gazed at the electric traveling-cranes carrying laden +trays. Over six thousand well-fed spectators pulled out their watches +and timed the entrée.</p> + +<p>It took twenty-nine seconds to place the entrée before the guests.</p> + +<p>"Quick work!" said the watch-holders, approvingly. It took the guests +much less than twenty-nine seconds to eat the entrée.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p> + +<p>The bugle blew for the third time.</p> + +<p>The roast appeared. The rear curtain dropped. Behind it was another on +which could be read, without the aid of binoculars:</p> + +<h4>WATCH THEM EAT!</h4> + +<h4>YOUR TICKET DID IT!</h4> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;">H. R.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>It happened exactly as H. R. had told Bishop Phillipson. Each charitable +person thought of his particular ticket and looked for his individual +guest among the 12,137.</p> + +<p>Each charitable person felt that his twenty-five cents had made possible +the entire feast. At that moment H. R. could have been elected to any +office within the gift of a free and sturdy people.</p> + +<p>The guests began to eat more slowly.</p> + +<p>The hosts, filled with kindliness and the desire to help their +fellow-men by getting their money's worth, began to shout:</p> + +<p>"Keep it up!"</p> + +<p>"Go on!"</p> + +<p>"Eat away!"</p> + +<p>"Fill up! Fill up!"</p> + +<p>"It's free! It's free!"</p> + +<p>Charity is not dead, but sleepeth. When it awakens, it is ruthless.</p> + +<p>Presently men and women at the tables, who had thought they were in +paradise surrounded by angels, began to throw up their hands and shake +their heads helplessly.</p> + +<p>A storm of hisses greeted the ingratitude. Fat hosts began to shout:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Fakes!"</p> + +<p>"Fraud!"</p> + +<p>"Take 'em out!"</p> + +<p>In self-defense some of the guests began to rub their paunches. Here and +there those who remembered close experiences with Christian mobs rose in +their benches ostentatiously, let out their belts, and sat down again +determinedly.</p> + +<p>The hosts clapped madly. They understood, and therefore forgave. Then +the hosts began to think that fifteen cents would have been enough.</p> + +<p>The bugle blew. Dessert was served. It was determinedly put away.</p> + +<p>Having convicted themselves of both charity and extravagance, each host +felt that he was not only a philanthropist but a New-Yorker.</p> + +<p>The bugle blew again. The paper dishes were gathered up, and also such +of the knives and forks as the guests had not put in their pockets. The +trays were whisked away by the traveling-cranes.</p> + +<p>Suddenly all the lights went out. With the utter darkness a hush fell +upon the vast audience. Then from all the bands came a mighty crashing +chord. Instantly there blazed an electric sign that stretched from one +side of the Garden to the other above the stage.</p> + +<p>And both hosts and guests saw an American flag in red, white, and blue +lights, and below it, in letters ten feet high, they read:</p> + +<h4>AND THE GREATEST OF THESE</h4> + +<h4>IS CHARITY</h4> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;">H. R.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p> + +<p>Everybody cheered, for everybody agreed with the sentiment. Some even +thought it was original.</p> + +<p>Then all the lights were turned on again. The tables were carried away +by the cranes. The guests, directed by H. R.'s lieutenants, formed in +line and paraded around the Garden. The lame, the old, the young, the +hopeless, the wicked, the maimed—all who had hungered—marched jauntily +round the vast arena that their benefactors might see who it was that +really had made the Mammoth Hunger Feast a success. They carried their +heads erect, proudly, conscious of their importance in the world. The +benefactors thereupon cheered the beneficiaries. By so doing they showed +what they thought of the benefactors. It was none the less noble!</p> + +<p>The reporters looked at their watches. A full page on Saturday night is +no laughing matter to the make-up man. One of them rose and asked H. R.:</p> + +<p>"Is this all? We've got to write—"</p> + +<p>"It is <i>not</i> all!" answered H. R., and motioned to the trumpeter, who +instantly blew the Siegfried motif. The crowd looked stageward. The rear +drop-curtain showed in high letters:</p> + +<h4>DANCING!</h4> + +<p>The guests hesitated.</p> + +<p>The curtain was lowered a few feet. Above "Dancing!" the crowd now read:</p> + +<h4>FREE OF CHARGE!</h4> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p> + +<p>Everybody started for the floor.</p> + +<p>H. R. left the stage and walked into the Goodchild box. Grace had been +receiving congratulations all the evening until she had convinced +herself that this was her dinner. It was all H. R. could do to force his +way through the plutocracy in the Imperial Box. Talking to Grace at the +same time were three young men who never before had accepted Mrs. +Goodchild's invitations to marry Grace. But Grace was now the +most-talked-of girl in all New York. And she was officially very +beautiful and Goodchild <i>père</i> was not enough. And Grace was very kind +to all of them. All empresses are kindly when they haven't Dyspepsia or +Dynamite Dreams. All unpleasant things seem to begin with a "D." There +is Death and Damnation; also Duty.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild frowned when he saw H. R. in the box. But when he saw that +H. R. never even looked at him he became really angry.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Goodchild looked alarmed and hissed, "Don't you talk to him, +Grace!"</p> + +<p>Grace, knowing herself desired by the most eligible young men in her +set, decided to squelch H. R. in public. H. R., however, walked past +everybody, looking neither to left nor right. Feeling themselves treated +as so many chairs or hat-racks, the élite of New York began to feel like +intruders.</p> + +<p>Then, as an imperial mandate is given, H. R. said to Miss Goodchild:</p> + +<p>"We're needed!"</p> + +<p>He offered her his arm. The young men rose and made room for him. Duty +called, and they never interfered with duty.</p> + +<p>Grace hypnotically obeyed, for H. R. was frowning.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> Together they walked +down to the floor of the Garden.</p> + +<p>The Public Sentiment Corps did their duty. They had not yet received the +beer. They shouted, frenziedly:</p> + +<p>"H. R.! H. R.! H. R.!"</p> + +<p>The public took up the cheering. Thousands of outstretched hands reached +out for his. But H. R. merely bowed, right and left, and walked to the +middle of the floor.</p> + +<p>"Smile at them!" he whispered, fiercely, to Grace.</p> + +<p>She did. She knew then what it was to be a Queen. She felt an +overpowering kindliness toward all these delightful, simple people. +Reggie was not brilliant, but that wasn't expected of a Van Duzen. She +did not love Reggie, but she <i>liked</i> him. As Mrs. Van Duzen she would +always have what she liked. She would never marry H. R.! It was +preposterous.</p> + +<p>The band began to play. The crowd, instead of dancing, moved toward the +sides—to give H. R. room to dance.</p> + +<p>Never before on Manhattan Island had such a triumph of personality +fallen to the lot of any man.</p> + +<p>H. R. put his arm about Grace Goodchild. She shrank from the symbolism +of bondage.</p> + +<p>"The world is looking on!" he admonished her.</p> + +<p>Knowing that she danced very well, she now had but one fear—that her +partner might make her ridiculous.</p> + +<p>But H. R. was the best dancer she had ever honored.</p> + +<p>She felt her resolution not to marry him slipping away. He led divinely. +She felt that she herself had never danced so well in her life. He +brought out the best that was in her.</p> + +<p>"Ever try the Rutgers Roll?" he whispered, tensely.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p> + +<p>"N-no! she gasped.</p> + +<p>"Let yourself go!"</p> + +<p>When a woman lets herself go, all is over except the terms of the +capitulation. She let herself go desperately, because she was forced to +do it; fearfully, because of the appalling possibility of a fiasco.</p> + +<p>She did not know how it was done. She had looped the loop and was still +dancing away—a new but unutterably graceful undulation of torso and +rhythmical leg work and exquisite sinuous motions of the arms and hands.</p> + +<p>A storm of applause came to her ears, a hurricane steeped in saccharine. +A man who could dance like that was fit to be any girl's husband!</p> + +<p>The élite flocked on the floor and began to indulge in old-fashioned +specialties, some of which were nearly a fortnight old. You heard +delighted remarks:</p> + +<p>"That's Mrs. Vandergilt!"</p> + +<p>"There goes Reggie Van Duzen!"</p> + +<p>"Look at Katherine Van Schaick!"</p> + +<p>Then the New York that Americans call ruffianly, impolite, vulgar, +selfish, spendthrift, money-loving, self-satisfied, and stupid, also +began to dance decorously! The veteran reporters did not believe their +eyes, but they made a note of the fact, nevertheless.</p> + +<p>Grace was nearly out of breath. She said, "I'm—I'm—I'm—"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, dear girl." And H. R. deftly piloted her out of the crush. +They stopped dancing, and he gave her his arm. She took it.</p> + +<p>"Grace," he said, "when will you marry me?"</p> + +<p>"Never!" she answered, determinedly. "And you must not call me Grace."</p> + +<p>"Right-O!" he said, gratefully. "I'll call to-morrow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> afternoon. Shall I +speak to Bishop Phillipson, or will father—"</p> + +<p>"I said <i>never</i>!" she frowned.</p> + +<p>"I heard you," he smiled, reassuringly. "I—"</p> + +<p>Andrew Barrett and the reporters came up to him.</p> + +<p>"What about the men that fell for the beer?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, give 'em the left-over grub, if you boys think it's right. But +don't print it. The W. C. T. U. would howl at the thought of giving food +to people who had first wanted booze."</p> + +<p>Grace looked on, marveling at the way he ordered things done and at the +way men listened to his words.</p> + +<p>"But what about that ten-thousand-dollar cash to the coupon-holders?" +asked young Mr. Lubin, finally taking his eyes off the beautiful +capitalist. Feeling that he was beginning to condone with capitalistic +crimes, he spoke sternly to H. R. in self-defense.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes!" said H. R. and turned to Grace. "My dear, I'll have to leave +you. Shall I take you to mother?"</p> + +<p>Reggie Van Duzen saved him the trip.</p> + +<p>"Say, Mr. Rutgers, could I have—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my boy!" gratefully smiled H. R. He shook hands with Reggie and +said, very seriously, "<i>I leave her in your care!</i>"</p> + +<p>Reggie, who was very young and careless, flushed proudly. Here was a man +who understood men! He would protect Grace with his life. And it gave +him a new respect for other women.</p> + +<p>"I don't blame you, Grace," he said, with his twelve-year-old's smile +that clung to him through life and made even poor people like him. "He +is a wonder! Beekman Rutgers had the nerve to tell me that all the +Rutgerses are like H. R. What do you think of that?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p> + +<p>Grace answered, "Certainly not!"</p> + +<p>She was not going to marry H. R., but if you intend to have it known +that you have refused to marry a man who is crazy to marry you, the +greater the man the greater the refusal. She added, with conviction:</p> + +<p>"There is only one Rutgers like that and his first name is Hendrik."</p> + +<p>Reggie nodded, looked at her, sighed, and began to dance.</p> + +<p>He didn't touch H. R. as a dancer.</p> + +<p>"Can you do the Rutgers Roll?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No!" he confessed.</p> + +<p>She could never marry Reggie. She knew it now. But of course she would +not marry H. R.</p> + +<p>In the mean time H. R., accompanied by the reporters, drove to the +Cardinal's residence. They explained their mission to a pleasant-faced +young priest and sent in their cards.</p> + +<p>The young priest began to make excuses and spoke of the lateness of the +hour.</p> + +<p>H. R. said to him, deferentially: "Monsignor, we have come to the +Cardinal because he is the supreme authority in this case. The Mayor of +New York and the representative of the Socialist press, Mr. Lubin, here, +have agreed to leave it to the decision of his Eminence."</p> + +<p>The Cardinal sent back word that he would see Mr. Rutgers.</p> + +<p>H. R. went in alone. He saw not the head of the Catholic hierarchy, but +a man in whose eyes was that light which comes from believing in God and +from hearing the truth from fellow-men who told him their sins. H. R. +bowed respectfully before the aged priest.</p> + +<p>"How may I help you? asked the Cardinal. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> was an old man and this was +a young man. No more; no less; both of them children.</p> + +<p>"Your Eminence, I am the unfortunate American who in his misguided way +has tried to feed the hungry in order that New York's grown children may +realize that charity is not dead. If I have used the methods of a +mountebank it is because I have labored where God had been forgotten, +almost."</p> + +<p>"Generalities are not always verities, though they may come close to +them. I know about your work. I shall be glad to do what I can for you."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir. I promised to give ten thousand dollars in cash to any +New-Yorker who could answer this question: What is it we have all heard +about from earnest childhood and that we acknowledge exists; that is +neither a person nor a beast, neither a thing nor an object, but +something that no man can kill, though it is dead to-day; that all men +need and most New-Yorkers neglect; that should be present everywhere and +is found in no trade? The answer is a word of five letters and begins +with 'A.' There is a synonym that, though not exactly obsolete, is at +least obsolescent."</p> + +<p>"Five letters? Is it in English?" smiled the Cardinal.</p> + +<p>"It is in every good English dictionary. I think the dictionary is the +only place in which I can find it nowadays."</p> + +<p>"Oh no, my son." And the Cardinal shook his head in kindly dissent.</p> + +<p>"Reverend sir, I said anybody with brains could guess it."</p> + +<p>"It was not an ingenuous question, Mr. Rutgers."</p> + +<p>"It was a coupon that entitled anybody who held it to answer the +question and get ten thousand dollars.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> It was part of a ticket for +which the holder paid twenty-five cents to feed a starving fellow-being. +But what I wish you to do is to assure the reporters that it was a +legitimate question. The word is <i>Anima</i>."</p> + +<p>"I knew it."</p> + +<p>"Because you use it every day."</p> + +<p>"But your condition—"</p> + +<p>"New York's condition, your Eminence," corrected H. R., politely. "I +said the synonym, <i>soul</i>, would answer. Nobody won the ten thousand +dollars. New York will cudgel its brains because it did not win the ten +thousand dollars. In searching for the missing word it may find +something more precious—the missing <i>soul</i>."</p> + +<p>"Your way is not our way, but perhaps—" The Cardinal was silent, his +kindly eyes meditatively bent on H. R.</p> + +<p>"The reporters, your Eminence—" began H. R., apologetically.</p> + +<p>"Ah yes!" And the white-haired prelate accompanied H. R. to the room +where the reporters were waiting.</p> + +<p>"I have heard Mr. Rutgers's question. The word of five letters beginning +with an 'A' I think answers it, from his point of view, which is not +unreasonable. I cannot say that the inability to guess proves the +non-possession of brains—"</p> + +<p>"The Cardinal knew at once," put in H. R.</p> + +<p>"But that nobody should have guessed is astonishing."</p> + +<p>"They were not all Christians," explained H. R.</p> + +<p>"What is the answer?" asked a reporter.</p> + +<p>"A word of five letters beginning with 'A,'" said H. R.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Can't we publish it?"</p> + +<p>"It is our secret now. New York is very rich. When it discovers that one +word—or its synonym of four letters—it will be infinitely richer in +every way."</p> + +<p>The reporters brightened up. They saw columns and columns of guesses. +But the Cardinal looked thoughtful. Then he said to H. R.:</p> + +<p>"Come and see me again."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. I will, your Eminence."</p> + +<p>The Cardinal bowed his head gravely and H. R. and the newspaper men +left.</p> + +<p>"Are you a Catholic?" the <i>World</i> man asked.</p> + +<p>"No," answered H. R., doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"All roads lead to Rome," interrupted Lubin, with a sneer.</p> + +<p>"Excepting one, Lubin," said H. R., pleasantly. "Keep on going, my boy. +It's nice and warm there."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXV" id="XXV"></a>XXV</h2> + +<p>The newspapers did nobly. Too many prominent names were involved for +them not to print the news. There was an opportunity for using real +humor and impressive statistics in describing the new labor-saving +machinery. The marvelous efficiency of H. R. as a practical +philanthropist, demonstrated by his elimination of people who had money +with which to buy food, and the simple but amazing efficacy of his +Thirst-Detector raised the story to the realm of pure literature.</p> + +<p>There was also a serious aspect to the entire affair. All the hungry +men, women, and children in Greater New York that had no money had been +fed. Assuming, as was probable, that most of the hungry were not +bona-fide residents of New York, it showed that in the metropolis of the +Western World less than one-thousandth of the total population were +hungry and penniless. No other city in the world could boast of such +statistics.</p> + +<p>But H. R.'s work was not done. Before he retired for the night, knowing +that his position in society and in the world of affairs was established +on an adamant base, he nevertheless composed thirty-eight communications +for the Public Sentiment Corps to send out the next day to the +newspapers. A sample will suffice:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>It has been clearly proven that New York is a great big city +with a great big heart. As always, it responded generously +to the call of Charity. The Hunger Feast at Madison Square +Garden was an extraordinary bit of municipal psychology and +an illuminating object-lesson. Why not make permanent a +state of mind of the public which does so much to dispel the +danger of a bloody revolution? Social unrest can be cured by +only one thing: Charity! Man does not need justice. He needs +the good-will of other men. The newspapers have it in their +power to check the hysterical and un-American clamor against +individual fortunes. They can throw open their columns! +Treat Charity as if it were as important as baseball or at +least billiards. Carry a regular Department of Charity every +day. Give your readers a chance to be kind. It will be a +novelty to many, but it will help all—the giver no less +than the beneficiary. If you will agree, Mr. Editor, I'll +send check.</p></div> + +<p>Other specimens emphasized the non-sectarian phase of such charities as +that conceived and carried to success by one of the most remarkable men +in a city where the best brains of the country admittedly resided. +Intelligent charity, wisely discriminating, truly helpful, had been +placed for all time among the possibilities. Systematized charities were +delusions, chimeras, thin air. There was a demand for the opportunity to +be decent and kind. Let the newspapers supply it. "If your readers want +lurid accounts of murder trials and divorce cases, let them have them. +If they want expert advice on how to help their fellow-men give it to +them, also. It remains to be seen whether there is one newspaper in New +York that knows real news when it sees it!"</p> + +<p>There were thirty-eight epistolary models in all.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon of the day following the Mammoth Hunger Feast H. R. +called at the Goodchild house.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Frederick, tell Miss Grace—"</p> + +<p>"She 'as <i>gone</i>, sir!" said Frederick, tragically.</p> + +<p>"Did she leave word when she would return?"</p> + +<p>"She 'as <i>gone</i>, sir!" persisted Frederick, in abysmal distress at the +news and at his inability to convey it in letters of molten meteors. He +added, "To Philadelphia."</p> + +<p>It sounded to him like Singapore. He did not think there was much +difference, anyhow.</p> + +<p>"Philadelphia?" echoed H. R., blankly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir!" said Frederick, with sad triumph.</p> + +<p>"Whatever in the world can she—" H. R. caught himself in time. He +nearly had reduced himself to the level of humanity—well called dead +level—by confessing ignorance aloud.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Goodchild is at 'ome, sir!" suggested Frederick, ingratiatingly.</p> + +<p>"Damned good place for her!" muttered H. R., savagely, and gave +Frederick a five-dollar gold piece. In some respects, Frederick +admitted, America was ahead of the old country.</p> + +<p>H. R. walked away frowning fiercely. He went nearly a block before he +smiled. Love always interferes with the chemistry of the stomach and +hits the brain through the toxins. What an ass he was not to have +realized the truth on the instant:</p> + +<p><i>Grace had run away from him!</i></p> + +<p>He returned to his office and told Andrew Barrett to set the Public +Sentiment Corps at work on the thirty-eight models he had prepared. Then +he wrote forty-two more. The consciousness of Grace's confessed weakness +gave him an eloquence he himself had never before known. They were +masterpieces.</p> + +<p>The newspapers always know they have made a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> bull's-eye when they get +letters from their readers. It is an obvious fact that a man who writes +is a steady customer—at least, until his communication is printed.</p> + +<p>The Public Sentiment Corps merely started the ball rolling. An avalanche +of letters from all sorts and conditions of men, women, and merchants +descended upon the editorial offices.</p> + +<p>It became clear, even to the newspapers, that people in New York were +willing to give, but they didn't know how. The papers, therefore, +announced that they would thereafter run Charity as a regular +department. It would be strictly non-sectarian. The world's greatest +authorities and most eminent philanthropists had been asked to +contribute—not money; articles. The <i>World</i> printed a full-page +biography of St. Vincent de Paul and satanically invited some of its pet +aversions to send in their autobiographies.</p> + +<p>All the papers informed the charitable men and women of New York that +checks, clothing, supplies, etc., could be sent to the Charity editor.</p> + +<p>All the papers, also, invited H. R. to accept the editorship of the +page. His duties would consist of allowing his name to be printed at the +top of the page.</p> + +<p>He declined their offers with profound regret, but promised to give +interviews to the reporters whenever they wished. Personal matters +precluded his acceptance of their kind invitations.</p> + +<p>The personal matters consisted of the boom in sandwich advertising. It +was not uncommon to see "Sandwich-board Maker, approved by the S. A. S. A.," +in signs in various parts of the city. A new industry!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXVI" id="XXVI"></a>XXVI</h2> + +<p>In the mean time Grace was in Philadelphia. She had gone there for +sundry reasons. The telephone calls told on her nerves. Mr. Goodchild +had to install a new one, the number of which was not printed in the +Directory but confided to intimate friends. Requests for autographs, +interviews, money, food, advice, name of soap habitually used, +permission to name massage ointments and face lotions after her, +contributions to magazines, and ten thousand other things had been +coming in by mail or were made in person by friends and strangers until +Grace, in desperation, decided to go on a visit to Philadelphia. She +craved peace.</p> + +<p>Ruth Fiddle had long urged her to come. Grace had agreed to be one of +her bridesmaids in June and Ruth naturally wished to discuss marriage, +generally and particularly.</p> + +<p>Ruth delightedly met Grace at the station. Two young men were with her. +One was her fiancé. The other was a very nice chap who had blood, +brains, and boodle. His ancestors had been William Penn's grandfather's +landlords in Bristol, England, and he himself had once written a story +which he had sent to the <i>Saturday Evening Post</i>. His father was in +coal, railroads, and fire insurance.</p> + +<p>They decided to adjourn to the Fairview-Hartford for luncheon. Before so +doing they talked.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ruth asked a thousand excited questions about the Hunger Feast, fame, +and the Rutgers Roll. Grace answered, and then confided to Ruth her iron +resolve never to marry H. R. She admitted that he was as great as the +papers said, even greater, and, besides, good-looking. But her +determination was inflexible.</p> + +<p>Ruth, to show she approved, told Grace that Monty—the writer—was her +fiancé's chum and African hunting-companion. Monty himself told Miss +Goodchild that there was a good story in the whole affair. In fact, two +stories. In both of them the heroine—he looked at her and nodded his +head convincingly. "Drawn from life," he added. "Of course I'll have to +know you—I mean, the heroine—better. But don't you think she'd make a +great one?"</p> + +<p>She wasn't thrilled a bit. She was not even politely interested. What +was such talk, Grace impartially asked herself, to one who had been +madly cheered by thousands?</p> + +<p>Still, he was a nice boy, not so consciously clever as New-Yorkers who +chose to regard themselves as vaudeville wits.</p> + +<p>Finally they got into the waiting motor and went to the +Fairview-Hartford, where the eating is better than in any New York +hotel.</p> + +<p>As they were about to enter the dining-room Grace Goodchild put on her +restaurant look of utter unconsciousness and stone deafness and +blindness, which had grown into a habit since she became famous.</p> + +<p>She entered the dining-room ahead of the others, as usual. She took nine +steps before she stopped short. Her face went pale.</p> + +<p>Nobody had stopped eating!</p> + +<p>Nobody had turned around to stare!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p> + +<p>Nobody had stage-whispered, "There she is!"</p> + +<p>No woman had said, "Do you think she is as beautiful as the newspapers +try to make out?"</p> + +<p>Not one imbecile male look; not one feminine sneer! Nothing! No fame!</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" asked Monty in alarm.</p> + +<p>Grace felt an overwhelming desire to stand there until the people +looked, even if it took a year.</p> + +<p>As the century-long seconds passed she barely could resist the impulse +to shout, "Fire!"</p> + +<p>"Anything wrong?" whispered Monty, with real concern.</p> + +<p>"N-no-nothing!" she stammered, and followed Ruth, who had passed her, +unnoticing.</p> + +<p>Her color returned as wrath dispelled amazement.</p> + +<p>For the first time since H. R. began to woo her in public places with +sandwiches Grace Goodchild actually had to eat food in a restaurant. In +New York famous people don't go to restaurants to eat.</p> + +<p>She was distraite throughout the luncheon. She thought Monty was an ass.</p> + +<p>And the other feeding beasts must have read the New York papers! There +was absolutely no excuse.</p> + +<p>In the evening the same thing happened. That is, nothing happened. The +Fiddles' friends tried to be particularly nice to her by talking of the +opera, novels, the dancing-craze, the resurgence of the Republican +party, and cubism. It only made it worse. And not one knew the Rutgers +Roll!</p> + +<p>The next day Ruth and the young men took her to the Philadelphia Country +Club. Same thing! And later to a dance at the Fitz-Marlton. Ditto!</p> + +<p>Her good looks, her gowns, and her nice manners made a very favorable +impression on all of Ruth's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> friends, male and female, young and old. +Hang 'em, that's all it did!</p> + +<p>It was like Lucullus being asked to eat sanitary biscuits.</p> + +<p>She had wanted peace. But not in a burial crypt. On the fourth day of +extinction she said to Ruth after breakfast:</p> + +<p>"My dear, I must return to New York!"</p> + +<p>"Oh no! Grace, darling, I've accepted seventeen—"</p> + +<p>"I must, Ruth. I simply must!"</p> + +<p>"But Monty is coming at one to take us to his father's—"</p> + +<p>Grace felt like saying that Monty could take himself to Hades or to +Atlantic City. But she merely shook her head. She dared not trust +herself to speak. Ruth appealed to her mother. But Mrs. Fiddle shrugged +her shoulders and said: "No use! New York!" She herself was a Van Duzen.</p> + +<p>And so Grace Goodchild returned home, five days before she was expected.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't stand it, mother," she explained, almost tearfully.</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Mrs. Goodchild.</p> + +<p>What else can a mother say in New York? And isn't it right to stand by +your own flesh and blood?</p> + +<p>Grace hesitated, full of perplexities and unformulated doubts and an +exasperating sense of indecision. She felt like opening the book of her +soul to other eyes. To hear advice or, at least, opinions.</p> + +<p>"I want to have a heart-to-heart talk with you, mother," said Grace, +hesitatingly. Then she apologized, self-defensively. "It concerns my +future, dear."</p> + +<p>"Yes, darling," said Mrs. Goodchild, absently. "I don't think. I'd like +it quite like Celestine's— Grace,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> love, will you run over to Raquin's +spring exhibition at the Fitz-Marlton and look at it? It is next to the +black that Mrs. Vandergilt liked. I have an appointment with +Celestine—"</p> + +<p>Grace knew that the selection of a husband could wait, for fashions in +that line do not change so quickly as in skirts. She dutifully said, "I +will!" She also had her eye on one.</p> + +<p>Before going to Raquin's display she stopped at Oldman's.</p> + +<p>The store flunky opened the door of her motor and smiled happily when he +saw who it was. She was made subtly conscious that he was dying to +announce her name to the world at the top of his enthusiastic voice. +Life in New York had its compensations, after all.</p> + +<p>She entered. The shop-girls whispered to the customers on whom they were +waiting. The customers turned quickly and stared at Grace Goodchild.</p> + +<p>"She often comes here!" she heard the pretty little thing in charge of +seventy-two glove-boxes say proudly to a client.</p> + +<p>The girl who waited on Grace was a stranger. Nevertheless, when Grace +told her "I'll take these!" the girl said, "Very well, Miss Goodchild."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" gasped Grace. "You know me?"</p> + +<p>"What d'ye t'ink I am?" said the girl, indignantly. "Say, it was great, +Miss Goodchild!"</p> + +<p>The worship in the girl's eyes kept the language from being offensive.</p> + +<p>"Thank you!"</p> + +<p>"I hope you'll be very happy, Miss Goodchild," said the girl, and +blushed. "Oh, I didn't mean to be—I—I couldn't help wishing it, Miss +Goodchild!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm sure I'm very grateful for your good wishes," Grace told her, +graciously.</p> + +<p>The child's—age twenty-four—eyes filled with tears. As Grace walked +away, Mayme's lips moved raptly. She was memorizing dem woids.</p> + +<p>On her way out Grace went through the same craning of necks, the same +vivid curiosity, the same half-audible murmurs, the same spitefulness in +the eyes of the women who, though rich, were not famous. Everybody is so +disgustingly rich nowadays that society had begun to applaud such +remarks as, "I've had to give up one of my motors," or, "Jim says he +won't put the <i>Mermaid</i> in commission this year; simply can't afford +it."</p> + +<p>At Raquin's wonderful exhibition of models Grace saw exactly what she +wished to see. It would be worthy of her and of her throat. One who is +photographed many times a week has to have gowns; not to have them is +almost immoral. Grace was so concerned with doing her duty toward the +public that she forgot that she had come to see the third one, next to +Mrs. Vandergilt's black. She was nearly half-way home before she +remembered what her mother had asked her to do.</p> + +<p>Grace went back to the Fitz-Marlton. Dress was a public service. Mrs. +Goodchild's clothes must tell the public whose mother she was.</p> + +<p>She told the chauffeur "Home," and began to think.</p> + +<p>Pleasure could be made a duty. Blessed indeed is she in whose mind, as +in a vast cathedral, pleasure and duty solemnly contract nuptials.</p> + +<p>This beautiful figure of speech in turn made her think of marriage. If +she married Reggie or Mr. Watson or Percival or one of the others, what +would her married life be? What?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p> + +<p>One long visit to Philadelphia!</p> + +<p>"I could kill him!" she said to the flower-holder, frowning fiercely. +Happening to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror for that purpose +provided in an town cars, Grace smoothed her brow and smiled. A man +would have required slathers of flattery to dispel ill-humor. With a +woman, the truth is enough. A mirror does not lie. Providence is more +than kind to them; even automatic.</p> + +<p>If she wouldn't marry Reggie or the others and did marry H. R.— But how +could she?</p> + +<p>She was an imaginative American girl with a sunshiny soul and much +vitality who lived in New York. She thought of her marriage to H. R. She +thought of the newspapers! The mound of clippings that instantly loomed +before her made her gasp.</p> + +<p>What wouldn't the newspapers do when <i>she</i> married H. R., especially if +H. R., prompted by love, really made an effort?</p> + +<p>She was forced to admit that he was a remarkable man!</p> + +<p>"Papa," she said aloud, "will never consent!"</p> + +<p>Papa's life had been made miserable by H. R. Indeed, the only thing that +reconciled him to the ungrateful task of living was the steady growth of +the bank's deposits. It was due, Mr. Goodchild often declared, to his +management. But he couldn't speak about H. R. without profanity.</p> + +<p>Parental opposition was not everything. Marriage was a serious thing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXVII" id="XXVII"></a>XXVII</h2> + +<p>The motor stopped. She had arrived at her house. The car door was opened +by H. R.</p> + +<p>She started back. Then she looked at him curiously, almost +awe-strickenly, as though her wishes had taken on magical properties of +automatic fulfilment.</p> + +<p>Was this the same remarkable person she had almost deified on the way +from Raquin's exhibition? What would he say? She prayed that he might +not spoil everything, by some inanity.</p> + +<p>He held out his hand to help her alight. Then he spoke.</p> + +<p>"It was time!" he said, and walked beside her—but a couple of inches +ahead. That was because, though he was an American husband-to-be, he +also was a man, a protector, a leader. Such men are cave-men minus the +club.</p> + +<p>Grace at times was not a true Goodchild. This time she said nothing.</p> + +<p>Frederick opened the door. His face expressed no sense of the +unusualness of the sight.</p> + +<p>H. R., with the air of a host, led Grace into the drawing-room. He stood +beside her in the gorgeous Louis XV. room.</p> + +<p>"Grace," he said, gently, "for twenty-nine days I've been the unhappiest +man in all New York. For five, the unhappiest in the entire world!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Will you kindly release my hand?" she asked. No sooner had the words +left her lips than she realized they were piffle. Then she began to +laugh. It was the first official acknowledgment that no social barriers +divided them.</p> + +<p>"Suppose," she asked, with a humorously intended demureness, "that I +wished to use my handkerchief?"</p> + +<p>H. R. with his disengaged hand took his own out of his pocket and held +it to her nose.</p> + +<p>"Blow!" he said, tenderly.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to," she retorted and tried to pull away her hand.</p> + +<p>He replaced his handkerchief in his pocket.</p> + +<p>"All over but the mailing-list," he said to her. "Sit down here; by me!"</p> + +<p>Something within her stirred to revolt. Unfortunately, he did not +release her hand, but led her to the historic divan—part of the suite +for which Mr. Goodchild had paid eighteen thousand five hundred dollars +in the Sunday supplement. Marie Antoinette had been seated in that very +place when de Rohan brought the famous diamond necklace to show her. +(Same issue; third column, fourth page.)</p> + +<p>"I think that for sheer, unadulterated impudence—" she began, without +any anger, because she was too busy trying to decide what she must do to +him to put an end to a situation that had become intolerable—at least +in its present shape.</p> + +<p>"Grace, don't talk nonsense. Just let me look at you."</p> + +<p>He held her at arm's-length and looked into her eyes. He saw that they +were blue and clear and steady and looked fearlessly at him—the stare +of a child who doesn't know why she should be afraid.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p> + +<p>If they don't watch out that fearlessness becomes anything but childish +in New York.</p> + +<p>He continued to stare steadily, unblinkingly, into them.</p> + +<p>"I can't stand it! I can't stand it!" he said, hoarsely, and blinked his +eyes. Then he closed them—tight. Coward!</p> + +<p>She had felt his keen eyes bore through her garments, through her flesh, +into her very soul of souls—a look that frightened until it warmed; and +after it warmed, it again frightened—in another way.</p> + +<p>She saw a wonderfully well-shaped head and very clean-looking hair and a +very healthy-looking, clear-cut face and very strong shoulders and very +masterful hands. And from all of him came waves that thrilled—the +mysterious effluvia that compels and dominates the woman to whom Life +means this life.</p> + +<p>At length he spoke with an effort. "We shall be married in Grace +Chapel." He grew calmer, and added, "People will think it was named for +you!"</p> + +<p>"I am not going to marry you," she declared, vehemently.</p> + +<p>"No. I am going to marry you. After you are my wife we naturally will +talk about it. That will enable us to learn whether we shall stay +married or not. Grace," he said, earnestly, "I'll do anything you wish."</p> + +<p>"Leave this house, then."</p> + +<p>"It's <i>your</i> house, dear," he reminded her, gently, "and I am your +guest. That puts it out of your power to enforce your desire. Don't you +see?"</p> + +<p>She tacitly admitted that there was an etiquette of hospitality by +asking, coldly, "Why should I marry you?"</p> + +<p>"I can't give you as many reasons as I might if you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> asked why I should +marry you. The principal two are that I love you and that I am the only +man whom Grace Goodchild can marry and still remain Grace Goodchild."</p> + +<p>It seemed to her impossible that he could be sitting beside her talking +about marriage seriously, and more than impossible that she could be +sitting there listening.</p> + +<p>"People know you as Grace Goodchild. After the marriage they will know +you as the Grace Goodchild that H. R. has married. What would become of +you if you cease to be Grace Goodchild?"</p> + +<p>She thought of Philadelphia, and shuddered. But he thought he had not +convinced her. He rose and said to her:</p> + +<p>"Oh, my love! You are so utterly and completely beautiful that if I have +a man's work to do I shall succeed only because the reward is you! I +have come to the turning-point in my career and I must have the light of +your eyes to guide me."</p> + +<p>She did not love him and therefore she heard his words very distinctly. +But she was a woman, and she was thrilled by his look and his voice and +by his manner. He was no longer a mountebank to her, but an unusual man. +And when she thought of not marrying him her mind reverted in some +curious way to Philadelphia and its subtle suggestions of sarcophagi and +the contents thereof. But this man must not think that he could win her +by stage speeches even though they might be real. She said to him, +determinedly:</p> + +<p>"We might as well understand each other—"</p> + +<p>"I am the creature; you are the creator," he quickly interjected. "You +are very beautiful, <i>very</i>! but you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> have much more than beauty. You +have brains, and I think your heart is a marvelous lute—"</p> + +<p>"A what?" she asked, curiously. No woman will allow the catalogue to be +skimped or obscured.</p> + +<p>"A lute, a wonderful musical instrument that some day will be played by +a master hand. When you cease to be merely a girl and become a woman, +with your capacity for loving when you let yourself go! Ah!" He closed +his eyes and trembled.</p> + +<p>All women, at heart, love to be accused of being psychic pyromaniacs.</p> + +<p>"<i>There will I give thee my loves!</i>" he muttered, quoting from the "Song +of Songs."</p> + +<p>She knew it wasn't original because he said it so solemnly. She dared +not ask from whom the quotation was. It sounded like Swinburne.</p> + +<p>"Come!" He was not quoting this time. He stood before her, his face +tense, his eyes aflame, his arms stretched imploringly toward her.</p> + +<p>She met his gaze—and then she could not look away. She saw the +wonderful man of whom the papers had printed miles of columns, who had +made all New York talk of him for weeks, who was young and strong and +comely and masterful, who had an old name and a fighting jaw, whose +words stirred the pulses like a quickstep on the piccolo.</p> + +<p>And his eyes made her understand what was meant by actinic rays. They +were looking at her, piercing through her garments until she felt +herself subtly divested of all concealments.</p> + +<p>And then she trembled as if his eyes physically touched her! She +thrilled, she blushed, she frowned—for she felt herself desired. And +her thoughts became the thoughts of a woman who is wooed by life, by +love,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> by a man's red blood and her own. Her New York inhibitions turned +to ashes. Life-long mental habits withered and shriveled and vanished in +microscopic flakes until into her self-hypnotized consciousness there +came the eternal query of the female who has stopped running, "What can +I give to this man?"</p> + +<p>And Hendrik, seeing her face, held his shaking hands before her, +impatiently beckoning to her to come. Some unseen spirit took her slim +hands and, without consulting her, placed them in his.</p> + +<p>And then he kissed her.</p> + +<p>The heavens flamed. She pushed him from her and sank back trembling upon +the divan on which Marie Antoinette was not sitting on the day when de +Rohan did not bring the diamond necklace that did not cause the French +Revolution, though Mr. Goodchild had paid eighteen thousand five hundred +dollars for the historic suite, in the Sunday supplement.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXVIII" id="XXVIII"></a>XXVIII</h2> + +<p>It is difficult for a man to know what to do after the first kiss. A +second kiss is not so wise as appears at first blush. It impairs mental +efficiency by rendering irresistible the desire for a third. A banal +remark is equally fatal. To tell her, "Now you are mine in God's sight," +is worse than sacrilegious; it is conducive to acute suffragism and some +polemical oratory. To say, "Now I am yours for ever," may be of +demonstrable accuracy, but also conduces to speech.</p> + +<p>Hendrik Rutgers was no ordinary man. He knew that one kiss does not make +one marriage nor even one divorce. But he knew that he was at least at +the church door and he had a wonderful ring in his waistcoat pocket. He +therefore became H. R. once more—cool, calm, master of his fate.</p> + +<p>It behooved him to do something. He did. He fell on his knees and +reverently bowed his head. And then she heard him say, "Grant that I may +become worthy of her!"</p> + +<p>Then his lips moved in silence. She saw them move. Her soul trembled. +Was she so much to this man?</p> + +<p>Great is the power of prayer even in the homes of the rich, however +cynics may sneer.</p> + +<p>He did not glance at her, feeling her eyes on him. When he judged it was +time he looked up suddenly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> rose to his feet, and, in a diffident, +apologetic voice, observed:</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, dear! What did you say?"</p> + +<p>What could she say? She therefore said it:</p> + +<p>"Nothing!" very softly.</p> + +<p>"I was very far from New York—and yet you were with me, my love!"</p> + +<p>She thought of Philadelphia and her hand sought his with that +refuge-seeking instinct which cannot be statuted away from them.</p> + +<p>He met her half-way. He raised her hands to his lips and his disengaged +left sought his waistcoat pocket where the ring was.</p> + +<p>"She is in the drawing-room, sir, with Mr. Rutgers," came in faithful +Frederick's warning voice, raised above the menial's pitch.</p> + +<p>"What!" they heard Mr. Goodchild ejaculate. Then the titular owner of +the house entered.</p> + +<p>H. R. politely bowed.</p> + +<p>"How do you do?" he said, easily. "You are a trifle inopportune. Grace +and I were talking over our plans."</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild turned purple and advanced. Grace rose hastily. H. R. +meditatively doubled up his right arm, moved his clenched fist up and +down, felt his biceps with his left hand, and smiled contentedly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild remembered his manners and his years at one and the same +time. With his second calm thought he remembered the reporters. He +gulped twice and when he spoke it was only a trifle huskily:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rutgers, I have no desire to make a scene in my own house."</p> + +<p>H. R. pleasantly pointed to a fauteuil.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I must ask you—"</p> + +<p>"Sit down and we'll talk it over quietly. You will find," H. R. assured +him, earnestly, "that I am not unreasonable. Have a seat."</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild sat down.</p> + +<p>H. R. turned to Grace and with one lightning wink managed to convey that +everybody obeyed him—excepting one, whose wish was a Federal statute to +him.</p> + +<p>She looked with a new interest at her father. It was, she realized, the +eternal conflict between youth and age. Love the prize! <i>Gratia +victrix!</i></p> + +<p>"I—I—am willing to admit"—Mr. Goodchild nearly choked as the unusual +words came from his larynx—"that you have shown—er—great cleverness +in your—er—career. But I must say to you—in a kindly way, Mr. +Rutgers, in a kindly way, believe me!—that I do not care to have +this—er—farce prolonged. If you are after—if there is any reasonable +financial consideration that will—er—induce you to desist—I—you—"</p> + +<p>"You have relapsed," interrupted H. R., amiably, "into the language of a +bank president. Suppose you now talk like a millionaire." It was not +really a request, but a command.</p> + +<p>Mr. George G. Goodchild obeyed.</p> + +<p>"How much?" he said.</p> + +<p>Grace looked as she felt—shocked. She had not fully regained her normal +composure. But this was a man who had kissed her. Was he to be bought +off with money? The shame of it overwhelmed her. She listened almost +painfully to H. R.'s reply.</p> + +<p>"I am now," H. R. impassively said to Mr. Goodchild, "waiting for you to +talk like a father."</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild stared at him blankly.</p> + +<p>"Like a father; like a human being," explained<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> H. R. "Grace is no +bundle of canceled checks or a lost stock certificate. She is your +daughter."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Excuse me; I mean she is your own flesh and blood—the best of your +flesh and blood, at that. Your wishes cannot be considered where her +happiness is at stake. Therefore what you think best is merely your +personal opinion and hence of interest to yourself and to nobody else."</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild quickly opened his mouth, but before the sound could come +H. R. went on, hurriedly, "Suppose you had set your heart upon her +becoming a mathematician. Would that make her one?"</p> + +<p>"Never!" instantly declared the non-mathematical Grace.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild shook his head violently and again opened his mouth. But +H. R. once more surpassed him in speed and pursued, calmly +argumentative:</p> + +<p>"Or suppose you did not believe in vaccination. Is your opinion to be +allowed to prevail against the advice of your competent family physician +until Grace gets the disease and you are forced to acknowledge that you +were wrong? Or would even the sight of the most beautiful face in the +world pitted and pockmarked fail to shake your own faith in your own +infallibility?"</p> + +<p>Grace shuddered. "<i>Father!</i>" she exclaimed, horror-stricken, and glared +at Mr. Goodchild. She was now thinking of paternal opposition in terms +of smallpox.</p> + +<p>"But—" angrily expostulated Mr. Goodchild.</p> + +<p>"Exactly," agreed H. R., hastily. "That's it. Now for a favor. Will you +let me talk business with you? <i>My</i> business!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild's business was to know all about the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> business of others. +But he did not take it home with him. However, before he could do more +than shake his head, H. R. went on:</p> + +<p>"I am organizing six companies."</p> + +<p>That sounded like good business. But Mr. Goodchild nodded +non-committally from force of habit.</p> + +<p>"The S. A. S. A. Imperial Sandwich Board Corporation. Capital stock, one +million, of which forty per cent. goes to the public for cash, forty per +cent. given to me—"</p> + +<p>"Forty?" irrepressibly objected Mr. Goodchild.</p> + +<p>"Forty," repeated H. R., firmly. "I am no hog. I get what my ideas, +designs, and patents are worth at a fair valuation. And twenty per cent. +goes to the S. A. S. A."</p> + +<p>"Why?" came from Mr. Goodchild before he could realize that he was +speaking bankerwise.</p> + +<p>"Because the S. A. S. A. will insist upon the company's boards being +used by all our customers. And besides, as head of the S. A. S. A., I +vote that twenty per cent. I thus control sixty per cent. and—"</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild brightened up, but remembered himself and said, very +coldly:</p> + +<p>"Go on."</p> + +<p>"We shall manufacture sandwiches of all kinds, at from one dollar to ten +thousand dollars and upward, and—"</p> + +<p>"Dreadful word! Loathe it!"</p> + +<p>"—The S. A. S. A. Memento Mori Manufacturing Company to manufacture and +sell the statuettes of the Ultimate Sandwich. Same capitalization. Same +holdings. You see, I have sold my ideas, designs, and patents so that +later on nobody can say my companies were overcapitalized. There are +also the Rapid Restaurant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> Service Appliance Company, and four others. +Same capitalization; same holdings. The money is all raised. And let me +say," finished H. R., sternly accusing, "that the people who furnish the +cash and buy the stock get <i>something</i> for their money."</p> + +<p>"That's all very well," began Mr. Goodchild, contemptuously, "but—"</p> + +<p>"Exactly," said H. R. "I propose to transfer all our accounts to your +bank. You know you said you'd like to have mine when I became famous."</p> + +<p>"I know nothing about your companies, and care less. But I want to tell +you right now—"</p> + +<p>"What interest are you going to allow us on our balances?" cut in H. R.</p> + +<p>"No interest!" said Mr. Goodchild in a voice that really meant "No +Grace!"</p> + +<p>H. R. turned to his sweetheart and, desiring to forestall desertion, +took her hand in his and said to her:</p> + +<p>"Grace, this house is a very nice house. You have spent many happy hours +here. But it is, after all, only a house. And New York is <i>New York</i>!"</p> + +<p>And Philadelphia was <i>Philadelphia</i>!</p> + +<p>Grace's hand remained in H. R.'s.</p> + +<p>"You can't have her!" said Mr. Goodchild, furiously.</p> + +<p>"Who can't have whom?" asked Mrs. Goodchild, entering the room.</p> + +<p>H. R. released Grace's hand, approached Mrs. Goodchild, and, before she +knew what he was going to do, threw his right arm about her and kissed +her—a loud filial smack.</p> + +<p>She quickly and instinctively put one hand up to her hair, for the +strange young man had been a trifle effusive. But before she could +transform her surprise<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> into vocal sounds the stranger spoke, in a voice +ringing with affectionate sincerity not too playful, you understand, but +convincing, nevertheless:</p> + +<p>"She inherits her good looks, her disposition, and her taste in dress +from you. I saw it the first time I met you. Don't you remember? And I +warn you now that if I can't marry Grace I'll kill that husband of yours +and marry <i>you</i>!"</p> + +<p>To prove it, he kissed her again, twice.</p> + +<p>"How dare—" shouted Mr. Goodchild.</p> + +<p>"I am not sure," said H. R. to Mrs. Goodchild, "that I want Grace now. +Between thirty-two and forty a woman is at her best."</p> + +<p>He patted her shoulder, as we paternally do with the young ones, and +went back to Grace. It all had happened so quickly that only H. R. was +calm.</p> + +<p>"My dear!" said Mrs. Goodchild, looking helplessly at Grace.</p> + +<p>"What is it, mother?" said H. R., appropriating the affectionate words. +And as she did not answer he asked, generally. "What do you say to the +eighth?"</p> + +<p>"An eighth?" echoed Mr. Goodchild, almost amiably, thinking, of +one-eighth of one per cent.</p> + +<p>"Of June!" said H. R. "That gives you ample time for everything, Grace. +And, remember, give the reporters the detailed list of the trousseau."</p> + +<p>"There isn't going to be any marriage. And there isn't going to be any +nauseating newspaper articles with pictures of intimate lingerie enough +to make a decent man blush."</p> + +<p>"A really decent man always blushes with shame when he does not give +<i>carte blanche</i> to his only daughter," said H. R. with great dignity.</p> + +<p>"Mr.—er—Rogers," said Mrs. Goodchild.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Rutgers," corrected her prospective son-in-law. "The 'g' is hard. It's +Dutch, like Roosevelt, Van Rensselaer, and Cruger."</p> + +<p>"But we don't know anything about your family," she said, very +seriously.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," asked H. R., pleasantly, "the Wittelbachs?"</p> + +<p>"It's beer, isn't it?" she said. It might be the best brewing blood in +Christendom, but still it wasn't Wall Street or real estate.</p> + +<p>"Good shot!" exclaimed H. R., admiringly. "It is the patronymic of the +reigning house of Bavaria. You know, Munich, where beer is the thing. +And do you know the Bernadottes?"</p> + +<p>"I've heard of them," replied Mrs. Goodchild, made wary by her +non-recognition of a sovereign house.</p> + +<p>"It is not French delicatessen, but the royal family of Sweden. And the +Hapsburgs? The Emperor of Austria belongs to them. And Romanoff? The +Czar of Russia would answer to that if he voted. And there are also the +Hohenzollerns and the Bourbons and the Braganzas. And then," he +finished, simply, "there is <i>Rutgers</i>!"</p> + +<p>"It seems to me," put in Grace, coldly, "that I have something to say—"</p> + +<p>"Empress, you don't. Just look," interrupted H. R. "Of course, the date +is subject to your approval. I didn't have any luncheon. Will you tell +Frederick to bring some tea and a few sandwiches—"</p> + +<p>"Damnation!" shrieked Mr. George G. Goodchild. "Is a man to be insulted +in his own home? Get to hell out of here with your sandwiches!"</p> + +<p>"George!" rebuked Mrs. Goodchild, placidly. She never frowned. +Wrinkles.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, George!" maniacally mimicked her husband. "It's sandwiches! +Sandwiches! Sandwiches! Everywhere! Yesterday I discharged my +secretary. I told him to send out for a chicken sandwich for me and +I heard him give the boy the order: 'Son-in-law for Mr. Goodchild. +Cock-a-doodle-do!' At this week's meeting of our directors Mr. +Garrettson asked me: 'How is the King of the Sandwiches? Living at your +house yet?' And the other jackasses all laughed. <i>Sandwiches!</i>"</p> + +<p>He turned to his daughter, and fearing that she was in the conspiracy, +asked her, vehemently: "Do you wish to be known all your life as the +Queen of the Sandwiches? Do you? Do you wish your humorous friends to +say to you, Grace, will you have a caviare husband?"</p> + +<p>"No!" replied Grace. Fame was fame, but ridicule was Hades.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" said Mrs. Goodchild.</p> + +<p>"Tell Frederick," said H. R., fiercely, "to bring in fifteen Rutgerses, +if you prefer to call them that."</p> + +<p>"That isn't funny," rebuked Grace, coldly. "I don't think you are +accustomed to surroundings—"</p> + +<p>"No; it's hospitality. I'm starving."</p> + +<p>"You'll have sandwiches for breakfast, luncheon, and dinner, my child," +Mr. Goodchild told Grace, angrily but intelligently. "In the +newspapers!"</p> + +<p>"Of course I won't marry him!" said Grace, decisively. "It's +preposterous."</p> + +<p>H. R. went up to her. She shook her head. He spoke very seriously:</p> + +<p>"Grace, when people tell you that I have given free sandwiches to New +York they mean that I have taken the poorest of the poor, the pariahs of +commerce,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> the despised of the rabble, poor human derelicts, souls +without a future, without a hope, worse than dirt, poorer than poverty, +and I have made them <i>men</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but s-s-sandwiches," blubbered Grace.</p> + +<p>"I took these victims of society and capitalism and organized them, and +then I emptied them into the golden Cloaca Maxima that you call Fifth +Avenue, and lo! they emerged free men, self-supporting, well-fed, +useful, artistic. They have been the efficient instruments of fame. It +is they who have made you known from one end of the city to the other."</p> + +<p>"Yes; but sandwiches!" doggedly repeated Grace.</p> + +<p>"I have worked," said H. R., sternly, "with human souls—"</p> + +<p>"Sandwiches!" corrected Mr. Goodchild.</p> + +<p>H. R. flushed angrily.</p> + +<p>"The sandwich," he told them all with an angry finality, "is here to +stay. Our net receipts, after paying big wages, are over one thousand +dollars a day. What do you think I am, an ass? Or a quick lunch? Or a +bank president? <i>Pshaw!</i> We've only begun! A capitalization of over five +millions at the very start and the business growing like cheap +automobiles, and me owning forty per cent. of the stock and controlling +sixty per cent. in perpetuity! These men have made me their leader. I +will not forsake them!"</p> + +<p>"Can you give me," said Mr. Goodchild, seriously, "evidence to prove +your statements?" If the love affair was not to end in an elopement it +would be wise to have a business talk with this young man, who, after +all was said and done, had a valuable asset in his newspaper publicity.</p> + +<p>"You may be a wonderful man," said Grace to H. R., "but all my friends +would ask me if I am going to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> have a mammoth sandwich instead of a +wedding-cake! I ask you not to persist—"</p> + +<p>H. R. smiled sympathetically and said: "You poor darling! Is <i>that</i> all +you are afraid of?"</p> + +<p>She thought of Philadelphia and a quiet life, and she shook her head +sadly. Why couldn't he have made her famous by unobjectionable methods.</p> + +<p>But H. R. said, "I'll guarantee that my name will never again be +associated with sandwiches—"</p> + +<p>"You can't do it!" declared Grace, with conviction, thinking of humorous +American girls. "When they are friends all you have to do is to take out +the 'r' to turn them into fiends."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Goodchild said nothing, but frowned. It had just occurred to her +that here they all were, amicably talking with the man who had made +their lives grievous burdens. Mr. Goodchild also was silent, but +shrewdly eyed H. R.</p> + +<p>"I'll do it!" repeated H. R., confidently.</p> + +<p>"How can you without killing everybody?" challenged Grace, skeptically. +"Everybody knows you as the leader of the sandwich men, and if you form +companies—"</p> + +<p>"My child," H. R. told her, gently, "I don't know anything about +finance. That is why I want to get father's advice about my business. +Every man to his trade. But I do know New York. I ought to, hang it! My +grandfather owned what is now the Hôtel Regina, and— Well, look here! +If by the first of June nobody even remembers that I had anything to do +with sandwiches will you marry me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mr. Goodchild.</p> + +<p>If H. R. could do that he was fit to be anybody's son-in-law. If he +couldn't, the annoyance would end.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Grace?" asked H. R.</p> + +<p>"I'm willing to take a chance for two weeks," said Mr. Goodchild, +feeling certain he was displaying Machiavellian wisdom. But Grace shook +her head.</p> + +<p>"Everything you've done," she told H. R., "is child's play—"</p> + +<p>"What!" interrupted H. R., indignantly. "Make New-Yorkers give money for +charity that they might have spent for their own pleasure?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing alongside of making 'em forget that you invented sandwiches. If +it had been anything else, you might—I might—you—" She floundered +helplessly. Her life for weeks had been so full of excitement that she +could not co-ordinate her ideas quickly.</p> + +<p>"You don't know me, dear," said H. R. "I hate to say it myself, but, +really, I'm a wonder!"</p> + +<p>He looked so confident, so masterfully sure of himself, so little like a +dreamer, and so much like a doer, that Grace was impressed.</p> + +<p>"Can you?" she asked, more eagerly than Mr. Goodchild liked to see. But +then H. R. had never kissed him.</p> + +<p>"With your hand for the prize and your love for my reward? Can you ask +me if I can?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I can. Can you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes!" he said. "But of course I'll need your help."</p> + +<p>"My help?" Doubt came back into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes. This way." He took her in his arms and kissed her.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Goodchild stared, open-eyed. Mr. Goodchild grew purple, and +shouted:</p> + +<p>"Here! This is—"</p> + +<p>H. R. turned to him and said, "This is all right."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> And again he pressed +his lips to hers and kept them pressed this time.</p> + +<p>"I won't have it!" shrieked Mr. Goodchild, going toward the young +people, one fist upraised.</p> + +<p>H. R. ceased kissing, and spoke rebukingly:</p> + +<p>"What do you want me to do? Kiss her in the vestibule before ringing the +door-bell, as if we were plebeian sweethearts? Or in a taxi in the Park? +Listen: <i>Fear not to intrust your daughter to a man who never kisses her +save in the sight of those who brought her into this world!</i>" H. R. +spoke so aphoristically that Mr. Goodchild thought it was a quotation +from Ecclesiastes.</p> + +<p>H. R. took the ring out of his waistcoat pocket and gave it to Grace.</p> + +<p>"Here, my love!"</p> + +<p>It was a magnificent green diamond, the rarest of all. Mrs. Goodchild +rose quickly and said, "Let me see it!" Mother-like, being concerned +with her only daughter's happiness, she took the ring to the window.</p> + +<p>Grace followed. It was her ring.</p> + +<p>"Say, Big Chief," H. R. asked his prospective father-in-law, "do I get +the sand—do I get some slices of bread with some slices of viands, two +breads to one viand, and a cup of tea?"</p> + +<p>"Tea be hanged! Have a man's drink," hospitably and diplomatically said +Mr. Goodchild. There was still a chance of escaping. He knew what +violent opposition had done to sentimental daughters.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but you'll have to allow us a decent rate of interest on our +balances."</p> + +<p>"How much do you carry?" asked Mr. Goodchild, carelessly.</p> + +<p>"Enough for Dawson to offer three per cent.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> But let us not talk +business here. I'll call on you to-morrow.</p> + +<p>"All right. But Dawson can't do it, not even on time deposits, and—"</p> + +<p>"Scotch for mine," said H. R. "Is Frederick coming?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild was, after all, a gentleman. He rang for Frederick. He +also was thirsty.</p> + +<p>"Hendrik, it's beautiful," said Grace, enthusiastically. "But are you +perfectly sure you can—"</p> + +<p>"Empress, don't you wish it done?"</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>"Then, of course, it is done. You'll be able to yell '<i>sandwich</i>'! +anywhere in New York and nobody will think of anything except that you +are the most beautiful girl in the world. Give me another before +Frederick brings 'em."</p> + +<p>"Brings what?"</p> + +<p>"Lamb chops!" answered H. R., who was a humorist of the New York school. +"Quick!" And he kissed her twice.</p> + +<p>"We'll have tea up-stairs if you're really going to be one of the +family," said Mrs. Goodchild, with the dubious smile so familiar on the +faces of mothers of New York girls.</p> + +<p>"Come, Grace!" said H. R., taking her by the unringed hand. He knew +better—by instinct.</p> + +<p>It was a very satisfactory day. Such was the compelling force of his +self-confidence that before he left the house Mr. and Mrs. Goodchild +sincerely hoped he could accomplish the impossible and wipe out the +sandwich stain from the old Knickerbocker name of Rutgers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXIX" id="XXIX"></a>XXIX</h2> + +<p>The next morning H. R. called Andrew Barrett into the inner office.</p> + +<p>"Shut the door," said he.</p> + +<p>Andrew Barrett did so and looked alarmed—alarmed rather than guilty.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow, and until further notice," said H. R., sternly, "you will +tell the department-store sandwiches to parade in front of the various +newspaper offices from morning until night."</p> + +<p>"But not in Park Row, surely?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly! And find out whether the business managers of the various +newspapers have been holding conferences with the managing editors. They +probably will—this afternoon or to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"How can I—"</p> + +<p>"By paid spies—office-boy scouts. Of course, lady stenographers being +more in your line— No! Look me in the eye!"</p> + +<p>Andrew Barrett blushed and said, feebly:</p> + +<p>"I am taking the count, Chief."</p> + +<p>"Very well. I shall now go out and do your work. See that you do mine!" +And H. R. went out, leaving Andrew Barrett full of devastating +curiosity.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what he has up his sleeve now?" mused young Mr. Barrett. "I'll +bet it's a corker!"</p> + +<p>H. R. himself called on the head of one of the most<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> progressive of New +York's great department stores—a man to whom full pages on week-days +were nothing. He, therefore, had heard of H. R., and also had used +sandwiches. He greeted the founder of the S. A. S. A. with respectful +interest. H. R. said, calmly:</p> + +<p>"I am here now to make you a present of from ten thousand to fifty +thousand dollars a year—in cash!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Liebmann, of course, knew that H. R., though an aristocrat, was +neither a fool nor a lunatic. He diplomatically asked, "And my gratitude +for your kindness may be expressed just how, Mr. Rutgers?"</p> + +<p>"By accepting the cash and putting it in your pocket, to have and to +hold until death do you part."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rutgers, I am an old man and suspense is trying." And Mr. Liebmann +smiled deprecatingly.</p> + +<p>"I have come to show you how you may save the amount I have mentioned in +your newspaper-advertising appropriation. You big advertisers are now +helpless to help yourself. There are no rebates and you can't play one +paper against the others. Those days are over. Will you hear me to the +end and not go on at half-cock while I am talking?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," promised Mr. Liebmann, impetuously.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Liebmann, you must write a letter to all the advertising managers +of all the newspapers, saying that you have decided to discontinue all +advertising in the daily papers as soon as your contracts expire. Hold +your horses! Explain that you intend to reach your suburban trade +through the fashion magazines, local papers, and circulars, and that for +Manhattan and Brooklyn you have decided to use sandwiches—Don't talk +yet!"</p> + +<p>"I am only listening," Mr. Liebmann hastened to assure him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The newspapers know that you are a Napoleonic advertiser. They will pay +to your communication the double compliment of belief and consternation. +They know you know your business and that you are not only ultra-modern, +but a pioneer. You have always been a highly intelligent advertiser. You +will then let me supply you with one hundred of our best men, who will +parade in front of the newspaper-offices in full regalia, and also in +plain sight of your dear friends, the advertising managers. You know +their psychology. Take it from me, you'll win.</p> + +<p>"The only thing you mustn't do is to call the reductions rebates. There +is no way by which the papers can get back at you. If I can make New +York feed the hungry, would it be very difficult for me to make the +advertising managers act wisely? Of course, if your letter does not +bring about a saving of not less than ten thousand dollars a year you +will not have to pay a penny for the sandwiches. I wish nothing written +from you. The word of a Liebmann is enough for a Rutgers. My family has +been in New York long enough for you to know whether a Rutgers is a man +of his word or not."</p> + +<p>"I'd rather shake hands with you than save a million a year in +advertising," said Mr. Liebmann.</p> + +<p>H. R. looked him straight in the eye—suspiciously, incredulously, +insultingly. Mr. Liebmann flushed and then H. R. said, earnestly:</p> + +<p>"I believe you, Mr. Liebmann!" and shook hands.</p> + +<p>Mr. Liebmann, bareheaded, proudly escorted him to the sidewalk. He +thanked H. R. to the last.</p> + +<p>H. R. called on the other liberal advertisers and, with more or less +ease, succeeded in impressing them as he had Mr. Liebmann.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then he visited the managing editors of all the daily papers. He began +with the best. The managing editor was delighted to see the man he had +helped to make famous.</p> + +<p>"I have come," H. R. told him, "to ask a great favor of you. I am, as +you know, very greatly interested in charity work. Your paper has been +good enough to publish my views."</p> + +<p>H. R. spoke with a sort of restrained zeal simply, not humorously, +obviously as a one-idea man, a crank, still young and undyspeptic. The +editor prided himself on his quick and accurate insight into character. +He said:</p> + +<p>"Oh yes; I know about your work."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. Well, sir, I find my usefulness to the cause somewhat +impaired by the persistence with which my name is associated with the +merely commercial phase of sandwiching. You know the sandwich men +commercially were vermin, and I have taught them to pay for their own +food. I took paupers and unpauperized them."</p> + +<p>"And the signs in your parade were great. I told them at the Union +League Club that at least one poor man's parade had shown brains. Not a +single threat! Not one complaint! Not one window smashed! Not one +spectator insulted! It showed genius!" And the editor held out his hand.</p> + +<p>"I am a Christian, sir," said H. R., gently.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll shake hands, anyhow, if you'll let me," said the editor, +cordially.</p> + +<p>H. R. took his hand and looked so embarrassed that the editor would have +sworn he blushed. This was no publicity-seeker, no fake modesty. Yes, +that must be it—a Christian, the kind editors seldom shake hands with.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And so," continued H. R., earnestly, "if you please, if you would only +tell your reporters not to mention me in connection with sandwiches I +could do more for the cause. You see, what I did with the sandwiches was +merely the entering wedge. I don't want you to think I am complaining of +your reporters, sir; they have been more than kind to me; but if you +could see your way clear to not speaking about sandwiches as though they +were my personal property—"</p> + +<p>"You are the man who gave free sandwiches to New York," smiled the +editor, as though he had said something original.</p> + +<p>The situation was more serious than H. R. had believed, but he said, +with dignity:</p> + +<p>"I made free men of pariahs, sir. That job is finished. The newspapers +have helped nobly; and to-day, thanks to them, charity is brought daily +before their readers."</p> + +<p>"But it is less picturesque than your courtship of Miss Goodchild with +sandwiches."</p> + +<p>"There were"—and H. R. smiled deprecatingly—"peculiar circumstances +about my personal relations with Mr. Goodchild. Of course, I also +desired to prove to intelligent but not very original business men that +sandwiching is the most effective form of advertising. It is like all +art, sir. The personal quality gives to it a human appeal that no +combination of printed words on a page can have."</p> + +<p>"How do you make that out?" asked the editor.</p> + +<p>"When you read a play you see the printed words; but when you see the +same play well acted you find that the same words you have read and +liked reach the public through the senses of sight and of hearing as +well as through the intellect, and is thus trebly efficient<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> on the +stage. Now, sandwiching is beyond question the highest form of +commercial advertising. It succeeds even in love! And—"</p> + +<p>"I congratulate you," said the editor, heartily.</p> + +<p>H. R. looked so serious that the editor found himself saying, with even +greater seriousness, "What you say is extremely interesting."</p> + +<p>"I have long studied—in my humble way—the psychology of the crowd. I +have discovered some very interesting things—at least they are +interesting to me, sir," apologized H. R., almost humbly. "I am led to +think, indeed I feel certain, that the art of sandwiching is in its +infancy. The marvelous imagination of the American people, their +resourcefulness and ingenuity, will make the development of artistic +sandwiching one of the most extraordinary commercial phenomena of the +twentieth century. But personally I am not interested in advertising, +sir, except as in this instance as a means to an end. When the result is +reached that is the end of my interest. And so, sir, though I feel +gratitude for the noble work your paper is doing for the cause of +charity, I really and honestly think that less attention should be paid +to the business side of one of our successful experiments with the +submerged tenth, and more to charity itself. Can't you tell your +reporters that sandwiching at union wages has nothing to do with it?"</p> + +<p>"News is news," said the editor, shaking his head regretfully. "We print +what is of interest to our readers."</p> + +<p>"If your readers were made to think of filling other people's stomachs +instead of their own there would be less dyspepsia—and more +newspaper-readers, sir. It is a discouraging fact that the world appears +to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> more concerned over making money than over the unspeakable folly +of dying rich."</p> + +<p>"We can do without death more easily than without money," observed the +editor, sententiously.</p> + +<p>"Oh no! Death was invented in order to teach men how to live wisely. +This is the only reason why the cessation of the organic functions, +which is life's one great commonplace, has at all times attained to the +dignity of rhetoric. But I am taking your time. I hope you will be good +enough to drop sandwiches and stick to charity. I thank you for your +kindness; and—and," he finished, diffidently, "I should like to shake +hands with you."</p> + +<p>He looked appealingly at the editor, who thereupon shook his hand +warmly.</p> + +<p>"I'll do what I can for you, Mr. Rutgers. I am very glad to have met +you. Anything we can do to help you in your efforts we shall gladly do. +You are a very remarkable man and you have done greater work than you +seem to realize."</p> + +<p>H. R. shook his head vehemently, however, and retired in obvious +confusion.</p> + +<p>With a few trifling differences, due to the divers editorial +personalities, he did the same thing to the other managing editors. All +of them thought that none of the reporters really knew what manner of +man H. R. was. Withal, all of them were right. He was a wonder!</p> + +<p>On the next morning the eyes of the business managers of the great +metropolitan dailies, morning and evening, were made to glow by +twenty-seven letters from their biggest advertisers. The tenor of the +communications was that, as soon as existing contracts expired, the +twenty-seven biggest would do their urban advertising by means of S. A. S. A. +sandwiches. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> expected to reach the suburbs through fashion +journals, circulars, and local media.</p> + +<p>The advertising managers smiled, not only at the palpable bluff, but at +the evidence of an infantile conspiracy. Before ten o'clock, however, +the vast crowds in front of their very doors made them swear. Scores of +sandwich men, advertising the said twenty-seven shops and the day's +bargains, were parading up and down, causing said crowds to collect and +to comment audibly and admiringly.</p> + +<p>The advertising managers rushed to the managing editors to tell than +that something must be done to prevent their sudden death. The managing +editors, to a man, recalled H. R.'s prophecy of the marvelous growth of +the most effective form of advertising.</p> + +<p>"That H. R.," said the managing editor of the <i>Times</i>, "is a wizard!"</p> + +<p>"You fellows made him," bitterly retorted the business manager. "He's +had more free advertising than I can book in a hundred and ten years!"</p> + +<p>"Why, he particularly asked me not to mention sandwiches!"</p> + +<p>"Well, by gad, you'd better not!" Then, "What d'ye want?" he snarled at +his first assistant, who came in with a sheet of paper in his right hand +and a look of perplexity in both eyes.</p> + +<p>The assistant silently gave him the copy:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">all the leading shops and the big department stores of +greater new york are using our sandwiches. they employ the +best advertising talent in the world</span>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">their experts unanimously have decided that sandwiching is +the highest form of advertising yet discovered. it is the +cheapest when returns and results are considered</span>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">are you using our sandwiches, mr. merchant</span>?</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">they will move your shop to fifth avenue</span>.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">try it! employ only union men</span>.</p></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 28em;"><span class="smcap">society american sandwich artists</span>,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;"><span class="smcap">allied arts building</span>.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>For the first time in history the familiar</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;">O. K.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;">H. R.,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 36em;"><i>Sec.</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>was absent.</p> + +<p>It bore out the managing editor's assertion of H. R.'s distaste of +publicity.</p> + +<p>"Go out and lasso your maverick advertisers," said the managing editor, +sternly, after he had read the S. A. S. A. advertisement—full-page, +too! "I'll take care of the news columns."</p> + +<p>"The damned sandwich men are so thick in this town I'll have trouble in +breaking through their lines."</p> + +<p>"Use dynamite!" said the managing editor, savagely. He owned ten bonds +of his own paper.</p> + +<p>He then summoned the city editor and said, sternly:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Welles, under no circumstances whatever must this paper mention +sandwiches or sandwich advertising or the S. A. S. A."</p> + +<p>"Did you see their latest exploit? Two hundred and seventy-six +sandwiches to the block, by actual count. Talk about high art!"</p> + +<p>"They have commercialized it," frowned the managing editor. "Not a +line—ever!"</p> + +<p>The same thing must have happened in all the other offices. The public +talked about the advertising revolution and the wonderful new styles in +boards; and they looked in the next morning's papers to get all the +picturesque details, as usual. Not a word!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXX" id="XXX"></a>XXX</h2> + +<p>H. R. called, shortly after ten o'clock the next morning, at the Ketcham +National Bank to discuss with his father-in-law-to-be interest rates on +the balance he did not yet have.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild had slept over the matter. He had spent an hour in going +over his annoyances and humiliations, and had failed himself with a +wrath that became murderous anger when he compelled himself to realize +that H. R. had it in his power to intensify the troubles of the +Goodchild family. The marriage of H. R. with his daughter became worse +than preposterous; it was a species of blackmail against which there was +no defense. He could not reach H. R. by means of the law or by speech or +by violence.</p> + +<p>When his anger cooled, however, he saw that what he had done was to pay +the young man the greatest compliment an elderly millionaire can pay +anybody. The more formidable your enemy is, the less disgraceful is your +defeat. Mr. Goodchild was as intelligent a man as one is apt to find in +the office of the president of a bank; but he was susceptible, as all +men are, to self-inflicted flattery. He therefore decided that H. R. was +a problem to be tackled in cold blood, with both eyes open and prayer in +the heart. The only plan of action he could think of was proposing to H. R. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> to accomplish an impossibility; in fact, two impossibilities. He +also would treat H. R. amicably.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, young man!" he said, pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"Morning!" said H. R., briskly. "Now let's get down to cases. I expect +you to—"</p> + +<p>"Hold on!" said Mr. Goodchild, coldly, in order to keep from saying it +hotly. "Aren't you a trifle premature?"</p> + +<p>"No," said H. R. "I find I can give you a few minutes to-day."</p> + +<p>"You'll have to use some of those minutes in listening to me," said Mr. +Goodchild, trying to look as though this was routine business.</p> + +<p>"I'll listen," H. R. assured him, kindly.</p> + +<p>"You will admit that you have given me cause to—well, not to feel +especially friendly toward you."</p> + +<p>"Big men are above petty feelings," said H. R. "You will, in turn, admit +that you made a mistake in not advancing me in the bank— Wait! I'll +listen later, as long as you wish. You object, I suppose, to my methods; +but let me point out to you that I have arrived! Where should I be if I +hadn't been talked about? And where shall I land if I keep on +hypnotizing the newspapers into giving me columns of space? You know +what publicity means in business to-day, don't you? Well, just bear in +mind that I not only make news, but, by jingo, I am news! There is only +one other man in the United States who can say that, and you may have to +vote for him for President, notwithstanding your fear of him. Wait!" H. R. +held up his hand, took out his watch, and went on: "For an entire +minute think of what I have said before you answer. Don't answer until +the time is up. One minute. Begin! Now!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span></p> + +<p>H. R. held his hand detainingly two inches in front of Mr. Goodchild's +lips. Mr. Goodchild did not open them. He thought and thought, and he +became conscious that he had to argue with himself to find said answer.</p> + +<p>"Speak!" commanded H. R. when the minute was up.</p> + +<p>"The cases are not analogous. Publicity has its uses and—"</p> + +<p>"It has this one use—that you can always capitalize it. It spells +dollars—and, more than that, easy dollars, untainted dollars, dollars +that nobody begrudges you and that nobody wants to take away from +you—not even the Administration at Washington. Think over that for two +minutes. And he pulled out his watch once more.</p> + +<p>"Look here, I—"</p> + +<p>"Damn it, don't talk! Think!" said H. R. so determinedly that Mr. +Goodchild almost feared a scene would be enacted which he should regret +after seeing it in the newspapers. "You have wasted forty seconds in +overcoming your anger at my manner of speech," continued H. R., +reprovingly. "Begin all over. Two minutes. Now!" And before Mr. +Goodchild's wrath could become articulate he rose and walked over to a +window.</p> + +<p>H. R. stared across the street. It was there he had captured Fleming. +How far away that day seemed now—and how far below! The two minutes +were up. He turned to Mr. Goodchild.</p> + +<p>"Look here; you bank presidents are an unscientific lot. You ought to be +psychologists instead of being merely bookkeepers. It is knowledge of +people you need—not of human nature at its worst, or of political<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> +economy, or of finance, but of people—the people who vote; the people +who in the end say whether you are to be allowed to enjoy your money and +theirs in comfort or not. Study them! You sit here and disapprove of my +methods because they violate some rule established years ago by somebody +as radical then as I appear to be now. It is not a question of good +taste or bad taste. It was good taste once to kill each other in duels, +and to drink two bottles of port, and to employ children in factories. +The suffragettes are attacked for methods—"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say you approve of their slashing pictures—"</p> + +<p>"That is beside the question. If the suffragettes stuck to ladylike +speeches and circulars they would be merely a joke at the club. The +right of women to vote is a problem. Well, the suffragettes have made +themselves exactly that—a problem! If they have not a sense of relative +values it is because they don't get me to run their campaign for them. I +could succeed without destroying one masterpiece. Maybe I will—some +day. And then I could marry ten bankers' daughters if I were not in love +with one. Let's come back to our own business. Do you think I have +brains?"</p> + +<p>"Well—"</p> + +<p>"No, no! Remember what I have said to you and consider whether it is +asinine; and think of what I have done and ponder whether it shows +hustling and executive ability, and those qualities that mean the power +to develop the individual bank account. Am I an ass or have I brains?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; but—"</p> + +<p>"All men of brains at all times have had more buts<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> than bouquets thrown +at them. I tell you now that I have gone about this business for the +purpose of getting there. To become news, to be interesting to the +public in some way—in any way—is the quickest way. Then you can pick +your own way, a way that will commend itself to the well-bred +nonentities who never accomplish anything. Well, I am famous; and it's +up to me to decide what I shall do in the future to take advantage of +the fact that when people hear of H. R., or see those two initials in +print, they look for something interesting to follow. The least of my +troubles is that I shall become one of your respected depositors. I +don't drink; I am healthy—no taint of any kind, hereditary or acquired; +I don't have to lie to get what I want or cheat to get all the money I +need—and I need a lot. I've got ideas, and I don't fall down in +carrying them out, because I don't go on at half-cock. I never move +until I see my destination; and if there is a wall ahead I have my +scaling-ladder all ready long before I arrive at the wall."</p> + +<p>H. R. paused, and then went on more slowly: "When you get over your +soreness at the raw deal the newspapers have given you, you will be glad +to have a man of brains in your house. I don't want you to give Grace +anything; but I tell you now I'm going to marry her, and you'd better +begin to be reconciled to the idea of having me for a son-in-law. I want +to be your friend, because I'm quite sure you will not enjoy having me +for your enemy—not after I begin the counter attack."</p> + +<p>It is always the delivery that does it, as Demosthenes triply assured +posterity. Mr. Goodchild's eyes had not left H. R.'s face and he had +listened intently to the speech. He did not grasp in full all that H. R. +had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> said; but what really had emptied Mr. Goodchild of anger, and +filled him with an interest which was not very different from respect, +was the delivery. H. R.'s faculty of knowing how to speak to a +particular auditor was instinctive. It always is, with all such men, +whether they are famous or obscure, orators or life-insurance agents. It +is very simple when you are born with it.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild, however, finding his own weapons of offense more +dangerous to himself than to the foe, fell back on defense. To do so, he +naturally began with a lie. That is the worst of verbal defenses.</p> + +<p>"I don't object to you personally. I—I even admit that I made a mistake +in not promoting you, though I don't know what position you could have +filled here that would have suited you—"</p> + +<p>"None; because you don't realize that banks need modernizing. None! Skip +all that and get back to me as your son-in-law."</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild, thinking of his two plans which were his one hope, asked, +abruptly:</p> + +<p>"Are you a man of your word?"</p> + +<p>"Since I have brains, I am. Are you?"</p> + +<p>"I object to your methods. Your speech I might overlook, though it comes +hard. I am speaking plainly. Now you are known as the Sandwich Man. That +would bar you from my club and from ever becoming a really—"</p> + +<p>"But that will stop. It will stop to-day. I have told Grace that within +a month nobody will ever connect my name with sandwiches."</p> + +<p>"Will you agree not to marry or seek to marry my daughter, or annoy us +in any way—in short, if a month from now you are still famous as the +organizer of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> sandwiches, will you stop trying to be my son-in-law?"</p> + +<p>"Sure thing!" promised H. R., calmly. Mr. Goodchild was distrustful and +looked it, which made H. R. add, impressively: "I'll give you my word +that after to-day I'll never even try to see you or Grace, or write to +her, or revenge myself on you. So far as I am concerned I'll cease to +exist for you. And here's my hand on it."</p> + +<p>He held out his hand in such a manner that Mr. Goodchild took it and +shook it with the warmth of profound relief. Then he said, heartfully:</p> + +<p>"If you do that—"</p> + +<p>"Don't worry! It won't kill my business. I'll be just as famous as +ever."</p> + +<p>"The newspapers made you. Their silence will unmake you."</p> + +<p>"Oh no!" And H. R. smiled as one smiles at a child.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild almost felt as though his head had been kindly patted.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Sandwiching is here to stay and—and my companies are organized. I'll +change the dummy directors as soon as you and I decide which of your +friends and clients shall be permitted to buy some of the stock my men +haven't sold. For cash, understand! The newspapers have done their work. +The newspapers in this instance are like incubators. I put in an egg. +The incubator hatched it. Then I took the chick out of the incubator. +Suppose the incubator now refuses to keep up the temperature of 102½ +degrees Fahrenheit necessary to hatch the egg? Suppose the incubator +gets stone cold? Well, let it! The chick is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> out and growing. And let me +tell you right now that I am not going to let Wall Street financiers get +their clutches on my chick. They'd caponize it. Talking about interest +rates—"</p> + +<p>"How big a balance do you expect to keep with us?" asked Mr. Goodchild. +He did not like to admit the surrender.</p> + +<p>"It depends on you." H. R. pulled out his watch, looked at the time, +snapped it shut, and said: "I haven't time to go over the business; but +I'll send one of my office men to tell you all you want to know. Listen +to him and then ask him any questions you wish. So far as you and I are +concerned we are beyond the sandwich stage. I'll send Barrett to you +this afternoon. And, believe me, you are going to be my father-in-law. +Good morning!" He left the office without offering to shake hands.</p> + +<p>On his way out H. R. stopped to speak to Mr. Coster, to whom he owed so +much for having led him, as a clerk with the springtime in his blood, to +the president's office to be discharged.</p> + +<p>"Well, old top, here I be!" said H. R., kindly humorous in order to +remove all restraint.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Mr. Rutgers?" said Coster, respectfully.</p> + +<p>The clerks looked at their erstwhile fellow-slave furtively, afraid to +be caught looking. Was this Hendrik Rutgers? Was this what a man became +when he ceased to be a clerk?</p> + +<p>Ah, but a salary! Something coming in regularly at the end of the week, +rain or shine! Gee! but some men are born lucky!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXXI" id="XXXI"></a>XXXI</h2> + +<p>H. R. returned to his office feeling that the big battle was about to +begin. The preliminary skirmishes he had won. He had captured fame and +must now begin his real attack on fortune. He spent an hour dictating +plans of campaign for his various companies. Shortly before noon he told +the stenographer to call up Miss Goodchild and inform her that Mr. +Rutgers would be there in half an hour.</p> + +<p>He had promised not to call on Grace for a month after that day. He must +not make love to her. He was determined to keep his promise; but she +must not forget him. He had accustomed her to his impetuous wooing. In +thirty days of inaction much might be undone if he did nothing.</p> + +<p>He was punctual. He found Grace waiting for him, curious to know what +had happened at H. R.'s conference with her father at the bank. Her +curiosity made her forget many other things.</p> + +<p>She expected a characteristic greeting from H. R., but his face was so +full of adamantine resolution that her curiosity promptly turned into +vague alarm. She had told herself she did not love him, but +instinctively she now walked toward him quickly.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He waved her back and said, hastily:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Stop right where you are! Don't come any nearer. For the love of Mike, +don't!"</p> + +<p>She had been thinking of treating him coldly, to keep him at a distance.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she asked again, and again advanced.</p> + +<p>"Don't!" said H. R., with a frown.</p> + +<p>She now felt alarmed, without giving herself any reason for it.</p> + +<p>"Wh-what's the m-matter?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"You!" he answered. "You!"</p> + +<p>She stared at him. He was looking at her so queerly that naturally she +thought something had happened to her face. She looked into the mirror +on her right. It was not so. Another look fully confirmed this. So she +looked at him. His expression had lost some of its anxiety.</p> + +<p>"I promised your dad," he explained, "that I would not see you after +to-day, or call here, or try to make love to you by mail, or annoy you +or him in any way until I had wiped the sandwich stain off your surname. +I have a month in which to do it, and I promised all that! One month! +Not to see you! But—"</p> + +<p>He looked at her so hungrily that, born and bred in New York though she +was, she blushed hotly and turned her face away. Then she felt the +thrill by which victory is made plain to the defeated.</p> + +<p>"But—but—" repeated H. R. through his clenched teeth, and took a step +toward her.</p> + +<p>Whatever she saw in his face made her smile and say, challengingly:</p> + +<p>"But what?"</p> + +<p>Being very wise, he caught his breath and said, sharply:</p> + +<p>"Don't do that!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do what?" she asked, innocently, and kept on smiling.</p> + +<p>"I will not see you!"</p> + +<p>"You won't?" She ceased to smile, in order to look skeptical.</p> + +<p>"No, I won't; I'll keep my word, Grace." He was speaking very earnestly +now. "I love you—all of you; the good and the bad, your wonderful +woman's soul and your perennial childishness. You are so beautiful in so +many ways that you yourself cannot know how completely beautiful you +are. But I love more than your beauty. After it is all over you will +realize that I can be trusted implicitly. Never has man been put to such +a task. Don't you know—can't you see what I am doing?"</p> + +<p>She knew; she saw. She felt herself mistress of the situation. She +therefore said, softly:</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't want you to commit suicide here."</p> + +<p>Hearing no reply, she looked at him. He was ready for it. She saw his +nostrils dilate and his fists clench and unclench.</p> + +<p>"Then I won't see you. But—but you can see me," he said.</p> + +<p>She frowned.</p> + +<p>He went on: "I shall lunch every day at Jerry's—small table in the +northeast corner. At one o'clock every day for a whole month."</p> + +<p>Did he expect her to run after him? She said, very coldly:</p> + +<p>"That wouldn't be fair."</p> + +<p>"If you go to Jerry's for luncheon with one of your girl friends, and +you see me eating alone, keeping bushels of wonderful news all to +myself, is that making love to you?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"No!" he contradicted, flatly. "But I'll do more— I'll let you tell +Mrs. Vandergilt that you own the only engine of destruction available +against man's stupidity."</p> + +<p>Knowing that he was alluding to her beauty, she said:</p> + +<p>"What are you talking about?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I belong to you, don't I? And if women are to get the vote can't +you tell dear Ethel's mother—"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean old Mrs. Vandergilt?" she interrupted.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Then say so."</p> + +<p>"I will," he meekly promised. "You tell the old lady that you will +insure success for the Cause by lending me to her. I've got a scheme +that will do more in a month than all the suffragettes have accomplished +in fifty years. You might get Ethel interested in my plan—"</p> + +<p>"I won't!" She smiled the forgiving smile that infuriates. She lost her +head. "You think I am jeal—that I'm—"</p> + +<p>"I think not of you, but of myself, and of how I may keep my promise to +your father and survive. If you see me, and can talk to me, I shall live +honorably. Will you shake hands?" He held out his right hand. She +ignored it. He deliberately took hers and led her to a chair. "Will you +do what I ask, dear?" he entreated, humbly.</p> + +<p>"No!" She stood there, cold, disdainful, refusing everything—even to +sit down.</p> + +<p>"Then," he said, tensely, "then I must—" He seized her in his arms and +kissed her unresponsive lips. "I am not making love to you," he +murmured. "I am<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> not!" And he kissed her again. "I promised not to see +you; and I won't—not even if you see me."</p> + +<p>He released her and was silent. She looked up and saw that his eyes were +tightly closed.</p> + +<p>"I'll be there," she said, triumphantly, "at one o'clock."</p> + +<p>"I am a man of my word!" he said, fiercely.</p> + +<p>"Every day!" she added, with decision.</p> + +<p>She did not know that this wifelike attitude thrilled him as not even +the kisses had; but he said, earnestly:</p> + +<p>"No. I'm going now. It's good-by for a month. For a whole month!"</p> + +<p>"Northeast corner table," she said, audibly, as though to herself. +"Northeast cor—"</p> + +<p>"Play fair!" he urged. "Amuse yourself with Mrs. Vandergilt." He looked +at her as though he desired her to occupy herself with some hobby for +thirty days. The sight of her face, and nothing else that she could see, +made him say, "Good-by!" And he almost ran out of the room.</p> + +<p>She went up-stairs to get her gloves. On second thought she called Ethel +on the telephone and invited her to luncheon at Jerry's.</p> + +<p>He was waiting for her at the northeast corner table when she and Ethel +went in. Grace, who had been looking toward the southwest corner, where +the exit to the kitchen was, turned casually and saw him.</p> + +<p>"There's Hendrik!" she said to Ethel.</p> + +<p>He had not risen. He looked up casually now and approached them.</p> + +<p>"I was born lucky," he told them, and shook hands with Grace. To Miss +Vandergilt he said, very seriously, "Are you Grace's friend?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm more than that," answered Ethel; "I am the best friend she's got."</p> + +<p>"Then I am doubly lucky. I have a table, Ethel. I want you to be a +witness to the miracle." There was no reason why he should call Miss +Vandergilt by her first name. Even Ethel looked it. But H. R. merely +said: "Take this chair, Grace. Ethel—here."</p> + +<p>"It seems to me—" began Grace, coldly.</p> + +<p>"Your friends are my friends. The miracle, Ethel, is that I've promised +not to make love to Grace for a whole month—thirty days; forty-three +thousand two hundred precious wasted minutes!"</p> + +<p>"Don't you sleep?" interjected Ethel, curiously.</p> + +<p>"My poor carcass does, but not my thoughts of her. Now let us eat and be +miserable."</p> + +<p>It was a wonderful luncheon. H. R. let them do all the talking. He was +at his coffee when Ethel mentioned her mother.</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes!" said H. R. "By the way, has Grace told her?"</p> + +<p>"Told her what?"</p> + +<p>Grace caught his eye and shook her head with a frown.</p> + +<p>"Very well, dear girl," he said to her. To Ethel he explained, "She +doesn't wish me to tell you of her plan."</p> + +<p>"Oh, do! Please!" said Ethel, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"I'm in training for the position of her husband, Ethel," H. R. told +her. "She says no—that's all; plain no!"</p> + +<p>"Grace, tell him to tell me!" said Ethel.</p> + +<p>"Shall I, Grace?" smiled H. R.</p> + +<p>Ethel looked at her and smiled. It made Grace so furious that she said:</p> + +<p>"I have no control over his speech."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then, Ethel, it is only that Grace has a plan for a suffrage campaign +that—well, it isn't for me to boast of her strategy; but it's a sure +winner. I thought she would tell your mother."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't interest me," said Grace, very coldly, being hot within.</p> + +<p>"It will after you're married," observed Ethel, sagely.</p> + +<p>"That depends on whom I marry," said Grace, casually.</p> + +<p>"So it does," assented H. R., calmly.</p> + +<p>"I agree with Hendrik," said Ethel, more subtly personal than Grace +thought necessary; so she pushed back her chair and took up her gloves.</p> + +<p>"Same table, same time—to-morrow?" H. R. said this to Grace so that +Ethel could hear it.</p> + +<p>"No," said Grace.</p> + +<p>"Very well," he said, meekly. "I'll be here just the same—in case."</p> + +<p>She shook her head. Ethel, who was carefully not looking, saw her do it.</p> + +<p>Grace did not appear the next day, but Ethel did, properly accompanied +by her own mother. They walked toward the northeast corner, on their way +to a near-by table. H. R. rose and approached them.</p> + +<p>"Just in time," he said to them. "Thursday always was my lucky day."</p> + +<p>They sat down. To the waiter he said:</p> + +<p>"Tell the chef—for three; for me."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Rutgers," said the waiter, very deferentially.</p> + +<p>"What have you up your sleeve, Mrs. Vandergilt? And how near is +victory?"</p> + +<p>"You mean—"</p> + +<p>"The Cause!" said H. R., reverently.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I never heard you express an opinion," said Mrs. Vandergilt, +suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"You have expressed them for me far better than I could. Mine isn't a +deep or philosophical mind," he apologized to the mind that was. "I +merely understand publicity and how sheeplike men are."</p> + +<p>"If you understand that, you understand a great deal," remarked Mrs. +Vandergilt, sententiously.</p> + +<p>"Grace thought—" began H. R., and caught himself in time. "You haven't +talked to her about it?"</p> + +<p>"Grace?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Goodchild."</p> + +<p>"No. Why should I?"</p> + +<p>"No reason—only that she has what I, as a practical man, in my low-brow +way, think is a winner. Of course the suffrage has long since passed the +polemical stage. The question does not admit of argument. The right is +admitted by all men. But what all men don't admit is the wrong. And all +men don't admit it, because all women don't."</p> + +<p>"That is true," said Mrs. Vandergilt, vindictively.</p> + +<p>"Any woman," pursued H. R., earnestly, "can make any man give her +anything she wants. Therefore, if all the women wanted all the men to +give them anything, the men would give it. A woman can't always take +something from a man; but she can always get it. To put it on the high +plane of taking it as a right may be noble; but what I want is results. +So long as I get results, nothing short of murder, lying, or ignoble +wheedling can stop me. Grace and I went all over that; but she seems to +have lost interest—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, she has," confirmed Ethel, so amiably that H. R. smiled +gratefully; and that annoyed Ethel.</p> + +<p>"You have asked for justice," pursued H. R., addressing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> himself to Mrs. +Vandergilt; "but it is at the ignoble side of man that you must shoot. +It is a larger target—easier to hit."</p> + +<p>"But—" began Mrs. Vandergilt.</p> + +<p>"If I were a woman my dream should be to serve under you and implicitly +obey all orders. I'd distribute dynamite as cheerfully as handbills. +Without competent marshals do you imagine Napoleon could have done what +he did?</p> + +<p>"Don't I know it?" said Mrs. Vandergilt, bitterly.</p> + +<p>"How would you go about it?" interjected Ethel, who had grown weary of +her own silence.</p> + +<p>"I'd get the marshals. I'd get subordinates that, when your mother said +'Do thus and so!' she could feel sure would obey orders. The general +strategy must come from her."</p> + +<p>"I've said that until I was black in the face," said Mrs. Vandergilt. +"I've told them—" And the great leader talked and talked, while H. R. +stopped eating to listen with his very soul. With such a listener Mrs. +Vandergilt was at her best.</p> + +<p>"Mother, the squab is getting cold," said Ethel.</p> + +<p>"The next time it will be cold in advance," said H. R., impatiently. "Go +on, Mrs. Vandergilt!"</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Vandergilt, knowing she could not finish at one luncheon, shook +her head graciously and invited H. R. to dinner the next evening.</p> + +<p>"I can hardly wait!" murmured H. R.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXXII" id="XXXII"></a>XXXII</h2> + +<p>The dinner at Mrs. Vandergilt's home was H. R.'s initial social triumph. +The first thing he did was to confess to Mrs. Vandergilt that what he +desired above all things was to be her military secretary. All he asked +was to serve the Cause so long as she led, and no longer.</p> + +<p>"I hate failures," he told her. "I don't propose to be identified with +any. If I did not see in you what I do I should not be here. I know +creative genius when I see it. You paint the picture. I am only the +frame-maker—necessary, but not among the immortals."</p> + +<p>"You are more than that," she assured him, with a smile. He shook his +head.</p> + +<p>"I can fool the rabble; but you know the trick! Organize your personal +staff. Fire them with your own enthusiasm. Of course they won't all have +brains; but they will do to stop gaps and follow instructions."</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Vandergilt, in order that all might know that great minds +acknowledged a greater mind, cracked up H. R. to the sky. H. R.'s +success was all the greater since he made a point of declining most +invitations. He was seen only where most people wished to be seen. That +made him talked about.</p> + +<p>Grace heard about his stupendous social success. Since the demand for H. R.'s +presence came from her social equals, he was at last a desirable +possession.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> She stayed away from Jerry's in a mood of anger that +naturally made it impossible for her to stop thinking of H. R.</p> + +<p>Meantime H. R. regularly, every day, sent a complete file of newspapers +to the Goodchild residence. By his orders the Public Sentiment Corps +bombarded the editors with requests for information as to the Society of +American Sandwich Artists, and of sandwiching in general. He prepared +learned and withal highly interesting articles on sandwiches, their +history and development. He suggested over divers signatures that all +court notices should be brought to the public's notice by sandwiches, +thereby getting nearer to the picturesque town-crier of our sainted +forefathers.</p> + +<p>Not a single communication was printed. The department stores were +holding out for lower advertising rates. Many of the letters asked +questions about H. R. in his capacity as the greatest living authority +on sandwiches. These, also, were ignored. On the other hand, to show +they were not prejudiced, the papers continued to run the charity page +and used suggestions furnished by H. R., giving him full credit when it +came to philanthropies that had nothing to do with sandwiches.</p> + +<p>The series of harrowing radiographs of diseased viscera, published with +success by the most conservative of the evening journals, was one of H. R.'s +subtlest strokes. And prominent persons took to contributing checks +and articles, both signed in full, in response to H. R.'s occasional +appeals in aid of deserving destitution.</p> + +<p>Then the Public Sentiment Corps began to ask, with a marvelous diversity +of chirography and spelling, why<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> H. R. did not undertake to secure +votes for women and employment for men. Mrs. Vandergilt, when asked +about it by the reporters, replied:</p> + +<p>"H. R. is my most trusted adviser. Just wait! When we are ready to move +we'll begin; and there will be no stopping us this time!" They published +her remarks and her photograph, and also H. R.'s.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild had tried, one after another, to get all the newspapers to +attack H. R. viciously—then to poke fun at him; and he had failed +utterly. When he read the Vandergilt interview, on his way home that +evening, he decided to speak to Grace.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Vandergilt is crazy," he said.</p> + +<p>"Have they sent her away?" asked Grace, her face full of excitement. +Poor Ethel!</p> + +<p>"Not yet; but I see she has taken up that—that—"</p> + +<p>"Hendrik?" asked Grace, and frowned.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild nodded. Then he asked, suspiciously:</p> + +<p>"You haven't seen him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; but not to—well, he hasn't made—he has kept his word to you. And +the newspapers don't print anything about sandwiches."</p> + +<p>"No—damn 'em!" he muttered.</p> + +<p>"I thought you didn't want them to."</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to have anything to do with him. It is perfectly +absurd to think of marrying a fellow like that—"</p> + +<p>"He can marry anybody now," she told him. Thinking of this made her so +angry that she said, "He hypnotizes people so they think he is—"</p> + +<p>"I know what he is," he interrupted. "I'd like to—"</p> + +<p>"I suppose you would," she acquiesced; "but you can't deny he is an +extraordinary person, and—"</p> + +<p>"Do you love him?" he interrupted.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span></p> + +<p>Grace hesitated. She had to in order to be honest.</p> + +<p>"I—I don't know," she answered, finally.</p> + +<p>"Great Scott! Do you mean to say you don't know that?"</p> + +<p>"No; I don't," she replied, tartly.</p> + +<p>She thought of H. R., of all he had done, of all he had said to her, of +all he might yet do. And then she thought of the way H. R. had been +taken up by the people at whose homes she dined and danced. She shook +her head dubiously.</p> + +<p>"Well, finish!" said her father, impatiently.</p> + +<p>"He makes people do what he wants them to," she said, slowly; "though he +says he will do what I wish him to do, and—"</p> + +<p>"Can you make him do what he doesn't want to do?" challenged her father, +with his first gleam of sense.</p> + +<p>She thought of H. R.'s love of her.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, thrilled at the thought of her power.</p> + +<p>"Then make him give you up!"</p> + +<p>Her father permitted himself a smile of incredulity, which made her say:</p> + +<p>"I will!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodchild rose. He patted her cheek encouragingly and said:</p> + +<p>"I think you will, my dear."</p> + +<p>"I am going to make him—"</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon, but Miss Goodchild is wanted at the telephone, sir," +announced Frederick.</p> + +<p>Grace went to answer the phone. It was Marion Molyneux who spoke.</p> + +<p>"Is it true, Grace, that your engagement with H. R. is off?"</p> + +<p>"Who told you?" naturally asked Grace before she could think of anything +else.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, everybody is talking about it; and—"</p> + +<p>"Everybody knows my business better than I do."</p> + +<p>"Well, they say Mrs. Vandergilt doesn't give him time to—"</p> + +<p>"Is he engaged to her?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear! You are angry, aren't you? Well, I am glad it isn't true. +Good-by."</p> + +<p>How could the engagement be off when it never had been on? Grace made up +her mind to talk to him very plainly, for the last time, that evening. +She knew he would be at the Vandergilts' dinner dance that night. Well, +she was going there, anyhow. Therefore she went. She almost had to elbow +her way to where he stood. Mrs. Vandergilt was beside him; but Grace +could see that H. R. owned the house.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, my dear?" said Mrs. Vandergilt, so very graciously that +Grace was filled with fury.</p> + +<p>It was plain that H. R. was making a professional politician of Mrs. +Vandergilt. Grace smiled at her—that is, she made her lips do it +mechanically. Then she addressed the fiancé to whom she was not engaged:</p> + +<p>"Hendrik!"</p> + +<p>That was all she actually said, but, with her eyes, in the manner known +only to women who are sure they are not in love, she commanded him to +follow her.</p> + +<p>"You see him all the time and we don't get a chance very often," +protested a vulgar little thing whose father was a financial pirate of +the first rank and had given her all the predatory instincts. "Go on, H. R.! +Tell us some more. Do!"</p> + +<p>Grace's eyes grew very bright and hard, and her cheeks flushed.</p> + +<p>"I have news for you," she said to H. R., calmly ignoring the others.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am sorry, children," said H. R., regretfully. "Business before +pleasure."</p> + +<p>"Your business," persisted the vulgar little thing, "is to obey!"</p> + +<p>"Hence my exit," he said, and followed Grace.</p> + +<p>She led the way to the conservatory. She was conscious of her own +displeasure. This enabled her to dispense with the necessity of finding +reasons for her own feelings. She halted beside an elaborately carved +marble seat, built for two, and motioned for him to sit down. He looked +at her. She then said:</p> + +<p>"Sit down!"</p> + +<p>He obeyed. Then she sat beside him. The seat was skilfully screened by +palms and ferns.</p> + +<p>"I had a little talk with father this morning," she went on, and +frowned—in advance.</p> + +<p>"You poor thing!" he murmured, sympathetically, as though he were +thinking of what she must have suffered.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact his mind was full of the conviction that she herself +did not know which way she was going to jump and it behooved him to pick +the right way.</p> + +<p>"He asked me whether I loved you," she went on, sternly.</p> + +<p>"Well, the answer to that was an easy syllable. When we go back you tell +Mrs. Vandergilt that you have decided to allow me to serve under her. +Don't worry; I'll be the boss. Ethel has played up like a trump—"</p> + +<p>"I told him I didn't," she interrupted.</p> + +<p>"You couldn't have told him that!" He smiled easily. "There was no +occasion for it. Now tell me exactly what you did say to him."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span></p> + +<p>He could see anger in her eyes—the kind of anger that is at least a +first cousin to hatred.</p> + +<p>"I said—"</p> + +<p>"The exact words."</p> + +<p>The change in his voice made her look at him. His eyes, keen, masterful, +were fixed on hers. They looked hard, yet not altogether ruthless; and +particularly they looked as though they could read thoughts with no +effort, which made it necessary to tell the truth.</p> + +<p>"I told him I didn't know," she said. To preserve her self-respect she +sneered.</p> + +<p>"What a wonderful girl you are!"</p> + +<p>In his eyes she saw a great admiration. She could not tell what it was +this man considered so wonderful; but, whatever it was, he knew +exactly—and she did not!</p> + +<p>"If I really loved you, shouldn't I know it?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not. You are not the surrendering kind. The others are—born +slaves, diminutive souls, toys, little pets. Souls like yours don't +marry; they mate with an eagle! You will love me as I love you. And then +there is nothing that we, together, cannot do! Nothing!"</p> + +<p>She opened her mouth, but he checked her speech by saying, sternly:</p> + +<p>"Why do you think it is that, having loved you, I cannot love any one +else? Because I alone know what you are and what you will be! Grace, I +promised your father I would not make love to you until I had deleted +one word from our visiting-cards. It is done; but the month isn't up +quite, and I won't make love to you. That's flat! I can't break my +word."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span></p> + +<p>He looked so determined that naturally she looked away and said, very +softly:</p> + +<p>"And—and if I should want you to?"</p> + +<p>"You should want me to make love to you, but not to break my word!"</p> + +<p>"But you say you love me," she complained.</p> + +<p>"Love you!"</p> + +<p>It flamed in his eyes and his hand reached for hers; but he checked +himself abruptly. She extended her hand, but he edged away from her. She +drew nearer to him. He retreated to the very edge of the seat. She was +pursuing now. He bit his lip and frowned.</p> + +<p>She no longer thought of other things. She knew he could not retreat any +farther. She covered his hand with hers. He suddenly clutched it so +tightly that he hurt her, and that gave her the fierce joy of success in +love as she understood it. She felt like shouting: "Hurt me! Hurt me! +I've got you!" But what she did was to murmur:</p> + +<p>"Hendrik!"</p> + +<p>"What?" he said, hoarsely, resolutely keeping his eyes from looking into +hers.</p> + +<p>"Hendrik, do you really love me?"</p> + +<p>"My promise!" he whispered, tensely, and looked at her pleadingly. +"Don't, dear!"</p> + +<p>She understood him perfectly; so she smiled. It was her iron will +against his. He must do what he did not wish to do, and do it because +she wished it! She did not wish to kiss him; but she wished, +hypnotist-like, to compel him to kiss her. With her eyes she beckoned +him to come closer.</p> + +<p>Knowing that this would clinch it he stared back at her with a pitiful +appeal in his troubled eyes, and shook<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> his head weakly, as though his +soul, thinking of his honor, was saying: "No, no! Please don't!"</p> + +<p>Her face moved toward him a little and stopped. Something within her was +stamping its foot, saying: "Yes! Yes!"—like a peevish child.</p> + +<p>H. R., continuing to follow the subtle strategy of the reversed +position, stared fascinatedly at her lips. Then slowly, like a man in a +trance, his face moved toward hers. On the very brink he paused and +said, brokenly: "No! Oh, my darling! No! No!"</p> + +<p>She said nothing, in order not to commit herself; but she smiled at him, +while her eyes, luminous and blue, pounded away on his resolve, +battering it to pieces. Nearer his face came—nearer—until his lips +reached hers.</p> + +<p>His honor had been wrecked on the coral reef; but all she knew, and all +she cared to know, was that she had won! She was so certain of it and +showed it so plainly that he knew he had better make it doubly sure; so +he pressed his cheek against hers, that she might not see his face while +he murmured:</p> + +<p>"Now you can't cast me off!"</p> + +<p>It was an entreaty, with the nature of which she was familiar from her +literary studies; and her answer, eminently feminine, was:</p> + +<p>"Never, dearest!"</p> + +<p>He started to his feet abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Don't follow me!" he said, harshly, and walked away very quickly.</p> + +<p>When she rejoined the crush in the drawing-room she learned that H. R. +had excused himself on the plea of urgent business and had gone.</p> + +<p>"What is he going to do?" they asked her, eagerly.</p> + +<p>They were sure it was something picturesque, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> she saw in their +excited wonderment the appraisal of her victory. The displeasure and +suspicion in Mrs. Vandergilt's eyes gave her intense joy.</p> + +<p>She was willing to pay for her victory. He loved her! She could make him +do whatever she wished. It did not matter whether she loved him or not. +There was now no reason, that she could see, why she should not marry +him—if the worst came to the worst.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXXIII" id="XXXIII"></a>XXXIII</h2> + +<p>Grace did not hear from H. R. the next morning as she fully expected. +Since expectation is disguised desire, she was vexed by his silence. She +had conquered. Why did he not acknowledge?</p> + +<p>She obeyed what she would have called a sudden impulse of no particular +significance and called up his office. Andrew Barrett answered. He told +her that H. R. had gone away—nobody knew whither—and would not return +until the following Thursday.</p> + +<p>H. R.'s move was so mysterious that it could mean but one thing: He was +running away!</p> + +<p>Merely to make sure of it, she went to Jerry's at one o'clock. The +northeast corner table was there, but not H. R. However, she sat down +and waited.</p> + +<p>She ordered her luncheon herself, irritated at having to do what he +should have done. If it was business that kept H. R. away, she ought to +know it. The right to know everything was part of the spoils. When he +came back there would be no more ignorance—ever again!</p> + +<p>At three o'clock she went home. But as the days passed she became +uneasy. H. R. was the only human being she completely dominated. +Brooding on his inexplicable absence, her thoughts came more and more to +take the form of the question that victrices always ask of high Heaven: +"Have I lost him?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span></p> + +<p>That made her love him.</p> + +<p>At noon on the 20th of May he telephoned to her:</p> + +<p>"Meet me at the Plaza at four—for tea. Don't fail! Good-by!"</p> + +<p>"Wait!" she exclaimed, angrily, rebellion surging within her by reason +of his dictatorial tone of voice. She had been very anxious to see him, +but not at that price.</p> + +<p>He had wisely hung up the receiver, however. That compelled her to do +what he had told her to do. She had something to say to him.</p> + +<p>She found him sitting at a small table in the Palm Room. Ethel +Vandergilt and Reggie Van Duzen were with him. She approached him +frowning, because she ran the usual gantlet of stares, and overheard the +usual murmurs: "That's Grace Goodchild! Do you think she is as pretty +as—"</p> + +<p>Ethel greeted her affectionately, and Reggie looked proud to be there. +He was a worshipper of the dynamic H. R. But all that H. R. himself +said, in his exasperatingly peremptory voice, was:</p> + +<p>"Month is up to-day. Now for the test! Tell Ethel you want some +sandwiches!"</p> + +<p>Grace started slightly and realized that Ethel had not overheard H. R.—he +had taken care that she should not.</p> + +<p>"No! I—I'm afraid, Hendrik," she stammered, turning pale. Women love to +gamble—in their minds, when alone.</p> + +<p>"You? Afraid? Of anything?" He looked at her in pained amazement. "Look +at me!"</p> + +<p>She did.</p> + +<p>"I—I'll marry you any—anyway," she said, to show it was not cowardice, +but the reverse.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Play the game!" he said, sternly.</p> + +<p>Before she knew it she obeyed. She sat down limply and said:</p> + +<p>"Ethel, I w-want a s-s-sandwich!"</p> + +<p>"You poor thing! You're actually faint with hunger. Don't you want some +bouillon? Waiter!"</p> + +<p>"No; I want a sandwich!" said Grace, loudly. You would have thought she +had said, "<i>Jacta est alea!</i>"</p> + +<p>Ethel and Reggie heard Grace use that word. People all about them knew +who she was and had proudly told their out-of-town companions all about +H. R. and Grace Goodchild. They, too, heard Grace say she wanted a +sandwich.</p> + +<p>Not a soul smiled! Not having seen anything about it in the newspapers +for a month, New York had forgotten that H. R. had wooed Grace with +sandwiches. H. R. was as famous as ever, but his fellow-citizens no +longer knew why or how.</p> + +<p>The waiter took the order with unsmiling respect. Grace looked at H. R. +almost with awe. He smiled reassuringly and asked her:</p> + +<p>"Aren't you going to ask Ethel?"</p> + +<p>"Ask me what?" said Ethel.</p> + +<p>Grace was silent, because she was blushing like a silly thing in public.</p> + +<p>"On the eighth of June," said H. R. "I suppose you won't mind being a—"</p> + +<p>Ethel naturally interrupted him by saying to Grace:</p> + +<p>"I'm so glad! Is it announced?"</p> + +<p>"You're the first one we've told, dear girl," H. R. declared, solemnly. +"Reggie, you will give me courage at the altar?"</p> + +<p>"Will I?" chuckled Reggie, proudly, and insisted on shaking hands.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span></p> + +<p>H. R. rewarded him. He said:</p> + +<p>"Reggie, I'm going to let you help me in my campaign. I'm going to the +Assembly in the autumn."</p> + +<p>"Albany!" said Reggie, enthusiastically. "First stop on the way to +Washington! There was Cleveland—and Roosevelt; and now—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Hendrik!" gasped Grace. She would help him all she could—at the +receptions.</p> + +<p>Then she looked at Ethel to see whether she, also, understood national +politics. Ethel did. She said, with conviction:</p> + +<p>"And we'll all vote for him, too!"</p> + +<p>The waiter laid a plate of sandwiches before Grace.</p> + +<p>H. R. stared at them—a long time, as though he were crystal-gazing. He +saw the labor-unions, the churches, the aristocracy, the bankers, the +newspapers, the thoughtless, and the hungry; and all were with him and +for him. He was the only man the Socialists really feared. If he was H. R. +to New York, why should he not become H. R. to the nation?</p> + +<p>He saw himself on the steps of the Capitol on a 4th of March. It was +typical Rutgers weather. The mighty sun was trying its best to please +him and incidentally tranquilizing Big Business by shining goldenly. The +clouds, however, were pure silver—with an eye to the retail trade.</p> + +<p>In the distance he saw the monument erected with infinite pains to the +one American who could not tell a lie. It was a great white finger +pointing straight at heaven. It was as though George Washington's +stupendous gesture meant, "That is where I got it from!"</p> + +<p>That is the place from which everything good comes. It should not be +difficult, H. R. thought, to convince his fellow-Americans of it. They +had been accustomed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> to reading, every day, "In God we trust." It was on +all the dollars.</p> + +<p>"Hendrik!" said Grace.</p> + +<p>H. R. started from his dream and passed his hand over his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Grace," he said to her resolutely, "my work is just beginning!"</p> + +<h4>THE END</h4> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of H. R., by Edwin Lefevre + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK H. R. *** + +***** This file should be named 33314-h.htm or 33314-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/3/1/33314/ + +Produced by Annie McGuire. This book was produced from +scanned images of public domain material from the Google +Print archive. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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R., by Edwin Lefevre + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: H. R. + +Author: Edwin Lefevre + +Release Date: August 1, 2010 [EBook #33314] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK H. R. *** + + + + +Produced by Annie McGuire. This book was produced from +scanned images of public domain material from the Google +Print archive. + + + + + + + + + +BOOKS BY +EDWIN LEFEVRE + + + SAMPSON ROCK OF WALL STREET. Illustrated. Post 8vo. + H. R. Illustrated. Post 8vo. + + * * * * * + +HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK + + + + +[Illustration: SHE PETRIFIED HERSELF WHEN SHE BEHELD THE MAN WHO HAD +MADE HER FAMOUS] + + + + +[Illustration: H. R.] + + +BY +EDWIN LEFEVRE + + +[Illustration] + + +HARPER & BROTHERS +NEW YORK AND LONDON +MCMXV + + + + +Copyright, 1915, by Harper & Brothers + + + + +TO ROBERT HOBART DAVIS + +_My dear Bob: In dedicating this book to you, I do more than follow the +selfish impulse of pleasing myself. It was you who warned me that none +of the usual fiction-labels would fit "H. R." To irritate the reader by +compelling him to think in order to understand was, you told me, both +unfair and unwise. But a writer occasionally may be permitted to please +himself, and if his experiment fails there remains the satisfaction of +having tried. I have not labelled my jokes explicitly nor have I written +a single foot-note in the middle of a page. I have endeavored to +reproduce a recognizable atmosphere by intentionally exaggerating +certain phases of the attitude of New York toward the eternal verities. +Not even for purposes of contrast have I felt bound to have a nice +character in the book. But if the reader fails to get what you so +clearly understood, and if the critics point out how completely I have +failed to write a Satirical Romance of To-day, I can at least make +certain of having one line in this volume with which none may find +fault. And that, Great and Good Friend, is the line at the top of this +page._ + + _E. L._ + _Dorset, Vt., June, 1915._ + + + + +H. R. + + + + +I + + +The trouble was not in being a bank clerk, but in being a clerk in a +bank that wanted him to be nothing but a bank clerk. That kind always +enriches first the bank and later on a bit of soil. + +Hendrik Rutgers had no desire to enrich either bank or soil. + +He was blue-eyed, brown-haired, clear-skinned, rosy-cheeked, tall, +well-built, and square-chinned. He always was in fine physical trim, +which made people envy him so that they begrudged him advancement, but +it also made them like him because they were so flattered when he +reduced himself to their level by not bragging of his muscles. He had a +quick-gaited mind and much fluency of speech. Also the peculiar sense of +humor of a born leader that enabled him to laugh at what any witty devil +said about others, even while it prevented him from seeing jokes aimed +at his sacred self. He not only was congenitally stubborn--from his +Dutch ancestors--but he had his Gascon grandmother's ability to believe +whatever he wished to believe, and his Scandinavian great-grandfather's +power to fill himself with Berserker rage in a twinkling. This made him +begin all arguments by clenching his fists. Having in his veins so many +kinds of un-American blood, he was one of the few real Americans in his +own country, and he always said so. + +It was this blood that now began to boil for no reason, though the +reason was really the spring. + +He had acquired the American habit of reading the newspapers instead of +thinking, and his mind therefore always worked in head-lines. This time +it worked like this: MORE MONEY AND MORE FUN! + +Being an American, he instantly looked about for the best rung of the +ladder of success. + +He had always liked the cashier. A man climbs at first by his friends. +Later by his enemies. That is why friends are superfluous later. + +Hendrik, so self-confident that he did not even have to frown, +approached the kindly superior. + +"Mr. Coster," he said, pleasantly, "I've been on the job over two years. +I've done my work satisfactorily. I need more money." You could see from +his manner that it was much nicer to state facts than to argue. + +The cashier was looking out of the big plate-glass window at the +wonderful blue sky--New York! April! He swung on his swivel-chair and, +facing Hendrik Rutgers, stared at a white birch by a trout stream three +hundred miles north of the bank. + +"Huh?" he grunted, absently. Then the words he had not heard indented +the proper spot on his brain and he became a kindly bank cashier once +more. + +"My boy," he said, sympathetically, "I know how it is. Everybody gets +the fit about this time of year. What kind of a fly would you use for-- +I mean, you go back to your cage and confine your attention to the K-L +ledger." + +A two hours walk in the Westchester hills would have made these two men +brothers. Instead, Hendrik allowed himself to fill up with that anger +which is apt to become indignation, and thus lead to freedom. Anger is +wrath over injury; indignation is wrath over injustice: hence the +freedom. + +"I am worth more to the bank than I'm getting. If the bank wants me to +stay--" + +"Hendrik, I'll do you a favor. Go out and take a walk. Come back in ten +minutes--cured! + +"Thanks, Mr. Coster. But suppose I still want a raise when I come back? + +"Then I'll accept your resignation." + +"But I don't want to resign. I want to be worth still more to the bank +so that the bank will be only too glad to pay me more. I don't want to +live and die a clerk. That would be stupid for me, and also for the +bank." + +"Take the walk, Hen. Then come back and see me." + +"What good will that do me?" + +"As far as I can see, it will enable you to be fired by no less than the +Big Chief himself. Tell Morson you are going to do something for me. +Walk around and look at the people--thousands of them; they are working! +Don't forget that, Hen; working; _making regular wages_! Good luck, my +boy. I've never done this before, but you caught me fishing. I had just +hooked a three-pounder," he finished, apologetically. + +Hendrik was suffocating as he returned to his cage. He did not think; he +felt--felt that everything was wrong with a civilization that kept both +wild beasts and bank clerks in cages. He put on his hat, told the head +bookkeeper he was going on an errand for Mr. Coster, and left the bank. + +The sky was pure blue and the clouds pure white. There was in the air +that which even when strained through the bank's window-screens had made +Hendrik so restless. To breathe it, outdoors, made the step more +elastic, the heartbeats more vigorous, the thoughts more vivid, the +resolve stronger. The chimneys were waving white plumes in the bright +air--waving toward heaven! He wished to hear the song of freedom of +streams escaping from the mountains, of the snow-elves liberated by the +sun; to hear birds with the spring in their throats admitting it, and +the impatient breeze telling the awakening trees to hurry up with the +sap. Instead, he heard the noises that civilized people make when they +make money. Also, whenever he ceased to look upward, in the place of the +free sunlight and the azure liberty of God's sky, he beheld the +senseless scurrying of thousands of human ants bent on the same golden +errand. + +When a man looks down he always sees dollar-chasing insects--his +brothers! + +He clenched his fists and changed, by the magic of the season, into a +fighting-man. He saw that the ant life of Wall Street was really a +battle. Men here were not writing on ledgers, but fighting deserts, and +swamps, and mountains, and heat, and cold, and hunger; fighting Nature; +fighting her with gold for more gold. It followed that men were fighting +men with gold for more gold! So, of course, men were killing men with +gold for more gold! + +So greatly has civilization advanced since the Jews crucified Him for +interfering with business, that to-day man not only is able to use +dollars to kill with, but boasts of it. + +"Fools!" he thought, having in mind all other living men. After he +definitely classified humanity he felt more kindly disposed toward the +world. + +After all, why should men fight Nature or fight men? Nature was only too +willing to let men live who kept her laws; and men were only too willing +to love their fellow-men if only dollars were not sandwiched in between +human hearts. He saw, in great happy flashes, the comfort of living +intelligently, brothers all, employers and employed, rid of the curse of +money, the curse of making it, the curse of coining it out of the sweat +and sorrow of humanity. + +"Fools!" This time he spoke his thought aloud. A hurrying broker's clerk +smiled superciliously, recognizing a stock-market loser talking of +himself to himself, as they all do. But Hendrik really had in mind bank +clerks who, instead of striking off their fetters, caressed them as +though they were the flesh of sweethearts; or wept, as though tears +could soften steel; or blasphemed, as though curses were cold-chisels! +And every year the fetters were made thicker by the blacksmith Habit. To +be a bank clerk, now and always; now and always nothing! + +He now saw all about him hordes of sheep-hearted Things with pens behind +their ears and black-cloth sleeve-protectors, who said, with the +spitefulness of eunuchs or magazine editors: + +"_You also are of us!_" + +He would _not_ be of them! + +He might not be able to change conditions in the world of finance, not +knowing exactly how to go about it, but he certainly could change the +financial condition of Hendrik Rutgers. He would become a free man. He +would do it by getting more money, if not from the bank, from somebody +else. In all imperfectly Christianized democracies a man must +capitalize his freedom or cease to be free. + +He returned to the bank. He was worth thousands to it. This could be +seen in his walk. And yet when the cashier saw Hendrik's face he +instantly rose from his chair, held up a hand to check unnecessary +speech, and said: + +"Come on, Rutgers. You are a damned fool, but I have no time to convince +you of it. You understand, of course, that you'll never work for us +again!" + +"I shall tell the president." + +"Yes, yes. He'll fire you." + +"Not if he is intelligent, he won't," said Rutgers, with assurance. + +The cashier looked at him pityingly and retorted: "A long catalogue of +your virtues and manifold efficiency will weigh with him as much as two +cubic inches of hydrogen. But I warned you." + +"I know you did," said Hendrik, pleasantly. + +Whereupon Coster frowned and said: "You are in class B--eight hundred +dollars a year. In due time you will be promoted to class C--one +thousand dollars. You knew our system and what the prospects were when +you came to us. Other men are ahead of you; they have been here longer +than you. We want to be fair to all. If you were going to be +dissatisfied you should not have kept somebody else out of a job." + +Hendrik did not know how fair the bank was to clerks in class C. He knew +they were not fair to one man in class B. Facts are facts. Arguments are +sea-foam. + +"You say I kept somebody out of a job?" he asked. + +"Yes, you did!" + +The cashier's tone was so accusing that Hendrik said: + +"Don't call a policeman, Mr. Coster." + +"And don't you get fresh, Rutgers. Now see here; you go back and let the +rise come in the usual course. I'll give you a friendly tip: once you +are in class C you will be more directly under my own eye!" + +Instead of feeling grateful for the implied promise, Hendrik could think +only that they classified men like cattle. All steers weighing one +thousand pounds went into pen B, and so on. This saved time to the +butchers, who, not having to stop in order to weigh and classify, were +enabled to slit many more throats per day. + +He did not know it, but he thought all this because he wished to go +fishing. Therefore he said: "I've got to have more money!" His fists +clenched and his face flushed. He thought of cattle, of the ox-making +bank, of being driven from pen A into pen B, and, in the end, +fertilizer. "I've got to!" he repeated, thickly. + +"You won't get it, take it from me. To ask for it now simply means being +instantly fired." + +"Being fired" sounded so much like being freed that Hendrik retorted, +pleasantly: + +"Mr. Coster, you may yet live to take your orders from me, if I am +fired. But if I stay here, you never will; that's sure." + +The cashier flushed angrily, opened his mouth, magnanimously closed it, +and, with a shrug of his shoulders, preceded Hendrik Rutgers into the +private office of the president. + +"Mr. Goodchild," said Coster, so deferentially that Hendrik looked at +him in surprise for a full minute before the surprise changed into +contempt. + +Mr. Goodchild, the president, did not even answer. He frowned, +deliberately walked to a window and stared out of it sourly. A little +deal of his own had gone wrong, owing to the stupidity of a subordinate. + +_He had lost MONEY!_ + +He was a big man with jowls and little puffs under the eyes; also +suspicions of purple in cheeks and nose and suspicions of everybody in +his eyes. Presently he turned and spat upon the intruders. He did it +with one mild little word: + +"Well?" + +He then confined his scowl to the cashier. The clerk was a species of +the human dirt that unfortunately exists even in banks and has to be +apologized for to customers at times, when said dirt, before arrogance, +actually permits itself vocal chords. + +They spoil the joy of doing business, damn 'em! + +"This is the K-L ledger clerk," said Coster. "He wants a raise in +salary. I told him 'No,' and he then insisted on seeing you." Years of +brooding over the appalling possibility of having to look for another +job had made the cashier a skilful shirker of responsibilities. He +always spoke to the president as if he were giving testimony under oath. + +"When one of these chaps, Mr. Coster," said the president in the +accusing voice bank presidents use toward those borrowers whose +collateral is inadequate, "asks for a raise and doesn't get it he begins +to brood over his wrongs. People who think they are underpaid +necessarily think they are overworked. And that is what makes socialists +of them!" + +He glared at the cashier, who acquiesced, awe-strickenly: "Yes, sir!" + +"As a matter of fact," pursued the president, still accusingly, "we +should reduce the bookkeeping force. Dawson tells me that at the +Metropolitan National they average one clerk to two hundred and +forty-two accounts. The best we've ever done is one to one hundred and +eighty-eight. Reduce! Good morning." + +"Mr. Goodchild," said Hendrik Rutgers, approaching the president, "won't +you please listen to what I have to say?" + +Mr. Goodchild was one of those business men who in their desire to +conduct their affairs efficiently become mind-readers in order to save +precious time. He knew what Rutgers was going to say, and therefore +anticipated it by answering: + +"I am very sorry for the sickness in your family. The best I can do is +to let you remain with us for a little while, until whoever is sick is +better." He nodded with great philanthropy and self-satisfaction. + +But Hendrik said, very earnestly: "If I were content with my job I +wouldn't be worth a whoop to the bank. What makes me valuable is that I +want to be more. Every soldier of Napoleon carried a marshal's baton in +his knapsack. That gave ambition to Napoleon's soldiers, who always won. +Let your clerks understand that a vice-presidency can be won by any of +us and you will see a rise in efficiency that will surprise you. Mr. +Goodchild, it is a matter of common sense to--" + +"Get out!" said the president. + +Ordinarily he would have listened. But he had lost money; that made him +think only of one thing--that he had lost money! + +The general had suddenly discovered that his fortress was not +impregnable! He did not wish to discuss feminism. + +Of course, Hendrik did not know that the president's request for +solitude was a confession of weakness and, therefore, in the nature of a +subtle compliment. And therefore, instead of feeling flattered, Hendrik +saw red. It is a common mistake. But anger always stimulated his +faculties. All men who are intelligent in their wrath have in them the +makings of great leaders of men. The rabble, in anger, merely becomes +the angry rabble--and stays rabble. + +Hendrik Rutgers aimed full at George G. Goodchild, Esq., a look of +intense astonishment. + +"Get out!" repeated the president. + +Hendrik Rutgers turned like a flash to the cashier and said, sharply: +"Didn't you hear? _Get out!_" + +"You!" shouted Mr. George G. Goodchild. + +"Who? _Me?_" Hendrik's incredulity was abysmal. + +"Yes! You!" And the president, dangerously flushed, advanced +threateningly toward the insolent beast. + +"What?" exclaimed Hendrik Rutgers, skeptically. "Do you mean to tell me +you really are the jackass your wife thinks you?" + +Fearing to intrude upon private affairs, the cashier discreetly left the +room. The president fell back a step. Had Mrs. Goodchild ever spoken to +this creature? Then he realized it was merely a fashion of speaking, and +he approached, one pudgy fist uplifted. The uplift was more for +rhetorical effect than for practical purposes, which has been a habit +with most uplifts since money-making became an exact science. But +Hendrik smiled pleasantly, as his forebears always did in battle, and +said: + +"If I hit you once on the point of the jaw it'll be the death-chair for +mine. I am young. Please control yourself." + +"You infernal scoundrel!" + +"What has Mrs. Goodchild ever done to me, that I should make her a +widow?" You could see he was sincerely trying to be not only just, but +judicial. + +The president of the bank gathered himself together. Then, as one flings +a dynamite bomb, he utterly destroyed this creature. "You are +_discharged_!" + +"Tut, tut! I discharged the bank ages ago; I'm only waiting for the bank +to pack up. Now you listen to me." + +"Leave this room, sir!" He said it in that exact tone of voice. + +But Hendrik did not vanish into thin air. He commanded, "Take a good +look at me!" + +The president of the bank could not take orders from a clerk in class B. +Discipline must be maintained at any cost. He therefore promptly turned +away his head. But Hendrik drew near and said: + +"Do you hear?" + +There was in the lunatic's voice something that made Mr. George G. +Goodchild instantly bethink himself of all the hold-up stories he had +ever heard. He stared at Hendrik with the fascination of fear. + +"What do you see?" asked Rutgers, tensely. "A human soul? No. You see +K-L. You think machinery means progress, and therefore you don't want +men, but machines, hey?" + +The president did not see K-L, as at the beginning of the interview. +Instead of the two enslaving letters he saw two huge, emancipating +fists. This man was far too robust to be a safe clerk. He had square +shoulders. Yes, he had! + +The president was not the ass that Hendrik had called him. His +limitations were the limitations of all irreligious people who regularly +go to church. He thus attached too much importance to To-day, though +perhaps his demand loans had something to do with it. His sense of humor +was altogether phrasal, like that of most multimillionaires. But if he +was too old a man to be consistently intelligent, he was also an +experienced banker. He knew he had to listen or be licked. He decided to +listen. He also decided, in order to save his face, to indulge in +humorous speech. + +"Young man," he asked, with a show of solicitude, "do you expect to +become Governor of New York?" + +But Hendrik was not in a smiling mood, because he was listening to a +speech he was making to himself, and his own applause was distinctly +enjoyable, besides preventing him from hearing what the other was +saying. That is what makes all applause dangerous. He went on, with an +effect of not having been interrupted. + +"Machines never mutiny. They, therefore, are desirable in your System. +At the same time, the end of all machines is the scrap-heap. Do _you_ +expect to end in junk?" + +"I was not thinking of _my_ finish," the president said, with much +politeness. + +"Yes, you are. Shall I prove it?" + +"Not now, please," pleaded the president, with a look of exaggerated +anxiety at the clock. It brought a flush of anger to Hendrik's cheeks, +seeing which the president instantly felt that glow of happiness which +comes from gratified revenge. Ah, to be witty! But his smile vanished. +Hendrik, his fists clenched, was advancing. The president was no true +humorist, not being of the stuff of which martyrs are made. He was ready +to recant when, + +"Good morning, daddy," came in a musical voice. + +Hendrik drew in his breath sharply at the narrowness of his escape. She +who approached the purple-faced tyrant was the most beautiful girl in +all the round world. + +It was spring. The girl had brought in the first blossoms of the season +on her cheeks, and she had captured the sky and permanently imprisoned +it in her eyes. She was more than beautiful; she was everything that +Hendrik Rutgers had ever desired, and even more! + +"Er--good morning, Mr.--ah--" began the president in a pleasant voice. + +Hendrik waved his hand at him with the familiar amiability we use toward +people whose political affiliations are the same as ours at +election-time. Then he turned toward the girl, looked at her straight in +the eyes for a full minute before he said, with impressive gravity: + +"Miss Goodchild, your father and I have failed to agree in a somewhat +important business matter. I do not think he has used very good +judgment, but I leave this office full of forgiveness toward him because +I have lived to see his daughter at close range, in the broad light of +day." + +The only woman before whom a man dares to show himself a physical coward +is his wife, because no matter what he does she knows him. + +Mr. Goodchild was frightened, but he said, blusteringly, "That will do, +you--er--_you_!" + +He pointed toward the door, theatrically. But Hendrik put his fingers to +his lips and said "Hush, George!" and spoke to her again: + +"Miss Goodchild, I am going to tell you the truth, which is a luxury +mighty rare in a bank president's private office, believe me." + +She stared at him with a curiosity that was not far from fascination. +She saw a well-dressed, well-built, good-looking chap, with particularly +bright, understanding eyes, who was on such familiar terms with her +father that she wondered why he had never called. + +"Let me say," he pursued, fervently, "without any hope of reward, +speaking very conservatively, that you are, without question, the most +beautiful girl in all the world! I have been nearly certain of it for +some time, but now I _know_. You are not only perfectly wonderful, but +wonderfully perfect--all of you! And now take a good look at me--" + +"Yes; just before he is put away," interjected the president, trying to +treat tragedy humorously before this female of the species. But for the +fear of the newspapers, he would have rung for the private detective +whose business was to keep out cranks, bomb-throwing anarchists, and +those fellow-Christians who wished to pledge their word of honor as +collateral on time-loans of less than five dollars. But she thought this +friendly persiflage meant that the interesting young man was a social +equal as well as a person of veracity and excellent taste. So she smiled +non-committally. She was, alas, young! + +"They will not put me away for thinking what I say," asserted Hendrik, +with such conviction that she blushed. Having done this, she smiled at +him directly, that there might be no wasted effort. Wasn't it spring, +and wasn't he young and fearless? And more than all that, wasn't he a +_novelty_, and she a New York woman? + +"When you hear the name of Hendrik Rutgers, or see it in the newspapers, +remember it belongs to the man who thought you were the only perfectly +beautiful girl God ever made. And He has done pretty well at times, you +must admit." + +With some people, both blasphemy and breakfast foods begin with a small +"b". The Only Perfect One thought he was a picturesque talker! + +"Mr. Rutgers, I am sorry you must be going," said the president, with a +pleasant smile, having made up his mind that this young man was not only +crazy, but harmless--unless angered. "But you'll come back, won't you, +when you are famous? We should like to have your account." + +Hendrik ignored him. He looked at her and said: + +"Do _you_ prefer wealth to fame? Anybody can be rich. But famous? Which +would you rather hear: _There goes Miss $80,000-a-year Goodchild or That +is that wonderful Goodchild girl everybody is talking about?_" + +She didn't know what to answer, the question being a direct one and she +a woman. But this did not injure Hendrik in her eyes; for women actually +love to be compelled to be silent in order to let a man speak--at +certain times, about a certain subject. Her father, after the immemorial +fashion of unintelligent parents, answered for her. He said, stupidly: +"It never hurts to have a dollar or two, dear Mr. Rutgers." + +"Dollar or two! Why, there are poor men whose names on your list of +directors would attract more depositors to this bank than the name of +the richest man in the world. Even for your bank, between St. Vincent de +Paul and John D. Rockefeller, whom would you choose? Dollars! When you +can _dream_!" Hendrik's eyes were gazing steadily into hers. She did not +think he was at all lunatical. But George G. Goodchild had reached the +limit of his endurance and even of prudence. He rose to his feet, his +face deep purple. + +However, Providence was in a kindly mood. At that very moment the door +opened and a male stenographer appeared, note-book in hand. Civilization +does its life-saving in entirely unexpected ways, even outside of +hospitals. + +"_Au revoir_, Miss Goodchild. Don't forget the name, will you?" + +"I won't," she promised. There was a smile on her flower-lips and firm +resolve in her beautiful eyes. It mounted to Hendrik's head and took +away his senses, for he waved his hand at the purple president, said, +with a solemnity that thrilled her, "_Pray for your future son-in-law!_" +and walked out with the step of a conqueror. And the step visibly gained +in majesty as he overheard the music of the spheres: + +"Daddy, who is he?" + +At the cashier's desk he stopped, held out his hand, and said with that +valiant smile with which young men feel bound to announce their defeat, +"I'm leaving, Mr. Coster." + +"Good morning," said Coster, coldly, studiously ignoring the +outstretched hand. Rutgers was now a discharged employee, a potential +hobo, a possible socialist, an enemy of society, one of the dangerous +Have-Nots. But Hendrik felt so much superior to this creature with a +regular income that he said, pityingly: "Mr. Coster, your punishment for +assassinating your own soul is that your children are bound to have the +hearts of clerks. You are now definitely nothing but a bank cashier. +That's what!" + +"Get out!" shrieked the bank cashier, plagiarizing from a greater than +he. + +The tone of voice made the private policeman draw near. When he saw it +was Hendrik to whom Mr. Coster was speaking, he instantly smelled +liquor. What other theory for an employee's loud talking in a bank? He +hoped Hendrik would not swear audibly. The bank would blame it on the +policeman's lack of tact. + +"_Au revoir._" And Hendrik smiled so very pleasantly that the policeman, +whose brains were in his biceps, sighed with relief. At the same time +the whisper ran among the caged clerks in the mysterious fashion of all +bad news--the oldest of all wireless systems! + +_Hendrik Rutgers was fired!_ + +Did life hold a darker tragedy than to be out of a job? A terrible +world, this, to be hungry in. + +As Hendrik walked into the cage to get his few belongings, pale faces +bent absorbingly over their ledgers. To be fed, to grow comfortably old, +to die in bed, always at so much per week. Ideal! No wonder, therefore, +that his erstwhile companions feared to look at what once had been a +clerk. And then, too, the danger of contagion! A terrible disease, +freedom, in a money-making republic, but, fortunately, rare, and the +victims provided with food, lodging, and strait-jackets at the expense +of the state. Or without strait-jackets: bars. + +Hendrik got his pay from the head of his department, who seemed of a +sudden to recall that he had never been formally introduced to this Mr. +H. Rutgers. This filled Hendrik at first with great anger, and then with +a great joy that he was leaving the inclosure wherein men's thoughts +withered and died, just like plants, for the same reason--lack of +sunshine. + +On his way to the street he paused by his best friend--a little old +fellow with unobtrusive side-whiskers who turned the ledger's pages over +with an amazing deftness, and wore the hunted look that comes from +thirty years of fear of dismissal. To some extent the old clerk's +constant boasting about the days when he was a reckless devil had +encouraged Hendrick. + +"Good-by, Billy," said Hendrik, holding out his hand. "I'm going." + +Little old Billy was seen by witnesses talking in public with a +discharged employee! He hastily said, "Too bad!" and made a pretense of +adding a column of figures. + +"Too bad nothing. See what it has done for you, to stay so long. I laid +out old Goodchild, and the only reason why I stopped was I thought he'd +get apoplexy. But say, the daughter-- She is some peach, believe me. I +called him papa-in-law to his face. You should have seen him!" + +Billy shivered. It was even worse than any human being could have +imagined. + +"Good-by, Rutgers," he whispered out of a corner of his mouth, never +taking his eyes from the ledger. + +"You poor old-- No, Billy! Thank you a thousand times for showing me +Hendrik Rutgers at sixty. Thanks!" And he walked out of the bank +overflowing with gratitude toward Fate that had hung him into the middle +of the street. From there he could look at the free sun all day; and of +nights, at the unfettered stars. It was better than looking at the +greedy hieroglyphics wherewith a stupid few enslaved the stupider many. + +He was free! + +He stood for a moment on the steps of the main entrance. For two years +he had looked from the world into the bank. But now he looked from the +bank out--on the world. And that was why that self-same world suddenly +changed its aspect. The very street looked different; the sidewalk wore +an air of strangeness; the crowd was not at all the same. + +He drew in a deep breath. The April air vitalized his blood. + +This new world was a world to conquer. He must fight! + +The nearest enemy was the latest. This is always true. Therefore Hendrik +Rutgers, in thinking of fighting, thought of the bank and the people who +made of banks temples to worship in. + +All he needed now was an excuse. There was no doubt that he would get +it. Some people call this process the autohypnosis of the great. + +Two sandwich-men slouched by in opposite directions. One of them stopped +and from the edge of the sidewalk stared at a man cleaning windows on +the fourteenth story of a building across the way. The other wearily +shuffled southward. Above his head swayed an enormous amputated foot. + +Rutgers himself walked briskly to the south. To avoid a collision with a +hurrying stenographer-girl--if it had been a male he would have used a +short jab--he unavoidably jostled the chiropodist's advertisement into +the gutter. The sandwich-man looked meekly into Rutgers's pugnacious +face and started to cross the street. + +Hendrik felt he should apologize, but before his sense of duty could +crystallize into action the man was too far away. So Hendrik turned +back. The other sandwich-man was still looking at the window-cleaner on +the fourteenth story across the street. Happening to look down, he saw +coming a man who looked angry. Therefore the sandwich-man meekly stepped +into the gutter, out of the way. + +It was the second time within one minute! Hendrik stopped and spoke +peevishly to the meek one in the gutter: + +"Why did you move out of my way?" + +The sandwich-man looked at him uneasily; then, without answering, walked +away sullenly. + +"Here I am," thought Rutgers, "a man without a job; and there he is, a +man with a job and afraid of me!" + +Something was wrong--or right. Something always is, to the born fighter. + +Who could be afraid of a man without a job but sandwich-men who always +walked along the curb so they could be pushed off into the gutter among +the other beasts? Nobody ever deliberately became a sandwich-man. When +circumstances, the police, hopeless inefficiency, or shattered credit +prevented a hobo from begging, stealing, murdering, or getting drunk, he +became a sandwich-man in order to live until he could rise again. +Whatever a sandwich-man changed himself into, it was always advancement. +Once a sandwich-man, never again a sandwich-man. It was not boards they +carried, but the printed certificates of hopelessness. + +Men who could not keep steady jobs became either corpses or +sandwich-men. The sandwich illustrated the tyranny of the regular income +just as the need of a regular income illustrated the need of +Christianity. + +The sandwich thus had become the spirit of the times. + +The spring-filled system of Hendrik Rutgers began to react for a second +time to a feeling of anger, and this for a second time turned his +thoughts to fighting. To fight was to conquer. There were two ways of +conquering--by fighting with gold and by fighting with brains. Who won +by gold perished by gold. That was why a numismatical bourgeoisie never +fought. Hendrik had no gold. So he would fight with brains. He therefore +would win. Also, he would fight for his fellow-men, which would make his +fight noble. That is called "hedging," for defeat in a noble cause is +something to be proud of in the newspapers. The reason why all hedging +is intelligent is that victory is always Victory when you talk about it. + +The sandwich-men were the scum of the earth. + +_Ah!_ It was a thrilling thought: To lead men who could no longer fight +for themselves against the world that had marred their immortal souls; +and then to compel that same world to place three square meals a day +within their astonished bellies! + +The man who could make the world do that could do anything. Since he +could do anything, he could marry a girl who not only was very +beautiful, but had a very rich and dislikable father. The early +Christians accomplished so much because they not only loved God, but +hated the devil. + +Hendrik Rutgers found both the excuse and the motive power. + +One minute after a man of brains perceives the need of a ladder in order +to climb, the rain of ladders begins. + +The chest-inflating egotism of the monopolistic tendency, rather than +the few remaining vestiges of Christianity, keeps Protestants in America +from becoming socialists. Hendrik filled his lungs full of self-oxygen +and of the consciousness of power for good, and decided to draw up the +constitution of his union. He would do it himself in order to produce a +perfect document; perfect in everything. A square deal; no more, no +less. That meant justice toward everybody, even toward the public. + +This union, being absolutely fair, would be more than good, more than +intelligent; it would pay. + +Carried away by his desire to help the lowest of the low, he constituted +himself into a natural law. He would grade his men, be the sole judge +and arbiter of their qualifications, and even of their proper wages. + +Hendrik walked back toward the last sandwich-man and soon overtook him. +"Hey, there, you!" he said, tapping the rear board with his hand. + +The sandwich-man did not turn about. Really, what human being could wish +to speak to him? + +Hendrik Rutgers walked for a few feet beside the modest artist who was +proclaiming to a purblind world the merits of an optician's wares, and +spoke again, politely: + +"I want to see you, on business." + +The man's lips quivered, then curved downward, immobilizing themselves +into a fixed grimace of fear. "I--I 'ain't done no-nothin'," he whined, +and edged away. + +This was what society had done to an immortal soul! + +"Hell!" said Hendrik Rutgers between clenched teeth. "I'm not a fly-cop. +I've just got a plain business proposition to make to you." + +"If you'll tell me where yer place is, I'll come aroun'--" began the +man, so obviously lying that Rutgers's anger shifted from society and +tyranny on to the thing between sandwich-boards--the thing that refused +to be his brother. + +"You damned fool!" he hissed, fraternally. "You come with me--now." + +The inverted crescent of the man's lips trembled, and presently there +issued from it, "Well, I 'ain't done--" + +Charity, which is not always astute, made H. Rutgers say with a kindly +cleverness to his poor brother, "I'll tell you how you are going to make +more money than you ever earned before." + +The prospect of making more money than he ever earned before brought no +name of joy into the blear and furtive eyes. Instead, he sidled, +crabwise, into the middle of the street. + +"No, you don't!" said Rutgers so menacingly that the sandwich-man +shivered. It was clear that, to feed this starving man, force would be +necessary. This never discourages the true philanthropist. Rutgers, +however, feeling that Christian forbearance should be used before +resorting to the ultimate diplomacy, said, with an earnest amiability: +"Say, Bo, d'you want to fill your belly so that if you ate any more +you'd bust?" + +At the hint of a promise of a sufficiency of food the man opened his +mouth, stared at Rutgers, and did not speak. He couldn't because he did +not close his mouth. + +"All the grub you can possibly eat, three times a day. Grub, Bo! All you +want, any time you want it. Hey? What?" + +The sandwich-man's open mouth opened wider. In his eyes there was no +fear, no hunger, no incredulity, nothing only an abyss deep as the human +soul, that returned no answer whatever. + +"Do you want," pursued the now optimistic Hendrik Rutgers, "to drink all +you can hold? The kind that don't hurt you if you drink a gallon! Booze, +and grub, and a bed, and money in your pocket, and nobody to go through +your duds while you sleep. Hey?" + +The sandwich-man spasmodically opened and closed his mouth in the +unhuman fashion of a ventriloquist's puppet. Rutgers heard the click, +but never a word. It filled him with pity. The desire to help such +brothers as this grew intense. Next to feeding them there was nothing +like talking to them about food and drink in a kindly way. + +"What do you say, Bo?" he queried, gently, almost tenderly. + +The man's teeth chattered a minute before he said, huskily, "Wh-what +m-must I do?" + +"Let's go to the Battery," said Rutgers, "and I'll tell you all about +it." + +The mission of history is to prove that Fate sends the right man for the +right place at the right time. While Hendrik Rutgers talked, the +sandwich-man listened with his stomach; and when Hendrik Rutgers +promised, the sandwich-man believed with his soul. Rutgers told Fleming +that all sandwich-men must join the union; that as soon as he and the +other present sandwichers were enrolled on its books no more members +would be admitted, except as a superabundance of jobs justified +additional admissions; and at that it would require a nine-tenths vote +to elect, thus preventing a surplus of labor and likewise a slump in +wages. The union would compel advertisers in the future to pay twenty +cents an hour and would guarantee both steady work and these wages to +its members; there would be neither an initiation fee nor strike-fund +assessments; the dues of one cent a day were collectible only when the +member worked and received union wages for his day's work. Any member +could lay off any time he felt like it, unmulcted and unfired. There was +only one thing that all sandwich-men had to do to be in good standing; +obey the secretary and treasurer of the union--Mr. H. Rutgers--in all +union matters. + +The sandwich business, once unionized, would become a lucrative +profession and therefore highly moral, and therefore its members would +automatically cease to be pariahs, notwithstanding congenital fitness +for same. Anybody who cannot only defy Nature, but make her subservient +to the wishes of an infinitely higher intelligence, is fit to be a +labor-leader. And he generally is. + +Fleming agreed to round up those of his colleagues whose peregrinations +extended south of Chambers Street. He would ask them to come to the +Battery on the next day at noon. + +So thrilled was Hendrik by his rescue-work among the wreckages that it +never occurred to him to doubt his own success. This made him know +exactly what to say to Fleming. + +"Don't just ask them to come. Tell them that there will be free beers +and free grub. Tell them anything you damn please, but bring them! _Do +you hear me?_" He gripped the sandwich-man's arm so tightly that +Fleming's lips began to quiver. "And if you don't bring a bunch, God +help you!" + +"Ye-yes, sir; I will. Sure!" whimpered Fleming, staring fascinatedly at +those eyes which both promised and menaced. + +And in Fleming's own eyes Hendrik saw the four "B's" which form the +great equation of all democracies: _Bread + Bludgeon = Born Boss!_ + +Such men always know how to _say_ everything. This is more important +than _thinking_ anything. + +"Remember the beer!" Brother Hendrik spoke pleasantly, and Fleming +nodded eagerly. "And get on the job," hissed Secretary Rutgers; and +Fleming shivered and hurried away before the licking came. + +Hendrik himself walked briskly up-town. When a man is pleased with +himself he can always continue in that condition by the simple expedient +of continuing to see whatever he wishes to see. Hendrik opened his eyes +very wide and continued to see the ladder of success that great men use +to climb to their changing heaven. Hendrik's heaven just then happened +to be one in which a man of brains could make the money-makers pay him +for allowing them to make money for him. After finding the ladder, all +that was necessary was for Hendrik to think of George G. Goodchild's +money. That made him see red; and whenever he saw red he could see no +obstacles whatever; and because of his self-inflicted blindness he was +intelligently ready to tackle anything, even the job of helping his +fellow-men. To be an efficient philanthropist a man must have not only +love, but murder, in his heart. That is one of the two hundred and +eighty-six reasons why scientific charities make absolutely no inroads +on the world's store of poverty. + +Mr. Rutgers met the charter members of his union at the time and place +indicated by Providence through the medium of Mr. Rutgers's lips. + +There were fourteen sandwich-men. + +Hendrik, not knowing what to say, gazed at the faces before him in +impressive silence. So long as you keep a man guessing, he is at your +mercy. Orators have already discovered this. + +"Holy smoke! What in the name of Maginnis do you call this?" shrieked a +messenger-boy. "Free freak show?" + +A crowd gathered about them by magic. Opportunity held out its right +hand and Hendrik Rutgers grasped it in both his own. If all New York +could be made to talk about him, all New York could be made to pay him, +as it always pays for the privilege of talking of the same thing at the +same time. You cannot get anybody to talk about the Ten Commandments; +therefore, there is nobody to listen; therefore nobody capitalizes them. + +It _is_ the first rung that really matters. All other rungs in the +ladder of success are easier to find and to fit. Hendrik could now +gather together his various impulses and thoughts and motives and +arrange them in their proper sequence, as great men do, to make easier +the work of the historian. It was a crusade that he had undertaken, for +the liberation of the most abject of all modern slaves; he had changed +the scum of the earth into respectable humanity. + +That was history. + +The facts, however, happened to be as follows: He threw up his job +because he wished to go fishing, which of course made him angry because +his fellow-clerks were slaves, and he therefore got himself discharged +by the president, which made him hate the president so that the hatred +showed in Hendrik's face and made two sandwich-men so afraid that he +couldn't help organizing the sandwich-men's union because he could boss +it, and that would make people talk about him, which would put money in +his pocket; and once he was both rich and famous he would be the equal +of the greatest and as such could pick and choose; and he would pick +Grace Goodchild and choose her for his wife, which would make him rich. + +In Europe the ability promptly to recognize the kindness of chance is +called opportunism. Here we boast of it as the American spirit. That is +why American bankers so often find pleasure in proudly informing you +that it pays to be honest! + +"Listen, you!" said Hendrik to the sandwich-men. These were the tools +wherewith he would hammer the first rung into place. + +They looked at him, incredulous in advance. This attitude on the part of +the majority has caused republics at all times to be ruled by the +minority. The vice of making money also arose from the fact that +suspicious people are so easy to fool that even philosophers succumb to +the temptation. + +"Just now you are nothing but a bunch of dirty hoboes. Scum of the +earth!" It would not do to have followers who had illusions about +themselves. This is fundamental. + +"Say, I didn't come here to listen to--" + +"You--!" said Hendrik Rutgers, and did not smile. "You came here just +exactly for that. See?" And he walked up to within six inches of the +speaker, not knowing that his anger gave him the fighting face. "You +came to listen to me just as long as I am talking--unless you are pining +to spend your last three hours in the hospital. Do you get me? Which for +yours?" + +"Listen!" replied the sandwich-man. He had been poor so long that from +force of habit he economized even in words. + +"By cripes! here I am spending valuable time so as to make you bums into +prosperous men--" + +"Where do you come in, Bill?" asked a voice from the rear. + +"I don't have to come in. I am in. You fellows have got to join the +union. Then you'll get good wages, easy hours, decent--" + +"Yeh; but--" + +Hendrik turned to the man who had interrupted--a short chap advertising +a chain of hat-stores and asked, "But what?" + +"Nutt'n!" The hatter had once helped about a prize-fighter's +training-quarters, hence the quick duck. + +"Also, you'll have easy--" + +"Easy!" The hatter had spoken prematurely again. + +"What?" scowled Hendrik. + +"Hours," hastily explained the man. + +"We ask only for fair play," pursued the leader. + +"Yeh; sure!" murmured Fleming, with the cold enthusiasm of all paid +lieutenants of causes. + +"And we must make up our minds to play fair with employers, so that +employers will play fair with us." + +"Like hell they will!" This was from a tall, thin, toothless chap. +Reason: Tapeworm and booze. Name: Mulligan. Recreation: Chiropodist's +favorite. + +"I'll prove it to you," said Hendrik, very earnestly. + +"Perhaps _to_ but not _by_ me," muttered Mulligan. + +"Union wages will be twenty cents an hour." + +"Never get it!" mumbled an old fellow with what they call waiter's +foot--flattened arch. "Never!" + +"Never," came in chorus from all the others, their voices ringing with +conviction. + +"I'll have the jobs to give out. I guess I know how much you'll get." +The flame of hope lit fourteen pairs of blear eyes. Maybe this boob had +the cash and desired to separate himself from it. All primitive people +think the fool is touched of God. Hunger makes men primitive. + +"I'll fix the wages!" declared Hendrik again. He saw himself feeding +these men; therefore he felt he owned them absolutely. It isn't, of +course, necessary actually to feed people, or even to promise to feed +them, to own them. Nevertheless, his look of possession imposed on these +victims of a democracy. They mutely acknowledged a boss. + +Instantly perceiving this, a sense of kindly responsibility came upon +Hendrik. These were his children. He said, paternally, "We'll now have a +beer--on me!" + +Fleming, to show his divine right to the place of vice-regent, led the +way to a joint on Washington Street. + +Hendrik saw, with carefully concealed delight, the sensation caused even +in the Syrian-infested streets of the quarter by the sight of a handful +of sandwich-men in full regalia. He heard the exclamations that fell +from polyglot lips. It was a foretaste of success, the preface of a +famous man's biography! + +The union drank fifteen beers, slowly--and quickly wiped the day's free +lunch from the face of the earth. The huskiest of the three bartenders +began to work with one hand, the other being glued to a bung-starter. He +felt it had to come. + +"I'm boss!" said Hendrik to his children as a preliminary to discussing +the by-laws. + +"I'm willin'!" + +"Same here!" + +"Let 'er go, cap!" + +"Suits _me_!" + +They were all eager to please him--too eager. It made him ask, +disgustedly: + +"Don't you fellows care who is boss?" + +"Naw! Don't we have to have one, anyhow?" + +"Yes. But to have one crammed down your throats--" + +"The beer helps the swallowing, boss," said the hatter with +conviction--and a fresh hope! + +"There doesn't seem to be a man among the whole lot of you," said +Hendrik. + +A young fellow of about twenty-eight, very pale, wearing steel-rimmed +spectacles, spoke back, "If you'd starved for three weeks and two days, +and on top of it been kicked and cheated and held up, there wouldn't be +a hell of a lot of fight in you, my wise gazabo." + +"That's exactly what would make me fight," retorted Hendrik, angrily. +"Each of you has a vote; each of you, therefore, has as much to say as +to how this country should be run as any millionaire. Don't you know +what to do with your vote?" + +"You're lucky to get a quarter and two nights' lodging nowadays," said +the old man with waiter's foot. "The time we elected Gilroy I made +fifteen bones and was soused for a mont'. Shorty McFadden made +thirty-five dollars--" + +"Any of you Republicans?" + +"No!" came in a great and indignant chorus. + +"I used to be!" defiantly asserted the young man with the spectacles and +the pale face and the beaten look. + +"And now?" + +"Just a lame duck, I guess." + +"Too much rumatism," suggested a husky voice, and all the others +laughed. The depths of degradation are reached when you can laugh at +your own degradation. + +"Are any of you socialists?" asked Hendrik. + +They looked at him doubtfully. They wished to please him and would have +answered accordingly if they had known what he wished to get from them. +What they wished to get from him, in the way of speech, was another +invitation to tank up. But when in doubt, all men deny. It is good +police-court practice. Three veterans, therefore, tentatively said: + +"No!" + +Hendrik was disappointed, but did not show it. He asked, "Are any of you +Christians?" + +The crowd fell back. + +"Is there one man among you who believes in God?" + +They stared at one another in the consternation of utter hopelessness. +Mulligan was the first to break the painful silence. He said, with a sad +triumph: + +"I knew it. Stung again! They'll do anything to get you to listen. We +fell for it like boobs." + +"What is that?" said Hendrik, sharply. + +"I was sayin'," replied Mulligan, grateful that he was one schooner +ahead, anyhow, "that I can listen to a good brother like you by the hour +when I ain't thirsty. The dryness in my throat affects my hearin'. If +you blow again I'll believe in miracles. How could I help it?" + +Fourteen pairs of eyes turned hopefully toward the wonder-worker. But he +said in the habitual tone of all born leaders: + +"You--bums, get around! I'm going to lick hell out of Mulligan. And +after that, to show I'm boss, I'll blow again. But first the licking." + +Hendrik gave his hat to Fleming to hold and began to turn up his +sleeves. But Mulligan hastily said, "I'm converted, boss!" and actually +looked pious. How he did it, nobody could tell, for he was not a +Methodist by birth or education. + +"Mulligan, the union wages will be forty schooners a day." Hendrik +said, sternly. Again it was genius--that is, to talk so that men will +understand you. + +"Kill the scabs!" shrieked Mulligan, and there was murder in his eyes. + +Hendrik Rutgers put his right foot firmly on the second rung of the +ladder. He did it by spending seventy-five cents for the second time. +Fifteen beers. + +"Everybody," he said, threateningly, "wait until the schooners are on +the bar!" thereby disappointing those who had hoped to ring in an extra +glass during the excitement. But all that Hendrik desired was to +inculcate salutary notions of discipline and obedience under +circumstances that try men's souls. He yelled: + +"Damn you, step back! All of you! _Back!_" + +They fell back. + +The quivering line, now two feet from the beer, did not look at the +glasses full of cheer, but at the eyes full of lickings. They gazed at +him, open-mouthed; they gazed and kept on gazing, two feet from the +bar--the length of the arm from the beer! + +Not obey? After that? There is no doubt of it; they are born! + +"To the union! All together! _Drink!_" They did not observe that this +man was regulating even their thirst. The reason they did not notice it +was that they were so busy assuaging it. + +They drank. Then they looked at Hendrik. He was a law of nature. He +shook his head. They understood his "No." It was like death. To save +their faces they began to clamor for free lunch. + +"Get to hell out of here!" said the proprietor. + +"Do you want your joint smashed?" asked Rutgers. He approached the man +and looked at him from across a gulf of six inches that made escape +impossible. Whatever the proprietor saw in Rutgers's eyes made him turn +away. + +"Come across with the free lunch," Hendrik bade the proprietor. To his +men he said, "Boys, get ready!" + +These men-that-were--miserable worms, scum of the earth, walking +cuspidors--began to take off their armor. The bartenders were husky, but +hadn't the boss commanded, _Get ready!_ and didn't all men know he +meant, _Get ready_ TO EAT? Moreover, each sandwich felt he might dodge +the bung-starters, but not the boss's right flipper! + +The union was making ready to fight with the desperation of men whose +retreat is cut on by a foe who never heard of The Hague Convention. + +"Hey, no rough-house!" yelled the proprietor. + +"Free lunch!" retorted Hendrik. Then he added, "_Quick!_" + +The sandwich-men's nostrils began to dilate with the contagion of the +battle spirit. One after another, these beasts of the gutter took off +the boards and leaned them against the wall, out of the way, and eyed +the boss expectantly, waiting for the word--_men once more!_ Hendrik, +with the eye of a strategist and the look of a prize-fighter, planned +the attack. Like a very wise man who lived to be the most popular of all +our Presidents, he did his thinking aloud. + +On occasions like this Hendrik's mind also worked in battle-cries and +best expressed itself in action. + +"Free lunch," said Hendrik, "is free. It is everybody's. It is therefore +_ours_!" + +"Give us our grub!" hoarsely cried the union. + +"Three to each bartender," said Hendrik. "When I yell 'Now!' jump in, +from both ends of the bar at once--six of you here; you six over there. +Fleming, you smash the mirrors back of the bar with those empty +schooners. Mulligan, you cop some bottles of booze, and wait outside--do +you hear? _Wait outside!_--for us. I'll attend to the cash-register +myself. Now, you," he said peremptorily to the proprietor, "do we get +the free lunch? _Say no; won't you, please?_" + +Hendrik radiated battle. The derelicts took on human traits as their +eyes lit up with visions of pillage. Fleming grasped a heavy schooner in +each hand. Mulligan had his eye on three bottles of whisky and, for the +first time in years, was using his mind--planning the get-away. + +The proprietor saw all this and also perceived that he could not afford +a victory. It was much cheaper to give them seven cents worth of spoiled +rations. Therefore he decided in favor of humanity. + +"Do what I told you, Jake," he said, with the smile of a man who has +inveigled friends into accepting over-expensive Christmas presents. "Let +'em have the rest of the lunch--_all they want_." He smiled again, much +pleased with his kindly astuteness. He was a constructive statesman and +would be famous for longevity. + +But the sandwich-men swaggered about, realizing that under the +leadership of the boss they had won; they had obtained something to +which they had no right; by threats of force they had secured food; the +boss had made men of them. They therefore crowned Hendrik king. The +instinctive and immemorial craving of all men for a father manifests +itself--in republics that have forgotten God--in the election of the +great promisers and the great confiscators to the supreme power. History +records that no dynasty was ever founded except by a man who fought both +for and with his followers. The men that merely fought for their +fellows have uniformly died by the most noble and inspiring death of +all--starvation. Names and posthumous addresses not known. + +When not a scrap remained on any of the platters, Hendrik called his men +to him and told them: + +"Meet me at the sign-painter's, corner Twenty-ninth Street and Ninth +Avenue next Friday night after seven. We'll be open till midnight. Be +sure and bring your boards with you." + +"We gotter give 'em up before we can get paid," remonstrated Mulligan. +"If we don't we don't eat." + +"That's right!" assented a half-dozen. + +"_Bring them!_" said Hendrik. The time to check a mutiny is before it +begins. + +"A' right!" came in a chorus of fourteen heroic voices. + +"Beginning next Monday, you'll get twenty cents an hour. I guarantee +that to you out of my own pocket. You must each of you bring all the +other sandwiches you run across. If necessary, drag them. We must have +about one hundred to start, if you want forty beers a day." + +"We do! We do!" + +"Then bring the others, because we've got to begin with enough men in +the union to knock the stuffing out of those who try to scab on us. Get +that?" + +"Sure thing!" they shouted, with the surprised enthusiasm of men who +suddenly understand. + +They were deep in misery and accustomed to a poverty so abject that they +no longer were capable of even envying the rich. They, therefore, could +hate only those who were poorer than themselves--the men who dared to +have thirsts that could be assuaged with less than forty beers per day. +Not obey the boss, when they already felt an endless stream trickling +down their unionized gullets? And not kill the scab whose own non-union +thirst would prolong theirs? + +No! A man owes some things to his fellows, but he owes everything to +himself. That is why, for teaching brotherhood, there is nothing like +one book: the city Directory, from a fourth-floor window. + +When the boss left them he was certain that they would not fail him. +Just let them dare try to stay away, after he had so kindly destined +them to be the rungs of the ladder on which he expected to climb to his +lady's window--and her father's pocket! As he walked away, his +confidence in himself showed in his stride so clearly that those who saw +him shared that confidence. It is not what they were when they were not +leaders, but what they can be when they become leaders, that makes them +remarkable men. + + + + +II + + +The next morning Hendrik went to his tailor. As he walked into the shop +he had the air of a man in whom two new suits a day would not be +extravagance. The tailor, unconscious of cause and effect, called him +"Mister," against the habit of years. Hendrik nodded coldly and said: + +"As secretary and treasurer of the National Street Advertising Men's +Association, I've got to have a new frock-coat. Measure me for one." + +Hendrik had the air of a man who sees an unpleasant duty ahead, but does +not mean to shirk it. This attitude always commands respect from +tailors, clergymen, and users of false weights and measures. + +"Left the bank?" asked the tailor, uncertainly. + +"I should say I had," answered Hendrik, emphatically. + +"What is the new job, anyhow?" asked the tailor, professionally. His +customers usually told him their business, their history, and their +hopes. By listening he had been able to invest in real estate. + +"As I was about to say when you _interrupted_ me"--Hendrik spoke +rebukingly. + +"I beg your pardon, Mr. Rutgers," said the tailor, and blushed. He knew +now he should have said "position" instead of "job." The civilization of +to-day--including sanitary plumbing--is possible because price-tags were +invented. This is not an epigram. + +"--the clothes must be finished by Thursday. If you can't do it, I'll go +somewhere else." + +"Oh, we can do it, all right, Mr. Rutgers." + +"Good morning," and Hendrik strode haughtily from the shop. + +To the tailor Hendrik had always been a clerk at a bank. But now it was +plain to see that Mr. Rutgers thought well of himself, as a man with +money always does in all Christian countries. Hendrik's credit at once +jumped into the A1 class. Some people and all tailors judge men by their +backs. + +Being sure of the guests, Hendrik Rutgers went forth in search of their +dinner. To feed fivescore starving fellow-men was a noble deed; to feed +them at the expense of some one else was even higher. So, dressed in his +frock-coat, wearing his high hat as though it was a crown, he sought +Caspar Weinpusslacher. The owner of the "Colossal Restaurant," just off +the Bowery, gave a square meal for a quarter of a dollar, twenty-five +cents; for thirty cents he gave the same meal with a paper napkin and +the privilege of repeating the potato or the pie. His kitchen +organization was perfect. His cooks and scullions had served in the +German army in similar capacities, and he ruled them like one born and +brought up in the General Staff. His waiters also were recruited from +the greatest training-school for waiters in the world. He operated on a +system approved by an efficiency expert. By giving low wages to people +who were glad to get them, paying cash for his supplies and judiciously +selecting the latter just on the eve of their spoiling, he was able to +give an astonishingly good meal for the money. His profits, however, +depended upon his selling his entire output. This did not always +happen. Some days Herr Weinpusslacher almost lost three dollars. + +No system is perfect. Otherwise hotel men would wish to live for ever. + +Hendrik stalked into the Colossal dining-room and snarled at one of the +waiters: + +"Where's your boss?" + +The waiter knew it couldn't be the Kaiser, or a millionaire. It must +therefore be a walking delegate. He deferentially pointed to a short, +fat man by the bar. + +"Tell him to come here," said Rutgers, and sat down at a table. It isn't +so much in knowing whom to order about, but in acquiring the habit of +ordering everybody about, that wins. + +Caspar Weinpusslacher received the message, walked toward the table and +signaled to a Herculean waiter, who unobtrusively drew near--and in the +rear--of H. Rutgers. + +Hendrik pointed commandingly to a chair across the table. C. +Weinpusslacher obeyed. The Herculean waiter, to account for his +proximity, flicked non-existent crumbs on the napeless surface of the +table. + +"Recklar tinner?" he queried, in his best Delmonico. + +"_Geht-weg!_" snarled Mr. Rutgers. The waiter, a nostalgic look in his +big blue eyes, went away. _Ach_, to be treated like a dog! Ach, the +Fatherland! And the officers! _Ach!_ + +"Weinpusslacher," said Rutgers, irascibly, "who is your lawyer and +what's his address?" + +C. Weinpusslacher's little pig-eyes gleamed apprehensively. + +"For why you wish to know?" he said. + +"Don't ask _me_ questions. Isn't he your friend?" + +"Sure." + +"Is he smart?" + +"Smart?" C. Weinpusslacher laughed now, fatly. "He's too smart for +_you_, all right. He's Max Ondemacher, 397 Bowery. I guess if you--" + +"All right. I'm going to bring him to lunch here." + +"He wouldn't lunch here. He's got money," said C. Weinpusslacher, +proudly. + +"He will come." Rutgers looked, in a frozen way, at Caspar +Weinpusslacher, and continued, icily: "I am the secretary and treasurer +of the _National_ Street Advertising Men's Association. If I told you I +wanted _you_ to give _me_ money you'd believe me. But if I told you _I_ +wanted to give _you_ money, you wouldn't. So I am going to let your own +lawyer tell you to do as I say. I'll make you rich--for nothing!" + +And Hendrik Rutgers walked calmly out of the Colossal Restaurant, +leaving in the eyes of C. Weinpusslacher astonishment, in the mind +respect, and in the heart vague hope. + +This is the now historic document which Hendrik Rutgers dictated in Max +Onthemaker's office: + + Hendrik Rutgers, secretary and treasurer of the National + Street Advertising Men's Association, agrees to make Caspar + Weinpusslacher's Colossal Restaurant famous by means of + articles in the leading newspapers in New York City. For + these services Hendrik Rutgers shall receive from said + Caspar Weinpusslacher, proprietor of said Colossal + Restaurant, one-tenth (1/10) of the advertising value of + such newspaper notices--said value to be left to a jury + composed of the advertising managers of the _Ladies Home + Journal_, the Jewish _Daily Forward_, and the New York + _Evening Post_, and of Max Onthemaker and Hendrik Rutgers. + It is further stipulated that such compensation is to be + paid to Hendrik Rutgers, not in cash, but in tickets for + meals in said Colossal Restaurant, at thirty cents per + meal, said meal-tickets to be used by said Hendrik Rutgers + to secure still more desirable publicity by feeding + law-abiding, respectable poor people. + +_Panem et circenses!_ He had made sure of the first! The public could +always be depended upon to furnish the second by being perfectly +natural. + +M. Onthemaker accompanied H. Rutgers to the Colossal. He had some +difficulty in persuading C. Weinpusslacher to sign. But as soon as it +was done Hendrik said: + +"First gun: The National Street Advertising Men will hold their annual +dinner here next Saturday, about one hundred of us, thirty cents each; +regular dinner. _That_ is legitimate news and will be printed as such. +It will advertise the Colossal and the Colossal thirty-cent dinner. You +won't be out a cent. We pay cash for our dinner. I'll supply a few +decorations; all you'll have to do is to hang them from that corner to +this. You might also arrange to have a little extra illumination in +front of the place. Have a couple of men in evening clothes and high +hats on the corner, pointing to the Colossal, and saying: +'_Weinpusslacher's Colossal Restaurant! Three doors down. Just follow +the crowd!_' Arrange for all these things so that when you see that I am +delivering the goods you won't be paralyzed. Another thing: There will +be reporters from every daily paper in the city here Saturday night. +Provide a table for them and pay especial attention to both dinner and +drinks. _They_ will make you famous and rich, because you will tell them +that they are getting the regular thirty-cent dinner. It will be up to +you to be intelligently generous now so that you may with impunity be +intelligently stingy later, when you are rich. I advise you to have Max +here, because you seem to be of the distrustful nature of most damned +fools and therefore must make your money in spite of yourself. Next +Saturday at six P.M.! You'll make at least two hundred thousand dollars +in the next five years. Now I am going to eat. Come on, Onthemaker." + +H. Rutgers sat down, summoned the Herculean waiter, and ordered two +thirty-cent dinners. + +C. Weinpusslacher, a dazed look in his eyes, approached Max and +whispered, "Hey, dot's a smart feller. What?" + +"Well," answered M. Onthemaker, lawyer-like, "you haven't anything to +lose." + +"You said I should sign the paper," Caspar reminded him, accusingly. + +"You're all right so long as you don't give him a cent unless I say so." + +"I won't; not even if you say so." + +With thirty cents of food and thirty millions of confidence under his +waistcoat, Hendrik Rutgers walked from the Colossal Restaurant down the +Bowery and Center Street to the City Hall. At the door of the Mayor's +room he fixed the doorkeeper with his stern eye and requested his Honor +to be informed that the secretary of the National Street Advertising +Men's Association would like to see his Honor about the annual dinner of +the association, of which his Honor had been duly informed. + +One of the Mayor's secretaries came out, a tall young man who, as a +reporter on a sensational newspaper, had acquired a habit of dodging +curses and kicks. Now, as Mayor's secretary, he didn't quite know how to +dodge soft soap and glad hands. + +"Good afternoon," said Hendrik, with what might be called a +business-like amiability. "Will the Mayor accept?" + +"The Mayor," said the secretary with an amazing mixture of condescension +and uneasiness, as of a man calling on a poor friend in whose parlor +there is shabby furniture but in whose cellar there is a ton of +dynamite--"the Mayor knows nothing about your asso--of the _dinner_ of +your association." The secretary looked pleased at having caught himself +in time. + +"Why, I wrote," began H. Rutgers, with annoyance, "over a week--" He +silenced himself while he opened his frock-coat, tilted back his high +hat from a corrugated brow, and felt in his pocket. It is the delivery, +not the speech, that distinguishes the great artist. Otherwise writers +would be considered intelligent people. + +"Hell!" exclaimed Hendrik, looking at the secretary so fixedly and +angrily that the ex-reporter flinched. "It's in the other coat. I mean +the copy of the letter I sent the Mayor exactly a week ago to-day. I +wondered why he hadn't answered." + +"He never got it," the secretary hastened to say. + +Hendrik laughed. "You must excuse my language; but you know what it is +to arrange all the details of an annual meeting and banquet--menu, +decorations, music, _and_ speeches. Well, here is the situation: the +annual dinner of the National Street Advertising Men's Association will +be held at Weinpusslacher's. Reception at six; dinner at eight; speeches +begin about ten. + +"What day?" asked the secretary. + +"My head is in a whirl, and I don't-- Let me see-- Oh yes. Next +Saturday, April twenty-ninth. I'll send you tickets. Do you think the +Mayor will come?" + +"I don't know. Saturdays he goes to his farm in Hartsdale." + +"Yes, I know; but couldn't _you_ induce him to come? By George! there is +nothing our association wouldn't do for you in return." + +"I'll see," promised the secretary, with a far-away look in his eyes as +if he were devising ways and means. Oh, he earned his salary, even if he +was a Celt. + +"Thank you. And-- Oh yes, by the way, some of our members will arrive at +the Grand Central Station Saturday afternoon. Any objections to our +marching with a band of music down the avenue to the Colossal? We'll +wear our association badges; they are hummers." He felt in his +coat-tails. "I wish I had some with me. Is it necessary to have a permit +to parade?" + +"Yes; but there will be no trouble about that." + +"Oh, thanks. Will you fix that for us? I've got to go to Wall Street +after one of the bankers on the list of speakers, and I'll be back in +about an hour. Could I have the Mayor's acceptance and the permit to +parade then? You see, it's only a couple of days and I hate to trust the +mail. Thank you. It's very kind of you, and we appreciate it." + +The secretary pulled out a letter and a pencil from his pocket as if to +make a note on the back of the envelope, and so Hendrik Rutgers +dictated: + +"_The National Street Advertising Men's Association._ Altogether about +one hundred and fifty members and one band of music. So long, and thank +you very much, Mr.--er--" + +"McDevitt. + +"Mr. McDevitt. I'll return in about an hour from now, if I may. Thank +you." And he bowed himself out. + +Hendrik Rutgers had spoken as a man speaks who has a train to catch +that he mustn't miss. That will command respect where an appeal in the +name of the Deity will insure a swift kick. Republics! + +In an hour he was back, knowing that the Mayor had gone. He sent in for +Mr. McDevitt. The secretary appeared. + +"Did he say he'd come?" asked H. Rutgers, impetuously. + +"I am sorry to say the Mayor has a previous engagement that makes it +absolutely impossible for him to be present at your dinner. I've got a +letter of regret." + +"They'll be awfully disappointed, too. I'll get the blame, of course. +_Of_ course!" Mr. Rutgers spoke with a sort of bitter gloom, spiced with +vindictiveness. + +"Here it is. I had him sign it. I wrote it. It's one of those letters," +went on the secretary, inflated with the pride of authorship, "that can +be read at any meeting. It contains a dissertation on the beneficent +influence of advertising, strengthened by citations from Epictetus, +Buddha, George Francis Train, and other great moral teachers of this +administration." + +"Thank you very much. I appreciate it. But, say, what's the matter with +you coming in his place? I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I have a +hunch that when it comes to slinging after-dinner oratory you'd do a +great deal better." + +"Oh," said McDevitt, with a loyal shake of negation and a smile of +assent. "No, I couldn't." + +"I'm sure--" + +"And then I'm going to Philadelphia on Saturday morning to stay over +Sunday. I wish you'd asked me earlier." + +"So do I," murmured H. Rutgers, with conviction and despair judiciously +admixed. + +The secretary had meant to quiz H. Rutgers about the association, but H. +Rutgers's manner and words disarmed suspicion. It was not that H. +Rutgers always bluffed, but that he always bluffed as he did, that makes +his subsequent career one of the most interesting chapters of our +political history. + +"And here's the permit," said the secretary. + +H. Rutgers, without looking at it, put it in his pocket as if it were +all a matter of course. It strengthened the secretary's belief that +non-suspiciousness was justified. + +"Thanks, very much," said H. Rutgers. "I am, I still repeat, very sorry +that neither you nor the Mayor can come." He paid to the Mayor's +eloquent secretary the tribute of a military salute and left the room. + + + + +III + + +The union of the sandwich-men was an assured success. Victory had come +to H. Rutgers by the intelligent use of brains. The possession of brains +is one of the facts that can always be confirmed at the source. + +Next he arranged for the band. He told the band-master what he wished +the band to do. The band-master thereupon told him the price. + +"Friend," said H. Rutgers, pleasantly, "I do not deal in dreams either +as buyer or seller. That's the asking price. Now, how much will you +take?" Not having any money, Hendrik added, impressively, "Cash!" + +The band-master, being a native-born, repeated the price--unchanged. But +he was no match for H. Rutgers, who took a card from his pocket, looked +at what the band-master imagined was a list of addresses of other bands, +and then said, "Let me see; from here to--" He pulled out his watch and +muttered to himself, but audible by the band-master, "It will take me +half an hour or more." + +H. Rutgers closed his watch with a sharp and angry snap and then +determinedly named a sum exactly two-thirds of what the band-master had +fixed as the irreducible minimum. It was more than Hendrik could +possibly pay. + +The band-master shook his head, so H. Rutgers said, irascibly: + +"For Heaven's sake, quit talking. I'm nearly crazy with the +arrangements. Do you think you're the only band in New York or that I +never hired one before? Here's the Mayor's permit." He showed it to the +musical director, who was thereby enabled to see _National Street +Advertising Men's Association_, and went on: "Now be at Grand Central +Station, Lexington Avenue entrance, at 3.45 Saturday afternoon. The +train gets in at 4. I'll be there before you are. We'll go from the +depot to Weinpusslacher's for dinner." + +"Of course, we get our dinners," said the band-master in the tone of +voice of a man who has surrendered, but denies it to the reporters. + +"Yes. You'll be there sure?" + +"Yes. But, say, we ought to get--" + +"Not a damned cent more," said H. Rutgers, pugnaciously, in order to +forestall requests for part payment in advance. + +"I wasn't going to ask you for more money, but for a few--" + +"Then why waste my time? Don't fail me!" + +Then Hendrik Rutgers put the finishing touches on the work of +organization. He rented offices in the Allied Arts Building, sent a +sign-painter to decorate the ground-glass doors, and ordered some +official stationery in a rush. He promised the agent to return with the +president and sign the lease. + +Where everybody distrusts everybody else there is nothing like promising +to sign documents! + +He bought some office furniture on exactly the same plan. + +On Friday night the unionized sandwich-men took their signs and boards +to the trysting-place, Twenty-ninth Street and Ninth Avenue, to have new +advertisements of Hendrik's composition painted thereon. The boards did +not belong to the members, but in a good cause all property is the +cause's. Each of the original fourteen brought recruits. The street was +almost blocked. The two sign-painters worked like nine beavers, and +Hendrik and the young man in steel-rimmed spectacles helped. When the +clamor became threatening Hendrik counted his men twice, aloud. There +were eighty-four of them. They knew it was eighty-four, having heard him +say it, as he intended they should. He then took them to the corner +boozery. + +He had only two dollars. There were eighty-four thirsty. Therefore, +"Eighty beers!" he yelled, majestically. + +"_Eighty-four!_" shouted eighty-four voices. + +"That's twenty cents more," said Hendrik to himself in the plain hearing +of the hitherto distrustful bartender. He had a small green roll in his +left hand consisting of two dollars and two clippings. With his right he +loudly planked down two large dimes on the counter and shoved them +toward the bartender, who took them while Hendrik began to count his +greenbacks. + +The bartender saw the exact change and began to draw beer. He even +yelled for assistance. + +Hendrik knew better than to enforce discipline now, but he could not +officially countenance disorder. + +"Give the other fellows a chance," he said, paternally, to those near +by. Then he saw the rear entrance. It inspired him. + +He waited until there were about sixty glasses on the bar. Then he +yelled in the direction of the front door: "Come in, boys! Everybody +gets one!" + +The tidal-wave carried him and twenty others to the end of the room. But +while the twenty others fought to get back to the schooners, he +intelligently went out by the back door. + +The police reserves were called. They responded. Then six ambulances. + +Those who survived sought Hendrik to complain, but he beat them to it by +scolding them angrily. He all but licked them on the spot, so that they +forgot their grievance in their haste to defend themselves. He then +divided them into squads of five and took them to another saloon--one +squad and a quarter of a dollar at a time. He only used one dollar and +fifty cents cash that way. + +He then promised all of them forty beers a day beginning on Monday. He +told them to get recruits, who would not be admitted to the union, but +could have the privilege of parading. They must be thirsty men and look +it. They would receive two beers apiece. + +On Saturday morning there was not a sandwich-man to be seen at work in +Greater New York. + +At noon the city editors of all the metropolitan dailies received neatly +typewritten notices that the sandwich-men had formed a union and would +"peacefully strive for higher wages, shorter hours, and reduced +peregrinations. The sandwich-men had no desire to precipitate another +internecine strife between Labor and Capital." They were "willing to +submit their differences to a board of arbitration consisting of John D. +Rockefeller, Charles F. Murphy, Theodore Roosevelt, Woodrow Wilson, and +Hendrik Rutgers." + +These notices were one and all thrown into waste-paper baskets as cheap +humor--to be dug up later and used. + + + + +IV + + +On Saturday afternoon at 3.35 the Harlem contingent, carrying their +armor under one arm, their tickets given into the conductor's own hand +by the lieutenant, Fleming, entrained at the One Hundred and +Twenty-fifth Street station of the New York Central and Hudson River +Railroad. + +Ten minutes later they arrived at the Grand Central Station. And as the +first pair of sandwiches descended, the waiting band burst into a joyous +welcome. + +The exits were crowded. Martial music and parading men always draw +crowds. So long as there is no charge, gaping audiences automatically +supply themselves in New York. + +And so, along Forty-second Street, following the musicians, himself +followed by his starving sandwiches, Hendrik Rutgers walked into Fifth +Avenue and into history at one and the same time. + +The procession turned southward. The band played Chopin's "Funeral +March." Hendrik Rutgers at the head of his pauperized cohorts, anger in +his heart, light in his soul, defiance in his eyes, marched down Fifth +Avenue with an effect as of a man in armor treading on prostrate +millionaires as over so many railroad-ties. Men who had money in their +pockets for a minute felt the wind squeezed out of them by his foot. And +as they saw the led sandwiches they looked thoughtful. + +The first of Rutgers's infantry was an old man. His long, gray beard was +dirty and ragged, like his clothes and the rest of him. In his eyes you +saw the unutterable weariness of a man who has lived fifty suffering +years too long. Underneath his eyes were dark rings; from the sidewalk +his sockets looked finger-deep. On his cheeks was the pallor of death. + +H. Rutgers, fighting for fairness and justice, had justly picked out the +old fellow to be his Exhibit "A." Society must see what it did to human +beings! Therefore the old man slid one foot along the asphalt and let +the other follow it, with a spent, mechanical movement, as an engine, +after the power is turned off, keeps on going from the momentum of +years. The legs seemed to move from force of habit--a corpse on foot, +with a concealed galvanic battery somewhere. + +And on the breastplate and backplate of this armored corpse, printed in +funereal black, beautiful women and intellectual men on Fifth Avenue, +where the unforgivable crime is to be poor and show it, read: + + Yesterday I walked 19 miles. + + They paid me 35 cents cash + + And 2 meal tickets. + +He had been well coached as to his gait and, thrilled by the success he +was making, the old chap became an artist and limped worse. + +Behind him was our friend Mulligan, pale, thin to emaciation. He looked +famished. It came from the possession of a tapeworm, as before stated. +To him Hendrik Rutgers had given this standard to bear: + + They call us Sandwich-men because: + + We don't know what a Square Meal is! + +He was followed by the raggedest human being that Anthony Comstock ever +allowed to exhibit himself in public. On his boards the Fifth Avenue +crowd on this fair spring day saw this: + + Do you thank God you are alive? + + So do we! + + And notice the DIFFERENCE! + +The shabby-genteel man, ex-Republican, with steel-rimmed spectacles, who +now looked for all the world like a bookkeeper out of a job, had this: + + I am the Result. + + The Cause was not Drink. + + It was HUNGER. + +A young fellow who looked so much as if he had just left a hospital that +thousands of spectators imagined they smelled iodoform carried this: + + All men must die. + + Knowing this, WE HOPE! + +An octogenarian, not over four and one-half feet tall, very +frail-looking, was next. To him H. Rutgers had assigned this banner: + + If Society won't feed us + + We'll feed the Society of Worms-- + + POTTER'S FIELD + +Under a big foot--property of a popular chiropodist on lower Broadway; +terms twenty-five cents per, five for a dollar--was this: + + We are the World's Unfortunates: + + BORN TO BE KICKED! + +Then followed a haggard-faced man who looked like an exaggerated picture +of poverty. He carried: + + There are poorer than we. + + HELP THEM! + +A man with the stride of a conqueror bore a banner: + + AND STILL WE BELIEVE IN GOD! + +The crowd looked puzzled. What the dickens did believing in God have to +do with anything? To end the bother of thinking they looked at the next +one. + + Look at Fifth Avenue! + + WHY? + + See what we are! + + WHY? + +They obeyed. They saw Fifth Avenue. Why? They did not know why. And then +they saw what the sandwich-men were. And they wondered why the +sandwich-men asked why. Why not? Pshaw! The placard that followed was: + + If you wish to see + + One hundred starving men + + Follow us. + + YOU WILL REMEMBER IT! + +Say, that was something that nobody had seen and therefore everybody +could joke about. Every woman had the same remark and the same grin: +"Haven't I seen my husband?" + +Before the parade had gone half a square Fifth Avenue was blocked. Apart +from the interference of the band and the sandwiches with vehicular +traffic, there was the paralysis of the pedestrians. The Peacock Parade +halted. Slim figures, half-naked, flat-bosomed, stalked swayingly to the +curb and stared with eyes in which was the insolent sex challenge that +New York males answer with furs and jewels. And as they looked the +challenge of sex died in the eyes of the women: the marchers had no sex; +anybody could see they had no money! + +And the men, too, ceased to look stallion-eyed at the women and gazed on +the parade of sandwich-men, who, in the middle of the street, with the +machines and the horses, slouched on--almost rubbing valuable varnish on +automobiles and carriages, careless beasts! + +Presently the hurrying crowds slowed their gait and kept step to +Chopin's dirge--_slowly! slowly!_--until all Fifth Avenue was a vast +funeral procession; only the marchers could not have told you what it +was that long since had died of gold on Fifth Avenue! Slowly! Slowly! +And with the funereal gait other changes came--in the grimace of the +over-red lips and the look of the over-bold eyes. But never the +slightest change in the color of the cheeks, which was there to stay, in +rain, shine, or snow. + +"What is it? What is it?" whispered ten thousand people. + +From the middle of the street it sounded like the whimper of ten +thousand little foamy waves dying on a flat beach. It made the filthy +bipeds who marched look at the thronged sidewalks. + +They saw the usual Fifth Avenue crowd. They saw the full-fed, +clock-hating faces of professional idlers; the drawn features of the +busy money-maker with his perennial anxieties; the suddenly immobilized +grimaces of millionaires intended to conceal the fear of God knew what; +the contemptuous countenances of waiters from fashionable restaurants, +who, like ordained priests, knew America at its worst, but, unlike +priests, could not pity; healthy American boys with clean faces and the +eyes of animals. + +And the sexless marchers saw also healthy American girls with delicate +features and dreadful, price-quoting eyes, and faces not clean and +healthy, but dead-white and dead-crimson; they saw not women's faces, +but marble tombstones on which the epitaphs were scarlet letters that +told what the price was, so that the professional prostitutes no longer +wasted time advertising with the same ink, but used downcast eyes as +bait. + +There was a gap of about thirty feet between the first detachment of +Rutgers's marching advertisements and the next. The spectators, seeking +explanations, saw a cadaverous-looking man, hollow-cheeked, sunken-eyed, +white-lipped, who stepped as though the avenue were full of puddles of +nitroglycerine--uncertainly, fearfully! And this death-on-foot carried a +white-cloth board black-bordered like a funeral-card. And thereon +money-makers and money-spenders, clubmen and waiters, shop-girls and +millionairesses--all Fifth Avenue!--saw this: + + HAIL, NEW YORK! + + WE WHO ARE ABOUT TO DIE + + SALUTE YOU! + +There followed another gap of thirty feet, so that the valedictorian of +the doomed might be seen of all. Then came eighty-odd sandwich-bearers, +appositely legended. From time to time the valedictorian would stagger +as you have seen horses do on their last trip to the glue-factory. +Whereupon a couple of the non-descripts behind him would shuffle up and +endeavor to uphold him. And the others slouched on, deep-eyed, gaunt, +famine-stricken, rum-ravaged, disease-smitten--ex-bookkeepers, and +superannuated mechanics, and disgraced yeggmen, and former +merchants--and former men, too! + +At Thirty-ninth Street a young woman dressed richly but in perfect taste +stood on the very corner. Her hair had glints of sunshine and her eyes +were like twin heavens, clean, and clear, and blue, and infinitely deep. +And the Madonna face saw the Death face, looked at the thing that had +been a man, and read his salutation. And in one of the pauses of the +"Funeral March" a thousand people heard her laugh, and heard her exclaim +with a contagious relish, spiced with undisguised admiration: + +"_If that ain't the limit!_" + +New York had spoken! + +And the chauffeurs near her laughed in sympathy. And gray heads stuck +out of limousine windows, and millionaires and their female stood up in +their snail-moving touring-cars, and top-hatted coachmen turned +impassive heads on neck-hinges long since rusted with the arrogance of +menials. And upon their faces and along the ranks that lined both sides +of the great avenue a slow grin spread--uncertain, hesitating, dubious! +The great American sense of humor was trying to assert itself. Hendrik's +joke was not labeled "Joke" plainly enough. Otherwise the spectators +would have shown much earlier their ability to laugh at death, hunger, +disease, misery, drunkenness, honesty, despair--anything, so long as it +was the death, hunger, disease, misery, drunkenness, honesty, and +despair of others. + +But at Tiffany's corner the traffic policeman stopped the leader of the +band; and he stopped the band; and the band stopped Rutgers; and Rutgers +stopped his army; and that stopped all traffic on the Avenue up to +Forty-second Street. + +Hendrik Rutgers hurried forward and explained, calmly: "Here, officer. I +am the secretary of the National Street Advertising Men's Association. +We have a permit from the Mayor. Here it is." + +"Oh, advertising! I see!" said the policeman, and smiled appreciatively. +He had feared they might be starving men. + +"Yes," said H. Rutgers, quite loudly, "advertising the fact that a man +out of a job in New York, who is too proud to beg and too honest to +steal, has to become a sandwich-man and make from twenty-five to +forty-five cents for ten hours work--not in China or Mexico, but in New +York, to-day; men who are willing to work, but are old or sickly or have +no regular trade. You know how the Mayor feels about the rights of +citizens who are not rich and the duty of paid officials of this city. +He and I are opposed to too much law in the way of clubs. So kindly pass +the word down the line, officer." + +The big traffic policeman, far more impressed by the delivery than by +the speech itself, touched his hand to his cap so very respectfully that +the grinning crowd at once became serious. Each woman turned on her +neighbor and frowned furiously the unuttered scolding for the other's +unseemly levity. + +"What does it mean?" asked hundreds. All looked toward Hendrik Rutgers +for explanation, for official permission to laugh at a spectacle that +was not without humorous suggestions. But he kept them guessing. This is +called knowledge of stage effects; also psychological insight; also +cheap politics. Historians even refer to it as statesmanship. + +Something that makes one hundred thousand New-Yorkers gasp and stare is +not necessarily news; an ingenius street-sign or a five-dollar-a-day +Steeple Jack could do it. But that not one of one hundred thousand +omniscient New-Yorkers knew whether to laugh, to curse, or to weep at +what they saw made that sight very decidedly "news." An interrogation +marker in one hundred thousand otherwise empty heads loomed gigantic +before the hair-trigger minds of the city editors. They sent their star +men to get answers to the multitudinous question; and, if possible, also +the facts. + +Just south of Thirty-fourth Street the _Herald_, _Times_, _Sun_, and +_Evening Journal_ reporters overtook H. Rutgers. He made the procession +halt. That again made all Fifth Avenue halt. He waited until all the +reporters were near him, and then he spoke very slowly, for he guessed +that shorthand and literature do not necessarily coexist. + +"The sandwich-men have formed a union. It includes sandwich-men from the +five boroughs. We are going to have an annual dinner at six o clock--we +are not fashionable folk, you know. There will be speeches. Did you ask +why we should have a union? I'll tell you why: because we didn't have +one; because employers have not thought of us as human beings, but as +human derelicts. A starving man who doesn't want to steal and is ashamed +to beg will sandwich for thirty cents a day ten hours; and he can't +always collect his wages. And who is going to fight for him? When you +think of the importance of all advertising, do you consider the peculiar +picturesqueness of advertising through sandwiches? In the Middle Ages +they had their heralds and their pursuivants--the sandwich-men of +feudalism; and later the town criers; and later still, _us_. Do you know +in what esteem sandwich-men are held in the south of France and in the +Orient? Did you know that sandwich-men take the place of bells on Good +Friday in Moldavia? Do you know why there are no commercial sandwich-men +in Russia or in Spain? Did you ever read what Confucius wrote about +'Those men who with letters on their garments dispel the ignorance of +buyers,' and a lot more? Did you? Did any clergyman ever tell you that +sandwich-men are, beyond the shadow of a doubt, alluded to twice in the +Old and five times in the New Testament? Don't you think that as +intelligent investigators of industrial conditions and of the submerged +tenth it would be worth your time to come to our annual dinner and hear +our version of it? And also see how starving men eat the first square +meal of the year?" + +Of course it was pure inspiration and, as such, impressive. + +"Yes, sir," respectfully replied the _Evening Journal_ man--a tall, dark +chap with gold-rimmed spectacles and a friendly smile. "What's the name +of the restaurant?" + +"Caspar Weinpusslacher's Colossal Restaurant," said H. Rutgers. + +"Spell it!" chorused the reporters; and H. Rutgers did, slowly and +patiently. At once the _Evening Journalist_ rushed on to telephone the +caption of a story to his paper. That would enable the office to get out +an extra; after which would come another edition with the story itself. +He was the best head-line reporter in all New York. + +Long before the National Street Advertising Men's Association reached +the Colossal Restaurant, Caspar Weinpusslacher converted himself into a +Teutonic hurricane and changed thirty short tables into three, long +ones. On his lips was a smile, and in his heart a hope that glowed like +an incandescent twenty-dollar gold piece, for Max Onthemaker had rushed +in breathlessly and gasped: + +"He _is_ a smart feller, all right. What?" And he gave an _Evening +Journal_ to Caspar Weinpusslacher, wherein he read this: + + SANDWICH PARADE + + PATHETIC PROTEST AGAINST INDUSTRIAL SLAVERY + + PAUPERS WHO WILL NEITHER STEAL NOR BEG FORCED BY SOCIETY TO STARVE + + SANDWICH WAGES, TWO CENTS AN HOUR + + MEN ABOUT TO DIE SALUTE NEW YORK + + The Sandwich-men's Union will hold their annual meeting at + Weinpusslacher's Colossal Restaurant. + + They have been saving up for this, their one square meal this + year. + + They are paid from twenty to forty cents a day and walk from + fifteen to thirty miles in the ten hours. + + Did you know that twice in the Old and five times in the New + Testament mention is made of the sandwich-men? + + Do you know why Catholic Spain and anti-Semitic Russia alike + permit no sandwich-men to ply their time-honored occupation + within their confines? + + +There the article abruptly ended. + +"Weinie," said Max, exultingly, "this makes you. Be very nice to Mr. +Rutgers. You'll have to pay him thousands of dollars--" + +"Then, you vas in league mit him?" + +"No. But he's a genius!" + +"I thought he was German," said C. Weinpusslacher, controversially. + +"Get busy, Weinie. The crowd will be here in a minute. And don't ask Mr. +Rutgers to pay for his dinner." + +"Why not?" growled Weinie. He was on his way to a sure million. That +made the growl natural. + +"What is thirty dollars for their dinner to thirty thousand dollars +worth of free advertising?" + +"Thirty dollars," observed C. Weinpusslacher, thriftily, "is _thirty +dollars_!" + +"Bah!" + +"I tell you, it is, mister." C. Weinpusslacher frowned pugnaciously. + +But Onthemaker knew his man. So he said: "I'll get Meyer Rabinowitz to +give us an option on the property to-night before he reads the +newspapers. As Rutgers said, once your place is a success, you'll have +to pay any price the landlord wants. Meyer's got you! I can hear your +squeals of agony already!" + +Max shook his head so gloomily that C. Weinpusslacher actually began to +tremble with joy. The thought of making money did not move him. The +thought of losing the money he had not made, did. Oh yes; born +money-makers! + +By the time H. Rutgers arrived at the Colossal Restaurant Caspar +Weinpusslacher, Esq., and the Hon. Maximilian Onthemaker had constituted +themselves into a highly enthusiastic reception committee, for the crowd +that came with H. Rutgers filled the street so that all you heard was +the squealing and cursing of persons that were pressed against iron +newel-posts of the old-fashioned stoops or precipitated into basements +and cellars. Sixty policemen, impartially cursing the Mayor, Epictetus, +and H. Rutgers, and yearning for the days of Aleck Williams, when clubs +were made to be used and not to be fined for, endeavored to keep the +crowd moving. + +"You'll find everything ready, Mr. Rutgers," said M. Onthemaker. "Here +is one of my cards. The name, you will see," he almost shouted, "is +spelled with a _k_ not _h_--O-n-t-h-e-m-a-k-e-r. Everything is ready, +Mr. Secretary." He looked at the reporters out of a corner of his eye. + +"And it won't cost you nothing, not one cent," interjected C. +Weinpusslacher, eagerly and distinctly. "Any feller wot's smart like +you, Mr. Rutchers--" + +"And the poor starving men," quickly interjected M. Onthemaker, not +wishing for character-analyses yet, "who are the victims of a ruthless +industrial system--" + +"Yah, sandwiches!" put in C. Weinpusslacher. + +M. Onthemaker grimaced horribly, and C. Weinpusslacher was silent for a +minute. Presently he told Rutgers, "They get enough to eat here, +anyways, I bet you." + +He glared with a sort of malevolent triumph at M. Onthemaker, until he +heard the boss say in stern accents: + +"That, of course, Weinpusslacher, includes a couple of beers apiece." + +"Of course! Of course!" put in M. Onthemaker, hastily. "The +representatives of the press will sit at their own table, at which I am +to have the honor of presiding, Max Onthemaker--O-n-t-h-e-m--" + +"We got it down," the _Evening Journal_ man assured him, amiably. + +C. Weinpusslacher was so angry that anybody should help him to make +money, when half the pleasure is in making it yourself out of your +fellow-men, that he said, spitefully, "There will be free beer!" + +Hendrik Rutgers took an innkeeper's notion and made of it the most +remarkable platform in the history of party government. He said, +sternly, "Everything free for free men!" + +A grunting murmur ran down the line of derelicts--the inarticulate +tribute of great thirst to great leadership. In a hundred pairs of eyes +a human hope kindled its fire for the first time in two hundred years! + +Great indeed was Hendrik Rutgers! + +His faithful sandwiches would go through fire for him! A man who can get +free beer for Sahara throats could put out the fire--with more beer. + +The boards were hung around the great hall in plain sight of the +reporters, who copied the legends, that all America might read. While +they were writing, Caspar was hiring thirty extra waiters and turning +people away. Hendrik went from man to man, sternly warning that no one +must begin to eat until he gave the order. A violation of his order +would entail the loss of the dinner and most of the scalp. He also said +they must not linger over their victuals, and told them that two extra +beers apiece would be awarded to the ten men who finished first. + +He had made up his mind that the cold and callous world should be told +how starving men eat. + +What do people who get enough to eat know about starving men? + +Nothing! + +They impede the world's progress by being content. Human pigs! + +In a surprisingly short time one hundred complete dinners were in front +of one hundred starving men. Six bartenders were busy filling +schooners--in plain sight of the starving men. But the boss's awful +frown held them in check. Each man began to tremble in advance--fearing +he might not be one of the ten to win the extra schooners. + +The reporters looked at the hundred faces and began to write like mad. + +Hendrik rose. There was an awed silence. The reporters stopped writing. +One hundred inferior maxillaries began to castanet away like mad. The +boss held up a hand. Then he said in measured tones: + +"May God be good to us sandwich-men again this year! _Eat!_" + +When he said eat, men ate. Don't forget the moral effect of commanding +and being obeyed! + +They flung themselves on the food like wild beasts, and made animal +noises in their throats. They disdained forks, knives, and spoons. They +used claws and jaws on meat, coffee, bread, potatoes, soup, or pie +whichever was nearest. + +No man wanted to be the last to finish. + +"My God!" exclaimed the _Evening Post_ man. "This is absolutely +horrible!" + +"Pippin!" said the creative artist from the Sun. + +All of them would treat it as a Belasco production. That is, they would +impart to it all the dignity and importance of a political convention. + +At 8 P.M. Hendrik Rutgers, man of destiny, rose to speak. He never even +glanced at the reporters. He said, very earnestly, to his tattered +cohorts: + +"Comrades! Ours is beyond question the only labor union in the United +States, and, for all I know, in the entire world, that is not +monopolistic in its tendencies. We are individualists because +advertising is not a science nor a trade, but an art, and we are +artists. When the advertisers' greed saw the artists' hunger, the result +was _that_!" He pointed to five score dehumanized faces before him. + +"Great!" murmured the _Sun_ man. + +"Hereafter watch the sandwich-man, and in one corner of the sign look +for the union label--a skeleton carrying a coffin, to remind us that no +matter what a man is when he is born, he goes to his Maker between +boards. In death all men are equal, and in his coffin a man is the +Ultimate Sandwich!" + +"That's literature!" muttered the serious young man from the _Journal_. + +"We refuse to be thieves. Therefore we decline to do any sandwiching for +patent medicines, banks, quack cures, fraudulent stores, immoral books, +coal-dealers, fake doctors, suburban real estate, bum chiropodists, or +disreputable people of any kind, class, or nature whatsoever. We start +with professional ethics, which is where most professions end. We who +have been the lowest of the low class that work for their daily bread +are now the S. A. S. A.--the Society of American Sandwich Artists. All +we ask is permission to live! Our headquarters will be in the Allied +Arts Building on Fifth Avenue." + +His speech had quotable phrases. A country that once cast the biggest +vote in its history for the square deal, that makes minions of dollars +out of asking you if you see that hump, and from promising to do the +rest if you push the button, and boasts of the thorn that made a rose +famous, is bound to be governed by phrases. The only exceptions are the +Ten Commandments. They are quotable, but not memorable. + +All the newspapers spread themselves on that story. In their clubs the +managing editors heard their fellow-members talk about the parade, and +this made each M. E. telephone to the city editor to play it up. It was +too picturesque not to be good reading, and since good reading is always +easy writing, both reporters and editorial writers enjoyed themselves. +That made them artists instead of wage-earners. + +Hendrik Rutgers possessed the same quality of political instinct that +nearly made the luckiest man in the world President of the United +States. By blindly following it, young Mr. Rutgers jumped into the very +heart of a profound truth. And once he landed, the same sublimated +sagacity impelled him to stamp with both feet hard. Then, unemotionally +perceiving exactly what he had done, he proceeded very carefully to pick +out his own philosophical steps, in order to be able later on to prove +that he had been coldly logical. Impulsive humanity always distrusts +impulsiveness in others. Leaders, therefore, always call them carefully +considered plans. + +In all irreligious countries, as Hendrik Rutgers, astutely arguing +backward, told himself, the people who buy, sell, and vote are alive +only to To-day and therefore dare not take heed of the Hereafter. This +has exalted _news_ to the dignity of a sacred commandment. + +In such communities success is necessarily a matter of skilful +publicity. + +Who is the greatest of all press agents, working while you sleep and +even when you blunder? + +The People! + +The front page of the newspaper is therefore the arena of to-day! + +To live in that page, all you have to do is to become News. + +Once you become News all the king-making reporters of all the +nation-making newspapers become your press agents. The public does the +rest and pays all salaries. + +Thrilled by his discovery, Hendrik called Max Onthemaker to one side +and, with the air of a man risking one hundred and two millions of cash, +said to him: "I have decided to make you chief counsel of my society. +Your services will entitle you to represent me." + +Never had man been so lavishly overpaid for breathing since the dawn of +historical time. Hendrik went on, still imperial in bounty: + +"I have in mind some great things. Every one of them will be worth as +much space as the newspapers will give to this dinner. Do you see your +chance?" + +"I can't live on newspaper articles," began Max, elated but dissembling. + +"You can die without them. Chronic obscurity; acute starvation," said +Hendrik Rutgers in his clinical voice. "I not only do not propose to pay +you a cent, but I expect you to pay all necessary expenses out of your +privy purse without a murmur--unless said murmur is intended to express +your legal opinion and your gratitude. I shall give you an opportunity +to represent my society"--you would have sworn he was saying _my +regiment_--"in actions involving the most famous names in America." + +"For instance?" asked M. Onthemaker, trying to speak skeptically, that +his eagerness might not show too plainly. + +Hendrik Rutgers named six of the mightiest. + +"You're on, Mr. Rutgers," said Max, enthusiastically. "Now, I think--" + +"Wait!" interrupted Hendrik, coldly. "Never forget that I am not your +press agent. You are mine." + +"There will be glory enough to go around," said Max Onthemaker in his +police-court voice. "When do we begin?" + +"To-morrow." + +"Yes, sir. And now--" + +"My _now_ is your _when_! Your job is to find the legal way of helping +the Cause." + +"I will!" promised Onthemaker, heartfully. The Cause would be his Cause. +He'd fix it so they couldn't leave out his name. + +But Hendrik saw the gleam in the lawyer's eye. + +That's the worst of all thoughts of self. They invariably are +undisguisable. + +"The Cause, Onthemaker," said Hendrik, sternly, "is the cause of the +Society of American Sandwich Artists. We are not associated to make +money for ourselves, but for our employers. This is revolutionary. +Moreover, we are not working-men, but artists. Therefore our men not +only love their work, but are law-abiding. This will make the employers +helpless to retaliate. We shall never do anything without invoking the +aid of the law, for I believe that the law will help the poor not less +than the rich if properly--" + +"Advertised," prompted Max. "I get you. In the forum of the people's +liberties--the daily papers--is the place to try--" + +Hendrik held up a hand. He had chosen the right lawyer. The +interpretation of the law depends exclusively upon the tone of voice. +All reporters are trained to be judges of elocution. They have to be, in +republics. + +"To-morrow--" Here Hendrik paused. + +Max's face paled slightly as he waited. What was coming? + +Hendrik finished: "_I shall telephone to you!_" + +Max drew in his breath sharply. + +Hendrik then nodded. It meant, "You have my permission to retire!" + +"Thank you, Mr. Rutgers," said Max, respectfully, and withdrew from the +presence on tiptoe. + +Hendrik then beckoned to his sandwich lieutenant. "Fleming!" he said, +sternly. + +Fleming threw up an arm defensively from force of habit--the slave's +immemorial salute. Then he grinned sheepishly. Then he said, eagerly, +"Yes, boss!" + +"I'm going to make you chief of the Meal Ticket Department, and I expect +you to maintain discipline. But if I ever hear of any graft, such as +accepting bonuses--" He closed his jaws and his fists. When you close +both at the same time you inevitably win the debate. It is, however, +difficult. + +"Honest, b-boss," stammered Fleming, his eyes on Hendrik's right fist. +"Honest, I--" + +The boss's right unclenched itself. Fleming drew in a deep breath. + +"Get the names and addresses of all the men here--in their own writing. +Ask Onthemaker for a blank-book, and when the men have signed give the +book back to him. They've got to sign!" + +Fleming's face was pale but resigned. Signatures are lethal weapons in +all industrial democracies. Ask the note-teller in any bank. But the +boss had said, "_Sign!_" + +Kismet! + +"And you keep a book of your own so that when I want ten or twenty men +of a certain type and appearance you will know where to find them. I +hold you responsible!" + +Poor Fleming almost collapsed. Responsibility in a republic really means +accountability. Our entire system of law, as a great psychologist has +pointed out, is based upon the same confusion of definitions. + +Hendrik saw the fear of statutory punishment seep into his lieutenant's +soul. He stopped it at exactly the right point. + +"Fleming," he said, kindly, "I trust you!" + +Fleming felt himself decorated with the Grand Cross of the Order of +Unearned Food. It made him into an active citizen. + +"I'll get the men when you shout, boss!" he promised, proudly, realizing +the meaning of the duty of a voter. + +However, it would never do to have your creatures think they also have +the power to create. Therefore Hendrik said, "If you don't--" + +"I'll get 'em for you, b-boss. Honest, I will!" meekly promised Fleming, +taking his place in the ranks. He was an ideal cabinet officer. + +Hendrik Rutgers did not _know_ men. He _guessed_ them. He thus saved +himself the fatigue of thinking. + +Weinpusslacher swaggered by, counting his millions. He had begun to feel +haughty. Hendrik stopped him by lifting his right forefinger and then +smartly moving it Hendrikward. + +"Weinie, I guess you're famous. You give the free meal tickets to +Onthemaker. And don't try to cheat!" + +"I never do such--" began Caspar, angrily. + +"You never will to me," interrupted Hendrik, making Weinie's unuttered +words his own. It took away from Weinie all sense of proprietorship in +his own property. + +This also is called genius. Such men should be tax-collectors instead of +railroad bankers. + +Hendrik glanced toward the reporters and saw that Mr. Onthemaker was +talking to them and looking at him--looking at him both ingratiatingly +and proudly. He therefore knew that Max was being quoted by the +newspaper men, and the only subject on which they would quote him was +Hendrik Rutgers. He also knew that the desire for reflected glory, in +all newspaper-reading countries, is so strong that Max would be a great +political historian. The best way to blow your own horn is to lend it to +an obscure friend. + +Hendrik Rutgers left the Colossal Restaurant certain that he was News, +and that his job consisted of continuing to be News. + +To become News and then to continue to be News a man must be plausible, +persistent, and picturesque. + +There was no altitude of success to which he might not climb, provided +he lost six-sevenths of his name and mutilated his surname in like +degree. + +He must become two letters: _H. R._ + +He thus would become an immortal during his own lifetime, which was +immortality enough for any man who merely wished to acquire fame, +wealth, and one wife in his own country. + +So brightly lighted was his road that he knew exactly where to plant +each foot--in the front page! + +He must do it all. Therefore he must make others do the work. But this +man who now was a million miles beyond all bank clerks knew exactly +_what_ he needed, which made it easy for him to know exactly _whom_ he +needed. This knowledge would establish the basis on which the workers +must work. + +He sought a newspaper-advertising agency; ordered the manager to insert +in all the morning papers the same advertisement, in large type, with +triple spacing, to show that money was no object. + +This always impresses people who wish to make money. + +The advertisement read: + + WANTED--FIRST-CLASS ADVERTISING CANVASSERS. I AM ANXIOUS TO + PAY 50 PER CENT. MORE THAN IS CUSTOMARY TO SUCH MEN. THIS + DOES NOT MEAN YOU, MY HUNGRY AND HOPEFUL FRIEND! Apply + between 9 and 10 A.M. to + + H. R. + + ALLIED ARTS BLDG. + + _P. S. The better the men the fewer I need. The fewer I use + the greater the profit to the lucky ones. Keep away unless + you are a Wonder._ + +It was the first time that an advertisement for "Help Wanted" had +contained a postscriptum. H. R. did it because he knew that the +unusualness of it would make professional people talk. Every experienced +advertising man must realize that H. R. had not written an +advertisement, but had dictated a brief letter to him. The signer was +too busy and too much in earnest to compose a regular advertisement. + +Genius neglects no opportunity, however slight. Consider the small but +efficient yellow-fever microbe. + + + + +V + + +Monday morning, at 8.30 A.M., H. R. was in his office. At 8.35 he had +engaged a stenographer by telephone and told the starter and the +elevator-men who H. R. was. Later on the dozen men who answered the +advertisement made it impossible for either starter or elevator-men ever +to forget who H. R. was without the use of gratuities, profanity, or +promises. + +H. R.'s first task was to compose memoranda for the use and guidance of +Max Onthemaker and Lieutenant Fleming. At 8.45 the first-class +advertising canvassers began to appear in numbers. Really efficient men +are never modest. Neither are really inefficient men. Efficiency is +always a matter of personal judgment. Even efficiency experts will tell +you that nobody is really efficient until efficiency experts have said +so. + +H. R. allowed the applicants to accumulate in the anteroom. The new +stenographer had been told to write, "Now is the time for all good men +to come to the aid of their party" two thousand times and to time +herself. The spectators thereby realized that this was a busy office. + +He was confronting his first crisis--the selection of a man who must not +only be highly competent, but must be made to realize that H. R. was a +pioneer, a man to whom tradition, precedents, and custom were less than +nothing. H. R. studied the situation and then went out to the anteroom +and looked at the waiting dozen slowly. + +There are a few men in the world who can look a crowd from head to foot +and manage to make each man in it feel guilty. After H. R. had so looked +at them, he asked, skeptically, "Are _all_ of you first-class men?" + +To their honor be it said, not one of them answered No. Men collectively +may be cruel or blind, but seldom petty or egotistical. Observe mobs. + +H. R. turned his back on the crowd and returned to his private office. +He did it on purpose. Men usually follow those who act as if they do not +care whether they have a following or not. It is wiser to be wrong and +not hesitate than to vacillate and be right. Besides, much quicker. + +At the threshold he half turned and, without looking at any one in +particular, said: "I need only four first-class men. The others might as +well go away." + +Twelve men heard him. Twelve men followed him. + +He sat down at his new desk, put the unpaid bill for same in a drawer, +and confronted them. + +"Eight of you can go," he observed, and waited. + +Each man cast a glance of pity at his neighbor. + +"Don't be so modest," H. R. told them, kindly. + +"You said first-class men?" politely inquired a young man, +smooth-shaven, blond, blue-eyed, and very clean-looking. + +"Yes," answered H. R. + +"That's what I understood," said the young man, extending his hand. +"Barrett's my name." + +H. R. ignored the outstretched hand and stared at the clean-looking +young man. + +On the faces of eleven Christian gentlemen came a fraternal look of +self-conscious modesty. But young Mr. Barrett, unabashed, said, +cheerily: + +"Keep on looking. _I_ know you want me. When _you_ discover it, we'll do +business." + +"Go to the foot of the class," said H. R., impassively. You could tell +nothing from his voice. It is a valuable gift. + +The young man eyed H. R. shrewdly, then walked to a corner of the room, +sat down, pulled a memorandum-book from his pocket, and began to count +his contracts in advance. + +"Your _last_ name, please," said H. R., looking as if what he had asked +for was the _right_ name. The assumption of guilt has the effect of +putting even the innocent on the defensive. The strategic inferiority of +the defensive is always acknowledged by the defeated--even before the +defeat. + +He jotted down the replies, one after another. Within one and +three-quarter minutes these men felt themselves deprived of their +individual entities. They had been turned into a list of surnames, a +fragment of the rabble. + +The leader stood alone--he alone had a _first_ name! Smith merely votes; +John Smith has his own opinion. H. R. had acted instinctively. He never +would have had the conscious wisdom of an editorial writer. There are +many editorial writers in all republics. Hence, practical politics. + +"Where did you see my advertisement?" asked H. R. "One at a time, +please. Also, state why you looked in that particular newspaper?" + +They told him, one at a time, in the hearing of the others, thereby +intensifying their own feeling of having been lumped into an +electorate. He made notes as they answered. Some had seen it in the +_Herald_. Others blamed the _World_ or the _Times_ or the _Sun_, or the +_Tribune_. Three gave two papers; one had seen three. They expressed +their professional opinion of that particular advertising medium, +feeling that said opinion was a qualification of fitness. + +Young Mr. Barrett from his chair answered: "In all the papers. I also +looked in the German, Yiddish, and Italian papers; in the _Courier des +Etats-Unis_, and in the first morning edition of every afternoon paper. +I did it to get a line on _you_." + +H. R. did not look as if he had heard Barrett. He said to the others: "I +thank you all for coming. I shall not need Wilson, Streeter, Manley, +Hill, Roberts, Smith, Jenks, or MacDuffy." + +One of the rejected came forward, scowling. He was naturally a +robust-looking person. He said, "Say, this is--" + +H. R. did not allow the full expression of individual opinion--a form of +salutary discipline which explains why people are governed. He snarled +in a tone of voice that made his shoulders look a yard wide: "Mr. Book +Agent, I've picked the men I want. What I don't want is to hear any +remarks. Talk them into a dictagraph and send the cylinders by parcels +post to my secretary." + +He had risen. But when he finished speaking, as though the unarmed +proletariat were in full retreat, he sat down again. It was the way he +did it. + +Men always do what they are expected to do. The eight non-successfuls +went out. It was only when they were outside, where the female was +typewriting away, that they began to talk loudly. + +H. R. had judged rightly. They were not first-class men. He turned to +the others and asked: + +"Can you _sell_ advertising?" + +Young Mr. Barrett came forward. The four answered, "Yes!" + +"Then you can sell anything!" + +He stood up suddenly, when they were not expecting such a thing. This is +always subtly disconcerting. Business men and beautiful women invariably +resent it. + +He asked, sharply, "What is the one thing none of you can sell to me?" + +He looked challengingly at the first. The man stared back at H. R. and, +with the canvasser's professional look of congratulation, replied, "A +gold brick!" + +"Good answer! Not _the_ answer. And you?" he asked the second man. + +"Newspaper space--not to you." + +"Still better answer. But not the answer." + +He looked at the third man, who promptly said: "Opinions!" + +"Excellent. But not the answer. And you, young man?" + +The accusation of youth is never successfully repulsed. Young Mr. +Barrett, ingeniously admitting his youth to remove the sting from his +humor, replied triumphantly, "Smallpox!" + +"The tendency of American youth is toward the clown. It keeps us in an +attitude of perennial apology toward the perennial juvenility of our +nation. What none of you can sell me is--" + +He paused. They were looking at him with the intentness with which all +men look at an armed lunatic--or at their master. + +After the second minute of suspense they exclaimed in chorus: + +"What?" + +They couldn't help it! + +"Cold feet!" said H. R. calmly. + +They looked relieved. Then they looked anxious. The reason the ruled +masses never win is because they inflict upon themselves their own +doubts. + +"How many times your own salary do you wish to earn for me?" asked H. R. +in the tone of voice in which a philanthropist asks strangers for +subscriptions to his pet charity. This always makes people feel that +extravagance is a sin. + +"I'd expect to earn for you--" began one of the victims. + +"Not what you would _expect_, but what you would _like_," corrected +H. R. He spoke so kindly that they at once knew it was a trap. A look of +brotherhood always is, to all clever men of an editorial type of mind. + +"Four or five times," answered No. 1. + +"And you?" + +"I don't want to work for you at all," answered No. 2, feeling that his +answer was sure not to be right. + +"Good morning," said H. R. in such a voice and with such a look that No. +2 instantly ceased to exist. When he walked out he didn't hear his own +footsteps. + +"And you?" + +"It depends," answered No. 3 in the earnest voice of a man trying to be +fair at all costs, "upon what the work will be." + +"I sha'n't need you. Please don't ask me questions. Good day, sir." + +"I have a right--" + +"None whatever. It would be cruelty if I told you." + +Mr. Barrett laughed. No. 3 said, angrily, "You can't come that on me and +get away with it, you damned--" + +"Go while the going is good, friend." H. R. spoke with the cold kindness +of a man warning an objectionable inebriate. Then, when the loss of +patience of a prize-fighter who, however, has not quite lost sight of +the electric chair: "Get out! D'ye _hear_?" + +The man left. H. R. stared out of the window. They could see it was to +cool off. It gave the remaining pair a great respect for him and also a +resolve not to stimulate the heat verbally. At length H. R. turned to +No. 1 and said, "Wolverton is your name?" + +"Yes," answered Wolverton. Then he added, "Sir." + +"Do you always get what you want?" + +"I get my share." + +"Barrett, do you get what you want?" + +"Always!" promptly answered Barrett. "But I've got to be sure I want +it." + +"The more money you two wish to make the better you please me. It will +give you something to brag of. In working for me you will receive your +share of prosperity and the pleasure of becoming somebody." + +He looked as if the three of them stood in the plain sight of two and +one-half millions of spectators. He went on, even more impressively, +"You will now go on Fifth Avenue and graciously permit the swellest +shops to employ our union sandwich-men to advertise their wares." + +Wolverton rose to his feet. His color also rose. + +"You didn't want me to waste your time, did you?" + +"No, but you have. Good day. Now, Barrett, listen to me. I never +repeat." + +Mr. Wolverton opened his mouth, perceived that H. R. was not looking at +him, closed his mouth and went out. He was a well-dressed man with a +determined chin. If it had not been for that chin he would have been a +bookkeeper. Determination minus imagination equals stubbornness. + +Mr. Wolverton therefore walked out unbleeding. + +"Barrett, do you see the possibilities?" + +"Do I? Didn't I see the parade? Say, I can only think when I talk. Trust +_me_! Speaking of terms--" He looked at H. R., nodded amiably, and said, +"After you, kind friend." + +"You will ask our clients five dollars per day per man, they to pay for +the boards, which must be artistic and approved by me. The union label +will be on them. Forty per cent. goes to the artist, forty per cent. to +you, and ten per cent. to the society. Don't try Valiquet's. Tackle +everybody else first. I'll be here all the afternoon. Barrett, I expect +you to do your damnedest!" + +He rose, shook hands with young Mr. Andrew Barrett, escorted him to the +door, and returned to his desk. + +He sat there, thinking. He intended Barrett should fail in order that +when H. R. made him succeed, later, Barrett should know to whom the +credit should go, though the commissions would fall into Barrett's +pocket. That would make the young man really useful. + +The telephone people had not yet installed the apparatus in his office, +so he went downstairs and called up Mr. Maximilian Onthemaker. + +"Onthemaker?... This is H. R. speaking.... Of course I saw the +papers.... Yes, all of them. Come up to my office. At once!... I can't +help it; I need you--this means the front page again. If you don't want +the job.... I thought you would! Remember, I'm waiting. Do you hear me? +_Waiting!_" + +The greatest stroke of political genius on the part of Louis XIV. was +his rebuke: "I almost have been made to wait!" + +What, wait?--H. R.? + +If it had not been that taxicabs cost actual money, M. Onthemaker would +have taken one. But he knew he soon would have one of his own--if the +newspapers did their share. + +Before Max could decide whether he ought to say good morning to H. R. in +a sulky tone of voice at being called from an important conference, or +smile pleasantly, H. R. said: + +"Onthemaker, I am going to advertise a shop without permission and +without pay." + +"Another restaurant, like--" + +"Like nothing. Don't interrupt again, not even to approve. I am going to +have Valiquet's, the jewelers, brought to the notice of Fifth Avenue +through the medium of our sandwich-men. I anticipate objections. The +statute clearly says we must not use a person's name for purposes of +trade without his consent. But I'm not going to use the name of a +person, but of a corporation, _for its own trade and profit_. There is +no law that can prevent me from putting money into a corporation's +treasury--" + +"A commission of lunacy--" + +"Be quiet. They can't stop me legally, if you are our counsel." Max +bowed, opened his mouth, and promptly closed it when he saw H. R.'s +face. "They might try to get out an injunction, but you must beat them +to it. They will probably try to get the police to stop us by alleging +breach of the peace, disorderly conduct, or some violation of a city +ordinance. I want you to prepare in advance restraining orders or +applications for injunctions or whatever is needed to prevent +interference with us. You are the counsel of the Society of American +Sandwich Artists. Prepare papers also in the names of individual +members. The poor sandwich artist, working for a mere pittance, without +money to pay his able but charitable and indignant counsel, will fight +the richest jewelry-shop in the world. The pearl showcase alone would +feed one hundred and eighty-six thousand, four hundred and fifty-one men +one week. Do you get that?" + +"Do I?" Max Onthemaker, able and indignant, was rushing to embrace +H. R., on whose face he saw ten thousand front-page head-lines, when +H. R. said, coldly: + +"Sit down. This is only the beginning." + +Max sat down. He felt very much more like kneeling in adoration before +this god of success. + +"Yes, sir," he murmured, prayerfully, and looked with his very soul. + +"Be ready with the papers for the papers." + +Perceiving a puzzled look on the lawyer's face, H. R. explained: "Draw +the legal papers up so they will be news. And remember that _I_ am the +society. You are merely a lawyer lucky enough to be _its_ lawyer. If you +don't know what the reporters like to print, bring the injunctions and +typewritten argument to me this afternoon. Go away now. I'm going to +Valiquet's." + +"Not to--" + +"Not to anything you may think." + +Max Onthemaker walked away, and even as he walked he began to fear that +the newspapers would not let him have more than twenty-eight columns. It +behooved him to be brief. What with the immemorial wrongs of the poor, +and the inalienable rights of American citizens, and the abuse of +wealth, and the arrogance of unconvicted millionaires, and the supine +subservience of the police and the politicians to Big Business, how +could he use less than three pages? How? + +But he must do it. He asked himself what steps he would take to prevent +the sandwich-men, or anybody, from advertising him, and he could find no +objection. But he had imagination. He indignantly put himself in the +place of Valiquet's and hired M. Onthemaker, Esq., to stop the beasts. +And then he proceeded to make the able counsel of the S. A. S. A. punch +the great jewelers' case full of holes--such holes as would let out the +law in the way the reporters would like. This would make said holes the +kind that no judge, thinking of re-election and the recall, would dare +to plug up. When your client is poor and doesn't use dynamite, sympathy +is the best law with juries. And when it came to picking out jurors, Max +had inherited a vision for dollars which enabled him to tell the +contents of a juror's inside pocket to the penny, and therefore the +exact hatred of riches of each of the twelve peers. + + + + +VI + + +H. R. sent word to Fleming, _via_ Caspar Weinpusslacher, that he desired +to meet about fifty members of the society at the Colossal Restaurant +that evening at seven sharp. He then went to Valiquet's. The firm's name +was not visible on the facade; only a beautiful bronze clock. Everybody +was expected to know that this was Valiquet's, and everybody did, +particularly those who could not afford to buy jewels. It had engendered +throughout the entire country that familiar form of American snobbery +which consists not only of having the best that money can buy, but of +telling everybody that the watch or the necklace or the solitaire or the +stick-pin came from Valiquet's. + +He entered the most beautiful store in the world as though his feet had +carried him thither automatically, from force of habit. He looked +approvingly, as for the millionth time, at the wide teak boards of the +floor and the ornate but beautiful solid-silver ceiling and the cool +variegated purple-gray marble columns. He paused by the pearl-counter +and stared at the one-hundred-thousand-dollar strings with what you +might call an amiable tolerance; it wasn't their fault, poor things! + +He moved on, reluctantly, six feet farther and examined, with a little +more insistence, the emeralds, the fashionable gems of the season. + +"Very fair! Very fair, indeed!" he seemed to be saying encouragingly to +the dazzling green things. + +The well-trained clerks looked at him, took a respectfully eager step +toward him as if to place themselves unreservedly at his orders, and +then abruptly immobilized themselves in their tracks--their tribute to +expert knowledge! + +He did not look up, but, as if he were aware that the world was looking +on, ready to obey, he rested his finger-tip on the showcase immediately +above an eighteen-carat cabochon emerald surrounded by very white +diamonds set in platinum. By instinct he had picked out the best. + +A clerk opened the case, took out the emerald, and respectfully laid it +before the connoisseur. H. R. fumbled in his waistcoat pockets, then in +his coat, allowed himself to look annoyed at having forgotten his pocket +magnifying-glass, picked up the jewel, looked at it closely for flaws, +then at arm's-length for general effect. + +He laid it on the velvet mat, raised his eyes and met the clerk's. + +The clerk smiled uncertainly. H. R. unsmilingly raised his +eyebrows--very slightly. + +"Sixty-eight thousand five hundred, Mr.--eh--" + +H. R. hesitated. Then he shook his head resolutely. Having mastered the +temptation, he nodded to the clerk, and said, kindly, "Thank you." + +"Not at all, sir," gratefully said the clerk. + +H. R. walked on, a marked man, high in the estimation of the clerks +because he had _not_ bought a sixty-eight-thousand-dollar emerald. + +Don't you wonder how they do it? What is it? Intuition? Genius? + +A floor-walker who had taken in H. R.'s introduction of himself to +Valiquet's bowed deferentially to H. R. and blamed his memory for not +remembering the name. He was certain he knew the gentleman well. + +H. R. nodded and asked: "I wish to have a bronze statuette designed and +cast for me. Which department, please?" + +"Up-stairs, Mr.--er-- Second floor, sir. Mr. Gwathmey is in charge, +and--" + +"Oh, Gwathmey!" H. R. was obviously much relieved. + +"Yes, sir. He's still with us, sir. Elevator on the left." + +"Thank you," said H. R., and the man smiled gratefully. + +You don't have to buy to be treated politely in New York. The mere +suspicion of the power of purchase is enough. It is thus that the +principle "Politeness pays" has been established among stock-brokers and +jewelers. + +H. R. was directed to the head of the department, to whom he said, with +a sort of boyish eagerness, "Mr. Gwathmey, I'm very much interested in +the Movement, as you probably know, and I wish my little society to have +a _very_ artistic emblem." + +He looked expectantly at Mr. Gwathmey, who thereupon bowed at the +implied compliment, but, not knowing what to say, said nothing. + +"You read in the papers about the parade my poor fellows had Saturday?" + +"Not the--er--sandwich-men's parade?" + +"Yes!" H. R. smiled so gratefully and congratulatory that Mr. Gwathmey +felt himself enrolled among the honorary vice-presidents. "That's it. +The society emblem is a skeleton and the sandwich-boards are a +coffin--" + +"Yes, I read that," and Mr. Gwathmey smiled at the delightful humor of +the conceit. + +H. R. instantly frowned at the levity--all very rich men frown at all +smiles aimed at their pet hobbies. + +Mr. Gwathmey, knowing the ways of millionaires, hastened to explain, +gravely, "There is a great deal to that idea!" + +"Nobody helped me!" H. R. spoke eagerly, as all youthful aristocrats +speak when they speak of their own ideas. "The Ultimate Sandwich! What +you and I shall be at least once. I am glad you agree with me. Now, I +wish statuettes made in bronze in three sizes, two, four, and six inches +high, so they can be used by my friends as desk ornaments. And can you +put on a nice _patine_?" + +"Oh yes! And--er--Mr.--ah--" Gwathmey looked ashamed of himself. + +But H. R. smiled pleasantly and said: "It is easy to see you are +not a Rutgers College man. I'm Mr. Rutgers. _My_ father--" He +stopped--naturally. + +"I'm sorry to say I'm Harvard, Mr. Rutgers," said Mr. Gwathmey, +contritely. "But don't you think it would be a little gruesome for a +desk ornament?" + +"Not at all. The Egyptians used to bring in a skeleton at their feasts +so that the timid guests should cease to fear dyspepsia. And the +_Memento Mori_ of later centuries had its _raison d'etre_. I have a +Byzantine ivory carving of a skull that is a gem. Holbein's 'Dance of +Death' is not inartistic. It is up to you people to keep my skull from +being repulsive. I wish to get something that will drive home the fact +to us careless Americans that the richest is no better than the +poorest. For we are _not_!" H. R. said this decisively. When the +aristocrat tells you that you and he are not a bit better than the +proletariat, what you understand him to say is that you also are an +aristocrat. A democratic aristocracy is invincible. + +"No," agreed Mr. Gwathmey, proudly, "we are not!" + +"Let me have a sketch as soon as possible. It is to raise funds for our +superannuated sandwiches." + +Mr. Gwathmey saw no humor in either the intention or the phrase. As an +alert business man who studied the psychology of customers, he knew that +society leaders had advocated the cause of the shirtwaist workers and of +certain educational movies--especially society leaders who had reached +the age when their looks and their pearls no longer entitled them to the +pictorial supplements. How else could they stay in the newspapers except +by indignation over the wrongs of social inferiors? By espousing the +cause of the lower classes, the latter also remained lower. + +Mr. Gwathmey smiled tolerantly and nodded. Then he looked dreamy and +murmured: "I see! I see _exactly_ what you want: a skeleton carrying a +coffin as sandwich-boards. The Ultimate Sandwich." + +He saw it in the air, two feet from the tip of his nose; he was a +creative artist. Then he became a salesman. + +"We can submit designs to you, Mr. Rutgers--" + +"To-day?" + +"Oh, gracious, no! We couldn't--" + +"To-morrow, then. You have grasped the idea completely. No, Mr. +Gwathmey; no!" And H. R. held up a hand--the hand of Fate. "To-morrow, +at the latest! Must have it! I hate waiting. That's why I came to +Valiquet's instead of Shoreham's. And now," he went on before Mr. +Gwathmey could protest, "I wish also a series of designs for +sandwich-boards--heraldic shields, scutcheons and bucklers, +spade-shapes, rectangular boards of the right proportion, circles, and a +keystone for use by the Pennsylvania Railroad. I propose to raise the +sandwich to the highest form of art. I shall experiment with various +materials--wood, metal, and composition, with raised as well as with +sunken letters, in divers colors, vert antique and beautiful soft grays, +and iridescent-glass mosaic. Can't you imagine a sandwich being made +artistic, if I get competent experts to design them?" H. R. looked +anxiously at the competent expert. + +"Indeed I can," replied Mr. Gwathmey, with conviction. "Indeed I can, +Mr. Rutgers. It is an excellent idea!" + +"Thank you. Do you know, I thought so, too!" + +Mr. Gwathmey, being a kindly man, was so pleased at having suggested, +evolved, and improved a great idea that he filled with enthusiasm. +Enthusiasm always made him take out his pencil and reach for a pad. He +did so now. + +"For instance--" he said, and he began to design. + +"Exactly! Exactly!" said H. R., with such eager admiration that Mr. +Gwathmey was inspired by love of the young man. "I'd give everything I +own, Mr. Gwathmey, to have your gift!" + +Mr. Gwathmey modestly felt his talents overcapitalized. Everything this +eccentric but clever scion of the Knickerbockers owned? Mr. Gwathmey +almost saw the old Rutgers farm! It must have had at least one hundred +and fifty acres bounded by Broadway, Wall, Fulton, and the East River. A +very nice young man, with agricultural ancestors in New Amsterdam. + +"Won't you give me these, Mr. Gwathmey?" pleaded H. R. + +"We never send out such rough--" + +"These are not the firm's, but Gwathmey's. Just sign your name and let +me keep these as souvenirs. Please!" And H. R. smiled with boyish +eagerness. + +Mr. Gwathmey signed his initials, and reluctantly gave the drawings to +H. R., shaking his modest head deprecatingly. + +H. R. reverently put the precious sheets in his pocket and said: "Thank +you very much. Now you get your best sculptor to model my Ultimate +Sandwich by to-morrow, won't you?" Then he proceeded to contradict in +advance--a purely feminine habit, sometimes used with great effect by +masculine leaders--"Oh yes, he can. I'm sure _you_ can make him do it if +you wish to be nice!" + +What reply could Mr. Gwathmey possibly make? He made it. "I'll do my +best, Mr. Rutgers; but--" + +"Then it's done," said H. R., with such conviction that Mr. Gwathmey +filled his own lungs with oxygen. "And the designs for the various kinds +of sandwich-boards, in color, with the different materials indicated. +Send them to me, Allied Arts Building, won't you?" + +H. R. forgot to say anything about costs. Only the nobility forget such +things, for the nobility know that Valiquet's work is perfect. Mr. +Gwathmey therefore forgot to be cautious. He said, "Very well, Mr. +Rutgers." + +"Thank you so much!" That little phrase of gratitude in that same tone +of voice has often made plebeians feel like dying to prove _their_ +gratitude. Then H. R. hesitated, looked at Mr. Gwathmey, and, +recklessly vaulting over all caste-barriers, said, "I wish to shake +hands with the man who designed my sandwiches!" + +Mr. Gwathmey actually blushed as he shook hands warmly. The moment H. R. +left, Mr. Gwathmey rushed to his office to take steps to please young +Mr. Rutgers. + +Rutgers College--culture; Hendrik--Knickerbocker; no question about +price--inherited wealth; newspaper front page--somebody! + +A nice boy, bless him! + +Mr. Gwathmey at that moment was the only man who really knew H. R. Like +a book! + +Thus are historic characters analyzed by intimate friends. Invaluable +testimony! Interesting side-lights! + +H. R. went back to his office and began to copy Mr. Gwathmey's designs. +He had barely finished when Andrew Barrett entered. He looked humorous. +Young men always do when they are angry at having failed but do not wish +to call it failure, and therefore must not look angry. Defeat is never a +joke. Therefore a joke can never be an acknowledgment of defeat. Very +easy! Origin: U. S. A. Reason: national juvenility. + +Before Barrett could speak H. R. asked, "Nobody would be first?" + +"No; nor second." + +"They will. Did you properly play up the wisdom and glory of being +first?" + +"Of course." + +"Go back and tell them that Valiquet's will advertise with our +sandwiches as soon as they have prepared artistic boards. The other men +have lost the chance to be first. They are asses. Tell them so and book +them for second place. Dwell strongly on the fact that the commercial +standing of each shop will be determined by the richness of the +sandwich-boards. Tell them confidentially that Valiquet's will do some +wonderful stunts with real bronze and iridescent-glass mosaics valued at +ten thousand dollars. The firm are taking big chances with breakage in a +crowded avenue, but that's why they are on top of the heap. The +department stores might try real lace edging and gold-thread +hand-embroidery on Genoese velvet." + +Valiquet's advertising campaigns were models of ultra-conservatism and +costly refinement. And now, sandwiches! + +"Have you--" began young Mr. Barrett in awed tones. + +"I have. Get busy! Tell them to watch. On next Monday begins the +greatest revolution in advertising this country ever experienced. We are +making history! Pledge them to advertise through us, if we deliver the +goods. It will be the only swell way. Get that?" + +"Betcherlife!" And Mr. Andrew Barrett rushed off. + + + + +VII + + +H. R. went out to have his boards made. He distributed orders among +wood-carvers and plaster-casting ateliers, and devised a method by which +boards could be made on the principle of stereotypers' matrices, only +the letters were raised. He pledged the makers to deliver the boards +within twenty-four hours, and as he did not haggle over the price by the +simple expedient of not asking for it, they promised. When a man is +permitted to fix his own profit he will do anything except go to church. + +At seven sharp, accompanied by Andrew Barrett, H. R. went to Caspar +Weinpusslacher's. He could not get a seat. People stood in dozens, +waiting for the early dinner to finish. And most of the waiting +customers were fashionably dressed. The Colossal Restaurant had become a +fad. + +Caspar greeted H. R. with respect. He did not yet feel strong enough to +display ingratitude. + +"I'll fix a special table, Mr. Rutchers," he said. + +H. R. nodded assent and then sought Fleming. At the longest table sat +twenty-seven unionized artists. + +"Are you getting the full thirty-cent dinner?" he asked, paternally. + +"Yes, sir," Fleming hastily assured him. + +H. R. looked at his men. They looked away uneasily. Was this to be their +last free meal? + +H. R. turned to Andrew Barrett and said in a voice that did not reach +the members and therefore increased their uneasiness: + +"Barrett, in unionizing these men, thereby making them free sandwiches, +I had in mind several things; one of them was the absolute control of +the New York papers." + +"How?" asked Barrett in utter non-comprehension. + +"By organizing my men into a Public Sentiment Corps. Their duty will be +to write letters to the newspapers. I figure that one bona-fide letter +to each thirteen thousand one hundred and eighty-six circulation creates +an irresistible demand. The _Evening Post_, of course, needs about one +to five hundred readers. I think eleven letters will be enough there. +Our men already have names, and hereafter they will have permanent +addresses." + +"And then?" + +"I furnish the paper, the stamps, and the literature. The men copy the +letters. The newspapers will do the rest. Did you bring the pads and +pencils I told you?" + +"Yes." + +"Pass 'em around, one to each man." + +Barrett did so. The men edged away in ill-concealed terror. + +"Take up the pencils!" commanded H. R. + +The members acted as if the pencils were rattlesnakes. + +"Did you hear me?" asked H. R., calmly. + +They trembled. But they were not slaves. No man can be compelled to +write in a free country. + +By feeding these men H. R. had given them the courage to refuse to obey +him! Was the food an error, as charitable philosophers have declared? + +The pencils remained untouched before the men. Fleming was the only one +who obeyed. But he was by now almost a capitalist--he was a distributor +of meal-tickets. + +"Mutiny!" muttered Andrew Barrett, and looked anxiously at his chief. +How would H. R. meet this crisis? The absolute control of the New York +papers hung in the balance. + +But H. R. merely asked, pleasantly, "Ready?" + +Not a man stirred. They had forgotten that he could fight! + +"I will dictate and each of you must write down what I say. I want to +know how well you can write." + +Two of the men began to shake their heads with growing independence. +Others followed, for moral courage is contagious, even in industrial +democracies. + +H. R. smiled confidently. That made them waver. Confidence is the most +demoralizing of all social factors. "Now write what I say and sign your +name after you finish." + +All of them shook their heads and frowned pugnaciously. + +H. R. dictated, "_Please pay us five dollars a day!_" + +They grabbed the pencils with one lightning-like movement, and wrote, +very plainly. They signed their names even more plainly. + +"Give them to Fleming. On Monday we begin work. I shall consider the +writing carefully." + +In this wise was organized the Public Sentiment Corps of the S. A. S. A. +Literature, it had once more been demonstrated, is merely a matter of +demand and supply. + + + + +VIII + + +After dining in the company of Barrett and Caspar Weinpusslacher, H. R. +went to the agency that had handled his newspaper advertising, opened a +charge account, and told them to send to all the morning papers the +following advertisement: + + _WANTED._--An actor who can look like a gentleman in good + health before a critical audience of 250,000. Apply in + person, without press notices. + + H. R. + Allied Arts Bldg. + +It was rather late in the evening when he sent for Max Onthemaker, but +this only served to strengthen the learned counsel's high opinion of +H. R. When H. R. told him what he proposed to do Max jumped in the air +for joy. Then he sat down limply. It suddenly occurred to him that H. R. +was far too intelligent. This is fatal to the right kind of newspaper +publicity. But H. R. soothed him and dispelled Max's doubts by showing +him exactly how to become an efficient and altogether legal _agent +provocateur_. The legal mind always concerns itself over the particular +paragraph. It comes from numbering the statutes. Max worked till dawn on +his papers and arguments. + +On the next morning H. R. selected, out of several dozen applicants, +four actors who looked really distinguished. The others walked away +cursing the trust. They are never original, as a class, by reason of +their habit of also reading the press notices of their colleagues. + +H. R. told the lucky four that he would give them the hardest part of +their lives. + +They looked at him pityingly. + +He then guaranteed to get their pictures in all the papers. + +They looked blase. + +He began to speak to them about fame and about money, and then about +money and fame--the power to go into any restaurant and cause an instant +cessation of all mastication, or walk into any manager's office and be +entreated to sign, at any price, only sign--sign at once! + +They accepted on the spot, and asked when the engagement began. In their +eagerness to be artists they forgot to ask the salary. + +H. R. then told them that they must introduce the art of sandwiching to +New York. They must command the union sandwiches. + +_Never!_ + +He explained to them very patiently, for he was dealing with +temperaments, that to make sandwiching an art required the highest form +of histrionic ability. Anybody could look like a gentleman on the stage +or in any of the Fifth Avenue drawing-rooms to which they were obviously +accustomed. But, unmistakably to look like a gentleman between +sandwich-boards would require a combination of Richard Mansfield and +ancient lineage. He asked them kindly to ponder on the lamented Edward +VII. How would the Kaiser act? That is the way he wanted his artists to +act--like royalty. It was the highest art ever discovered. They would be +the cynosure of all eyes on Fifth Avenue, where most eyes belong to +wealthy women who always look for, as well as at, handsome men of +discretion and bona-fide divorce decrees. The artists themselves would +represent Valiquet's, the world's greatest jewelers, and the newspapers +would be told of the enormous salaries paid. Some of the boards would be +of real gold, to be valued at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in +the most conservative of the newspapers. The men also would be paid in +cash, two dollars a day. + +"The idea is not to sandwich in the ordinary commercial way, but to give +our press agents the swellest opportunity of the century. Managers have +used real diamonds on the stage. Money buys them. I am using real +gentlemen. Money cannot make them. Valiquet's never does anything +inexpensive, and this is merely the first and most dazzling chapter in +the history of the New Art of Advertising. The newspapers will duly +chronicle the fact that each artist received one thousand dollars a +week--which the artists have turned over to charity, like gentlemen. To +be the Theodore Roosevelts of street advertisements is more than a +privilege, more than an honor, more than art--it is _cash_! There have +been sandwich-men. There shall be _sandwich-artists_! Gentlemen, you +will make history. If you feel you don't measure up to the job, you can +get the hell out of here!" + +They not only signed, but begged to begin on that day, even though it +was Friday. But H. R. was adamant. + +"Monday!" he said, "and no more remarks. Report at nine A.M., dressed +like gentlemen." + +Andrew Barrett reported enthusiastically that nearly every shop on the +Avenue was ready to sign contracts if Valiquet's began. There had been +some skepticism, and expectations were keyed up to the snapping-pitch. + +Mr. Gwathmey sent a dozen designs for boards and the model of the +Ultimate Sandwich. It was really a beautiful piece of work. H. R.'s luck +was with him. The young Frenchman who did it came into his own years +later. + +H. R. accepted them on official stationery of the society, ordered one +hundred of each size, and also asked that the designs of the +sandwich-boards be engraved in color. He told Barrett to get Valiquet's +written acceptance of his order. + +On Sunday all the newspapers were impressively notified that there would +be some novel and revolutionary advertising on the Avenue. To insure +attention, the newspapers were simultaneously informed also that the +Fifth Avenue Merchants' Guild had decided to advertise more extensively +in the daily press. New York would give an object-lesson in optimism and +confidence to the rest of the country. This would allay all fears as to +the fundamental soundness of the general business situation. Wall Street +might be in the dumps, but the legitimate merchants, up to the full-page +size, were more truly representative of the metropolis. + +Fleming had been told to detail himself, Mulligan, and the four most +typical sandwiches in the society to act as the advance-guard. He and +the five were at the office early Monday morning, so were the four +histrionic artists, so was Max Onthemaker with nineteen injunctions, +writs, and legal documents neatly typewritten, three process-servers, +and thirty copies of a statement for the newspapers. + +Each sandwich-man received his board and a copy of his own speech. It +was a plea for equal rights and the cessation of hostilities against a +poor man simply because he had no money, a prayer for the enforcement of +the Constitution, and three quotations from that obsolete Book that +taught sandwich-men how to turn the other cheek. Also a post-Scriptural +assertion that each man went to church to pray and not to ask for +unearned bread or jump on Standard Oil. + +Max himself made them memorize the speech. They were letter perfect +before he stopped. + +"This will kill 'em dead," he said, enthusiastically. "Why, Mr. Rutgers, +even the newspapers will think they are Christians and--" + +"Make them early Christians," wisely advised H. R. "Thats what the world +needs to-day!" + +"You are right, as usual. Hey, you fellows, add, _If we must die, we die +forgiving our fellow-men in the knowledge that after death we shall come +into our own._" + +"Hey, I ain't going to be killed just to--" began Mulligan, edging +toward the door. + +"In the newspapers, ass! In the front page, imbecile!" shrieked Max. + +Mulligan shook his head doggedly. + +"Mulligan!" said H. R., and clenched his right fist. + +"Ye-es, boss." + +"I'll be there to see that you get the forty beers and I'll guarantee +that you'll have a chance to assuage your thirst _after_ business +hours." + +"All right, boss," said Mulligan. "And I'll guarantee the thirst." + +"Say, can you beat it?" admiringly asked Max of Andrew Barrett. "Where +does he get it?" And he tapped his own cranium sadly. + +"And, Mulligan, if you should be locked up," added H. R., "the first +thing you do when you get to jail is to declare a hunger strike. This +will stamp you as Crusaders! And Crusaders never frighten Business." + +"Great heavens!" whispered Max. + +"Do we get the--" began Mulligan, anxiously. + +"Nothing need be said about drinking. You'll get your forty." + +"They can do their damnedest," said Mulligan, looking like a +hero-martyr. + +"Refer all reporters to your counsel," finally advised Max. "Forget +everything else, but not that, not that!" + + + + +IX + + +The four great actors, distinguished-looking, positively Beau +Brummelesque, in shining top-hats of the latest fashion, went out of the +Allied Arts Building to make history. They walked ahead abreast, their +eyes fixed straight ahead. Pedestrians instinctively parted to let them +by. Then they asked questions. + +Andrew Barrett's agents answered the questions. + +"They are the advance-guard. You ought to see what's coming!" + +The faint sense of waiting for something worth waiting for, that so far +only the annual police parade has been able to arouse in New York was +discernible on the faces of the spectators. They began to cluster on the +edges of the sidewalks. The chauffeurs began to look anxious. Honestly, +they did! + +Andrew Barrett had shown to the other shop-keepers the Valiquet designs +and told them to watch for the great jewelers' astounding coup. He +booked twenty-two orders for the next week. + +At two o'clock the artists sallied forth once more. The throngs opened +for them to pass. Those spectators who had put off lunching to see the +epoch-making stunt were rewarded. They saw four perfectly attired +gentlemen in top-hats, carrying dazzling escutcheons worthy of the +premier jewel-shop in the world. + +The six, walking professionally, carried the most beautiful boards ever +seen, with these legends: + +[Illustration: THIS BOARD DESIGNED BY VALIQUET'S PREMIER JEWELERS OF +AMERICA] + +[Illustration: WONDERS OF THE WORLD! THE OLD WORLD HAD SEVEN! THE NEW +WORLD HAS ONLY ONE: VALIQUET'S] + +They were followed by the six picked sandwiches, in their +working-clothes, but with wonderful boards. + +[Illustration: FOR SILVER AND GOLD, PEARLS, DIAMONDS, RUBIES, EMERALDS, +EXCLUSIVE DESIGNS VALIQUET'S WHO DESIGNED THIS BOARD] + +[Illustration: VALIQUET'S OFFICIAL DESIGNERS OF THE AMERICAN SOCIETY OF +SANDWICH ARTISTS] + +The sandwich was the thing! + +The sandwich-men were merely artists. + +The spectators recalled that ultimately all men and all women must +become sandwiches. + +It made New-Yorkers realize that Death was still on the job. This gave +them something to talk about that night at dinner, before dancing. + +Also three hundred and fifty thousand people saw the O. K. of "_H. R._" + +It is easy to remember two letters. + +It was an extraordinary sensation. The big shops emptied themselves. In +McQuery's and Oldman's and Mann & Baker's the rush to the Avenue doors +was so great that floor-walkers who tried to stem the tide were crushed, +manlike, by the women and borne, half-clad, upon the sidewalk. The +proprietors looked at the crowds, heard the same remark, "What is it?" +by the tens of thousands, saw the sandwiches, saw the looks on the tens +of thousands of faces, and said, "Damn!" + +They had not heard the knock of opportunity, and Valiquet's had. No +wonder the jewel firm's regular two-hundred-per-cent. quarterly +dividends were regular. It wasn't the big profit in gems; it was the +cars! + +The proprietors blamed their advertising managers. + +The triumphal march of the sandwiches was more than a success, more than +a sensation. It was an event. The four top-hatted histrions then and +there forswore the stage. No artist had ever won such triumphs since +Nero. They had started as Beau Brummels. They had become Kaisers--only +infinitely more Caesarean. And the union sandwiches following in Indian +file, oblivious, like true artists, of the admiration of the rabble, +thought of the end of the day, of the forty beers and the free food--of +unearned wealth!--and actually swaggered so that their parasite-infested +hirsuteness and their beast-faces took on an aspect of aristocratic +eccentricity, of zeal for a noble cause. Their rags, in juxtaposition to +the dazzling gorgeousness of their sandwich-boards, thus became +ecclesiastical vestments--pilgrims wearing tatters in fulfillment of +Lenten vows of renunciation. + +It was, of course, the masterly combination. Valiquet's was the last +word in swellness, the label of utterly inutilitarian wealth. + +The sandwich business was therefore the postscript. + +"Only Valiquet's would think of doing such a thing!" said all Fifth +Avenue, as usual giving credit to commercial genius instead of to the +creative artist. + +The other mercantile geniuses, seeing that their shoppers had declared a +legal holiday, frantically telephoned to Mr. Andrew Barrett to send out +_their_ sandwiches at once. They would pay ten dollars per man; yes, +twenty dollars. Only do it now! They did not wish to be put in the +position of _following_. This is fatal on Fifth Avenue. + +Valiquet's was skimming the cream! Never mind submitting the legends! +Get a hustle on! Never mind striking catch-phrases. That would come +later. Get the sandwiches on the Avenue! The bare name and the +sandwiches! + +The crowd, who had not had time to forget about the sandwich-men's +parade of a few days before, cleverly saw that this was the second +chapter. They therefore knew all about it and could and would say so to +their less-clever fellow-beings. Completeness of knowledge is one of the +nicest feelings in the world. + +Barrett excitedly reported the avalanche of orders to H. R. and was +promptly and calmly despatched to the board-makers to order fifty boards +each of the six Valiquet designs, three hundred in all. H. R. then +dictated a statement for publication, as to the real meaning of +sandwiching on Fifth Avenue. It was not merely advertising--it was +philanthropy. Much more went to feeding starving artists at the +Colossal Restaurant than to the militant brethren in the shape of wages. +It was also the best way of advertising Fifth Avenue's wares. + +Mr. Wilberforce Josslyn, president of Valiquet's corporation, was told +of the sandwich desecration of the holy name. His private secretary +alone had the courage to impart the news. + +Mr. Wilberforce Josslyn, feeling that he had to be to his help what his +firm was to the world, turned around in his Circassian-walnut +swivel-chair, said, "_Stop 'em!_" and revolved again. + +The secretary carried the order to the first vice-president, Mr. Angus +MacAckus; the first vice-president took it upon himself not only to stop +'em, but to punish 'em. He hastily descended to the main floor. What he +saw through the Fifth Avenue doors appalled him, and worse. Even within +the sacred precincts of the shop the reckless jewel-buying public and +the conservative charge-accounts alike were talking about it, actually +congratulating the gentlemanly salesmen and the courtly +department-managers and the obliging watch-repairers. + +Two men, whom he recognized as reporters by their intellectual faces, +approached him, but he ran away from them toward the door. + +Mrs. Vandergilt, undisputed Tsarina of society, was in one of the +compartments of the plate-glass and solid-silver stile, and he waited in +order to welcome her. They did not make a hundred thousand a year out of +her, for she was not from Detroit, but they had been official jewelers +to the family for sixty years, as they were of all the Vans who were Van +Somebody. The annual storage of the Vandergilt crown jewels was a +regular yearly story, like the police parade and the first snow-storm. + +"MacAckus," said Mrs. Vandergilt in her sharp, imperious voice, "why did +you do it? Not to advertise?" + +"Certainly not," answered Mr. MacAckus, forgetting himself and speaking +with heat. + +"I thought not. Well, I am glad you are helping. I shall send my check +to them. Poor men!" Then she had one of those moments of kindliness that +made people worship her: "It was a very clever thing to do, MacAckus. I +am glad you had not only the brains, but the courage." + +The reporters heard her. It was their business to get the news. Mr. +MacAckus realized that Mrs. Vandergilt's approval had changed the +complexion of the affair. At the same time, Valiquet's never talked for +publication, and the remarks of their clients were sacred. He turned to +the reporters and said in the peremptory tone that makes reporters so +obedient: + +"Not a word of this! Do you understand?" + +"We understand perfectly," said the _American_. "We certainly do!" and +wrote what Mrs. Vandergilt had said and what she was wearing. It would +be a text for one of Arthur Migraine's editorial sermons, proving that +millionaires, instead of being blown into ATOMS, should be freely +permitted to give MONEY for starving men to convert into FOOD. In fact, +NATURE wisely provided that millionaires should have MONEY to give away. +The more the POOR received the LESS the millionaire would take to the +USELESS GRAVE. + +Mr. MacAckus, greatly perturbed by this deviation from the norm, rushed +to the president's office to tell him Mrs. Vandergilt's opinion. +Before he could speak, Mr. Wilberforce Josslyn said: + +"Did you stop 'em?" + +"No, sir. Let me explain. Mrs. Vandergilt just came in and--" + +"I sent word to have 'em stopped!" said Mr. Josslyn, frowning. + +"Let me explain, Mr. Josslyn--" + +Disobedience cannot be explained away. Discipline must be enforced. It +is better to blunder under orders than to prevent disorganization from +interfering with dividends. The obvious advantage that a corporation +president has over his subordinates is that he does not have to be +hampered by petty details. + +"Stop 'em!" he said, coldly. + +"Mrs. Vandergilt said--" + +"And Mr. Josslyn said stop 'em!" He turned his back on MacAckus, who +thereupon rushed downstairs, frowning angrily. He'd stop 'em. + +He walked out into the Avenue. It was blocked. He tried to elbow his way +through the intelligent femininity and was nearly run in by a traffic +policeman. The women refused to budge--the sandwiches were coming. + +And would you believe it? As the shining top-hats drew near, the crowd +actually divided itself, Red-Sea-wise, to let H. R.'s chosen people pass +safely. + +Mr. MacAckus did not faint, because he was too angry. He stepped in +front of the four obvious gentlemen and held up a hand. He could not +speak. + +But the four, who had been elevated to imperial dignity by New York, +moved on so majestically that Mr. MacAckus began to retreat before them, +waving his hand frantically. He stepped backward, keeping time to their +steps, his hand moving up and down in his wrath. It looked for all the +world like a band-master indicating to his artists just how to play it. + +Backward he stepped; onward they marched; until speech returned to him: + +"Stop! _Stop! STOP!_" + +They did not hear him. + +He called to a policeman, "Stop 'em!" + +H. R. had won! + +The officer ran up. He was a policeman. He therefore said, "What's the +matter?" + +"These men have no right to use our name. We did not authorize them. We +wish them stopped from using our firm's name for--er--advertising +purposes. It's against the law. I'll make a complaint against them. Stop +'em!" + +Max Onthemaker came forward, his face pale with determination. Four +reporters trailed along. + +"Touch these gentlemen at your peril!" he said to the policeman. "Here +is a sworn copy of the statute referred to by that person." He shoved a +typewritten document under the officer's nose. There were two seals on +it; one was in anarchistic red and the other in Wall Street gold. + +"Observe," pursued Mr. Onthemaker, impressively and very distinctly, +that the reporters might not misquote, "that the statute says _the name +of a living person_ must not be used. But Valiquet's is a corporation. +Do you get that, officer? A _corporation_!" + +The officer read the newspapers. He knew what corporations were. They +bought votes for the Republicans; and, besides, they only paid the men +higher up. He therefore informed Mr. MacAckus: + +"I can't do not'n." + +"And even if you could, officer," said Mr. Onthemaker to the reporters, +"the magistrate would let them go with a reprimand for you. We are ready +for him." Then he said to MacAckus: "Get out of the way, or I'll have +you arrested for blocking traffic, causing a crowd to collect, for +assuming that you own the sidewalk, and for interfering with honest +working-men who are trying to earn a peaceful living. Also for +oppressing the poor. We have not asked you for money. We do not wish +your charity." He paused, and, shaking a finger at Mr. MacAckus, said, +loudly, "_We spurn your tainted money!_" + +H. R. had not made a mistake in picking out this man to represent the +society. Indeed, one reporter, in a stage whisper, actually hissed: + +"_Bribery!_" + +The officer looked at Mr. MacAckus and said, "Please move on, sir." + +"That's polite enough," said one of the reporters, making a note of it. +But Mr. MacAckus said: + +"Why, you infernal--" + +"_Move on!_" said the cop. + +"I am Mr. MacAckus, of Valiquet's--" + +"Tell him who you are, officer," said the diabolic Onthemaker, guessing +the cop's nationality. + +"I am Mr. McGinnis, of the thirty-first precinct." + +People began to clap their hands--people who never went into Valiquet's. +Mr. McGinnis thereupon laid a hand proudly on Mr. MacAckus's arm. + +Mr. MacAckus lost his head; that is, he shook off the white-gloved hand +of the law. + +The law blew its whistle, as the law always does in civilized +communities. + +Instantly, as though the whistle had been the cue, the stirring sound +of galloping steeds smote the asphalt of Fifth Avenue. + +"Let him go, Officer McGinnis," said Max Onthemaker, magnanimously. "We +do not care to appear against him." + +"Ain't he fine-looking?" a woman asked her companion, looking at the +law. She even pointed at him. + +Mr. McGinnis therefore haughtily said, "Resisting an officer--" + +H. R. on horseback, in correct riding attire, following seven mounted +traffic-squad men, appeared on the scene. + +"There he is!" said Mr. Onthemaker to the reporters, dutifully yielding +the center of the stage to its rightful possessor. After all, there was +only one H. R., and both H. R. and Max Onthemaker knew it. + +"That's the commissioner," said a clerk to the atmosphere. + +"It's young Vandergilt!" asserted the fickle one who had thought +McGinnis was fine-looking. + +Before the traffic squad could dismount, H. R. jumped down from his +horse, threw the reins to one of the mounted officers, said, "Look after +him!" so decisively that no remonstrance was possible, approached the +group, and said, "I'm Mr. Rutgers!" + +Fifth Avenue was impassable now. + +"_Who_ is it?" asked ten thousand who had been asking, "_What_ is it?" + +Those who had heard proudly repeated the name to those who had not. +Within forty seconds, as far as Thirty-fourth Street, intelligent +New-Yorkers were saying, "It's Mr. Rutgers!" + +Officer McGinnis touched his white-gloved hand to his cap. + +"That's Hendrik Rutgers!" explained Max Onthemaker to the reporters. + +H. R. looked Mr. MacAckus in the eye and said, with patrician frigidity: +"If you think you have any ground for a civil action, go ahead. My +office is in the Allied Arts Building. I'll accept service in person or +through my counsel here." + +A murmur went up: these were law-abiding men. They therefore must be not +only right, but mighty sure of it. All the lieutenant dared say, when he +saw the representative of business and the representative of the leisure +class was: "Gentlemen, I'm afraid you're blocking traffic. Perhaps, if +you went inside--" + +"Follow me!" said H. R. to his men, and he led them into Thirty-seventh +Street. He halted fifty feet from the corner. + +Mr. MacAckus had followed and unlimbered his heavy artillery. + +"This infernal outrage--" + +H. R. lost all patience. He said to the mounted lieutenant, "Take us to +the magistrate!" To Max Onthemaker he whispered, "Got the papers with +you?" + +"And the reporters, too," answered the able counsel with much pride, as +though the reporters were his own private property loaned to the cause +for the occasion without charge. + +Seeing that the police made no move, H. R. said, determinedly: "I insist +upon going before the magistrate. You can report it at the station later +and save us time." + +This made the police officer hesitate. It always does. It works on the +principle of treating your opponent as if he were a taxicabby who has +overcharged. + +"I guess that's the best way," said the lieutenant. + +"Thank you, Inspector. Will you kindly tell one of your men to bring my +mount along? Thank you!" said H. R. + +Politeness pays. By saying "thank you" in advance of the service no +gentleman can refuse. + +At the Magistrate's Court the session was short and sweet. + +Mr. Onthemaker looked eloquent. The clerk who had typewritten the +restraining orders whispered, "It's No. 5!" and his chief picked it out +of the seventeen without hesitation. Everybody was impressed by the +obvious efficiency. Efficiency must never be hidden. + +The argument prepared by Mr. Onthemaker was one of the best his Honor +had ever heard. He needed it for his own fall campaign. It certainly +read well. He even read it in print--in advance. + +"Let me see your argument," said the magistrate, and when Mr. Onthemaker +gave him the speech he put it in his inside pocket. He did not know what +to say until he saw the reporters taking notes. Then he knew. + +"Discharged!" he said. It was the most popular decision in New York. + +Max Onthemaker looked at his watch. Morris Lazarus by this time had +doubtless applied for an order restraining Valiquet's from interfering +with the lawful business of Jean Gerard, Walter Townsend, J. J. Fleming, +William Mulligan, William F. Farquhar, Marmaduke de Beanville, Wilton +Lazear, Percival Willoughby, and Francis Drake. + +"We have secured an injunction against Valiquet's. Here it is," said Mr. +Onthemaker. "You are the vice-president of your _corporation_. You might +as well learn your own business from me." Then, with a fierce frown +that there might be no back talk, he explained, with utter finality, +"This is a _certified copy_!" + +He approached Mr. MacAckus and took advantage of the contiguity to +whisper: "If you don't wish to make your concern the laughing-stock of +America get busy and keep the newspapers from printing that you were +fool enough to oppose us in our perfectly legal position. Bear in mind +that if you fight us you make us." + +"No compromise!" said H. R., sternly. + +"No, sir," answered Onthemaker, meekly. Then he hissed at MacAckus, "Do +as I tell you, you boob!" + +Mr. MacAckus clearly realized that this was a conspiracy. That always +makes business men fear that they may lose money. The fear of that +always sharpens their wits. It comes from a lifetime's training. + +It was all Mr. Josslyn's fault. This made Mr. MacAckus almost despair. +But he said, very kindly, to the reporters, "Gentlemen, will you all be +good enough to call at our office before you print anything?" + +The reporters, very kindly also, told him they would. + +The free sandwiches returned to Fifth Avenue. + +It was an ovation! + +Art again had triumphed! + +Proudly, up and down, from Thirty-fourth to Forty-second and back on the +other side, they marched unhindered. + +The reporters did justice to the story. Like all really big stories, it +was legitimate news. They had indeed suspected advertising until H. R. +refused to speak about himself. + +"All you please about my poor sandwiches, but not one word about me. I +have merely tried to rehabilitate the pariahs of the great mercantile +world by reviving the lost art of perambulating publicity. If I have +succeeded in making sandwiches free in New York, my work is done. Please +do not mention my name!" Then he leaned over confidentially and said, +very earnestly: "My family is conservative, and they hate to see the old +name in print. Don't use it, boys. Please! That's why I never sign more +than my initials!" + +Ah, it was not alone modesty, but high social position and inherited +wealth that were responsible for "H. R." instead of the full name? And +the reporters? News is what is novel; also what is rare. H. R. was +therefore doubly news. The minds of the reporters did not work like +H. R.'s, but they arrived at the same point at the same time. This is +genius--on the part of the other man. + +Keeping your mouth shut after it happens is a still higher form of +genius. + +The newspapers gave him from two to six columns. Since the reporters +could not get anything about H. R. from H. R., they got everything from +Max Onthemaker, from the sandwich-men, from Andrew Barrett, and also +from their inner consciousness and psychological insight. + +Nine newspapers; nine different heroes; one name--and initials at that! + + + + +X + + +Andrew Barrett was made office-manager as well as business-getter. He +was ordered to pay for the two additional clerks and the bookkeeper out +of his own commissions or resign. He paid. This was real business +because even then young Mr. Barrett was overpaid for his work. But his +real acumen was in recognizing a great man. + +Since the pay-roll was a matter of Mr. Andrew Barrett's personally +selected statistics, H. R. was certainly a wonder. + +On Tuesday morning H. R., feeling that his own greatness had already +become merely a matter of greater greatness, turned, manlike, to +thoughts of love: he would share his greatness! + +He would make Grace Goodchild marry him. He was sure he would succeed. +He saw very clearly, indeed, how Mr. Goodchild, being a conservative +banker, could be compelled to say yes. + +In addition he would make Grace love him. + +The strongest love is that love which is stronger than hatred or fear. +Therefore the love that begins by hating or fearing is best. To overcome +the inertia of non-loving is not so difficult as to stop the backward +motion and turn it into forward. + +He sat down and wrote a note: + + DEAR GRACE, I am sending you herewith a few clippings. + Remember what I told you. Don't let father prejudice you. + Hope to see you soon. Busy as the dickens. + + Yours, + H. R. + + _P.S._--I love you because you are _You!_ Certainly I am + crazy. But, dear, _I know it_! + +With the note he sent her eighty-three inches of clippings and fourteen +pictures. If that wasn't fame, what was? He also sent flowers. + +That afternoon before the _the dansant_ hour he called at the Goodchild +residence. + +"Miss Goodchild!" he said to the man, instead of asking for her. He +pulled out his watch, looked at it, and before the man could say he +would see if she were at home to H. R., added, "Yes!" + +He was punctual, as the man could see. The man therefore held out a +silver card-tray. + +"Say it's Mr. Rutgers," H. R. told him. "And straighten out that rug. +You've walked over it a dozen times!" + +It was plain to see that it was H. R. who really owned this house. He +must, since he wasn't afraid of the servants. And the worst of it was +that the footman could not resent it: the gentleman was so obviously +accustomed to regarding servants as domestic furniture. He dehumanized +footmen, deprived them of souls, left them merely arms and legs to obey, +machine-like. They call such "well-ordered households." Certainly not. +It isn't a matter of the orders, but of the soul-excision. + +Grace Goodchild walked in--behind her mother. The footman stood by the +door, evidently by request. + +Everything in civilized communities is by request. + +"How do you do?" said H. R., pleasantly. "Is this mother?" He bowed to +Mrs. Goodchild--the bow of a social equal--his eyes full of a highly +intelligent appreciation of physical charm. Then he asked Grace, "Did +you read them?" + +Mrs. Goodchild had intended to be stern, but the young man's undisguised +admiration softened her wrath to pleasant sarcasm. + +"I wished to see for myself," she said, not very hostilely, "if you were +insane. I see you are--" + +"I am," agreed H. R., amicably, "and have been since I saw her. And the +worst of it is, I am very proud of it." + +"Will you oblige me by leaving this house quietly?" + +"Certainly," H. R. assured her. "I didn't come to stay--this time. I'm +glad to have seen you. Has Grace told you I'm to be your son-in-law?" + +He looked at her proudly, yet meekly. It was wonderful how well he +managed to express the conflict. Then he apologized contritely. "I was +too busy to call before. My grandmother has never met you, has she?" He +looked at her anxiously, eager to clear Mrs. Goodchild's name before the +court of his family. + +At one fell swoop H. R. had deleted the name of Goodchild from the +society columns. + +Mrs. Goodchild said, huskily, "Frederick, ring for a policeman." + +"I'll break his damned neck if he does," said H. R., with patrician +calmness. "Don't you ever again dare to listen while I am here, +Frederick. You may go." + +H. R. looked so much as if he meant what he said that Grace was +pleasantly thrilled by his masterfulness. But not for worlds would she +show it facially. When a woman can't lie to the man who loves her she +lies to herself by looking as she does not feel. + +"Do you wish me to go? For the sake of peace?" he asked Grace, +anxiously. + +There was nothing he would not do, no torture too great to endure, for +her sake--not even the exquisite agony of absence. That there might be +no misunderstanding, he added, softly, "Do you?" + +"Don't you talk to my daughter!" said Mrs. Goodchild, furious at being +excluded from the supreme command. Hearing no assent, she was compelled +by the law of nature to repeat herself: "Don't you talk to my daughter!" + +H. R. looked at her in grieved perplexity. "Do you mean that you are +deliberately going to be a comic-weekly mother-in-law and make me the +laughing-stock of my set?" + +Feeling the inadequacy of mere words to express the thought she had not +tried to express, Mrs. Goodchild called on her right hand for aid; she +pointed. Being concerned with gesture rather than intent on direction, +she, alas! pointed to a window. + +He shook his head at her and then at the window, and told her: "To jump +out of that one would be as bad as having me arrested. Do you want the +infernal reporters to make you ridiculous? Do you realize that I am the +most-talked-about man in all New York? Don't you know what newspaper +ridicule is? Don't you? Say no!" + +To make sure of her own grasp of the situation Mrs. Goodchild, who was +dying to shriek at the top of her voice, compressed her lips. H. R. +instantly perceived the state of affairs and double-turned the key by +fiendishly placing his right forefinger to his own lips. This would +give to his mother-in-law the two excellent habits of obedience and +silence. + +He turned to the girl and said: "Grace, don't hide behind your mother. +Let me look my fill. It's got to last me a whole week!" + +Grace saw in his face and knew from his voice that he was neither acting +nor raving. His words were as the gospel, the oldest of all gospels, +which, unlike all others, is particularly persuasive in the springtime. +He was a fine-looking chap, and the newspapers were full of him, and he +was in love with her. He interested her. But of course he was +impossible. But also she was New York, and, to prove it, she must be +epigrammatic. All her life she had listened to high-class vaudeville. +She said, icily, yet with a subtle consciousness of her own humor, "If +you wish to worship, why don't you try a church?" + +"Which?" he retorted so promptly and meaningly that she almost felt the +wedding-ring on her finger. He pursued: "And when? I have the license +all ready. See?" + +He pulled out of his pocket a long envelope containing a communication +from Valiquet's lawyer. "Here it is!" and he held it toward her. + +Being young and healthy, she laughed approvingly. + +"Has it come to this, in my own house?" exclaimed Mrs. Goodchild in +dismay. Being rich and living in New York, she did not know her +daughter's affairs. + +"Why not?" asked H. R., with rebuking coldness. "In whose house should +our marriage be discussed?" Then he spoke to Grace with a fervor that +impressed both women: "I love you as men used to love when they were +willing to murder for the sake of their love. Look at me!" + +He spoke so commandingly that Grace looked, wonder and doubt in her +eyes. + +In some women incertitude expresses itself in silence. Her mother was of +a different larynx. She wailed: "What shall I do? What shall I do?" And +sank back in her arm-chair. After one second's hesitation Mrs. Goodchild +decided to clasp her own hands with a gesture of helplessness such as +Pilate would have used had he been Mrs. Pontius. She did so, turning the +big emerald _en cabochon_, so that she could plaintively gaze at it. +Eight thousand dollars. Then she turned the gem accusingly in the +direction of this man who might, for all she knew, be penniless. He was +good-looking. Hendrik was Dutch. So was Rutgers. Could he belong? + +"I beg your pardon, moth--Mrs. Goodchild," said H. R. so very +courteously and contritely that he looked old-fashioned. "You must +forgive me. But she _is_ beautiful! She will grow, God willing, to look +more like you every day. By making me regard the future with pleasurable +anticipation, you yourself give me one more reason why I must marry +Grace." + +Grace looked at her mother and smiled--at the effect. Mrs. Goodchild +confessed to forty-six. + +"I am making Grace Goodchild famous," H. R. pursued, briskly, and paused +that they might listen attentively to what was to follow. + +Mother and daughter looked at him with irrepressible curiosity. Their +own lives had so few red-blooded thrills for them that they enjoyed +theatricals as being "real life." This man was an Experience! + +He shook his head and explained, mournfully: "It is very strange, this +thing of not belonging to yourself but to the world. It is a sacrifice +Grace must make!" + +His voice rang with a subtle regret. But suddenly he raised his head +proudly and looked straight at her. + +"It is a sacrifice worth making--for the sake of the downtrodden whom +you will uplift with your beauty. _Au revoir_, Grace. _I am needed!_" + +He approached her. She tried to draw back. He halted before her, took +her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it. + +"I am the dirt under your feet," he murmured, and left the room. + +His was the gait of the Invincibles. He had cast a bewitching spell of +unreality over the entire drawing-room that made Grace feel like both +actress and audience. + +She heard him in the hall calling, "Frederick!" And, after a brief +pause, "My hat and cane!" + +There was another pause. Then she heard Frederick say, infinitely more +respectfully than Frederick had ever spoken to Mr. Goodchild, "Thank +_you_ very much, sir." + +Mrs. Goodchild paid Frederick by the month for working. H. R. had given +Frederick twenty dollars for being an utterly useless menial. Hence +Frederick's logical gratitude and respect. + + + + +XI + + +H. R. walked to his office, thinking of the engagement-ring. He +therefore rang for Maximilian Onthemaker, Esquire. + +"Come up at once!" + +"Damnation, I will," said Max. "I'm busy as the dickens, but an order +from you is--" + +"Another front page--with pictures!" + +"I'm half-way up, already!" said Max. Before the telephone receiver +could descend on the holder, H. R. heard a voice impatiently shriek, +"Down!" to an elevator-man two and one-half miles away. + +When Mr. Onthemaker, his face alight with eagerness to serve the cause +of the poor sandwich-men free gratis, for nothing, could speak, H. R. +told him, calmly: + +"Max, I am going to marry the only daughter of George G. Goodchild, +president of the Ketcham National Bank. Get photographs of her. Try La +Touche and the other fashionable photographers. They will require an +order from Miss Goodchild." + +"Written?" asked Mr. Onthemaker, anxiously. + +"I don't know." + +"I'll call up my office, and Miss Hirschbaum will give the order." + +"Can she talk like--" + +"Oh, she goes to the swell Gentile theaters," Max reassured him. + +"Don't say I'm engaged, and tell 'em not to bother the parents." He +meant the reporters. + +Max thought of nothing else. "Leave it to me. Say, Hendrik--" + +"Mr. Rutgers!" The voice and the look made Max tremble and grow pale. + +"I was only joking," he apologized, weakly. He never repeated the +offense. "I'll attend to it, Mr. Hendrik-- I mean Mr. Rutgers." + +"When Barrett comes in I'll send him down to you. Good day." + +When Andrew Barrett returned he said, impetuously, "I'm afraid I'll have +to have some help, H. R." + +"I was going to tell you, my boy, that from to-morrow on you will have +to go on salary." + +Barrett's smiles vanished. He shook his head. + +H. R. went on, in a kindly voice: "You've done very well and I'm much +pleased with your work. But you mustn't be a hog." + +Barrett had made bushels of money by taking advantage of the opportunity +to do so. The victorious idea was another's, the machinery was the +society's, the work was done by the sandwiches. But Mr. Andrew Barrett +was the salesman, the transmuter into cash. He was entitled to all he +desired to make so long as he didn't raise prices. Injustice stared him +in the face with smiles! Reducing his gain and smiling! H. R. would as +lief get another man! Barrett forgot that he could get no business until +H. R.'s astounding Valiquet's coup made the agent's job one of merely +writing down names. He forgot it, but he did not forget his own +successor. All he could say, in a boyishly obstinate way, was, "Well, I +think--" + +"You mustn't think, and especially you must not think I'm an ass. You +know very well that this is only the beginning of a very remarkable +revolution in the advertising business. I need your services in +installing the machinery and organizing the office, details that I leave +to you because you have brains. Your salary will be a hundred a week and +five per cent. on all new business. After I pass on to a still higher +field I will make you a present of this business for you to have and to +hold till death do you part. The Barrett Advertising Agency will be all +yours. It will do a bigger business every year. And if you don't like +it, you may leave this minute. You are young yet. Is it settled?" + +Andrew Barrett nodded. + +H. R. said, seriously: "It's about time sandwiching spread. How many on +the Avenue to-day?" + +"Nineteen firms; one hundred and eleven men. I think--" + +H. R. knew what Barrett was about to say. He therefore said it for +Barrett. "Now that you have Fifth Avenue, move west and east to Sixth +and Madison and Fourth and try Broadway and Twenty-third and +Thirty-fourth and Forty-second--" + +"I was just going to propose it to you," said Barrett, aggrievedly. + +"I know you have brains. That's why you are here. I trust you +implicitly. This is a man's job. There will be big money in it for you. +For me--" He ceased speaking, and stared meditatively out of the window. + +Andrew Barrett wondered with all his soul what the chief was reading in +big print in the future. + +Andrew Barrett waited. Presently H. R. frowned. Then he smiled slightly. + +Barrett stared fascinatedly. Ah, the lure of mystery! If more men +appreciated it, polygamy would be inevitable--and liberal divorce laws. + +H. R. looked up. + +"Oh, are you here?" he smiled paternally, forgivingly. + +Barrett beamed. + +"My boy, I wish you'd run over to Max Onthemaker's or get him on the +telephone. The newspapers are going to publish it." + +"Yes, sir, I will. Er--what are they--what are you going to spring on an +enraptured metropolis? + +"My impending marriage to Grace Goodchild, only daughter of Goodchild, +president of the Ketcham National Bank. See that it is well handled. +And, Barrett?" + +"Yes, sir?" + +"The old people don't relish the idea. She is the most beautiful girl in +New York." + +"I've seen her! Pippinissima!" exclaimed Andrew Barrett, heartfully. + +"Ten millions," said Hendrik Rutgers, calmly. + +"My God!" whispered young Mr. Barrett, New-Yorker. + +He meant what he said. + +Ten millions! + +Mr. Onthemaker, Andrew Barrett, and their faithful phalanx of star space +men who always signed their stuff called in a body on La Touche, the +photographer of the moment. + +He refused to give them Miss Goodchild's photograph. He wished his name +used, of course, but he was too sensible to disregard professional +ethics. + +"Mr. Rutgers said we could get it," said Andrew Barrett, sternly. + +"I must have her permission. Hang it, boys, I am just as anxious as +you--as I can be to do what I can for you. But I don't dare. These swell +people are _queer_!" the photographer explained, aggrievedly. + +"I'll call her up myself," said Max Onthemaker, resolutely. "What's the +Goodchild number?" + +He went to the telephone and gave the number of his own office in low +tones. Presently he said, loudly enough to be heard by all, "Is this 777 +Fifth Avenue?" + +He alone heard the answer. He would not lie. He was a lawyer. It was +unnecessary. + +"Can I speak with Miss Goodchild? No; _Miss_ Goodchild." + +After a judiciously measured pause he spoke again: "Good afternoon. This +is Mr. Onthemaker speaking. Quite well, thank you. I hope you are the +same!... That's good!... Yes, miss, I saw him this morning. The papers +wish to publish your photograph.... I'm sorry, but they say they simply +must!... I am at La Touche's studio.... They doubtless do not do you +justice, but they are the best ever taken of you--... No, I don't think +they can wait for new ones.... One moment, please--" + +He held his hand in front of the transmitter so she couldn't hear him +say to La Touche: + +"She wants some new ones." + +"To-morrow at two," said La Touche. + +"Give us the old ones now," chorused the reporters. "We'll publish the +new ones for the wedding." + +"I am sorry"--Max again spoke into the telephone--"but they say they +want some now. They'll use the others later.... Which one?... The one +Mr. Rutgers likes?... Yes, ma'am. Thank you very much." + +Foreseeing unintelligent incredulity, Mr. Onthemaker did not hang up +the receiver. It was just as well, for the cautious La Touche said, "I +want to talk to her." + +"Certainly," said Max, and hastily rose. + +"Miss Goodchild," said the photographer, respectfully, "will it be all +right if I let the reporters have--" + +"Give him the one Mr. Rutgers likes," came in a sweet voice, without the +slightest trace of Yiddish or catarrh. They would be wonderful +linguists, if they didn't always begin by, "Say, listen." + +"Which one is that?" + +"The one he likes. And please send the bill to me, not to papa," with +the accent properly on the last syllable. + +"There will be no charge, Miss Goodchild. Thank you. I only wished to +make sure you approved." + +La Touche rose and, turning to the friendly reporters, asked, +wrathfully, "How in blazes do I know which is the one Mr. Rutgers +liked?" + +"Let us pick it out," said one reporter. He wore his hair long. + +"Any one will do," said another, considerately. + +"I think I know which it is," said Barrett, taking pity on the +photographer. To Mr. Onthemaker he whispered, "Max, you're a second +H. R." + +"I try to be," modestly said Sam. + +And so the newspapers published the official preference of the lucky +man. They published it because she was going to marry H. R. + +That same morning Mr. Goodchild called up the city editors. He was so +stupid that he was angry. He threatened criminal action and also denied +the engagement. Rutgers was only a discharged clerk who had worked in +his bank. He had been annoying his daughter, but he, Mr. Goodchild, +would take steps to put an end to further persecution. Rutgers would not +be allowed to call. He had, Mr. Goodchild admitted, called--uninvited. +Had a man no privacy in New York? What was the matter with the police? +What was he paying taxes for--to be annoyed by insane adventurers and +damned reporters? He didn't want any impertinence. If they didn't print +the denial of the engagement and the facts he would put the matter in +his lawyer's hands. + +The afternoon papers that day and the morning papers on the next printed +another portrait of Miss Grace Goodchild because she was not engaged to +H. R. + +It was so exactly what a Wall Street millionaire father would do that +everybody in New York instantly recognized a romance in high life! + +Grace Goodchild never had known before how many people knew her and how +many more wished to know her. The reporters camped on her front +door-steps and the camera specialists could not be shooed away by Mr. +Goodchild when he was going out on his way to the bank. + +He assaulted a photographer. The papers therefore printed a picture of +the infuriated money power in the act of using a club on a defenseless +citizen. They did it very cleverly: by manipulating the plates they made +Mr. Goodchild look four times the size of the poor photographer. + +Max Onthemaker brought suit for fifty thousand dollars damages to the +feelings, cranium, and camera of Jeremiah Legare, the _Tribune_'s +society snapper. + +From 10 A.M. to 7 P.M. Grace held a continuous levee. Mrs. Goodchild was +in handsomely gowned hysterics. Mr. Goodchild got drunk at his club. + +Yes, he did. The house committee ignored it. When they saw the afternoon +papers they condoned it. And yet all that the newspapers said was that +Grace Goodchild and Hendrik Rutgers were _not_ married. + +And they blame the papers for inaccuracy. + +H. R. knew that he must make his love for Grace plausible, and his +determination to marry her persistent and picturesque. + +His concern was with the public. He therefore called up Grace on the +telephone. At the other end they wished to know who was speaking. He +replied, "Tell Frederick to come to the telephone at once!" + +Frederick responded. + +"Are you there?" asked H. R., after the fashion of Frederick's +compatriots. "Frederick, go instantly to Miss Grace and tell her to come +to the telephone on a matter of life and death. It's Mr. Rutgers. Don't +mention my name." + +This wasn't one of Frederick's few duties when he deigned to accept +employment in the Goodchild household. But H. R. expected to be obeyed. +Therefore he was obeyed. + +"Yes, sir; very good, sir," said Frederick, proud to act as Mercury. He +rushed off. + +"Telephone, Miss Grace. He said it was a matter of life and death." + +"Who is it? Another reporter?" + +"Oh no, ma'am. He's waiting, my lady." + +Once in a while Frederick proved that he was worth his weight in gold by +forgetting that he was in America. When he did, he always called Grace +my lady. + +She therefore went to the telephone. Of course H. R. was born lucky. +But, as a matter of fact, by deliberately establishing Frederick on a +plane of perennial inferiority he had made such a stroke of luck +inevitable. + +Since it was a matter of life and death, Grace instantly asked, "_Who_ +is it?" + +"Listen, Grace. The entire country is going wild about you. Your +portrait is being admired from Maine to California. But bear up with +what's coming. We've got to bring father around to our way of thinking, +and--" + +"Who is it? Who is it?" + +"Great Scott! Can't you recognize the voice? It's Hendrik." + +Her exasperated nerves made her say, angrily, "I think you are--" + +"Don't think I'm conceited, but I know it." + +"I feel like telling you--" + +"I'll say it for you. Close your ears till I'm done." After a pause: +"I've insulted myself. I love you all the more for it! Grace, you must +be brave! If you survive this next week--" + +"My God!" she said, invoking divine aid for the first time since they +moved to Fifth Avenue, thinking of what the newspapers could say. + +"He's with us, sweetheart," Hendrik assured her. "Are you an +Episcopalian?" + +"Yes!" she replied before she could think of not answering. + +"Good! I love you. Wait!" + +His voice as he entreated her to wait rang with such anguish that she +irrepressibly asked, "What?" + +"_I love you!_" + +He left the telephone and gathered together sixty-eight clippings, which +he put in an envelope. He went to a fashionable florist, opened an +account, and ordered some exquisite flowers. They were going to ask for +financial references, but the flowers he ordered were so expensive that +they felt ashamed of their own distrust. He stopped at Valiquet's, where +they hated him so much that they respected him, bought a wonderful gold +vanity-box, inside of which he sent a card. On the card he wrote: + + _More than ever!_ + + H. R. + +He sent clippings, flowers, and vanity-box to Miss Goodchild, 777 Fifth +Avenue, by messenger. Charge account. + +He sent for Fleming and told him he wished the Public Sentiment Corps to +tackle their first job. H. R. had prepared a dozen letters of protest +which the artists must copy before receiving their day's wages--one copy +for each paper. The letters expressed the writers' admiration, contempt, +approval, abhorrence, indignation, and commendation of the journalistic +treatment of the Goodchild-Rutgers affair. Real names and real addresses +were given. It beat Pro Bono Publico, Old Subscriber, and Decent Citizen +all to pieces. H. R. supplied various kinds of stationery--some with +crests, others very humble. The chirography was different. That alone +was art. + +The newspapers realized that H. R. had become news. The public wanted to +read about him. The papers were the servants of the public. Circulation +was invented for that very purpose. + +Not content with the services of the Public Sentiment Corps, H. R. +commanded Andrew Barrett to tip off the friendly reporters--Andrew by +this time was calling them by their first name--to watch the Goodchild +residence on Fifth Avenue and also the Ketcham National Bank on Nassau +Street. + +Thinking that this meant elopement up-town and shooting down-town, the +reporters despatched the sob artists to Fifth Avenue and the veteran +death-watch to the bank. + +They were rewarded. + +Parading up and down the Goodchild block on the Avenue were six +sandwich-men. They carried the swellest sandwiches in Christendom. This +was the first use of the famous iridescent glass mosaic sandwich in +history. It was exquisitely beautiful. But the legends were even more +beautiful: + +[Illustration: I SHALL MARRY GRACE GOODCHILD NO MATTER WHO SAYS NO!] + +This last he stationed in front of the Goodchild house. + +Across the street, leaning against the Central Park wall, was Morris +Lazarus, Mr. Onthemaker's able associate counsel. His pockets were +bulging with numbered legal documents in anticipation of hostilities +from Christians, policemen, and other aliens. He had told the reporters +that he was one of Mr. Rutgers's counsel and did not propose to allow +the sandwich-men to be interfered with by anybody. He also distributed +his card, that the name might not be misspelled. He had not yet changed +Morris into Maurice. + +[Illustration: NO OPPOSITION CAN KEEP ME FROM MARRYING GRACE GOODCHILD] + +[Illustration: SEE THE NEWSPAPERS FOR ACCOUNTS OF THE MARRIAGE OF GRACE +GOODCHILD TO HENDRIK RUTGERS] + +[Illustration: WEDDING OF GRACE GOODCHILD AND HENDRIK RUTGERS FOR DATE +WATCH THIS SPACE] + +[Illustration: ALL THE WORLD LOVES A LOVER. LOVE GRACE GOODCHILD AND ME +TOO] + +[Illustration: DO YOU BLAME ME FOR WISHING TO MARRY THE MOST BEAUTIFUL +GIRL IN THE WHOLE WORLD? SHE LIVES HERE!] + +The sandwiches paraded up and down the Avenue sidewalk, never once going +off the block. As two of the artists passed each other they saluted--the +sandwich union's sign a rigid forefinger drawn quickly across the throat +with a decapitating sweep: lambs expecting execution in the world's vast +abattoir. The answering sign was a quick mouthward motion of the rigid +thumb to represent the assuaging of thirst at the close of day. Thus did +H. R. reward industry. + +Before the sandwich-men had made the beat a dozen times all upper Fifth +Avenue heard about it. A stream of limousines, preciously freighted, +halted before the Goodchild mansion and poured out into the sidewalk +friends and acquaintances of the Goodchilds. On the dowagers' faces you +could see the smug self-congratulations that their daughters, thank +goodness, did not have to be wooed thus vulgarly to get into the +newspapers. And on the daughters the watching reporters saw smiles and +envious gleams of bright eyes. Why couldn't _they_ be thus desperately +wooed in public? To let the world know you were desired, to have a man +brave all the world in order to let the world know it! It was heroism! +And even more: it was great fun! + +The dowagers went in to express both surprise and condolence to Mrs. +Goodchild. The girls rushed to Grace's boudoir to ask questions. + +Mrs. Goodchild tried to brazen it out. Then she tried to treat it +humorously. But the dowagers called both bluffs. Then she foolishly told +them, "The poor young man is quite insane." + +They chorused, "He must be!" with conviction--the conviction that she +was lying like a suburban boomer. Of course she paid him for the work. + +Grace was in an unphilosophical frame of mind. H. R. had made her the +laughing-stock of New York. It would have been ridiculous if it were not +so serious to her social plans. She hated him! Being absolutely helpless +to help herself, her hatred embraced the world--the world that would +laugh at her! All the world! Particularly the women. Especially those of +her own age. They would laugh! This is the unforgivable sin in women +because their sense of humor is _minus_. And when they laugh-- + +Just then the avalanche of those she hated the most swooped down upon +her. Her eyes were red from acute aqueous mortification. They saw it. +They said in chorus, sorrowfully, "You poor thing!" + +Who said the rich had no hearts? The girls had given to her poverty +without her asking for it. It always makes people charitable when they +create poverty unasked. + +"I wouldn't stand it!" cried one. + +"Nor I!" chorused fourteen of Grace's best friends. + +Outside, the Avenue, for the first time in its dazzling history, was +blocked by automobiles. You would have sworn it was the shopping +district in the Christmas week. The reason was that the occupants of the +autos had told the chauffeurs to stop until they could read the +sandwiches. + +The reporters were ringing the front-door bell and the rapid-fire +tintinnabulation was driving Frederick frantic. Mrs. Goodchild had told +him not to send for the police. The reporters, feeling treated like rank +outsiders, were in no pleasant frame of mind. + +Up-stairs Grace, hiding her wrath, overwhelmed by the accursed sympathy +of her best friends, said, helplessly, "What can I do?" She didn't like +to tell them she wished to bury them with her own hands. + +From fifteen youthful throats burst forth the same golden +word--"_Elope!_" + +She gasped and stared blankly. + +"It's the greatest thing I ever heard. I don't know him, but if he is +half-way presentable you can teach him table manners in a week. I'd make +my father give him a job in the bank!" asserted Marion Beekman. + +"Me, too!" declared Ethel Vandergilt. + +"He's just splendid," volunteered a brunette, enthusiastically. + +"And did you see the papers!" shrieked Verona Mortimer. "I say, _did_ +you see the papers? _And_ the pictures! Girls, she's a regular devil, +and we never knew it! Where did you hide your brains all these years, +Gracie, dear?" + +"I never would have thought it possible," said the cold, philosophical +Katherine Van Schaick. "I call it mighty well engineered. Did _you_ tell +him to do it, Grace? If so you are a genius!" + +"What does he look like?" + +"Is he of the old New Jersey Rutgers?" + +"If he's good-looking and has money, what's wrong with him? Booze?" +asked a practical one. + +"He isn't married, is he?" asked a doll-face with Reno in her heavenly +eyes. + +At this a hush fell on the group. It was the big moment. + +"How exciting!" murmured one. + +"Is he married, Grace?" + +Fifteen pairs of eyes pasted themselves on Gracie's. She barely caught +herself on the verge of confessing ignorance. She was dazed by the new +aspect of her own love-affair. + +These girls envied her! + +"No!" she said, recklessly. + +"It's her father," prompted a slim young Sherlock Holmes. + +"No; Mrs. Goodchild!" corrected a greater genius. + +"Maybe it's Grace herself," suggested the envious Milly Walton. + +"How can I stop it?" asked Grace, angrily. + +"_What?_" shrieked all. + +"Why, girls," said Miss Van Schaick, "she isn't responsible for it, +after all!" + +Before the disappointment could spoil their pleasure one of them said, +impatiently, "Oh, let's look at 'em!" + +They rushed to the window. + +"Let's go downstairs. We can see 'em better!" And Grace's friends +thereupon rushed away. One of them was considerate enough to say, "Come +on, Grace!" and Grace followed, not quite grasping the change in the +situation. Her fears were not so keen; her doubts keener. + +They nearly overturned their respective mammas in their rush to get to +the windows. + +"Grace," said Miss Van Schaick, who had never before called her anything +but "Miss--er--Goodchild," "send out and tell them to stop and face this +way. I don't think I read all the sandwiches." + +"Yes! Yes!" + +"Oh, do!" + +"Please, Grace, tell 'em!" It sounded like election, when women shall +vote. Much more melodious than to-day. + +The dowagers were made speechless. They had acquired that habit before +their daughters. + +Grace capitulated to the incense. + +"Frederick, go out and tell them to stop and face this way," commanded +Grace, with a benignant smile. + +"My de--" began Mrs. Goodchild, mildly. + +"I have lived," said Miss Van Schaick in her high-bred, level voice that +people admiringly called insulting, "to see a New York society man do +something really original. I must ask Beekman Rutgers why his branch of +the family did not inherit brains with the real estate." + +Mrs. Goodchild gasped--and began to look resigned. From there to pride +the jump would be slight. But hers was not a mind that readjusted itself +very quickly. + +"Oh, look!" and the girls began to read the legends aloud. + +The dowagers rose, prompted by the same horrid fear. Chauffeurs were bad +enough. But sandwich-men! + +The world moves rapidly these days. One week ago these mothers did not +know sandwich-men even existed. A new peril springs up every day. + +They decided, being wise, not to scold their daughters. + +The girls shook hands with Grace with such warmth that she felt as if +each had left a hateful wedding-gift in her palm. Mrs. Goodchild went +up-stairs weeping or very close to it. She could not see whither it all +would lead, and she was the kind that must plan everything in advance to +be comfortable. By always using a memorandum calendar she cleverly +managed to have something to look forward to in this life. + +Grace remained. She was thinking. When she thought she always tapped on +the floor with her right foot, rhythmically. She realized that H. R.'s +courtship of her had changed in aspect. She knew that girls in her set +thought everything was a lark. But they themselves did not visit those +who had larked beyond a certain point. An ecstatic "What fun!" soon +changed to a frigid "How perfectly silly!" It was not so difficult to +treat the sandwich episode humorously now, or even to take intelligent +advantage of the publicity. She knew that, with the negligible exception +of a few old fogies, the crass vulgarity of H. R.'s public performances +would not harm her unless her father took it seriously enough to appeal +to the law about it, when the same old fogies would say she should have +ignored it. But she could not clearly see the end of it--that is, an +ending that would redound to her glory. This man was a puzzle, a +paradox, an exasperation. He was too unusual, too adventurous, too +clever, too dangerous; he had too much to gain and nothing to lose. How +should she treat him? He did not classify easily. He was masterful. He +loved her. Masterful men in love have a habit of making themselves +disagreeable. + +In how many ways would this masterful man, who was resourceful, +original, undeterred by conventions, indifferent to the niceties of +life, unafraid of public opinion as of social ostracism, make himself +disagreeable? Was he serious in his determination to marry her? Or was +it merely a scheme to obtain notoriety? Was he a crank or a criminal? +She couldn't marry him. What would he do? What wouldn't he do? How long +would he keep it up? Must she flee to Europe? + +Her foot was tap-tapping away furiously. She ceased to think in order to +hate him! Then because she hated him she feared him. Then because she +feared him she respected him. Then because she respected him she didn't +hate him. Then because she didn't hate she began to think of him. But +all she knew about him was that he said he loved her and everybody in +New York knew it! Who was he? What was he? Should she start an inquiry? +And yet-- + +"I beg pardon, miss. But the men--" Frederick paused. + +"Yes?" + +"They are standing." He meant the sandwiches. + +"Well?" + +"They are," he reminded her, desperately but proudly, "Mr. Rutgers's +men." + +"Tell them to go away," she said. + +He stared a moment, for as the consort of the owner of the men she had +feudal obligations to fulfil. He remembered that this was America. + +"Very good, miss," he said. + +She went up-stairs. She wished to think. It would probably make her head +ache. She therefore told her maid to wake her at six and, taking up one +of Edwin Lefevre's books, she went to sleep. + + + + +XII + + +On Nassau Street twenty sandwich-men were parading, ten on each side of +the street, in the block where the Ketcham National Bank stood. Each +sandwich bore this legend: + +[Illustration: ASK THE PRESIDENT OF THE KETCHAM NATIONAL BANK WHY? HE +WON'T LET ME MARRY HIS DAUGHTER. ASK HIM!] + +Besides 12,466 men and 289 women, 13 reporters read the sandwiches. + +The men looked pleased; they were seeing a show on D. H. tickets. The +women sighed enviously and opened their latest Robert W. Chambers in the +street as they walked on. The thirteen reporters walked into the bank, +went straight into the president's office, and while he was still +smiling his welcome asked him why he would not let H. R. marry Grace. + +Mr. Goodchild nearly sat in the electric chair. The vice-president +fortunately was able to grasp in time the hand that held the big +paper-weight. + +"Remember the bank!" solemnly counseled the vice-president. + +"To hell with the bank!" said Mr. George G. Goodchild for the first and +only time in his Republican life. + +"Unless you talk to us fully and politely," said the _Globe_ man, "we +propose to interview your directors and ask each and every one of them +to tell us the name of your successor. If you raise your hand again I'll +not only break in your face, but I'll sue you and thus secure vacation +money and a raise in salary. The jury is with me. Come! Tell us why you +won't let Mr. Rutgers marry Grace." + +Here in his own office the president of a big Wall Street bank was +threatened with obliterated features and the extraction of cash. The +cause of it, H. R., was worse than a combination of socialism and +smallpox; he was even worse than a President of the United States in an +artificial bull market. + +Mr. Goodchild walked up and down the room exactly thirteen times--one +for each reporter--and then turned to the vice-president. + +"Send for the police!" he commanded. + +"Remember the newspapers," agonizedly whispered the vice-president. + +The _Globe_ man overheard him. "Present!" he said, and saluted. Then he +took out a lead-pencil, seized a pad from the president's own desk, and +said, kindly, "I'll take down all your reasons in shorthand, Mr. +Goodchild!" + +"Take yourself to hell!" shrieked the president. + +"_Apres vous, mon cher Alphonse_," retorted the _Globe_ man, with +exquisite courtesy. "Boys, you heard him. Verbatim!" + +All the reporters wrote four words. + +The _Globe_ man hastily left the president's room and went up to the +bank's gray-coated private policeman who was trying to distinguish +between the few who wished to deposit money and the many who desired to +ask the sandwich question or at least hoped to hear the answer. The +sacred precincts of the Ketcham National Bank had taken on the aspect of +a circus arena. H. R.'s erstwhile fellow-clerks looked the only way they +dared--terrified! They would have given a great deal to have been able +to act as human beings. + +"The reporters are in the president's room!" ran the whisper among the +clerks. From there it reached the curious mob within the bank. From +there it spread to the congested proletariate without the doors. Said +proletariate began to grow. Baseball bulletin-boards were not displayed, +but the public was going to get something for nothing. Hence, free +country. + +The _Globe_ man heard one of the bank's messengers call the policeman +"Jim." Being a contemporary historian, he addressed the policeman +amicably. + +"Jim, Mr. Goodchild says to bring in Senator Lowry and party." + +With that he beckoned to the _Globe_'s militant photographers and five +colleagues and preceded them into the president's private office. + +"Quick work, Tommy," warned the reporter. + +"Flash?" laconically inquired "Senator Lowry." He was such a famous +portraitist that his sitters never gave him time to talk. Hence his +habit of speaking while he could. He prepared his flash-powder. + +"Yep!" and the reporter nodded. + +The others also unlimbered their cameras. The _Globe_ man threw open the +door. + +The president was angrily haranguing the reporters. + +"Mr. Goodchild," said the _Globe_ man, "look pleasant!" + +Mr. Goodchild turned quickly and opened his mouth. + +_Bang!_ went, the flash-powder. + +"Hel--" shrieked Mr. Goodchild. + +"--p!" said the pious young _Journal_ man, with an air of completing the +presidential speech. A good editor is worth his weight in pearls. + +The photographers' corps retreated in good order and record time. + +"For the third and last time will you tell us why you won't let your +daughter marry Mr. Rutgers!" asked the _Globe_. + +"No." + +"Then will you tell us why you won't let Mr. Rutgers marry your +daughter?" + +Mr. Goodchild was conservative to the last. Too many people who needed +money had talked to him in the borrower's tone of voice. He could not +grasp the new era. He said, "You infernal blackmailer--" + +"Sir," cut in the _Globe_ man, with dignity, "you are positively +insulting! Be nice to the other reporters. I thank you for the +interview!" He bowed and left the office, followed by all the others +except the _Evening Post_ man, who, unfortunately, had never been able +to rid himself of the desire to get the facts. It was partly his editor, +but mostly the absence of a sense of humor. + +"I think, Mr. Goodchild, that you'd better give me an official +statement. I'll give the Associated Press man a copy, and that will go +to all the papers." + +"But I don't want to say anything," protested Mr. Goodchild, who always +read the _Post_'s money page. + +"The other reporters will say it for you. I think you'd better." + +"He's right, Mr. Goodchild," said the vice-president. + +"But what the dickens can I say?" queried Mr. Goodchild, helplessly, not +daring to look out of the window for fear of seeing the sandwiches. + +"If I were you," earnestly advised the _Post_ man, "I'd tell the truth." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Say why you won't let your daughter--" + +"It's preposterous!" + +"Say it; but also say why it is preposterous." + +Two directors of the bank came in. They were high in high finance. In +fact, they _were_ High Finance. They therefore knew only the newspapers +of an older generation, as they had proven by their testimony before a +Congressional Committee. The older director looked at Mr. Goodchild and +began: + +"Goodchild, will you tell me why--" + +"You, too?" interrupted Mr. Goodchild, reproachfully but respectfully. +"First the reporters and now--" + +The directors gasped. + +"You didn't--actually--talk--for--_publication_?" + +They stared at him incredulously. + +"No. But I'm thinking of giving out a carefully prepared statement--" + +The higher of the high financiers, with the masterfulness that made him +richer every panic, assumed supreme command. He turned to the _Post_ man +and said: "I'm surprised to see you here. Your paper used to be decent. +Mr. Goodchild has nothing to say." + +"But--" protested the anguished father of Grace Goodchild. + +"You haven't!" declared $100,000,000. + +"I have nothing to say!" meekly echoed one-tenth of one hundred. + +The _Post_ man walked out with a distinctly editorial stride. He began +to envy the yellows and their vulgar editors, as all _Post_ men must at +times. + +Mr. Goodchild's efforts to suppress the publication of his family +affairs were in vain. He unfortunately sought to argue over the +telephone with the owners. + +The owners spoke to the editors. + +"It's _News_!" the editors pointed out. + +"It's _News_," the owners regretfully explained to the bank president. + +"But it's a crime against decency," said Mr. Goodchild. + +"You are right. It's a damned shame. But it's _News_!" said the owners, +and hung up. + +Mr. Goodchild summoned his lawyer. The lawyer looked grave. He +recognized the uselessness of trying to stop the newspapers, and +realized that there would be no fat fees, even if he were otherwise +successful. He tried to frighten H. R., but was referred to Max +Onthemaker, Esquire. + +Max Onthemaker, Esquire, was in heaven. He finally had butted into +polite society! From the Bowery to Wall Street! At last he was opposed +by the very best. A lawyer is known by his opponents! + +Mr. Lindsay protested with quite unprofessional heat. It was an outrage. + +"_Amare et sapere vix deo conceditur_," Mr. Onthemaker solemnly +reminded the leader of the corporation bar. "Also, dear Mr. Lindsay, I +am ready to accept service of any paper you may see fit to honor us +with. My client means to fight to the bitter end." + +"Yes, in the newspapers!" bitterly said the eminent Mr. Lindsay through +his clenched teeth. + +"And with sandwiches! When we ask for bread you give us a stone. But we +give you a sandwich. There's no ground for criminal action in view of +the public's frame of mind toward the money power. But if you will sue +us for one million dollars damages I'll name my forthcoming baby after +you." + +Mr. Lindsay hung up with violence, mistaking the telephone-holder for +Mr. Onthemaker's cranium. + + + + +XIII + + +The reporters of the conservative journals sought H. R. later in the +day--simply because the reporters for the live newspapers did. The +system was to blame. A daily paper may eschew vulgarity, but it must not +be beaten. By using better grammar and no adjectives they intelligently +show they are never sensational. + +The newspaper-men confronted H. R. eagerly. It was the day's big story. +They asked him about it. + +He said to them, very simply, "I love her!" + +They wrote it down. He waited until they had finished. Then he went on: + +"She is the most beautiful girl in the world--to me. Don't forget +that--_to me_!" + +Those two words would prevent two million sneers from the other most +beautiful girls in the world who at that moment happened to reside in +New York. Indeed, all his words would be read aloud to young men by said +two million coral lips. Perfect Cupid's bows. She was beautiful--_to +him_! + +"Her parents oppose my suit," went on H. R., calmly. + +"Is this a free country," interjected Max Onthemaker, vehemently, "or +are we in Russia? Has Wall Street established morganatic marriages in +this Republic, or--" + +H. R. held up a quieting hand. Max Onthemaker smiled at the rebuke. Two +reporters had taken down his remarks. + +"I have told her parents that I propose to marry Miss +Goodchild--peacefully. Get that straight, please. Peacefully! I am a +law-abiding citizen. She is very beautiful. But I am willing to wait--a +few weeks." + +"Yes. But the sandwiches," began a reporter who entertained hopes of +becoming a Public Utility Corporation's publicity man. + +H. R. stopped him with an impressive frown. He cleared his throat. + +The reporters felt it coming. + +"What I have done--" he began. + +"Yes! Yes!" + +"--is merely the employment for the first time in history of +_psychological sabotage_!" + +The reporters, now having the head-line, rushed off. All except one, who +whispered to H. R.'s counsel: + +"What in blazes _is_ sabotage? How do you spell it?" + +"Quit your joking," answered Max. "You know very well what it is. Isn't +he a wonder? Psychological sabotage!" + +The newspapers gave it space in proportion to the extent of their Wall +Street affiliations. The _Evening Post_, having none, came out with an +editorial on "Psychological Sabotage." It held up H. R. as a product of +the times, made inevitable by T. Roosevelt. The _World_ editorialized on +"The Wall Street Spirit _versus_ Love"; the _Times_ wrote about "The +Ethics of Modern Courtship"; and the _Sun_ about "The Decay of Manners +under the Present Administration and its Mexican Policy." The +_American_'s editorial was "Intelligent Eugenics and Unintelligent +Wealth." + +But all of them quoted "Psychological Sabotage." This made the Socialist +papers espouse the cause of H. R. + +The _Globe_, however, beat them all. It offered to supply to the young +couple, free of charge, a complete kitchen-set and the services of a +knot-tier. It printed the names and addresses of sixteen clergymen, two +rabbis, three aldermen, and the Mayor of the City of New York. + +The Public Sentiment Corps copied two hundred and thirty-eight letters +prepared by the boss, praising and condemning H. R. and Mr. Goodchild. +This compelled the newspapers that received the letters to run Grace's +portrait daily--a new photograph each time. + +As for Grace herself, crowds followed her. She could not go into a +restaurant without making all heads turn in her direction. People even +stopped dancing when they saw her. And six of New York's bluest-blooded +heiresses became her inseparable companions. They also had their +pictures printed. + +Grace hated all this notoriety. She said so, at times. But her friends +soothed her and developed the habit of looking pleasantly at cameras. + +H. R. on the third day sent all the clippings to Grace with beautiful +flowers and a note: + + _For your sake!_ + +One of Grace's friends asked to be allowed to keep the note. It reminded +her, she said, of the early Christians; also of the days of knighthood. + +The commercial phase of the mission of the Society of American Sandwich +Artists had become in the meanwhile a matter of real importance to the +business world. Business men, not being artists, are stupid because they +deal with money-profits, and they are imitative because money-making in +the ultimate analysis is never original. When the merchants of New York +perceived that Fifth Avenue had sanctified sandwiching by paying cash +for it, and that the better shops elsewhere had perforce resorted to it, +they accepted it as one of the conditions of modern merchandising. It +did not become a fad, but worse--an imagined necessity and, as such, an +institution. The little Valiquet-made statuettes of the Ultimate +Sandwich sold by the thousands, greatly adding to the personal assets of +the secretary and treasurer of the society. And what New York did, other +cities wished to do. + +Then the blow fell! + +On the same day that H. R. sent his early Christian message to Grace, +Andrew Barrett reported that while some of the streets were almost +impassable for the multitude of sandwiches, the greater part of the +latter, alas! were _non-union men_! + +"They are using their porters and janitors to carry boards," said Andrew +Barrett, bitterly. "I tell you, H. R., this is a crisis!" + +H. R., thinking of Grace, nodded absently and said, "Send for +Onthemaker." + +Max came on the run. Nearly three days had elapsed without a front-page +paragraph for him. + +Barrett told him about the crisis. Their idea had been stolen and +utilized by unscrupulous merchants who were sandwiching without +permission and using scabs. + +"I get you," said Max Onthemaker. Then he turned to the chief and told +him: + +"H. R., you've got to do something to make George G. Goodchild sue you +for a million dollars." He had drawn and kept ready for use sixty-three +varieties of restraining orders, writs, etc. + +"What's that got to do with our--" began Andrew Barrett, impatiently. + +"Certainly!" cut in Mr. Onthemaker. "We must fight Capital with its own +weapon. The Money Power is great on injunctions. I wish to say that when +it comes to injunctions I've got Wall Street gasping for breath and--" + +"Yes, but what about the scabs? Can't you stop 'em?" persisted Barrett. + +The future of the Barrett Itinerant Advertising Agency was at stake. + +"Sure! We can hire strong-arm--" + +"No!" said H. R., decisively. + +Andrew Barrett, who had begun to look hopeful, frowned at his leader's +negative, and said, desperately, "Something has got to be done!" + +When human beings say "Something" in that tone of voice they mean +dynamite by proxy. + +"Certainly!" agreed H. R., absently, his mind still on Grace. + +Andrew Barrett stifled a groan. He whispered to Max, "It's the girl!" + +Max looked alarmed, then hopeful. Grace was almost as much News as H. R. +himself. + +Andrew Barrett turned to H. R., and said, reproachfully: + +"Here we've made sandwiching what it is, and these infernal +tightwads--" + +"That's the word, Barrett," cut in H. R. "Go to it, my son!" + +"How do you mean?" asked Barrett. + +"Advertise in all the papers, morning and evening." + +Young Mr. Barrett stared at him, then he shook his head, tapped it with +his knuckles, and confessed: "Solid!" + +"_Give me a pencil!_" said H. R. It sounded like "Fix bayonets!" + +"Nothing," Mr. Onthemaker permitted himself to observe, judicially, "is +so conducive to front-page publicity as intelligent violence. This is +not a strike, but a cause. Look at the militants--" + +"There is something in that," admitted A. Barrett. + +"There is something," said H. R., gently, "in everything, even in Max's +cranium. But, this is not a matter of principle, but of making money." + +"But if you first establish--" + +"No," interrupted H. R. "If you make money, the principle establishes +itself. The situation does not call for a flash of inspiration, but for +common sense. Listen carefully: Nothing is so timid as Capital!" + +He looked at them as if further talk were redundant, superfluous, +unnecessary, a waste of time, and an insult. + +"Well?" said Barrett, forgetting himself and speaking impatiently. + +"Utilize it. Treat it as you would a problem in mathematics. You start +with an axiom. Build on it. Capital is timid. Therefore, people who have +money never do anything original; that is to say, venturesome; that is +to say, courageous. All new enterprises are begun and carried through by +people who have no money of their own to lose. I, single-handed, could +defeat an army commanded by Alexander, Caesar, Napoleon, and U. S. Grant, +if I could put into the pockets of each of the enemy's private soldiers +six dollars in cash. No man likes to be killed with money in his +clothes. Money is fear! Fear is unreasoning. I am opposed to injecting +fear into the situation. No, sir; instead, we must capitalize another +human force. Have this printed. Big blank margin. All the papers." + +He gave them what he had written: + + TO THE PUBLIC + + We are Union Men but we are for Peace. + + We do not hate scabs: we pity them! + + We do _not_ pity Tightwads who make scabs possible. + + We made Sandwiching an Art, also an Honorable Occupation. + + We feed our hungry men out of our Hunger Fund. Those who + work support those who can't, until they in turn find work. + + We ask for living wages, but also for the respect of the + public. + + Our Emblem is the Sign of the Ultimate Sandwich. + + Every time you see a Sandwich-Board without it you may be + sure it belongs to a merchant who skimps his Advertising + Appropriation. + + If he skimps in that, what won't he skimp in? + + How about the _quality_ of his goods and his _values_? + + We advertise the High-class Trade, honest advertisers who + skimp in nothing to please the public. + + No merchant can misrepresent his goods through us. + + We do not Advertise Frauds nor Misers. + + We could frighten off the Poor Men whose hunger makes scabs + of them. + + We would have the approval of the Labor Organizations and of + the thinking public. + + _But we are for the Law!_ + + They can join our Union if they wish. + + There is no Initiation Fee. + + There is no compulsion to join. + + They are American Citizens! + + _So Are We!_ + + The Tightwad Merchant may not be Dishonest. But-- + + The Public Must Judge--Calmly. + + Look for the Ultimate Sandwich in all signs! + + American Society of Sandwich Artists. + H. R., + _Sec._ + + WE NEVER SOLICIT SUBSCRIPTIONS! + +Andrew Barrett read it. His jaw dropped and he stared at H. R. Then he +declared with conviction: + +"Next to the Gettysburg address, this! +WE--NEV-ER--SO-LI-CIT--SUB-SCRIP-TIONS! Where does it all come from?" + +H. R. solemnly pointed to the ceiling of his office, meaning thereby, +like most Americans, heaven. Max Onthemaker looked at him dubiously, the +Deity being extra-judicial. Then he shook his head uncertainly. History +had told of Peter the Hermit, Mohammed, and others. It was a familiar +hypothesis. + +The public, when it read in the newspapers that these poor men did not +believe in killing scabs, but hated tightwads and never asked for +subscriptions, unmistakably and unreservedly espoused their cause. The +man who skimped was the common foe of the free citizen. They wrote +letters to the newspapers. + +So did the Public Sentiment Corps. + +To hate tightwads and never to ask for subscriptions were admirable +American traits. Christian merchants and even heretics in trade called +them Virtues! + +Big business took the trouble to tell the reporters that this was the +kind of labor organization everybody could approve of. It was a check to +Socialism. Big business believes in some kinds of checks. + +The labor organizations could not condemn a union. They said they also +were for peace and against the wretches who capitalized the hunger of +their fellows. + +In twenty-four hours the scab-users surrendered! + +More clippings for Grace. + +The Society of American Sandwich Artists prudently leased three more +offices and prepared for the rush. It came. Orders poured in from scores +of merchants. The premises were so crowded with men both with and +without sandwich-boards that the other tenants complained. + +The agent of the Allied Arts Building requested H. R. to vacate. He +requested it three times an hour, from nine to six. + +"The other tenants object to your sandwiches," the agent explained to +H. R. + +"Let 'em move out. We'll take the whole building--at a fair concession. + +"Move out yourself!" shrieked the agent. + +"See our lawyer," said H. R., and turned his back on the agent. + +The agent called on Mr. Onthemaker. + +"Fifty thousand dollars!" said Max. + +The agent fled, holding his watch in place. + +In the mean time the treasury of the society was growing apace. H. R. +transferred his account. He now deposited the funds with the National +Bank of the Avenue. + +The president, Mr. Wyman, told Mr. Goodchild about it. Mr. Goodchild, +who had turned red as H. R.'s name was mentioned by a highly esteemed +colleague, looked thoughtful--he might have had the account. + + + + +XIV + + +In the very hour of his great success H. R. suddenly was thus confronted +by the greatest menace to a political career--wealth! + +In one morning's mail he received three hundred and eighty-four offers +to become the advertising Napoleon of national concerns; no limit to the +advertising appropriations. He added up the aggregate offers of salary +and maximum commissions. + +His income, if he accepted all the offers, would amount to $614,500 per +annum. + +So great is the danger and so widely recognized is it that nobody is +worthy of respect until he is threatened by wealth with wealth. + +Should H. R. accept greatness to-day and let to-morrow bring the +littleness? + +He did not reply to his correspondents. He thus went up in their +estimation. To refuse to take money is something. To refuse even to +refuse it is everything! + +He prepared a memorandum containing all the offers he had received, with +the sum total of same, and sent the originals of the letters and +telegrams to Mr. Goodchild. + +His only comment, in careless lead-pencil, was what it should be: + +"_Not enough!_" + +He knew Mr. Goodchild would speak about it. How could Mr. Goodchild +help it? Didn't $614,500 begin with a $? + +But H. R. did not think of what he had not done, not even of what he had +done, but of what he would do. Doers of deeds always think that way. To +them yesterday is as dead as Caesar. To-day is settled. To-morrow alone +is greater opportunity! + +He therefore thought of himself. That made him think of Grace. + +He had no illusions about himself, but, what was far more intelligent, +he had none about anybody else. He was aware that already the world was +divided in their opinion of him. To some he was a humbug, to others a +crank; to some a genius, to a few a dangerous demagogue. + +People respect what they fear. Fear always puts humanity in the attitude +of a rat in a corner. That is why people with a passion for making money +naturally think of corners. + +To make millions of men follow is to make millions of dollars shake. + +But his was an infinitely more difficult problem. How to become the fear +of the rich and at the same time be respected by the best element? He +had no precedents by which to guide his steps, no example that he might +modernize and follow. + +He reduced the problem to its simplest form? To bring this about he +would preach Brotherhood. + +To stop the mouths that thereupon would call him Socialist he would +cover his effort. + +Then, in the chemical reactions of his mind, something flashed! He would +do something to attract the best element. That would bring in the mob. +What begins by being fashionable always ends by being popular. Nobody +had ever thought of making goodness a fad. Hence, poverty, and therefore +wealth! + +He would take the first step that night. + +About 11 P.M. an excited feminine voice, without the slightest trace of +Yiddish--indeed, more fashionable than a Fifth Avenue voice ever dared +to be--called up, one after another, the city editors of the best papers +and asked: + +"Is it true that Grace Goodchild has eloped with Hendrik Rutgers?" + +"We had not heard that--" + +"It is not true! _It is not true!_" shrieked the voice in the highest +pitch of dismay and rang on. + +Having been told that it was not true, the city editors, after vainly +trying to get the speaker again, honorably called up the Goodchild +residence. + +Nobody home! + +That was enough corroboration for any intelligent man, but the city +editors despatched their most reliable reporters to the former residence +of the bride. Being prudent men, the editors prepared the photographs, +and the head-line was all a matter of final punctuation: + + MISS GOODCHILD ELOPES + +It remained for the make-up man to put a "!" or a "?" after "ELOPES." + +The reporters could not get to either Mr. or Mrs. Goodchild or to H. R. +or Grace. The papers therefore did not say that the young people, whose +courtship was a Fifth Avenue romance, had eloped. That might not be +true. But they printed Grace's photographs and H. R.'s and reviewed +H. R.'s meteoric career and called the rumor a rumor. That was common +sense. + +Also, all the newspapers spoke about the Montagues and the Capulets. At +about 2.30 A.M. the reporters returned with expurgated versions of Mr. +Goodchild's denial. But the pages were cast. The late city editions +honorably printed: + + Mr. Goodchild, when seen early this morning, denied the + rumor. + +It was thus, at one stroke, that the nuptials of Grace Goodchild and +H. R. were definitely placed among the probabilities. The average +New-Yorker now knew it was only a matter of days. + + + + +XV + + +H. R. dressed to resemble an undertaker, but wearing a beautiful orchid +to show he did not do it for a living, called a taxicab, drove to the +Diocesan House and sent in his card to the Bishop of New York. + +The Bishop was a judge of cards. He therefore received H. R. in his +study instead of the general waiting-room of which the decorative scheme +consisted of "In His Name" in old English and therefore safe from +perusal. It might as well have been, "Be Brief!" + +"How do you do, Bishop Phillipson?" And H. R. held out his hand with +such an air of affectionate respect that the Bishop was sure he had +confirmed this distinguished-looking young man. + +But the head of the diocese has to know more than theology. Therefore +the Bishop answered, very politely: + +"I am very well, thank you." + +"Did you recognize the name?" modestly asked H. R. + +"Oh yes," said the Bishop, who recently had read about some meeting in +Rutgers Square and therefore remembered Rutgers. + +He was a fine figure of a man with clean-cut features and a look of +kindliness so subtly professional as to keep it from being +indiscriminatingly benevolent; a good-natured man rather than a strong. +One might imagine that he made friends easily, but none could visualize +him as a Crusader. He was cursed with an orator's voice, sensitive ears, +and the love of words. + +"Perhaps you've read the newspapers? They've been full of me and my +doings these many weeks," said H. R., looking intently at the Bishop. + +"My dear boy!" expostulated Dr. Phillipson. + +"I need your help!" said H. R., very earnestly. + +The Bishop knew it! Those to whom you cannot give cheering words and +fifty cents are the worst cases. To relieve physical suffering is far +easier than to straighten out those tangles that society calls +disreputable--after they get into print. + +H. R. went on, "I want you to help me to help our church." + +"Help you to help our church?" blankly repeated the Bishop. The +unexpected always reduces the expectant kind to a mere echo. + +"Exactly!" And H. R. nodded congratulatorily. "Exactly! In order that we +may stop losing ground!" + +There were so many ways in which this young man's words might be taken +that his mission remained an exasperating mystery. But the Bishop smiled +with the tolerance of undyspeptic age toward over-enthusiastic youth and +said kindly: + +"Pardon me, but--" + +"Pardon _me_," interrupted H. R., "but since it is only the Roman +Catholics who are growing--" + +"Our figures--" interjected the Bishop, firmly. + +"Ah yes, figures of speech. Don't apply to _our_ church. The reason is +that the Catholics leave out the possessive pronoun. They never say +_their_ church any more than they say _their_ God. Now, why did we build +our huge Cathedral?" + +The Bishop stared at H. R. in astonishment. Then he answered, austerely, +confining himself to the last question: + +"In order to glorify--" + +"Excuse me. There already existed the Himalayas. The real object of +building cathedrals hollow, I take it, is to fill 'em with the flesh of +_living_ people. Otherwise we would have made sarcophagi. We Protestants +don't bequeath our faith to our posterity; only our pews. They are +to-day empty. Hence my business. I, Bishop Phillipson, am a +People-Getter." + +"You are what?" The Bishop did not frown; his amazement was too abysmal. + +"I fill churches. Since this is really a family affair, let us be frank. +Of course, you could fill 'em with paper--" + +"Paper?" + +"Theatrical argot for deadheads, Bishop; people who don't pay, but +contribute criticisms of the show. I am here to tell you how to go about +the job efficiently." + +H. R.'s manner was so earnest, it so obviously reflected his desire to +help, that the Bishop could not take offense at the young man's +intentions. The words, however, were so much more than offensive that +the Bishop said, with cold formality: + +"You express yourself in such a way--" + +"I'll tell you the reason. Deeds never convert until they are _talked_ +about. Dynamic words are needed. Ask any business man. I have made a +specialty of them. I may add that I am not interested in making money, +only in efficiency!" + +The Bishop saw plainly that this well-dressed young man with the keen +eyes and the resolute chin was neither a lunatic nor an impostor. +Therefore the Bishop instantly realized that the young man could not +help the Church and equally that the Church could not help the young +man. Further talk was a waste of time. + +"I fear this discussion is fruitless--" + +"I wasn't discussing; I was asserting. I am the man who is going to +marry Grace Goodchild--" + +The Bishop straightened in his chair and looked at H. R. with a new and +more personal interest. + +"Indeed!" he said, so humanly that it sounded like "Do tell!" Grace was +one of his flock. He remembered now that his friends the Goodchilds had +been in print lately and that editorials had been written about the +young man who proposed to marry the only daughter. + +"I promised Grace that I would help our Church--" + +To the Bishop these words, which the young man had used before, now had +a different meaning. It was no longer an utter stranger, but an +eccentric acquaintance; a character, as characterless people call them. + +"Yes?" And the Bishop listened attentively. + +"I've doped it out--" pursued H. R., earnestly. + +"I beg your pardon?" said the Bishop and blushed. + +"I have arrived at a logical conclusion," translated H. R. "In short, I +have found what will put Episcopalians, Presbyterians, Methodists, +Lutherans, Jews, Parsees, and native-born Americans on the Christian map +of New York. And it will not necessitate turning the unoccupied churches +into restaurants or vaudeville shows." + +H. R. turned his hypnotic look full on the Bishop, who read therein the +desire to do. + +"Thus must have looked HILDEBRAND!" thought the Bishop, in Roman +capitals, in spite of himself. On second thought he remembered to +characterize the language of Grace Goodchild's fiance as "bizarre." +Experience teaches that it is wisdom to encourage good intentions. This +is done by listening. + +Since the Bishop was now obviously glad to listen, H. R. said, more +earnestly than ever: + +"Tell me, Bishop, what is it that is desirable to possess and more +desirable to give, elevating, rare beyond words, thrice blessed, and +beautiful as heaven itself?" + +"Truth!" exclaimed the Bishop, his voice ringing with conviction and the +pride of puzzle-solving. Being a human being, he had answered promptly. + +H. R. shook his head and smiled forgivingly: "That's only theology; +possibly metaphysics. Forget rhetoric and get down to cases. _Truth!_ +Pshaw! Can you imagine that combination of four consonants and one vowel +serving as a political platform or included in any live concern's +instructions to salesmen? Never! No, sir. Guess again! I've found it. +Rare, picturesque, with great dramatic possibilities and easy to +capitalize. It is--" + +He paused and looked at the Bishop. The Bishop returned the look +fascinatedly. This young man was from another world. What would he say +next? And what would whatever he said mean? + +"_Charity!_" exclaimed H. R., proudly. + +The Bishop's face fell. You almost heard it. + +H. R. shook a rigid forefinger at the Bishop's nose and said, in a +distinctly vindictive voice: + +"_'But the greatest of these is charity'_!" + +"We always preach--" began the Bishop, defensively. + +"That's the trouble. _Don't!_ We'll tackle charity by easy steps. We'll +begin by the very lowest form, in order to break in American Christians +gradually. Feeding the hungry is spectacular and leads to the higher +forms. Show people that you will not only fill their bellies, but send +the caterer's bills direct to the Lord for payment, and the populace +will supply not only the food-receptacles, but the stationery. A great +deal," finished H. R., reflectively, "depends upon the right +stationery." + +"I fear," said the Bishop, uncomfortably, "that we are talking to each +other across an impassable gulf." + +"Not a bit, Bishop. The human intellect, properly directed, can bridge +any chasm. Let us be philosophical." H. R. said this as one who proposes +to speak in words of one syllable. "Now, good people--I don't mean +_you_, Bishop; you know: _good_ people!--always do everything wrong end +foremost. Now, what do you, speaking collectively, do to feed the +hungry?" + +"We support St. George's Kitchens--" + +"Ah yes, you astutely work to eliminate poverty by tackling the poor, +instead of operating on the rich. You give tickets to the hungry! Think +of it--_to the hungry_! Tickets! A green one means a bowl of pea soup; a +pink one, a slice of ham; a brown one, a codfish ball. The +polychromatics of systematized charity whereby you discourage the +increase of a professional pauper class! Tickets! To the hungry! Ouch!" + +The Bishop more than once had despaired of solving that very problem. +He shook his head sadly rather than rebukingly and said, "I have no +doubt that you are a very remarkable young man and very up to date and +very hopeful, but in a huge city like New York how can any one solve the +problem of helping everybody who really needs--" + +"By using brains, Bishop Phillipson," cut in H. R., so sternly that the +Bishop flushed. But before his anger could crystallize, H. R. continued, +challengingly: "Who in New York are in need of charity? Five thousand +empty bellies? No. Five million empty souls!" + +It was a striking figure of speech. Before the Bishop could say anything +H. R. went on, very politely: + +"Will you oblige me by torturing the ears?" + +"Torturing the ears?" echoed the Bishop in a daze. + +"Yes; by listening. Do you hear"--H. R. pointed to a corner of the +room--"do you hear a voice from heaven saying, 'Let them that hunger +bring a physician's certificate of protracted inanition? You don't? Then +there's hope. What I propose to do, Bishop, is to revolutionize the +industry." H. R. spoke so determinedly that the Bishop could not help +forgetting everything else and asking: + +"How?" + +"By giving the ticket to the full belly; not to the empty. We utilize +the machinery already in existence, but the ticket goes to the man +who pays twenty-five cents, not to the man who needs or accepts +the quarter's worth of food. There are people who would compel a +fellow-man made by God after His image to convert himself into a +first-trip-to-Europe dress-suit case and paste labels all over himself: +_Pauper! Hungry! Wreck!_ My tickets will be precious tags marked: +_Charitable! Decent! Christian!_ I accomplish this by giving to the +giver! Success is a matter of labels." + +"But I can't see--" + +"My dear Bishop, everybody acknowledges that it is much nicer to give to +those you love than to receive. That is why we are exhorted to love our +fellows--that we may love to give to them. It follows that everybody at +heart likes to be charitable. Vanity was invented pretty early in +history. But it has not been properly capitalized by the Churches. Now, +listen to the difference when real brains are used. Remember that though +all is vanity, vanity is not all. Each person who gives twenty-five +cents receives a ticket. Since he lives in America, he gets something +for something! I have planned a mammoth hunger feast in Madison Square +Garden. Each donor from his seat will see with his own eyes a fellow-man +eat his quarter." + +"But, my dear Mr. Rutgers--" + +"I am glad you see it as I do. The ticket-buyer goes to the Garden. He +knows his ticket is feeding one man. But he sees ten thousand men +eating. He looks for the particular beneficiary of his particular +quarter. It might be any one of the ten thousand eaters! Within +thirty-seven seconds each donor will feel that his twenty-five cents is +feeding the entire ten thousand! Did a quarter of a dollar ever before +accomplish so much? Of anybody else," finished H. R., modestly, "I would +call that genius!" + +The Bishop shook his head violently. + +"Do you mean to treat it as a spectacle--" + +"What else was the Crucifixion to the priests of the Temple?" asked +H. R., sternly. + +The Bishop waved away with his hand and said, decidedly: + +"No! No! Would you compel starving men--" + +"To eat?" cut in H. R. + +"No; to parade their needs, to vulgarize charity and make it offensive, +a stench in the nostrils of self-respecting--" + +"Hold on! Charity, reverend sir, is never offensive. The attitude of +imperfectly Christianized fellow-citizens makes it a disgrace to show +charity, but not to display poverty. The English-speaking races, being +eminently practical, lay great stress upon table manners. They treat +charity as if it were a natural function of man, and therefore to be +done secretly and in solitude. Our cultured compatriots invariably +confound modesty with the sense of smell. Etiquette is responsible for +infinitely greater evils than vulgarity. Feed the hungry. When you do +that you obey God. Feed them _all_!" + +"But--" + +"That is exactly what I propose to do--with your help: feed all the +starving men in New York. Has anybody ever before tried that? _All the +starving men!_" He finished, sternly, "Not one shall escape us!" + +The Bishop almost shuddered, there was so grimly determined a look on +H. R.'s face. Then as his thoughts began to travel along their usual +channel he felt vexed. He had patiently endured the disrespectful +language of a young man whose point of view differed so irritatingly +from that of the earnest men who were laboring to solve the problem. All +he had heard was confusing talk, words he could not remember, but left a +sting. Time had been spent to no purpose. + +"I still," said the Bishop with an effort, "do not see how you solve +the problem that has baffled our best minds." + +"Nobody else could do it," acknowledged H. R., simply. "But I have +carefully prepared my plans. They cannot fail. And now you will give me +your signature." + +"My signature to what?" asked the Bishop in the tone of voice in which +people usually say, "Never!" He felt that the interview was ended. A +suspicion flashed in his mind that this young man might reply, "To a +check!" But he paid H. R. the compliment of instantly dismissing the +suspicion. This was, alas! no common impostor. + +"To an appeal to New York's better nature," said H. R., +enthusiastically. "The masses always follow the classes; if they didn't +there wouldn't be classes. Mr. Wyman, of the National Bank of the +Avenue, will act as treasurer." + +It was the fashionable bank. Stock in demand at seventy-two hundred +dollars a share, and all held by Vans. + +"Has he--" + +"He will," interrupted H. R. so decisively that the Bishop forgot to be +annoyed at not being allowed to finish his question. "We shall appeal to +all New-Yorkers. Your name must therefore lead the signatures. Much, +Bishop Phillipson, depends upon the leader! Of course there will be +other clergymen, and leading merchants, and capitalists, and the mayor, +and the borough presidents, and the reform leaders, and everybody who is +Somebody. They must give the example. Do you not constantly endeavor, +yourself, to be an example, reverend sir?" + +Before the Bishop could deny this H. R. gave into his hands a book +beautifully bound in hand-tooled morocco. The leaves were vellum. On the +first page was artistically engrossed: + + _Hunger knows no denomination._ + + _There must not be starving men, women, or children in New + York._ + + _We who do not hunger must feed those who do._ + + _LET US FEED ALL THE HUNGRY!_ + +"Here, Bishop Phillipson, is the place at the head of the list. It will +be signed by men and women whose names stand for Achievement, Fame, and +Disinterestedness." + +H. R. held a fountain-pen before him and pursued: "If you sign, I'll +feed all the hungry--_all_! Have you ever seen a starving man? Do you +know what it is to be hungry?" + +The Bishop shook his head at the fountain-pen. He had seen starving men, +but he had read about signatures. He could not officially sanction a +plan of which he knew so little. No grown man can say that he did not +know what he was signing. + +"Listen!" commanded H. R., sternly. "Do you hear your Master's voice?" + +"Your intentions, I make no doubt, are highly praiseworthy. But your +language is so close to blasphemy...." + +"All words that invoke God in unrhymed English are so regarded in the +United States. Grace would have it that you would sign in Chinese if by +so doing it fed the hungry. '_But the greatest of these is charity._' +The reporters are waiting for the list. Everybody else will sign if you +head the list." + +"Of course." And the Bishop's voice actually betrayed the fact that he +had been forced into self-defense. "Of course. I should be only too glad +to sign if I were certain such an action on my part would actually feed +the hungry--" + +"_All_ the hungry," corrected H. R. + +"Even a tenth of the hungry of New York," the Bishop insisted. "But, my +dear young man, excellent intentions do not always succeed. Your methods +might not commend themselves to men who have made this work the study of +a lifetime." + +"They have not gone about their work intelligently, for there are still +unfed men in New York. I am a practical man, not a theorist. Emotions, +respected sir, are all very well to appeal to at vote-getting times, but +they are poor things to think with. Now I don't suppose I have devoted +more than one hour's thought to this subject, and yet see the +difference. _All_ the hungry!" In H. R.'s voice there was not the +faintest trace of self-glorification nor did his manner show the +slightest vanity. Both were calmly matter-of-fact. The Bishop had to +have an explanation. So he asked: + +"And your--er--quite unemotional and sudden interest in +this--er--affair, Mr. Rutgers...." + +"You mean, where do I come in?" cut in H. R. + +The Bishop almost blushed as he shook his head and explained: + +"Rather, your motive in undertaking so difficult...." + +"Oh yes. You mean, _why_?" + +"Yes," said the Bishop, and looked at H. R. full in the eyes. + +"Because I desire to marry Grace Goodchild and I wish to be worthy of +her. It is a man's job to jolt New York into a spasm of practical +Christianity." + +The Bishop smiled. After all, this was a boy, and his enthusiasm might +make up for what his motive lacked in profundity of wisdom. + +"And besides," went on H. R., in a lowered voice, "I hate to think that +men can starve when I have enough to eat without earning my food." He +smiled shamefacedly. + +"My boy!" cried the Bishop, and shook the boy's hand warmly, "I'm afraid +you are--" + +"Don't call me good, Bishop!" + +"I was going to say it, but I won't. Do you think you can do what you +propose?" + +"I know it!" And H. R. looked at Dr. Phillipson steadily. + +The Bishop looked back. He was no match for H. R. + +"I will sign!" said the Bishop. + + + + +XVI + + +H. R. walked slowly to his office. Spring was in the air. The sky was +very blue and the air sparkled with sun-dust. Life thrilled in waves. +The breeze sang, as it does at times in the city. It had not the harps +of the trees to strum on, but it made shift with the corners of the +houses. Hand in hand with the breeze from the south came the joy of +living that, after all, is merely the joy of loving. + +The soul of God's beautiful world--light, heat, beauty, love--percolated +into the soul of Hendrik Rutgers and filled it--filled it full. + +It called for the One Woman in songs--the same songs the breeze was +humming.... Ah, the encouragement of the wind! It bade him take her! It +told him exactly whither the breeze was going, whither he should carry +her in his arms. It whispered to him the place where he might lay down +his burden! + +He walked on, head erect, chest inflated, fists clenched. He would take +her from the world and make her his world. Their world!--his and hers; +his first, then hers. After that they would share it equally. + +The breeze sang on. + +As he crossed Madison Square he was made aware that the sparrows also +had heard the song and, phonograph-like, were repeating it. A little +shriller, but the same song. Ten thousand sparrows--and each thought it +was original! And the little pale-green leaves were nodding approval. +And the azure smile of the sky was benignantly telling all creation to +go ahead--as it was in the beginning, as it would be in the end. + +He loved her! He would love her even if she were not the most beautiful +girl in all the round world. He would love her if she were penniless; +even if her father were his best friend. He loved her and he loved his +love of her. Her eyes were two skies that smiled more bluely than God's +one. Her hair had the rust of gold and the dust of sun, and radiated +light and glints of love. From her wonderful lips came, in the voice of +the flowers, the one command that he, a hater of slaves, would obey, +gratefully kneeling. And the lips said it, flower-like, in silence! + +She was not there to be loved. But he loved her, and because he loved +her he loved everybody, everything. Even his fellow-men. + +They also should love! All of them! Love to love and love to live! + +Did they? + +He looked for the first time at his fellow-men on the park benches. + +He saw sodden faces, reptile-like sunning themselves, warming their +skins; no more. + +They were men without money. + +They therefore were men without eyes, without ears, without tongues. +They therefore were men without love. Everything had been cleanly +excised by the great surgeon, Civilization! + +A wonderful invention, money. To think that puny man had, by means of +that ingenious device, thwarted not only Nature, but God Himself! + +If money had not been invented, there would not be great cities to be +loveless in! + +But those on the park benches, lizard-like sunning themselves, were +tramps. The pedestrians had money. They, therefore, must have love. + +He looked at them and saw that what they had was their hands in their +pockets. Doubtless it was to keep their money there. By so doing they +did not have to sit on park benches and fail to see the sky and the +buds, and fail to hear the birds and the breeze. + +And yet, as he looked he saw on their faces the same blindness and the +same deafness. + +On the benches sat immortal souls drugged with misery. On the paths +walked men asleep with Self. + +He alone was alive and awake! + +The appalling solitude of a great city was all about him. He was the +only living man in New York! + +And Grace Goodchild was the only woman in the world! He loved her. He +loved everybody. He wished to give, give, give! + +"You'll be fed!" he said to the park benches. + +"You'll feed em!" he told the sidewalks. + +"I'll marry you! he wirelessed to Grace. + +"You," he said to all New York, "will pay for every bit of it!" + +He walked into his office, frowning. Andrew Barrett was there. + +"Come with me," H. R. told him, and led the way into the private office. + +He sat down at his desk, brushed away a lot of letters, and said to his +aide: + +"Barrett, I've got a man's job this time." + +Sandwiching for banks that had deposits of over one hundred millions +appealed to Andrew Barrett. And the Standard Oil and the Steel Trust, +also, held possibilities. After the S. A. S. A. got those he would go +into business for himself. + +"Who is it?" he asked, eagerly. + +"Grace Goodchild!" answered H. R., absently. + +"Oh, I thought--" + +H. R. started. "What? Oh! You are thinking of business. Well, I'm going +to put New York on the map at one fell swoop." + +Andrew Barrett beamed. At last, millions! All New York using sandwiches +at regular rates! + +H. R. looked at his lieutenant and smiled forgivingly. After all, it was +not Andrew's fault that the spring was not in his soul. + +"Barrett, men and women in all civilized communities desire three +things. All of them begin with a B. Can you guess?" + +"Not I!" answered Barrett, with diplomatic self-depreciation. There are +questions whose answers gain you mortal enmity by depriving the +questioner of the greatest of all pleasures. + +"Bread, beauty, and bunco. You satisfy all the natural wants of humanity +by supplying these three. Now men pay for their necessities with +whatever coin happens to be current. I have sometimes thought of a state +of society in which payment need not be made in interchangeable labor +units, but in the self-satisfaction of accomplishment. I have even +dreamed," he finished, sternly, "of making goodness fashionable!" + +"Merciful Heaven!" exclaimed Barrett, in indescribable awe. + +H. R. shook his head gloomily. "The trouble," he said, bitterly, "is +that it is so damned easy to be good, so obviously intelligent, so +natural! Men are bad, I firmly believe, because badness is so +roundabout and expensive. How else can you explain it? Society, since +money was invented, has craved for expensive things. Society is, in +truth, expense." + +"Say, Chief, I don't get the dope about goodness being easy." + +"Probably not; it is too obvious. The early Christians died gladly. It +was good form. Dying for God ceased to be fashionable. Hence universal +suffrage. To die for God merely means to live for God. Do you see?" + +"No. The Christian part bothers me." + +"Let us be heathen, then. The Spartan mother loved her sons. Sent them +to battle saying, _With your shield or on it!_ The axiom of the locality +is the fashion of the place. To die bravely in Sparta was to be +fashionable. If I can make goodness fashionable I'll do something that +is very easy and very difficult. If men were not such damned fools it +would be so restful to be wise." + +"Yes, H. R., but human nature--" + +"Exactly. We go against human nature always. God gave to men the +precious gift of fear in order that they might overcome it. Man's fear +to-day is to be good. Once upon a time men feared hell. It is now the +fashion for Americans to think, _To hell with hell!_" + +Andrew Barrett shook his head dubiously. He was not really interested in +abstractions. But he desired to be on good terms with his chief. The +best way to be nice to a man is to put up a weak argument. He began, +feebly defending, "But there must be some people--" + +"It is perfectly proper to be selfish if you are alone. It is stupid to +be selfish when you are one of a group. Therefore, my inveterately young +friend and typical compatriot, we must do something for nothing. Tip off +the papers." + +Barrett shook his head. "I don't get you," he confessed, sadly. + +"Few people do when you tell them they have to do something and not be +paid for it. To-morrow and the day after our men must display a new +sandwich for the cause for two hours." He paused, then he finished, +sternly, "Tell them I said so!" + +"I will," hastily said Barrett, only too glad to shift the +responsibility. + +"You might request the regular advertisers to pay full time, just the +same." + +"You bet I will! And what will the boards say?" + +"Let me have your pencil," said H. R., and he wrote: + + NEXT WEEK + + THE MEN WHO HAVE MADE + + NEW YORK + + THE EMPIRE CITY OF + + GOD'S OWN COUNTRY + + WILL FEED + + ALL THE HUNGRY + + WHO HAVE NO MONEY + + O. K. + H. R., + _Sec._ + +"There!" said H. R. + +Andrew Barrett read it. "If it was anybody else--" he muttered. + +"Convey to your reporter friends that this is the biggest story of the +year. Particularly impress upon them that it is a secret!" + +"I'll impress that on them, all right," promised Barrett, with profound +sincerity. "It is really pleasant not to have to lie." + +H. R. rose and said: "I must get the other names. I have begun with the +Bishop. And he showed Barrett the signature of Dr. Phillipson. + +"Why his?" asked Barrett. + +"I expect him to officiate at my wedding. Also, he is a Conservative, +and Wall Street is for him, strong. Don't you see? Get the sandwiches +ready." + +H. R. no longer bothered with details. He had discovered that by +resolutely expecting people to do things, people did them. Every eight +hundred and thirty-one years a man is born who can throw upon his +fellow-men the yoke of responsibility so that it stays put. + +He decided that it would look well in print to play up the +non-sectarianism of the affair. He would therefore have the prominent +people meet in the Granite Presbyterian Church, attracting the +Presbyterians who otherwise might have objected to Bishop Phillipson's +leadership. But the meeting would be presided over by Bishop Barrows, a +Methodist. Bishop Phillipson would agree to this. Did not his name come +first in the stirring call to the metropolis? + +But, of course, to give to the project an attractive and, indeed, a +compelling interest he would resort to the great American worship of +bulk. It must be big. It must be the biggest ever! + + + + +XVII + + +He had no trouble in getting the other names. The bankers were easy. He +told each that the cash was to be handled by a committee of bankers, +thereby insuring efficient management. If Jones, of the small Nineteenth +National, signed, Dawson, of the big Metropolitan, must do likewise or +be convicted of lack of sympathy with a popular cause. The "Dawson +party," comprising, as it did, the richest men in the world, needed +popularity, Heaven knew. He also told the bankers that they would not +have to pay out anything. It won them. He clenched it by comparing +charity to the income tax. + +Yes, he did! + +"Nobody," he argued, "objects to an income tax that embraces +_everybody_! The great good of such a tax is to make every man feel that +he is supporting the government and to see to it that the government is +spending his money wisely. The income tax should lead to more +intelligent citizenship." + +Each banker agreed heartily to that. + +"The same with charity. Compel everybody to be charitable, the clerk +equally with the president, that the burden may fall not on the rich, +but on the many. Just sign here, will you, please? Thank you." + +The other signatures were equally easy to get. The so-called experts in +charity work always give _their_ reasons. Result: $.00. + +On parting, H. R. told each signer the same thing: + +"The reporters will be present at the meeting. They may not stay till +the very end. All they want is an advance copy of the speeches and the +names of the people in the first three rows. The meeting begins at +eight-thirty sharp!" + +He did not urge a single signer to attend, but at eight-twenty every +seat in the Granite Presbyterian Church was filled by prominent people +who hated reporters and their loathsome prying into a man's private +affairs. + +It was a distinguished gathering, for H. R. had picked out nobody whose +name was not familiar to readers of newspaper advertisements, society +news, and government anti-corporation suits. Entire pews were filled +with Success in Art, Literature, Science, Commerce, Finance, and +Christianity. + +On the stage, formerly called chancel, were seated four bank presidents, +four bishops, four merchants, four social leaders, four great writers, +four great editors, four great painters, four great landlords, four +great statesmen; in short, four great everything. + +H. R. rose and said: "Before introducing the chairman I desire the +uninvited to retire instantly. The invitations were sent exclusively to +the men who have made New York what it is!" + +Would you believe it? Not one man retired. And they all knew what New +York was, too! + +They really thought New York was something to be proud of. + +"Those who do not rightfully belong here will retire!" repeated H. R. so +threateningly that each man instantly sweated mucilage and remained +glued to his seat. + +"I present our temporary chairman, Bishop Barrows." + +"The meeting will come to order," said the Bishop. + +Profound silence reigned. This so flabbergasted the reverend chairman +that he fidgeted. Then he offered a prayer. When he had finished and the +audience had drawn the customary long breath that follows "Amen" the +chairman hesitated. + +"I'll tell 'em why we are here, if you wish," whispered H. R. Then, +exactly as though the Bishop had acquiesced, he said, "Very well, +Bishop," and he obediently arose. + +The Bishop repeated, hypnotically, "Mr. Rutgers will tell you why we are +here." + +H. R. bowed to him and to the congregation. The reporters woke up. Here +was something better than oratory or facts: News. This explains why the +newspapers give more space to who speaks than to what is said. + +"Fellow New-Yorkers! We have been accused of provincialism. They tell us +we don't care for the rest of the country. This is not true. We do care. +We ought to: we own it! We supply to the rest of the country the money +to be prosperous with, the paintings to be artistic with, the magazines +to be cultivated with, the gowns to be beautiful with, and a place to +spend money in, unsurpassed in the world. We have built the best hotels +in the universe expressly to accommodate the people that hate New York. +This is the soul of hospitality. New York leads. Other cities follow. +They copy our clothes, our dances, our financiering, our barbers, our +sandwiches, and the uniform of our street-cleaners. Our superiority is +not only acknowledged, but resented. We have decided to do something +that never before has been attempted, not even by automobile +manufacturers. Let other cities copy us if they will. We are going to +feed all the hungry who have no money! We are going to do it on the New +York plan completely, intelligently, efficiently, and, above everything, +picturesquely. You have seen the sandwich announcements?" + +They had. For two days all New York had seen them and all New York had +talked about them, for the announcements had taken on the aspect of a +puzzle. The answer was now expected. On vaudeville stages shining stars +were at that very moment volunteering humorous solutions through their +noses. + +"We propose to do it by means of improved tickets. No man shall buy more +than one. The millionaire and the minister, the merchant and the mut, +all will help. And all will help equally that each may benefit his soul +in like degree without injury to any pocketbook. And, gentlemen, we are +going to do it in an entirely new way." + +Everybody stared intently at H. R. + +An entirely new way! + +"Nobody will be allowed to buy more than one ticket. The price will be +twenty-five cents! That sum will buy one Ideal Meal. The ticket not only +will entitle the holder thereof to admission to Madison Square Garden, +but it will also carry a coupon worth ten thousand dollars in cash!" + +He paused. The assemblage went pale. Hands were seen hastily buttoning +up coats. + +"I personally will give the money," said H. R., sternly. + +A great sigh of relief soughed its way himward. + +"The meal will be a revelation to those who talk about the high cost of +living and will conclusively prove the advantage of being permitted to +do business in a large way without ill-advised interference by a +grandfatherly government. It thus will have an important bearing on +current legislation. Each ticket-buyer will see with his own eyes the +entire journey of the quarter from the pocket to the empty stomach. Also +the coupon attached to every ticket, worth ten thousand dollars in cash, +will be a reward not of charity alone, but of the combination of charity +and brains." + +The audience fidgeted. They did not believe it. It was too remarkable. +But, anyhow, it was the orator's own money. + +"There will be," pursued H. R., accusingly, "no waste, no scientific +un-Christianity, no half-baked philanthropy, no nonsense. On one day +next week the sun will set on our city, and not one man, woman, or child +will go to bed hungry, unless it is by his doctor's orders. All the +hungry who have no money shall be fed. As for the coupon, I have myself +already contributed the necessary funds to take care of that." + +Instead of feeling irritation at the repetition, they looked at him with +a respect not often seen in a church. + +"It has never been attempted. I realize that we cannot make lazy men +prosperous nor put in brains where they were left out by a wise +Providence; but we are going to abolish hunger for one day, and then see +what we can do to make conditions improve permanently. And the burden +will be shared alike by all--nobody more than twenty-five cents." + +A look of resolve came over the faces of the entire audience. It was an +experiment worth trying! + +"Gentlemen," added H. R., sternly, "we are going to call the bluff of +the anarchistic labor agitators!" + +A storm of applause burst from the audience. H. R. held up a hand. + +"In giving, it is always wise to know to whom you are giving. The +Society of American Sandwich Artists, with the aid of those who have +made New York what it is, pledges itself to see to it that the meals +find the proper bellies. There is no such thing as scientific charity +any more than there is unscientific poverty. Nobody hates to give, but +everybody wishes to give wisely. I guarantee that nobody who has money +to buy food with will be fed at our expense. _I guarantee this!_" + +"_HOW?_" burst from three hundred and eighteen throats. + +"That is our secret. I may add that the coupon, worth exactly ten +thousand dollars in cash, is not a lottery scheme. Gentlemen, I count +upon your cooperation. I thank you." He bowed, modestly stepped back and +nodded to Bishop Barrows. "Adjourn," he whispered. + +"I have a few--" began Dr. Barrows, protestingly. + +"Adjourn. The reporters will print them from your manuscript." + +"But--" + +H. R. took out his handkerchief and wiped his cool, unfevered brow. He +had foreseen the chairman's speech. Max Onthemaker, who had been waiting +for the signal, jumped to his feet and yelled: + +"I move we adjourn!" + +"Second the motion!" shrieked Andrew Barrett from a rear pew. + +The Bishop had to put the motion. Not having been called upon to pledge +money, the assembly decided it was prudent to get out before the +situation changed. The motion was unanimously carried. + +H. R. received the reporters in the vestry-room. He even shook hands +with them. Then he said, as usual giving them the "lead" for their +stories: + +"These are the points to emphasize: The tickets are unlike any other +tickets ever invented. They cost twenty-five cents. They will carry a +coupon. To a person with brains that same coupon will be worth ten +thousand dollars in cash. Chance has nothing to do with it. Brains! In +any event, the twenty-five cents will buy one Ideal Meal. The menu will +be prepared by the Menu Commission, composed of competent persons, which +is another novelty in commissions--the highest-paid chefs in New York, +the proprietors of the three best restaurants, the three leading diet +specialists, and three experts on hunger. No food fads and no disguised +advertisements of breakfast foods or nerve-bracers. What Dr. Eliot's +Five-foot Book-shelf did for literature the S. A. S. A. Ideal +Hunger-Appeaser will do for the masses. That menu inaugurates a +revolution without bloodshed, vulgar language, or the destruction of +fundamental institutions. The low price of our meal is made possible by +the application of automobile-factory methods and the fact that we have +no profit to make. Play fair with the restaurant-keeper, boys, and make +this strong: + +"The S. A. S. A., after epoch-making experiments, psychological and +physiological, has succeeded in making fraudulent hunger impossible. We +have a cash-detector which will enable us to discard any applicant who +can pay for his food, and our alcoholic thirst-tester automatically +eliminates booze-fighters. The mammoth hunger feast will be held at +Madison Square Garden. Each ticket admits the buyer to the feast--as an +eye-witness that he may see where his money has gone. The coupon will be +detached by the ticket-taker at the entrance and returned to the +ticket-holder. Uncharitable people who have no brains need not buy a +ticket. + +"No shop, church, or bank will offer the tickets for sale; only our own +sellers in person and only one to each customer. We are not going to pay +anybody twenty thousand dollars. That's flat! The names of the members +of our various commissions will be announced later." He nodded +dismissingly. Then he seemed to remember that these were gentlemen. He +said: "My secretary, who has taken down my remarks in shorthand, will +give you typewritten copies of same. Use what you will. Only correct my +English, won't you? I'm not literary." + +That made them his friends. But the _Tribune_ man said: + +"I'm from Missouri and I'm not going to print anything unless--" + +"I don't expect you to print news. These gentlemen know I receive no +salary. They know as well as I do that my sole object is to win the hand +of Grace Goodchild." + +The _Journal_ man, who was sweet on the "Advice to the Love-Lorn" +editress, feverishly wrote the head-line, + + ALL FOR LOVE! + +"I needn't say to you," went on H. R., with a look that made the +reporters respect his reticence, "that if I were an advertising man the +publicity methods that I have introduced would have made me richer than +I am. _What in hell would I do with more money?_ Answer me that!" + +The _Tribune_ man answered by turning pale. The others looked uneasy. +When a well-dressed young man asks that question in New York there can +be but two answers: Bloomingdale or Standard Oil. + +H. R. was going to marry a rich banker's only daughter. He was therefore +no lunatic. + +H. R. was thenceforth regarded by the newspapers, and therefore by the +public, as a fabulously rich man. This made him definitely Front Page. +No other man ever became chronically that without committing murder or +playing for the labor vote. + + + + +XVIII + + +All the morning papers spread themselves on the story and thereby gained +the respect of those present at the meeting whose names were mentioned. +Only one of the journals featured Grace Goodchild. Two dwelt strongly on +the ten-thousand-dollar coupon and on the fact that the wealth of those +present at the Granite Presbyterian Church aggregated $3,251,280,000. +One pure-food featurer played up the ideal meal, and two the hope that +at last charity would be discriminating. + +At 9.14 A.M. messages began to rain down on H. R. They came by livened +youth, by telephone, and by secretaries. + +"Why," asked the Fitz-Marlton, "was not our chef considered enough? Why +drag in others?" + +"How does it happen that our fifty-thousand-dollars-a-year Piccolini, +who possesses eighteen decorations from crowned heads, is not one of the +Public Menu Commission? Don't you want the best?" This came from the +Vandergilt in writing that looked like ornamental spaghetti. + +"Please call at your earliest convenience and see what we give for +$17.38 in the way of a substantial breakfast," laconically invited Herr +Bummerlich of the Pastoral. + +Caspar Weinpusslacher called in person. He asked, reproachfully: + +"How it comes, Mr. Rutchers, that your best friend--" + +"Weinie," interrupted H. R., "this will cost you two thousand five +hundred tickets for your thirty-cent meal. You are put down as one of +the best three restaurateurs, together with Perry's and the +Robespierre." + +"But say, Mr. Rutchers, two thousand five hundred--" began Weinie, +trying to look angry at the extortion. He was rich now; he was even one +of the sights of New York. + +"Three thousand! That's what your haggling has done," cut in H. R., with +the cold determination that made him so formidable. + +"All right!" And Caspar ran out of the room. A terrible man, this. But +Frau Weinpusslacher would be in society now. + +"I trust you will not be misled by _newspaper scientists_ into fool +dietetics," wrote McAppen Dix, M.D., the hygiene expert of an afternoon +paper. + +H. R. promptly stopped reading the letters and told one of his +stenographers, "Reply to all telephone inquiries that the personnel of +the commission has not yet been definitely decided upon." + +The three highest-salaried chefs in New York, their emoluments duly +quadrupled by the reporters after eating sample ideal luncheons, the +three best restaurateurs, and the three leading experts on stomachic +functions had their names printed as "Probable Public Menu Commission" +by the afternoon prints. + +Doubtless in order not to be accused of plagiarism each afternoon paper +published a different set of names. Tentative menus also were given, to +be repudiated by H. R. and by indignant competitors in the next +morning's papers. + +That is how, in its glorious march to charity, all New York began to +take an interest in menus. It was the first symptom of an awakened civic +conscience and intelligent humanitarianism. "Tell me what you eat and I +will tell you what you are," long ago observed Brillat-Savarin. H. R. +wrote it for the reporters. It furnished the text for learned editorial +sermons. + +When Andrew Barrett ventured to express his admiration, H. R. murmured: + +"Plausible, persistent, and picturesque." + +"I don't quite get you," said Barrett. + +"Watch me and learn," retorted H. R. + +Other men have disregarded persistence, but H. R. did not. He kept up +the firing; no broadside, but one big gun at a time--once a day. As a +result, the H. R. plan for feeding the hungry of New York assumed a +serious aspect. The right bill of fare would change potential Socialists +into sensible citizens. This was so obviously true that everybody said +no living man could do it. But everybody anxiously looked for the +publication of the Public Menu Commission's report. It thus became news +plus suspense. + +The moment H. R. had selected the personnel of the commission he went to +the Goodchild house. + +"Frederick, tell Miss Goodchild to come down at once. I have only a +minute to stay. Make haste!" + +The imperturbable English menial actually ran. + +Grace rushed down in alarm. Frederick's incoherent words had made her +fear it was a message from her dressmaker telling why it was absolutely +impossible to have it ready in time as promised under oath. + +She petrified herself when she beheld the man who had made her famous. +She did this in order not to betray her glad relief. + +"Oh!" + +"Grace!" exclaimed H. R., fervently. He quickly approached her, took her +hand and led her into her own drawing-room. He then waved his disengaged +left at all the chairs with an air that said, "I give all this +magnificence to you!" He waved again and commanded, "Sit down!" + +She obeyed, but he did not let go her right hand. He sat beside her. +Just as she was about to pull it away indignantly he patted it twice +very kindly and himself laid it on her own lap. + +Her anger was on the very brink of turning itself into oratory when he +stood up, squarely before her, clenched his fists in order to hold +himself in a vanadium-steel clutch, and whispered, huskily: + +"Merciful Heaven, but you're beautiful!" + +The vocal storm, checked for an instant by his extraordinary exhibition +of self-control, gave him time to go on: "Don't look at me! Don't you +know how beautiful you are? It isn't fair!" + +He turned from her, walked over to one of the windows, and stared out of +it. + +It showed more than self-control. It showed respect. And there are times +when a New York girl likes to feel that the man who wishes to marry her +also respects her. Grace knew it would be absurd to ring for a +policeman; as absurd as to encourage H. R. to stay. And she really had +not studied him cold-bloodedly. She looked at his back and wondered. + +Presently H. R. turned from the window and with a semblance of composure +said to her: + +"If you will scold me, or laugh at me, or turn your back on me, I'll +find it easier to speak calmly." + +Since such was the case, she decided not to do any of the things he +desired her to do. She also said nothing. It is a very wise woman who, +being beautiful, can keep her mouth shut. + +"Grace, you and I are now at the door of the church. Our wedding will be +positively a national event. Have you read the papers? Did you see what +I have undertaken to do for your sake?" + +She turned away her head. But she heard him say, with the calmness of a +man who is sure of himself, and therefore to be respected: + +"I am cool again. You may turn your head this way." + +Her foot was tap-tapping the polar-bear skin eighty-four times to the +minute. She was trying to find a way of getting rid of him once for all. +She did not desire more sensational newspaper articles, and she realized +that she must be more than careful if she was not to supply the material +for them. She was clever enough to realize that this was not a man to be +shooed away, chickenwise. What had seemed so easy to do was in truth an +appalling problem. + +"Listen, Grace. For your sake I gave to New York free sandwiches." + +She sniffed before she could help it. + +"You are right," he admitted, "even if it made you famous"--she was +unmoved--"and me rich!" + +She started slightly. She had never thought of the business end of his +crusade. The motive is everything, in love as in murder. + +"You are right," he pursued. "But, really, I am not bragging about it. +But now I'm going to give free dinners. Millions are affected-- I mean +millions of dollars, not people. But I must have your help. Even your +da-- + +"Sir!" began the loyal daughter, angrily. + +"_Dad_, I was going to say, not _damn_, as you naturally assumed," he +explained, with dignity. "Even dad is on the Mammoth Hunger Feast +Commission. I put him on. When he sees I got the other bank presidents +he'll stay on. But I'll tell you why I came to see you--" + +"Uninvited," she frowned. + +"Of course. I haven't asked for the latch-key. By the way, is this house +big enough for the wedding reception?" he pondered, anxiously. + +"It is--for mine," she said, pointedly. Then she wondered why she didn't +order him away. The reason was that she couldn't. He wasn't that kind of +man! + +"That's good," he exclaimed with relief. "Well, I want you to sell +tickets. You read about the tickets for the Mammoth Hunger Feast?" + +"No! And I don't wish to know anything about it." + +"Quite so," he said, approvingly. "That being the case, you know all +about it. The tickets are to be sold by the one hundred perfectly +beautiful girls in New York. You head the list." + +She turned her face to him, a sneer on her lips. But before she could +speak he said, apologetically: + +"I know it isn't a subtle compliment. It happens to be a fact. There is +going to be tremendous pressure brought to bear on me for places on the +corps. I tell you this because your best friends will drive you crazy +asking you to use your influence with me. People who decry favoritism +always expect favors. I'd do anything for you. But I can't have any but +perfectly beautiful ones. I simply can't!" + +She looked at him with irrepressible interest. Then, remembering her +position, said, coldly, "Will you please leave now and never come back?" + +He went on: "It is going to make enemies for you. That will be your +first payment for being famous. You will be Number One of the perfectly +beautiful hundred because God made you what you are and not because you +are my wife--" + +"I am not!" + +"--to be. You didn't let me finish. Tell your friends you can't. If they +pester you, tell 'em flatly you won't. And for Heaven's sake don't use +the photograph of your pearls any more, nor the Crane portrait. Use the +picture _Vogue_ had last week. Or get some fresh ones and give La Touche +an order to supply 'em to the reporters. They won't cost you a cent that +way, because they print his name. Good-by, Grace." + +He held out his hand. She quickly put hers behind her back. His face +thereat lighted up. + +"Ah, you love me!" he exclaimed. "It was only a question of time, +Empress. And you will never know how much I love you until you realize +what it costs me to go away from here, unkissing, unkissed, and yet +without regrets! But some day--" He paused, and then, with a fierce +hunger that made his voice thick, "Some day I'll _eat_ you!" + +He walked out. She made an instinctive movement toward him, but checked +herself. As he left the room she confronted the mirror and looked at +herself. + +It brought the usual mood of kindliness. + +She forgave him. + +She rang for Frederick. "The Menaud motor, at once!" and went up-stairs +to telephone. If the reporters had to use photographs, she couldn't stop +them. + +Ten minutes later she had kindly given La Touche the photographer +eighteen poses. + +La Touche thanked her with the perfervid sincerity of a man whose +irreducible minimum is forty-eight dollars a dozen. Then he asked, +anxiously: + +"In case the reporters--" + +"I suppose they'd get them, anyhow." She spoke cynically. + +"Not unless they stole 'em," he denied, dignifiedly. "We never give any +out without permission. Of course they'd use snapshots, which are not +always--er--artistic." + +Remembering that she had been snapped when she had a veil on and also +with her mouth open, as all mouths must be in active speech, she told +him in a bored tone: + +"It doesn't interest me." + +"Thank you, mademoiselle! Thank you!" effusively exclaimed the artist. +"It is no wonder--" + +She turned on him a cold, haughty stare. + +He was all confusion. + +"_Pardon!_ I--I-- Monsieur Rutgers--" he stammered. "I--I-- He--" + +She left the shop, a vindictive look in her wonderful eyes. She hated +H. R. Was she merely the advertised vulgarity of that unspeakable man +whom her family so foolishly had not jailed? What had he made of her? +She might not mind being called beautiful by the newspapers, but-- + +The photographer's liveried flunky on the sidewalk opened the door of +her motor. + +Nine pedestrians, two of them male, stopped. + +"That's Grace Goodchild!" hissed one of the women, tensely. + +"See her?" loudly asked another. + +In the time consumed between the opening of the car's door and her +taking her seat eleven more New-Yorkers gathered about the Menaud. + +"Home!" she snapped, angrily. + +The photographer's flunky stepped away to tell the chauffeur. Instantly +a young man's head was thrust through the window of the car. Behind him +crowded a dozen disgusting beasts--female. + +"You're a pippin!" came from the young man's face a foot from her own. +She shrank back. "Say, _he's_ right! I wisht I was in his--" Then the +motor started and nearly, but, alas! not quite, decapitated the +loathsome compatriot. + +If this was fame, she didn't wish any of it, she decided. + +"I hate him!" she said to the cut-glass flower-holder. "He has given me +this absurd notoriety and-- What delays us?" + +She looked out of the window. + +They were halted at Thirty-fourth Street. Presently the traffic +policeman's whistle blew. The motor started again. + +She looked at the policeman. He instantly touched his helmet to her. And +she saw also that he nodded eagerly to his mounted colleague across the +street. + +The man on horseback also saluted her militarily! + +She bowed to him. She had to, being well-bred. She also smiled. She was +of the logical sex. + +"Nevertheless, I hate--" But she left her thought unfinished in her +quick desire to lie to herself. + +"The policeman must know papa," she said, aloud, to show H. R. what she +thought of him. + +And that made her wonder what H. R. had up his sleeve now. What did he +mean by saying that her troubles were only beginning and that she soon +would feel the heavy price of fame? What absurd thing was that about the +perfectly beautiful hundred and the tickets and the Beauty Commission +and the free sandwiches--hateful word!--and the free dinners, and the-- + +She almost ran up to her room, pretending not to hear the voices of her +tea-drinking friends in the Dutch room. In her boudoir she quickly read +all the newspaper clippings. She learned all about the Mammoth Hunger +Feast because, this being the second time, she now read intelligently, +instead of looking for a certain name. + +If H. R. could do all he said he would, he would be a wonder. And he was +a very clever chap, anyhow. + +Her father must be wrong. + +Mr. Goodchild himself could never get the newspapers to say about him +all the nice things they said about H. R. And Bishop Phillipson and the +fathers of girls she knew, and people she had heard of and painters and +novelists and--er--people were helping H. R. + +The tickets and the ten-thousand-dollar coupons and the ideal menu! + +"He _is_ clever!" she admitted, and smiled. Then she decided, "If he +makes me ridiculous--" and frowned. "I could kill him!" she said, +calmly, as befits a Christian assassin. That desire compelled her to +think of H. R. and of what he had said from their first meeting at the +bank. He had said much and had done more. In the end she spoke aloud: +"I wonder if he really loves me?" + +A knock at the door was the only answer--a servant who came to tell her +that Mrs. Goodchild wished her to know they were waiting for her +downstairs in the Dutch room. + +"Very well," she said to the servant. To herself she said, firmly, "Even +if he loves me and is everything he should be I can never marry a man +who has made me feel like a theatrical poster!" + +Her determination was adamantine. To break it H. R. must be more than +clever. + + + + +XIX + + +H. R. at that very moment was in his office. He had prepared a few model +epistles for his Public Sentiment Corps to write to the newspapers, +asking whether the composition of the ideal hunger-appeaser had been +printed and when the tickets for the Mammoth Hunger Feast would be +offered for sale. This would keep alive interest in his plans and in the +personnel of his public commissions. People had grown to believe that +all sorts of commissions were necessary not only to free but even to +intelligent government. + +He had his list of names ready for the reporters when they called. + +"The announcement as to how we shall sell the tickets--each at +twenty-five cents--to pay for a wonderful meal for a hungry person and a +coupon attached, with ten thousand dollars in cash if you have +brains--will be made to-morrow." + +"But--" expostulated a fat reporter. + +"To-morrow!" said H. R., feeling strong enough now to be nasty to the +press. Either he was or he was not yet News. He would decide that matter +for all time. + +"Do you think we are your hired press agents to--" angrily began the fat +one. + +"I don't give a damn if I never see you again. I don't care what you +print or what you don't print, nor when. We do our advertising through +the medium of sandwiches. Get to hell out of here and remember the libel +laws; also that I pay my lawyers by the year. They are not very busy +just now." To the others he said, kindly, "That's all to-day, boys. I'm +busy as blazes." + +Cursing the absurd libel laws which prevent all newspapers from printing +the truth, the fat reporter took his list of names and his leave at one +and the same time. You can't treat even frauds humorously nowadays. + +H. R. had won again! + +He summoned Andrew Barrett and said to him: "Get this sandwich out +to-morrow. It is one of our own. S. A. S. A. account; all-day job." + +"The men objected to the other--" + +"Seven thirty-cent tickets to Weinpusslacher's apiece," interrupted +H. R., impatiently. "Get them from Weinie. He owes us three thousand." + +"Great! Greatissimo!" shouted young Mr. Barrett. He hated to pay out +real money, and the members were getting ugly. They wanted pay for +everything, even for sandwiching for the Cause. + +"Go to the costumer of the Metropolitan Opera House, to Madame Pauline, +and to Monsieur Raquin of the Rue de la Paix who is stopping at the +Hotel Regina, and to the fashion editor of the _Ladies' Home Mentor_, +and ask each to send us a design for a ticket-seller's costume. They +will be worn by perfectly beautiful girls. There will be one hundred of +them. I myself vote for the Perfect Thirty-eight, about five feet seven +and one-half tall. My model of perfection is Miss Goodchild. Get busy. +And, Barrett--" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Here is the text for the sandwich." H. R. handed a sheet of paper to +his lieutenant, who read thereon: + + ONE HUNDRED GIRLS + + WILL SELL TICKETS + + TO THE + + MAMMOTH HUNGER FEAST + + * * * * * + + THEY ARE THE ONLY + + PERFECTLY BEAUTIFUL GIRLS + + IN ALL NEW YORK + + * * * * * + + LOOK FOR THEM! + + LOOK AT THEM! + + PERFECTLY BEAUTIFUL! + + O. K. + H. R., + _Sec._ + +"Say, H. R., this is the master-stroke! commented Andrew Barrett. + +"To-morrow," said H. R. coldly, "one hundred sandwiches on the Avenue. +One of them in front of Goodchild's all day. White canvas. Heliotrope +letters. Pea-green border. Design number eleven. Also insert this ad. in +all the papers." + +This was the copy of the advertisement: + + _Wanted:_ Perfectly Beautiful Girls. Not merely pretty, nor + merely young, nor merely hopeful, but Perfectly Beautiful! + Object: To make New-Yorkers thank Providence they live in + the same town. Apply H. R., Allied Arts Bldg. + +Andrew Barrett read it and left the room shaking his head, unable to +speak coherently. + +H. R. looked up a few addresses in the Directory and went out. He called +on the president of the National Academy of Design, on the Professor of +Anatomy of the College of Physicians and Surgeons, on the president of +the National Sculpture Society, the president of the Magazine Cover +Designers' Guild, the president of the Equal Suffrage League, who was +Mrs. Vandergilt, and Professor Tangolino, late of the Argentine +Republic. These, with H. R., would constitute the Public Beauty +Commission and would decide who was perfectly beautiful. + +To each he pointed out that the noble cause of charity must be advanced. +Also an American standard of perfect beauty would be established for all +time, their decision being unappealable. The artists instantly approved +the plan, the method being artistic and therefore strictly logical. The +president of the Suffrage League at first demurred. She objected to sex +being dragged into the affair, and, besides, mere physical beauty too +long had been accorded a disproportionate importance in social and +political matters. It degraded a sex fit for higher things than to be +man's plaything. H. R., however, earnestly pointed out that it involved +the recognition of the superior salesmanship of women--not +sales_woman_ship, but sales_man_ship, for while man was no better than +woman in the conduct of the government or anything else, woman was +infinitely the superior of man in many things. He finally induced Mrs. +Vandergilt and the others to serve on the commission. + +But the damned newspapers, he warned them, would print names and would, +alas! devote much space to their deliberations. + +They said that the regrettable publicity would not stop them from doing +their duty. + +He returned to his office and prepared a series of questions for the +papers to ask him. This is the most intelligent form of newspaper +interview because it is always printed. Answers to the reporters' own +questions always appear in the papers when the reporters themselves have +to supply them. + +These were the questions--which later on the Public Sentiment Corps +answered with judiciously varied ayes and noes. + + 1. Were there one hundred Perfectly Beautiful Girls in New + York? + + 2. Would there be a second Judgment of Paris? + + 3. Was the Public Beauty Commission really competent? + + 4. How many points for complexion and coloring? For teeth? + For figure? For hands and feet and hair? + + 5. Would not a uniform garment, on the lines of Annette + Kellerman's bathing-suit, be the only fair way? + + 6. Would the wives, daughters, or fiancees of the members of + the commission be _hors concours_? + + 7. At what age did a girl cease to be a _Girl_? + + 8. Should Morality be allowed to interfere with Art? + +When the reporters called at the S. A. S. A. offices H. R. gave to each +a typewritten set of the questions and said: + +"The commission will hold meetings. They will be public to the +applicants. Nobody else, excepting male reporters, will be allowed to be +present. And you might add, gentlemen, that the commission considers the +requirements for success so uncommon as to render unnecessary the lease +of the Madison Square Garden to hold the candidates. The sessions will +be held in a room not much larger than this room. And," added the +diabolic H. R., "we have no fear of overcrowding. They have to be +_perfectly beautiful girls_, beautifully perfect. Now, don't quote me, +boys, but you might print, as a report on good authority, that the only +one thus far chosen is Miss Grace Goodchild!" + +Though all reporters are human, most of them are grateful. They duly +published the "rumor" and Grace's latest photographs. + + + + +XX + + +Long before the tea was over, Grace Goodchild, two miles north of him, +realized that H. R. was one of those detestable persons who are always +right. A dozen of her intimates surrounded her in the Dutch room. They +all talked at once. When eleven stopped for lack of breath the twelfth, +who very cleverly had saved hers, asked: + +"Did they really pick you out, Grace?" + +The speaker was not perfectly beautiful. But she was wise and therefore +a virgin. + +"No!" said Grace. "But really, I don't want to have anything to do with +it." + +"If Hendrik was _my_ Hendrik, I'd be _It_," said the wise virgin, +determinedly, "or he'd know it!" + +"He told me," Grace spoke modestly, "that only perfectly beautiful girls +would be chosen. And so of course that lets me out!" + +"Oh-h-h-h!" came in chorus. There ensued much whispering. Grace flushed. +No woman likes to be accused of mendacity monosyllabically. It made her +dislike H. R. more than ever. + +"Does your father," asked the wise one, "still oppose--" + +"He does," answered Grace. Then she added, "Of course." + +"I think your father--" And the wise one bit her lips. You would have +thought she was snipping off thread with her teeth. A well-bred person +must do this oftener than a seamstress--to keep herself from telling the +truth. + +"_My_ father," tactfully observed Marion Molyneux, "could oppose until +the cows came home." + +"Mamma is on the commission and I'm not eligible, so _I_ am not after +his vote," said Ethel Vandergilt. "But I'd love to meet him, Grace. Is +he all they say he is?" + +Grace Goodchild for the first time began to realize that H. R. was a +remarkable man. She realized it by the simple expedient of disliking +Ethel. + +"Is it true that he'll do anything you tell him?" cut in Cynthia +Coleman, enviously. She was a very pretty girl, with the absurd doll +face that makes men feel so manly. She had brains. A girl with that face +always has. She shows it by never showing them. The face does the trick +more quickly. + +Grace said, calmly, "H. R. never--" + +"Oh, girls, she calls him H. R., too!" exclaimed Marion. + +Feeling herself one of a multitude made Grace feel a mere human being. +Created in the image of God, each of them naturally desires to feel like +a goddess. + +"I do not call him H. R.," said Grace, coldly. + +"It is more important to know what he calls her," observed the wise one. + +Grace remembered what H. R. had called her. She felt herself blushing +with anger. Truly, the gods were kind to H. R. + +"Coming back to our muttons, are you going to introduce us?" asked Ethel +Vandergilt. + +"I'm not going to have anything to do with the affair," said Grace, +decisively. + +"Aren't you?" said the wise one. It barely missed being a sneer. + +"Why not?" asked Ethel. She was the best-gowned woman in the United +States. And she was _ex-officio hors concours_. + +Grace Goodchild felt the stare of twenty pairs of eyes of differing +degrees of brightness, but of the same degree of unbelief. They +irritated her by flattering her. No woman can concentrate when watched +by other women. Grace, therefore, was compelled to live up to the role +which society had assigned to her, whether she liked it or not. + +When you tell a man he is wise and ask for advice, he looks as wise as +he can and answers ambiguously. When you tell a woman you don't believe +her she indignantly tells you the truth. + +"One of the reasons"--she spoke very sweetly--"is that he said my +friends would ask me to do it but he did not wish me to add to his +troubles." + +The girls were listening with their very souls, for this was inside +news. + +Grace went on: "The commission will be absolutely impartial--" + +"You don't know mother!" muttered Ethel Vandergilt. + +Grace heard her, and she said, rebukingly, "Yes, absolutely impartial +and--" + +"Are you chosen one of the hundred?" asked the wise virgin. + +"Yes, I am!" answered Grace, defiantly. "I had nothing to do with it. +This whole affair is exceedingly distasteful to me." + +"Of course!" came in a great chorus. + +To agree with her in that tone of voice was intolerable. + +Grace's hatred shifted from the unspeakable H. R. to these bosom +friends. If it were not that H. R. was always right, she wouldn't +dislike _him_ so much. + +"It is not that I mind not being one of the hundred, but the not being +asked to be," muttered the doll face. + +It was obviously what all of them minded. + +Ethel Vandergilt said: "If I could make my mother resign I'd offer my +services. But she is not the resigning kind. Good-by. I'm crazy to meet +your H. R." + +Well, they were welcome to him--if she made up her mind she did not want +him for herself. + +The moment the last false friend left, Grace's tolerant smile vanished. + +Was she, in sooth, chosen Number One? The papers said it was only a +rumor. + +Suppose she was not Number One, after all? Supposing the commission-- + +"I could kill him!" she hissed, and left the room. + +Frederick came to her. "Miss Goodchild, there are five reporters waiting +to see you." + +"Say I'm not at home!" Then she called the man back. "Ask them what they +want," and went up-stairs to her room. + +Frederick returned presently and reported: "They say they will do +themselves the honor to inform you in person if you will be kind enough +to see them. And, Miss--" He paused. He had exceeded his duty. + +"What is it, Frederick?" asked Grace, knowing that the imperturbable +cockney was perturbed. + +"There is quite a crowd outside. They are photographing the ladies, +ma'am." + +"What ladies?" + +"Begging your pardon, Miss Vandergilt and the others, ma'am." + +"Where?" + +"Just in front of the door. Mr. Goodchild had some trouble in getting +in, ma'am. He's quite vexed about it, but it wasn't my fault, ma'am," he +said, forgetting that he was a menial; that is, protesting against +injustice. "I couldn't help it, ma'am." + +"Very well, Frederick," she said, graciously, and descended. + +Five reporters were politely listening to Mr. Goodchild's vituperations. +Therefore his daughter walked down the stairs as majesty descends from +the dais. One of the reporters started to meet her half-way. + +"Hey! confound you, come down!" shrieked papa. + +"Miss Goodchild, we wished to ask you if you had been chosen as the +first of the perfectly beautiful hundred. Now that we have seen you at +close range, the question is unnecessary." + +She smiled slightly; then ceased to smile. The intelligent young man +proceeded courteously: "Will you therefore kindly tell us when the +wedding will be?" + +All reporters are psychologists in their interrogations. The other +reporters ceased listening to Mr. Goodchild and as politely as the +circumstances permitted took out paper and pencils. + +When an angry man is suddenly deprived of his audience he becomes a +mental assassin. + +Mr. Goodchild blamed it on H. R. + +"She'll never marry that infernal idiot!" he shrieked. He was the head +of the house. + +"Ah yes," said the diplomatist on the stair, looking as though he had +memorized the exact words. "Ah yes! June! Thank you." He nodded +gratefully at Mr. Goodchild, jotted down a date, and put the paper in +his pocket. + +"Congratulations, Miss Goodchild," he said to her, with profound +respect, and descended. In the hall he said to his colleagues: "Come on, +boys. We've got the month. She _is_ Number One, and--" + +"If you dare to print anything I'll have you fired," fumed Mr. +Goodchild. + +"If you were a younger man I'd tell you to fire your grandmother, sir. +But I fear me she is, alas! no more. In the mean time, Mr. Goodchild, +will you be good enough to pose for our artist? Look pleasant, please. +You'll have to close your mouth to do it. Wilson, you may begin filming +when ready!" he said to his photographer, who had just pushed past +Frederick. + +Sounds of cheering and applause came from the street. The +ultra-fashionable friends of Grace Goodchild, having been photographed, +were shaking hands with the artists and spelling their own names to the +reporters. + +The gaping proletariate, seeing such graciousness, recognized the +aristocracy of the democracy and were cheering madly. An aristocracy +whose sense of humor makes it kindly is lasting. + +"Them's real swells!" shrieked a red-headed girl who carried a large +bandbox. + +More cheers. + +At that moment Grace Goodchild, impelled by an irresistible curiosity +appeared at her door. + +"_There she is!_ Hooray!" proudly shrieked two hundred and eighteen +potential Socialists, making room for Bishop Phillipson. + +Hoping they were not too late for the wedding, the throngs clapped +furiously. Even at marriages there are encore fiends. + +"How do you do, my child?" inquired the Bishop, with a tolerant smile. + +"Please turn around, Bishop!" shrieked the _Journal_ artist. He was paid +by the portrait. + +The Bishop did so, smiled benignantly, saw the shutter open and close, +and then said, deprecatingly: + +"I do not wish my picture taken, sir." + +"No, sir. Will you give us another shot, Bishop?" + +The reverend gentleman waited a moment and then shook his head and +turned his back rebukingly on the photographers, who a second time had +not respected his wishes. + +"Such is fame, Bishop Phillipson," Grace told him, with a smile. + +"Reflected greatness, rather," said the Bishop, with his courtly +kindliness. + +"It's an infernal outrage!" came in a husky voice from the house. + +"It's papa. He doesn't understand--" + +"He and I are too old, I fear," smiled the Bishop, mournfully. "And how +is H. R., my dear?" + +She shook her head and frowned. Always that person! + +"A most remarkable young man," pursued the Bishop, congratulatorily. He +had received three and one-half bushels of letters from utter strangers, +commending his practical Christianity and his highly intelligent plan +for feeding the hungry. Five vestry-men also had expressed their +gratification that his name headed the list of the men who had made New +York the greatest city of the hemisphere. It looked as though the hungry +were to be fed. + +The Bishop and Grace moved out of the doorway to allow the reporters to +pass, and were themselves about to enter the house when a sound of +cheering made them halt in their tracks. + +A vast crowd was walking up the Avenue. In the van marched one of +H. R.'s free sandwiches. He was dressed in crimson broadcloth (from +Morton & Co. as per the next morning's accounts) and he wore a shining +silk hat (Fox Brothers, as per same in the _Times_, _Herald_, and +_Tribune_). The sandwich-board was a most gorgeous affair--a shield of +burnished gold (by Cellini & Co., Florentine frame-makers) on which were +the arms of the City of New York in heraldic colors. Beneath, in +six-inch letters of glittering turquoise enamel, was: + +[Illustration: THE FIRST OF THE PERFECTLY BEAUTIFUL 100 IS GRACE +GOODCHILD OF 777 FIFTH AVENUE.] + +In front of the Goodchild mansion the stalwart free sandwich stopped, +faced Miss Goodchild, raised his glittering top-hat, and held it in the +air, Beau Brummelesquely. + +Andrew Barrett was immediately behind the herald of the free and +intelligent people of the greatest city of the New World. + +A hush fell on the multitude. + +"Speech!" shrieked Andrew Barrett. + +"Speech!" shrieked twelve hundred and thirty-eight intelligent +New-Yorkers and seven bankers. + +"There's Bishop Phillipson!" shrilled a correctly gowned elderly lady, +pointing a jeweled lorgnette at the Bishop of New York. It meant the +Church approved. + +"Hooray for the Bishop! Bishop! Bishop!" + +"_Vox populi, vox Dei_," murmured the Bishop to himself. + +"Say something, my child," he gently urged Grace. "After all, we may +dislike the way it is done, but if the hungry are fed we may be +forgiven." + +Grace Goodchild burned with desire to make a wonderful speech to prove +that her greatness was her very own. They wanted her, not H. R., this +time! It was _her_ triumph, not his. + +Alas! She did not know what to say. She did not even know how to say it. +She therefore shook her head angrily. + +"Speech!" shouted the crowd, twice as vehemently as before. They always +want to hear what you don't wish to say. + +The cameras were clicking away madly. They sounded like the +telegraph-room of a national convention. + +Five-dozen healthy young persons began chanting, rhythmically: + +"Speech! Speech! Speech!--speech!--speech!" + +Grace thought they were saying: + +"His Peach! His Peach! His Peach! Peach! Peach!" + +She hotly resented the intimation of H. R.'s ownership, but the +sincerity of the tribute paralyzed her. The sandwich-man had been +amiably told by Andrew Barrett, "Hold the pose, you slob!" and did so. +His immobility was most impressive. His shield dazzled Grace. She +recalled, in a flash, Geraldine Farrar. + +She bowed to the sandwich, then to right and left, kissed her hand to +the crowd of voters and not-yet voters, and ran blushing into the house. + +The storm of applause broke loose. The very house rocked drunkenly as +the sound-waves dashed themselves against the facade. + +The strenuous, nerve-racking life of New York compelled the crowd to +linger for an hour. It was not until they began to break off bits of the +bronze railing and chip souvenirs from the portico columns that the +Goodchilds' butler sent a hurry call for the police. + +The lieutenant's official version was cold and formal. + + + + +XXI + + +The Public Menu Commission had been having pitched battles. The Public +Sentiment Corps had been bombarding the newspapers with letters asking +for the official menu, but the commission refused to be hurried by +popular clamor, and said so to the reporters. Their own sessions were +held behind locked doors. Omelette soufflee au curacoa was definitely +stricken off Signor Piccolini's tentative menu, on the theory that the +filling was not permanent. + +"Air is cheap," protested Piccolini, "and we have to consider the +expense." + +"But we want something that will stay by the hungry more than fifteen +minutes." + +"Then," said Piccolini, scathingly, "give them sliced rubber boots." + +"If _you_ prepared the sauce, dear master," interjected H. R., who +happened to be present, "I'd rather eat it than any other artist's filet +Chateaubriand aux--" + +Piccolini bowed to him profoundly. Then he shrugged his shoulders at the +others. + +"Nevertheless," he said, with conviction, "Omelette soufflee--" + +"What can you expect from the other members?" whispered H. R. to him. +"If we prolong the debate there won't be any hungry men alive to eat our +dinner. Yield, dear master, for the sake of humanity." Then he said +aloud, "Let's try beans." + +The Commission therefore reported progress and adjourned for the day. + +The newspapers, spurred thereto by the avalanche of letters and favorite +recipes from charitable ladies in Brooklyn, who gave their names, +addresses, and terms per week, devoted much space to the ideal +hunger-appeaser. + +For the first time in history New York began to take an intelligent +interest in menus. Everybody talked about eating as if Hungarian +orchestras and Brazilian dances did not exist. + +Presently the newspapers announced on unimpeachable authority that +serious dissensions existed among the members of the Public Menu +Commission. It was hinted that resignations would be called for. + +Applications for the vacant places and suggestions from really competent +men poured into the editorial rooms. It made the commission, as usual, +an editorial target. More space! + +That impelled the Commission, speaking with difficulty by reason of the +swollen lips of the chairman, to announce the menu. H. R. had it printed +on academy board. + +New York, on the tiptoe of expectation to learn what an ideal +hunger-appeaser would consist of, and how it could be done for +twenty-five cents and how the commission could decide without bloodshed, +made haste to read the menu: + + Soup a la Piccolini + Entree a la Hotel Regina + Roast a la Perry + Vegetable a la Weinpusslacher + Dessert a la Fitz-Marlton + Bread a la Prof. Preston + Milk a la Pasteur + Coffee a la Manhattan + Tea as Wanted + + O. K. + H. R., + _Sec._ + +The exact recipe of each dish would be made public after the Hunger +Feast. It would remain a secret until then! + +More space! See? Could the newspapers help it? Didn't people have to +have something to talk about? If they didn't, what could the editorial +writers have to write about? + +Knowing that talk must continue in order that interest in the Hunger +Feast might not abate, H. R. himself went to the shops on Fifth Avenue. +The shops elsewhere would follow the Avenue fashions. + +He told each window-dresser the same thing. + +"I come to you _first_ because you are an artist concerned with color +effects and striking arrangements. You also are a psychologist, since +you compel people to halt on the sidewalk and then mutely induce them to +use the doors. You really are the man who declares the dividends on the +firm's capital stock. Yes, you do, and I'll see that the big chief +acknowledges it, too. Now I've come to you--_first_! Whatever you do +will be copied. It makes you plagiarizable, and that is merely the +recognition of greatness. You have the window. In order to dissociate +the idea of money from your shop in the public's mind I'm going to give +you a chance to prove that you are above mere money-making, which is +something no Fifth Avenue shop ever did before. Remember in this +connection the psychology of the crowd and of the money they wish to +spend and at the same time keep in their pockets. You and your windows +are New York--the New York that draws the crowd of natives and +Americans. Give a whole window, not to _my_ charity, but to New +York's--to yours! Put this menu on an easel, with a background of that +wonderful velvet you had the other day--the one that killed your +competitors. It was wonderful!" + +Before the artist could draw his breath H. R. had warmly bid him +good-by, leaving a menu in the astonished artist's hand. + +They did. It was original, as they explained to the boss. And even +department-store bosses know that originality means novelty, and novelty +is what New York pays for. + +Within six hours the first edition of menus was exhausted. In every shop +window in New York the public could read the Public Menu Commission's +masterpiece. Cost: $68.14 + H. R. + +The undoubted possessors of perfect beauty gave more trouble than the +menu, and therefore got more space in the newspapers. A regular detail +of police guarded not only the Allied Arts Building day and night, but +also the honor and features of the Public Beauty Commission. Grace +Goodchild was compelled to make use of her neighbor's house, Mrs. +Vantine's, in order to reach the street. She used the Seventy-sixth +Street entrance. Mrs. Vantine congratulated Grace each time on her +deserved triumph and asked her to look at Louise, her youngest. + +H. R. had told Barrett to convey delicately to the press that the +relatively young wife of one of the members of the commission had left +for Reno. No name was mentioned. Therefore the portraits of all the male +members were impartially published. A neat little interrogation-mark +after each name did _not_ constitute libel. + +The commissioners were thereafter compelled to be particularly nice to +their own wives in public. + +The theatrical profession howled individually, collectively, in person, +in writing, by telephone, and through press agents. Nightly these +favorites would ask, more or less nasally and slightly below pitch, +whether they were not perfectly beautiful, and gave the audience the +opportunity to judge of fifteen-sixteenths of their persons. And the +unanimous reply was, "You are!"--from the claque. It became the topic of +the day, and as such divided families and parted friends. + +At the end of three days H. R. diabolically announced that only +sixty-eight had been selected. + +"Aren't there one hundred perfectly beautiful girls in Greater New +York?" he feverishly asked the reporters. "Aren't there?" + +The literary misogynists propounded the same query--in the head-lines, +at that! On the very morning that saw that insulting question printed it +was estimated by one of the newspapers that 318,029 answered, "Present." +It was probably an exaggeration, as there doubtless was some repeating. + +The Public Beauty Commission added fourteen to the list of utter +pulchritudes. Names, addresses, and portraits duly printed. + +Elderly persons signing William H. P. or James G. C. in feminine +hand-writing asked the most conservative newspapers whether there was +nothing else fit to print but the disgusting travesty on charity or the +appalling vulgarity of immodest females. + +The newspapers printed the letters. One of them, an afternoon sheet, +stopped printing names and portraits of the successful. It stopped for +one issue. + +The circulation department interviewed the city department. The paper +went back, under a new city editor, to the business of printing all the +news that was fit to print. + +The public demanded it. + +On Sunday all the newspapers published the full list of one hundred +perfectly beautiful girls who alone would sell tickets admitting the +holder to the Mammoth Hunger Feast in the capacity of spectator. One to +each customer; no more. + +On Monday they printed a facsimile of H. R.'s ticket. + +[Illustration] + +No. 1 was a coupon to be detached by the seller. It was in the nature of +both wages and a vote to show which was the perfectest of the perfect. +It would mean the only fair election ever held in America. Only one +ticket to each customer. There would be no rich man buying tickets by +the thousand, no stuffing of the ballot-boxes by the gallant commander +of a militia regiment, no undue influence on the part of high political +officials. No man could resist a perfectly beautiful girl who asked him +to buy one ticket for a quarter of a dollar, twenty-five cents. + +No bribing by kisses was necessary. + +The rest of the ticket was retained by the buyer. It bought what the +masses were beginning to speak of as the dandy belly-filler for a hungry +person who was warranted not to have any money. No. 3 coupon was to be +detached by the doorkeeper at Madison Square Garden and returned to the +ticket-buyer. If the holder of said coupon exercised his or her brains +he or she would receive ten thousand dollars in cash. Conditions +governing the collection of said ten thousand dollars would be published +on Saturday morning. It would _not_ be a lottery. + +It now behooved charitable New-Yorkers to buy the tickets which would +feed all hungry persons who positively had no money to buy food with, +and at the same time receive ten thousand dollars in cash, brains being +present--all for twenty-five cents. + +The ten thousand would be paid in cash, with United States Treasury +notes obtained from the National Bank of the Avenue. This insured their +genuineness. + +On Monday the perfectly beautiful started. It was, fittingly, a +perfectly beautiful day. In automobiles (makers' names given, since it +was for charity) decked with beautiful flowers (donating florists also +honorably mentioned in the public prints, and paid advs. besides) the +perfectly beautiful hundred went forth to appeal to the great heart of +New York. + +They were indeed beautiful. At least the men, being blind and possessing +the suffrage, thought so. Why, they even clamored to be allowed to buy. +And found ways and means of repeating. They never can vote honorably. + +The newspapers reported that by 11 P.M. 38,647 tickets had been sold. +Also they announced twenty-three engagements of perfectly beautiful +ticket-sellers. + +Grace Goodchild's name led the list. This time Mr. Goodchild did not +deny it. The reporters refused to listen to him, damn 'em! + +On Tuesday the receipts fell on. Only 7,363 were sold. + +No engagements. + +On Wednesday the sales rose. The _offers_ of marriage aggregated 18,889. +Sixteen engagements of poor but perfectly beautiful girls to rich but +devilishly wise old men! + +A truly remarkable thing happened. Everybody ceased to be concerned with +the sales of tickets or the object thereof. Crowds before the newspaper +offices patiently watched for announcements of fresh betrothals. Every +time one went on the bulletin-board the spectators cheered as if it were +a home run instead of a prospective marriage. + +The betrothed reported to H. R. that they found the display of the +solitaires interfered with the sales of tickets. He advised them to +remove it. They refused. + +"Well," he said, coldly, "the one who sells the most tickets will be +declared the most beautiful of the hundred. Of course you don't care +what men think of your looks so long as one man thinks you are the most +beautiful. He must, since he is your fiance. By all means show the +solitaire. I respect your modesty. Besides, it keeps you from receiving +offers that you cannot, with honor, entertain." + +They therefore removed their engagement-rings during business hours. + +In Thursday's papers were printed the facsimile of a certified check for +ten thousand dollars signed by H. R. It was a sample prize. All checks +would be exchanged for cash before the Hunger Feast began. + +_Save your coupons!_ + +This was already the commercial slogan of a great nation. + +On Friday H. R., knowing that even perfectly beautiful girls cannot hold +the attentive interest of New York unless infractions of the Seventh +Commandment are provided in relays, gave out a statement for the +newspapers. The newspapers not only printed it, but featured it. + + Heretofore [said H. R.] when charitable folks have given + money to organized charity they have never been able to feel + certain that the money went to the right people. Organized + charity has been compelled to be careful. While the merits + of the case were under investigation it has frequently + happened that the case has died of starvation. Now, genuine + destitution needs not life-insurance examination, but common + sense and ordinary Christianity on the jump. We have + undertaken to feed the hungry who have no money to buy food + with. If anybody out of the thousands who will be fed by us + is proven to be an undeserving object of our charity I will + give one hundred thousand dollars par value in gilt-edged + securities to any organized charity approved by Mr. George + G. Goodchild, president of the Ketcham National Bank, who, + being my prospective father-in-law against his wishes, will + be glad to have me lose the money. + + Modern methods of efficiency have been applied to charity + for the first time. Hence this meal, scientifically studied, + artistically concocted, digestible, delicious, and filling. + There will be no graft, no throwing away of the public's + nobly given money, no dietetic fads, no scientific sawdust, + no waste, no salaries, no fraudulent hungers, no inhumanity, + no maudlin sentiment, nothing but common sense now first + applied to charity by New York. The Mammoth Hunger Feast, + marking an era in the life of the great metropolis, will + begin at 8.30 P.M. in order to give time for all + ticket-holders to dine at home. Well-fed New-Yorkers will + therefore be able to see with their own eyes how starving + people eat--people who have no money to buy food with. + Before each ticket-holder takes the seat to which he is + entitled he, or more probably she, will receive ten thousand + dollars in cash, by simply using brains. Let us see if + New-Yorkers are as clever as they are charitable. Also, I + shall marry Grace Goodchild in June. + + [Signed] H. R. + +A great many people announce an epoch-making idea and expect the world +to remember it ever thereafter. H. R. knew that, living in a republic, +he must iterate, reiterate, repeat, and sign every time. + +On Saturday morning the ninety-nine other perfectly beautiful girls were +engaged. Grace Goodchild, when asked point-blank if she were engaged to +H. R., now answered, "Do you see any engagement-ring?" Then she held up +her slim and beautiful hands. No ring. + +All told, 186,898 tickets had been sold. It was plain that repeating had +been indulged in. The fair sellers could not be blamed. + +"If susceptible men have bought more than one ticket," H. R. said to the +reporters, "they need not think they will get more than ten thousand +dollars. But the fact remains that we have more than enough money." + +This entitled H. R. to the respect of the most conservative dailies. +And, moreover, he paid full rates for a half-page in which he printed +this advertisement: + + HUNGRY PEOPLE WHO CAN'T BUY FOOD BECAUSE THEY HAVE NO MONEY + WILL RECEIVE A FINE DINNER FREE BY GOING TO MADISON SQUARE + GARDEN TO-NIGHT BEFORE 8.30. FOURTH AVENUE ENTRANCE. + + NO MATTER HOW YOU CAME TO BE HUNGRY AND PENNILESS; NO MATTER + WHAT YOUR LIFE HAS BEEN OR WHAT YOUR RELIGION NOW IS; NO + MATTER WHAT YOUR HABITS ARE OR WHAT YOUR POLITICAL OPINIONS + MAY BE, WITHOUT REGARD TO YOUR JAIL RECORD, DISEASE, STATE + OF MIND, OR FAVORITE NEWSPAPER, IF YOU ARE HUNGRY AND HAVE + NO MONEY, COME AND EAT! + + TO THE PUBLIC: COME AND SEE THEM EAT YOUR TICKETS! + + UNDER THE AUSPICES OF THE SOCIETY OF AMERICAN SANDWICH + ARTISTS. + + H. R., + _Sec._ + + SPONSORS: THE MEN WHO HAVE MADE NEW YORK WHAT IT IS! + +Then followed three hundred and seventeen famous names. + +"What I have to say," H. R. modestly told the reporters, "I have stated +in my advertisement. However, if you wish to ask any questions, or if +you think the public is interested in any particular point--" + +"It is! We do!" exclaimed the reporters. "Tell us about the ten thousand +dollars!" + +"It is very simple and very easy," said H. R., with the deadly +earnestness of a man who knows he will not be believed when he speaks +the truth in New York. "As each person passes the ticket-taker he will +go, coupon in hand, into the superintendent's office. There he will be +asked one question. It is not a catch question. No puns permitted. No +double meaning. No particularly deep or recondite significance. It is a +plain question, vital to the welfare of all New-Yorkers, affecting the +destiny of the American nation. The answer is perfectly obvious. The +Mayor has been invited to be present, and he will see to it that no +fraud is perpetrated on the thousands of people who have bought tickets +in good faith--" + +"I thought the object of the tickets was to feed hungry--" began a +serious-eyed reporter. + +"It is; but charity carries a reward in cash. It is the modern way. You +might add that there will be no reserved seats, no privileged classes. +Where all men are alike charitable, all men are equal before God and +man!" + +Napoleon revolutionized the art of war by moving quickly and +overwhelming the foe with artillery. H. R. made charity a success by +appealing not alone to the charitable instinct of New-Yorkers, but to +every other instinct he could think of. Therefore everybody who was not +hungry logically decided to go to the Mammoth Hunger Feast. The +newspapers printed long and reassuring accounts of the police +arrangements. + +H. R., being a republican at heart, had reserved the Imperial Box for +Grace Goodchild and her friends, and ninety-nine Royal boxes for the +other ticket-sellers and their fiances. His free sandwich men occupied +the front row of arena seats and had been coached by the leader of the +Grand Opera claque. At a given signal they were to cheer Grace +Goodchild. When the bugle announced H. R.'s entrance they were to go +crazy. + +Ten beers _after_ the show. + + + + +XXII + + +At half after seven that night H. R., accompanied by eighteen +contemporary historians and six magazine psychological portraitists, +went to the entrance of the hungry. It was in the rear of the Garden and +was dark and narrow. + +Symbolism! + +It was the same entrance that a few weeks previously had admitted the +circus's beasts; only the beasts were not hungry. + +Fourth Avenue seethed with humanity. A blind man afflicted with stone +deafness could have told that hungry people were there provided his nose +worked. + +The street-cars had stopped running at 6.30 P.M., after the +twenty-seventh accident. + +The crowd was orderly and silent, as really hungry people are. And they +had good manners, as the physically weak always have. And they were not +impatient, for the prospect of eating always makes the starving hopeful. + +A merciful darkness covered the hideousness of ten thousand faces. The +reporters began to fidget like nervous women at a military play just +before the execution. + +H. R., seizing the exact psychological moment, said to the reporters: + +"Let us press the button!" + +It is the modern way--the press and the pressure. + +He pressed the button. It turned on the lights of an electric sign hung +above the entrance. The starving men read in blazing letters: + + IF YOU ARE HUNGRY AND + + HAVE NO MONEY WALK IN! + +By their light the reporters were able to see the faces of the crowd +plainly. + +"My God!" said the young man from the _Times_. + +The dazzling invitation was so worded as to prevent unseemly haste and +unnecessary crowding. It said, "_Walk_ in." + +"It is easy to assume, gentlemen," said H. R., calmly, to the reporters, +"that all these people are hungry." + +"Yes, let 'em all in!" entreated those reporters who were not jotting +down impressions. + +H. R. shook his head sternly. + +"We have our duty to the public to perform. We must determine whether +they have no money." + +"Your duty is to feed them _all_," said the _Sun_ man. + +"You can't afford to make a single mistake. Did you see that +white-haired woman--" + +"Come with me, gentlemen," cut in H. R., leading the way within. + +Streams of people began to flow in at each entrance, sedately; four big +policemen, representing the majesty of the law, stood, two on either +side of each entrance. The majesty was of locust wood, held in the air, +ready to descend on the cranium of the lawless and even of the +ill-mannered. + +As the starving entered the door they found themselves in a passageway +with sides of heavy plank that narrowed until they were walking in +single file, just as they do in abattoirs and sheep-dipping pens. + +One by one they thus came. There was a small inclosure on one side of +the passage. There stood H. R. and his reporters. Beside them was a +small table. A heap of shining silver quarters was on the table in plain +sight of all. + +H. R. asked the first man, "Are you hungry?" + +"Yes. I haven't had a bite in--" + +H. R. held up a hand to check the autobiography. He inquired, sternly: + +"Got any money?" + +"Nope." + +"Sure?" + +"Yep." + +The reporters began to sneer. What did this H. R., who was said to be +clever, expect such people to answer? That's the trouble with all +wealthy philanthropists. They are damned fools. They don't know human +nature nor their own compatriots. + +"Do you want a quarter?" asked H. R., kindly, at the same time lifting a +big handful of silver to show there was plenty. + +"You bet!" + +"Wouldn't you rather have a dollar?" asked H. R. He picked up four +quarters and jingled them in his open palm by bouncing them up and down +in the air, gently, invitingly. + +The man stared at H. R. and refused to answer. + +It must be a trap! + +"Don't you or do you? Speak quickly!" said H. R., impatiently. + +"Of course!" + +"You'll have to let us search you to see how much you've got on you if +you really want a dollar instead of the quarter." + +"Say, yous--" began the man. + +"Frisk him!" + +"To hell with your dollar," said the man, defiantly clapping one hand to +his pocket. "I knew it was a plant!" + +"This way," politely said the plain-clothes men, leading away the pauper +who didn't wish to be searched. + +The colloquy had not been overheard by the other hungry guests. The man +was led into a storeroom, where he was kept so that he might not empty +his pockets and come in again from the street for the dollar he did not +really want. + +"You see how we will eliminate those who have money and--" + +But the reporters were not listening to H. R. They were too busy +writing. This man was no philanthropist. He was intelligent. + +There were some guests who said they objected to the indignity of being +searched, though they had no money. They joined the first man in the +storeroom. + +"No taxpayers' subterfuges tolerated," H. R. said. + +But most of the hungry were perfectly willing to be searched and prove +they had no money. They were told by H. R. to pass on. To those who +asked for the money H. R. said, sternly: + +"Do you wish to swallow a quarter or do you want to eat food?" + +They grumbled. They were human. They passed on. They were hungry. + +Having shown the reporters how the undoubted penury of the deserving +hungry was established, H. R. led them into the presence of the +Infallible Booze-detector. + +"Yes, but when those poor people said they were willing to be searched +and thereby prove they had no money, I notice you didn't give 'em the +quarter," observed young Mr. Lubin of the _Onward_. + +"We never promised to give money. We asked them if they wanted a quarter +and then if they wouldn't prefer a dollar." + +"Yes. But you cruelly raised their hopes," remonstrated Lubin. "These +are human beings--" + +"And we are going to fill their bellies," interrupted H. R. "Giving +_money_ to those who haven't any simply perpetuates Capitalism besides +alienating the Christian vote. We _share_ food. That's Socialism. We do +not give alms. That's insulting. Besides, we do not own the quarters. +They're borrowed." + +Lubin was silenced. + +That silence from the Socialist reporter was H. R.'s greatest triumph +thus far. + +As the penniless guests left the glittering heap of stage quarters +unsearched they walked on along a gallery. At the end of it was another +glittering electric sign. It said: + + THIS WAY IF YOU ARE HUNGRY! + +The hungry walked on eagerly. A few feet from the door that led into the +arena where the waiting tables were they had to pass by a wide-open +door. Within, in plain sight of the passers-by, was a long bar. Behind +the bar were white-jacketed bartenders. The beer-kegs formed an +inspiring background. On the bar itself stood dozens of big +schooners--full. + +Above the bar could be read: + + FREE BEER! Frei! Gratis! + +A few walked on--straight to the dining-hall. + +But every one who walked into the free-beer room was told to go through +a door on the left. + +"That way!" a policeman told the thirsty. + +The first man who went into the inner room found a policeman standing +beside a table on which were a dozen full schooners. + +"If you drink now you don't eat," courteously said the cop. + +"Kismet!" said the starving man, and reached for a schooner. + +"It's for _after_ eating!" gently warned the policeman. + +"Life is uncertain. I'll drink now and--" + +"This way!" The policeman now spoke in his regular voice. + +He led the thirsty out of the room by another door which led into still +another room used for storing the heavy circus impedimenta. + +"Do you see?" asked H. R., sweetly, to the reporters and the students of +sociology from the magazines. "Do you?" + +"Mr. Rutgers, Columbus and his egg had nothing on you," said the earnest +young theorist from the _Evening Post_. + +The others were busily turning out literature. + +"It won't cheat 'em out of a meal," H. R. whispered to young Mr. Lubin +from the _Onward_. "But they don't eat with the others." + +That is how H. R. kept his promise to the business men of New York. He +had circumvented fraud, which is the chief aim of modern charity. Also +he had discouraged the formation of a professional pauper class--the one +danger against which all commonwealths must guard. + +"I'd like to know what you are going to do with the culls," the _Sun_ +man asked H. R. He had of late been trying to elevate the tone of the +magazines with real fiction; which they refused to print. + +"Those who fell through thirst will be fed later," H. R. answered. + +"And those that wouldn't be searched? They looked mighty hungry to me." +He was an expert in hunger. It drove him out of Literature. + +"We'll sell the left-over meals to them at cost. We are intelligent +philanthropists. We shall now have a beer, gentlemen, and let us pass +on." + +That beer had taken on a subtle quality of exclusiveness. All the +reporters drank with gusto. + + + + +XXIII + + +At eight sharp the main entrance of the Garden was thrown open. The +reporters promptly noted that the crowd of sight-seers exceeded the +number of the hungry. It restored their belief in republican +institutions. + +As each ticket-holder presented his ticket he demanded the instant +return of the ten-thousand-dollar coupon. Even the skeptics who knew +they'd never get the ten thousand dollars did this. + +The coupon-holder was then ushered into the superintendent's office, in +which sat the Mayor of New York, the presidents of seven banks, the +proprietors of six hotels, one United States Senator, H. R., and the +reporters. + +Behind them was a large frame inclosing stretched white oil-cloth. +Printed thereon in large black letters was this: + + YOU WILL BE ASKED ONE QUESTION. YOU WILL HAVE TEN SECONDS IN + WHICH TO ANSWER. BRAIN-CAPACITY IS MEASURED BY THE QUICKNESS + OF PSYCHOLOGICAL ASSOCIATION. IF YOU CAN'T ANSWER IN TEN + SECONDS, YOU ARE NOT ENTITLED TO THE $10,000 IN CASH. + +As the first coupon-holder entered H. R. rose and took from his pocket a +huge roll of bills, all yellow-backs. He carelessly peeled off one of +them and with a bow handed it to the Mayor. + +Everybody sat up straight. His Honor looked at it. It was for ten +thousand dollars. He nodded and then silently passed it to a bank +president, who in turn examined it, nodded, and passed it on to a +colleague. The reporters pressed forward. + +"Experts in all kinds of small change," smiled H. R., pointing to the +bankers. + +The reporters' eyes followed the return of the ten-thousand-dollar bill +to the Mayor. They also decided that H. R.'s roll was the most +impressive demonstration of brute strength ever seen in New York. + +Then H. R. asked his question, slowly, distinctly, enunciating carefully +and smiling the while: + +"What is it we have all heard about from earliest childhood and that we +acknowledge exists; that is neither a person nor a beast, neither a +thing nor an object, but something that no man can kill, though it is +dead to-day; that all men need and most New-Yorkers neglect; that should +be present everywhere and is found in no trade? The answer is a word of +five letters and begins with A--the first letter of the alphabet, the +first of the five vowels. There is another word, a synonym, which is now +obsolescent, though it is at times used in poetry. But while either word +will win the ten thousand dollars in cash now in the custody of the +Mayor of New York, the word I particularly have in mind has five +letters, of which the first is appropriately A, the Alpha of the Greeks, +the Aleph of the Hebrews, and now the first of all the alphabets of +European languages. It is logically the first letter because it is the +first sound that man naturally makes--'A' or 'Ah!' The first letter! +What is the word of five letters beginning with A that will give you ten +thousand dollars? With 'A'! _Now!_" + +Stop-watch in hand, H. R. began to move his left arm up and down like a +referee at a prize-fight. He had astutely emphasized the fact that the +word had five letters, of which the first was A. The mind of the +coupon-holder was thus made to study the dictionary instead of thinking +about the question itself. + +It was inevitable as fate itself. The first man could not guess. Neither +could the second nor any of the thousands. But before the applicant's +indignation at the unfairness of the question and the shortness of the +time could grow into fury H. R. exclaimed, "Time's up." Approaching the +non-guesser, he whispered: "The name of the unsuccessful will _not_ be +given to the newspapers. Not by _us_! I thank you in the name of the +poor starving people whose lives you have prolonged. That way to the +seats. You can have your pick of the very best!" + +In that simple way was bloodshed and the cry of fraud averted at one and +the same time. + +H. R. then delegated the task of propounding the aureate question to a +dozen lieutenants. Without varying one word the lieutenants asked the +men whose charity would feed the starving. + +Not one won the ten thousand dollars. + +One of the reporters with the air of a man whose life depends upon the +bulletin-board asked H. R.: + +"What's the answer?" + +The others heard H. R. reply: + +"Ten thousand dollars in cash!" + +"Yes; but the word?" + +"It is worth ten thousand of my dollars. You can make them yours." + +"I guess it's a fake." + +"That begins with an 'F.' Mine begins with an 'A.' The Mayor has the +cash." + +The reporter looked at the Mayor. His Honor's lips were moving +inaudibly. He was going over all the words of five letters that began +with an "A." + +Among them was _Agony_. + +Lubin again looked at the ten-thousand-dollar yellow-back and at H. R. +and suddenly rushed out. On the way he collected nine erudite friends. +They went to the nearest branch of the public library. Each got a +dictionary and divided all the definitions under "A" into nine parts. + +Nothing doing! + +"I knew it was a fraud!" yelled the _Onward_ man. "It isn't in the +dictionary." + +He fairly flew back to the Garden. + +H. R. was just about to go into the arena. Lubin yelled: + +"There is no such word in the dictionary. I protest against this--" + +"You talk like an old-school Republican," said H. R., coldly, to Lubin. + +It killed speech in the young man. + +The Mayor clenched his right fist tightly. The ten-thousand-dollar +treasury note lay crumpled within. + +"Sir," said H. R. to him, with real dignity, "you have my word that the +word _is_ in the dictionary." + +The Mayor, naturally thinking of political consequences, spoke, "Of +course, Mr. Rutgers, I expect you to prove it." + +"Sir, I shall see to it that you are re-elected!" H. R. said this so +positively that his Honor blushed guiltily. "I am not stupid enough to +endeavor to perpetrate so transparent a fraud as this young man charges +me with. But it would be even greater stupidity to be unfair to honest +guessers by telling Mr. Lubin or anybody else what the word is. It is of +five letters and begins with an 'A' and it is in the dictionary. But I +will tell you, your Honor, and you, Mr. Lubin, what I will do. I shall +ask the question and give the answer to a man who will say whether it is +a fair question and whether the word is a fair answer. His decision will +be final. He will not, I am sure, send for the ten thousand dollars +after he hears the answer." + +The Mayor shook his head dubiously. + +"Who is the man?" + +Mr. Lubin, being young, went much further. + +"There is no man in New York whose word--" + +"Silence, sir! I know the man. If he says that the word answers the +question, everybody in New York will be convinced--Socialists, +Democrats, Republicans, Progressives, Suffragists, newspaper editors, +and all." + +"There can't be such a man," said Lubin, decisively. + +H. R. smiled and turned to the Mayor. + +"Your Honor, the man whom I will ask to vouch for my honesty and +intelligence after I have confidentially disclosed the word to him, is +the Cardinal Archbishop of New York. His word will be enough, I take +it." + +The Mayor beamed and said, "Certainly, Mr. Rutgers." He made up his mind +then and there that H. R. must conduct his campaign for re-election. + +"Even young Mr. Lubin, I take it, will not doubt the word of his +Eminence." + +Lubin was no fool. "Mr. Rutgers," he said, earnestly, "we hate our +enemies, the capitalists. But we respect the only foes who are fighting +us as we are fighting capitalism with honest convictions and real ardor. +Of course, we think the Catholics--" + +"Hold on, Lubin," said H. R., "that policeman's name is Flannery." + +Lubin explained: "I was afraid you were going to give us a banker, Mr. +Rutgers." + +"_Never!_" said H. R. so emphatically that Lubin extended his right +hand. They shook warmly. + +A sound of applause came to their ears. The Mayor flushed with vexation. +It was premature, he thought. He was wrong. It was Grace Goodchild. + +Andrew Barrett ran in excitedly. + +"Did you hear it?" he asked his chief. "Say, she is smiling to beat the +band and the crowd is going crazy. Hear that?" And he began to dance a +jig. + +H. R. seized him by the arm and said: + +"In exactly two minutes I shall enter." + +Andrew Barrett rushed away to tip on the _vox populi_. + +"Gentlemen," said H. R. to the reporters, "you had better go in." + +They obeyed him. They were escorted to their table on the stage. They +found there seven military bands that had volunteered their services and +also their own weapons. + +In the background of the stage was a huge placard: + + FIFTY THOUSAND PEOPLE CAN BE SERVED, FED, AND FIRED IN 6-3/4 + MINUTES BY OUR SYSTEM! + + S. A. S. A., Dept. T. + O. K. + H. R., + _Sec._ + +At each reporter's place was a typewritten sheet containing intelligent +statistics of this stupendous charity. + +The reporters saw in the arena long strings of tables, each six hundred +and eighteen feet long, and benches to match. Each guest was allowed +nineteen and one-half inches. The dishes were of water-proofed paper +stamped S. A. S. A. Above each table were aluminum-painted pipes with +faucets every ten seats for soup, milk, tea, and coffee. + +"By keeping the tea, coffee, and soup in circulation wholesome warm +drinks are secured," read the official statement, "besides obviating the +assistance of eight hundred and sixteen waiters, who would have had to +walk an aggregate of six hundred and seventy-seven miles from tables to +kitchen." + +The solid food was brought to the scores of small serving-tables by +means of overhead conveyors and traveling-cranes, a sort of gigantic +cash-carrier system operated by electricity. The food came in individual +covered dishes, also of water-proofed paper. Everything was automatic. +The S. A. S. A. system prevented spilling, waste, delay, inefficient +waiters, and the dissatisfaction of the guests. + +"You will observe," went on the official statement, "that for the first +time in history the beneficiaries of the bounty of their fellow-men are +treated as honored cash guests and not compelled to wait. The bread of +charity is hard, but not when served by the S. A. S. A." + +Leaflets containing much the same information had been placed in each of +the thousands of seats in the Garden in lieu of programs. As each man +entered he saw the pipes and the traveling-cranes and the mechanical +waiters, and read the placard on the stage. + +"Ain't it great?" inquired every charitable ticket-buyer. "_In six and +three-quarter minutes!_ No regiments of waiters. Everything automatic. +Say, that H. R. is a wonder!" + +It naturally took some time before they remembered to look at the +starving people who were sitting at the long tables waiting to be fed. + +They saw haggard faces, sunken-eyed, pale-lipped men and women and +children. They saw trembling hands that fidgeted with knives and forks +that were obviously unnecessary. They saw women at the tables trying to +still whining children. They saw gray-haired heads fallen on soup-plates +utterly exhausted from inanition. + +They saw starving and penniless human beings by the thousand. + +And the spectators, hosts of these guests, ran over the faces and the +forms of the men and women and children--all alike in that all were +hungry and all were penniless. And the same thought struck them all, and +they expressed it audibly, with gusto, as though they were original +thinkers, with the modesty of professional epigrammatists. All the +spectators said: + +"Say, it will be great to see them eat!" + +New York's great big heart had spoken in no uncertain accents! + +"And the greatest of these is charity." + + + + +XXIV + + +Just after the applause that greeted Grace Goodchild's arrival had begun +to subside, and the public was about to demand that the feast, for which +they had paid, begin a bugle blew. + +H. R., who was Fame since he was initials, entered the arena. + +Instantly the well-trained Public Sentiment Corps began to shout, +angrily: + +"_Sit_ down! _Sit down!_" + +That, as intended by H. R., made all rise to their feet. + +Then, and only then, did H. R. advance into the arena, followed by the +Mayor of the City of New York, the Bishop of the Diocese of the same, +and the other dignitaries. + +The applause that came from the members of the Society of American +Sandwich Artists was not applause. It was fervor, frenzy, fury. They +yelled and shouted with the enthusiastic recklessness of free men who +knew that after their throats went dry ten beers, also free, would cure. + +The audience, seeing and hearing their fellow-men applaud, felt +themselves left out of something. They were free men. They therefore +also applauded, even more frenziedly. + +No beers; not even knowledge; merely insistence upon political +equality! + +In front of the Goodchild box H. R., whose progress resembled Buffalo +Bill's minus the curls, paused. He looked intently at Grace Goodchild. + +She knew something was expected of her--something spectacular, +thrilling, befitting the imperial consort. She stared back at H. R. +agonizedly. Couldn't he prompt her? What was she to do, and how and +when? + +"Grace! Grace! Grace!" shouted the free sandwiches. + +Instantly as well as instinctively the other ninety-nine beautiful +perfections rose in their boxes and waved their handkerchiefs. + +The crowd, drawn thither by one of the noblest charities of the age, +went wild. Grace was rich! She was theirs! They cheered what belonged to +them! + +Grace Goodchild, actually urged by her aristocratic friends, rose and +bowed to H. R. with a queenly air. + +H. R. bowed low to her and walked on. + +When he reached the stage all the bands began to play the national +anthem almost together. + +A huge American flag was dropped from the middle of the roof to remind +New York what its nationality was. + +When the bands finished playing there flashed a dazzling electric sign +over the stage. + +In huge letters of light the people read: + + WELL DONE, NEW YORK! + + H. R. + +The great building rocked under the applause. + +New York can always be trusted to applaud itself. + +The lights of the sign went out. H. R. motioned to his stage-manager. + +In the back of the stage the curtain that told of the wonderful feeding +system--50,000 people, 6-3/4 minutes!--fell. + +A hush also fell on the audience, for back of it was another white sheet +on which everybody read: + + WATCH YOUR GUESTS EAT + + YOU ARE FEEDING THEM! + + H. R. + +The audience, metamorphosed against its will into charitable hosts, now +remembered the starving fellow-beings who were there to eat. + +H. R. motioned. A bugler advanced to the front of the stage and sounded, +_Charge_! + +The soup began to pour out of the faucets. In fourteen seconds 12,137 +cups of steaming soup _a la Piccolini_ were before the guests. + +The audience applauded madly. It was perfectly wonderful what charity +could do--in fourteen seconds! + +The guests were very hungry. The soup, however, was very hot. This made +the drinking audible to the remotest recesses of the Garden. + +Again the bugle blew. The charitable crowd instantly ceased to look at +their guests and gazed at the electric traveling-cranes carrying laden +trays. Over six thousand well-fed spectators pulled out their watches +and timed the entree. + +It took twenty-nine seconds to place the entree before the guests. + +"Quick work!" said the watch-holders, approvingly. It took the guests +much less than twenty-nine seconds to eat the entree. + +The bugle blew for the third time. + +The roast appeared. The rear curtain dropped. Behind it was another on +which could be read, without the aid of binoculars: + + WATCH THEM EAT! + + YOUR TICKET DID IT! + + H. R. + +It happened exactly as H. R. had told Bishop Phillipson. Each charitable +person thought of his particular ticket and looked for his individual +guest among the 12,137. + +Each charitable person felt that his twenty-five cents had made possible +the entire feast. At that moment H. R. could have been elected to any +office within the gift of a free and sturdy people. + +The guests began to eat more slowly. + +The hosts, filled with kindliness and the desire to help their +fellow-men by getting their money's worth, began to shout: + +"Keep it up!" + +"Go on!" + +"Eat away!" + +"Fill up! Fill up!" + +"It's free! It's free!" + +Charity is not dead, but sleepeth. When it awakens, it is ruthless. + +Presently men and women at the tables, who had thought they were in +paradise surrounded by angels, began to throw up their hands and shake +their heads helplessly. + +A storm of hisses greeted the ingratitude. Fat hosts began to shout: + +"Fakes!" + +"Fraud!" + +"Take 'em out!" + +In self-defense some of the guests began to rub their paunches. Here and +there those who remembered close experiences with Christian mobs rose in +their benches ostentatiously, let out their belts, and sat down again +determinedly. + +The hosts clapped madly. They understood, and therefore forgave. Then +the hosts began to think that fifteen cents would have been enough. + +The bugle blew. Dessert was served. It was determinedly put away. + +Having convicted themselves of both charity and extravagance, each host +felt that he was not only a philanthropist but a New-Yorker. + +The bugle blew again. The paper dishes were gathered up, and also such +of the knives and forks as the guests had not put in their pockets. The +trays were whisked away by the traveling-cranes. + +Suddenly all the lights went out. With the utter darkness a hush fell +upon the vast audience. Then from all the bands came a mighty crashing +chord. Instantly there blazed an electric sign that stretched from one +side of the Garden to the other above the stage. + +And both hosts and guests saw an American flag in red, white, and blue +lights, and below it, in letters ten feet high, they read: + + AND THE GREATEST OF THESE + + IS CHARITY + + H. R. + +Everybody cheered, for everybody agreed with the sentiment. Some even +thought it was original. + +Then all the lights were turned on again. The tables were carried away +by the cranes. The guests, directed by H. R.'s lieutenants, formed in +line and paraded around the Garden. The lame, the old, the young, the +hopeless, the wicked, the maimed--all who had hungered--marched jauntily +round the vast arena that their benefactors might see who it was that +really had made the Mammoth Hunger Feast a success. They carried their +heads erect, proudly, conscious of their importance in the world. The +benefactors thereupon cheered the beneficiaries. By so doing they showed +what they thought of the benefactors. It was none the less noble! + +The reporters looked at their watches. A full page on Saturday night is +no laughing matter to the make-up man. One of them rose and asked H. R.: + +"Is this all? We've got to write--" + +"It is _not_ all!" answered H. R., and motioned to the trumpeter, who +instantly blew the Siegfried motif. The crowd looked stageward. The rear +drop-curtain showed in high letters: + + DANCING! + +The guests hesitated. + +The curtain was lowered a few feet. Above "Dancing!" the crowd now read: + + FREE OF CHARGE! + +Everybody started for the floor. + +H. R. left the stage and walked into the Goodchild box. Grace had been +receiving congratulations all the evening until she had convinced +herself that this was her dinner. It was all H. R. could do to force his +way through the plutocracy in the Imperial Box. Talking to Grace at the +same time were three young men who never before had accepted Mrs. +Goodchild's invitations to marry Grace. But Grace was now the +most-talked-of girl in all New York. And she was officially very +beautiful and Goodchild _pere_ was not enough. And Grace was very kind +to all of them. All empresses are kindly when they haven't Dyspepsia or +Dynamite Dreams. All unpleasant things seem to begin with a "D." There +is Death and Damnation; also Duty. + +Mr. Goodchild frowned when he saw H. R. in the box. But when he saw that +H. R. never even looked at him he became really angry. + +Mrs. Goodchild looked alarmed and hissed, "Don't you talk to him, +Grace!" + +Grace, knowing herself desired by the most eligible young men in her +set, decided to squelch H. R. in public. H. R., however, walked past +everybody, looking neither to left nor right. Feeling themselves treated +as so many chairs or hat-racks, the elite of New York began to feel like +intruders. + +Then, as an imperial mandate is given, H. R. said to Miss Goodchild: + +"We're needed!" + +He offered her his arm. The young men rose and made room for him. Duty +called, and they never interfered with duty. + +Grace hypnotically obeyed, for H. R. was frowning. Together they walked +down to the floor of the Garden. + +The Public Sentiment Corps did their duty. They had not yet received the +beer. They shouted, frenziedly: + +"H. R.! H. R.! H. R.!" + +The public took up the cheering. Thousands of outstretched hands reached +out for his. But H. R. merely bowed, right and left, and walked to the +middle of the floor. + +"Smile at them!" he whispered, fiercely, to Grace. + +She did. She knew then what it was to be a Queen. She felt an +overpowering kindliness toward all these delightful, simple people. +Reggie was not brilliant, but that wasn't expected of a Van Duzen. She +did not love Reggie, but she _liked_ him. As Mrs. Van Duzen she would +always have what she liked. She would never marry H. R.! It was +preposterous. + +The band began to play. The crowd, instead of dancing, moved toward the +sides--to give H. R. room to dance. + +Never before on Manhattan Island had such a triumph of personality +fallen to the lot of any man. + +H. R. put his arm about Grace Goodchild. She shrank from the symbolism +of bondage. + +"The world is looking on!" he admonished her. + +Knowing that she danced very well, she now had but one fear--that her +partner might make her ridiculous. + +But H. R. was the best dancer she had ever honored. + +She felt her resolution not to marry him slipping away. He led divinely. +She felt that she herself had never danced so well in her life. He +brought out the best that was in her. + +"Ever try the Rutgers Roll?" he whispered, tensely. + +"N-no! she gasped. + +"Let yourself go!" + +When a woman lets herself go, all is over except the terms of the +capitulation. She let herself go desperately, because she was forced to +do it; fearfully, because of the appalling possibility of a fiasco. + +She did not know how it was done. She had looped the loop and was still +dancing away--a new but unutterably graceful undulation of torso and +rhythmical leg work and exquisite sinuous motions of the arms and hands. + +A storm of applause came to her ears, a hurricane steeped in saccharine. +A man who could dance like that was fit to be any girl's husband! + +The elite flocked on the floor and began to indulge in old-fashioned +specialties, some of which were nearly a fortnight old. You heard +delighted remarks: + +"That's Mrs. Vandergilt!" + +"There goes Reggie Van Duzen!" + +"Look at Katherine Van Schaick!" + +Then the New York that Americans call ruffianly, impolite, vulgar, +selfish, spendthrift, money-loving, self-satisfied, and stupid, also +began to dance decorously! The veteran reporters did not believe their +eyes, but they made a note of the fact, nevertheless. + +Grace was nearly out of breath. She said, "I'm--I'm--I'm--" + +"Certainly, dear girl." And H. R. deftly piloted her out of the crush. +They stopped dancing, and he gave her his arm. She took it. + +"Grace," he said, "when will you marry me?" + +"Never!" she answered, determinedly. "And you must not call me Grace." + +"Right-O!" he said, gratefully. "I'll call to-morrow afternoon. Shall I +speak to Bishop Phillipson, or will father--" + +"I said _never_!" she frowned. + +"I heard you," he smiled, reassuringly. "I--" + +Andrew Barrett and the reporters came up to him. + +"What about the men that fell for the beer?" + +"Oh, give 'em the left-over grub, if you boys think it's right. But +don't print it. The W. C. T. U. would howl at the thought of giving food +to people who had first wanted booze." + +Grace looked on, marveling at the way he ordered things done and at the +way men listened to his words. + +"But what about that ten-thousand-dollar cash to the coupon-holders?" +asked young Mr. Lubin, finally taking his eyes off the beautiful +capitalist. Feeling that he was beginning to condone with capitalistic +crimes, he spoke sternly to H. R. in self-defense. + +"Oh yes!" said H. R. and turned to Grace. "My dear, I'll have to leave +you. Shall I take you to mother?" + +Reggie Van Duzen saved him the trip. + +"Say, Mr. Rutgers, could I have--" + +"Yes, my boy!" gratefully smiled H. R. He shook hands with Reggie and +said, very seriously, "_I leave her in your care!_" + +Reggie, who was very young and careless, flushed proudly. Here was a man +who understood men! He would protect Grace with his life. And it gave +him a new respect for other women. + +"I don't blame you, Grace," he said, with his twelve-year-old's smile +that clung to him through life and made even poor people like him. "He +is a wonder! Beekman Rutgers had the nerve to tell me that all the +Rutgerses are like H. R. What do you think of that?" + +Grace answered, "Certainly not!" + +She was not going to marry H. R., but if you intend to have it known +that you have refused to marry a man who is crazy to marry you, the +greater the man the greater the refusal. She added, with conviction: + +"There is only one Rutgers like that and his first name is Hendrik." + +Reggie nodded, looked at her, sighed, and began to dance. + +He didn't touch H. R. as a dancer. + +"Can you do the Rutgers Roll?" she asked. + +"No!" he confessed. + +She could never marry Reggie. She knew it now. But of course she would +not marry H. R. + +In the mean time H. R., accompanied by the reporters, drove to the +Cardinal's residence. They explained their mission to a pleasant-faced +young priest and sent in their cards. + +The young priest began to make excuses and spoke of the lateness of the +hour. + +H. R. said to him, deferentially: "Monsignor, we have come to the +Cardinal because he is the supreme authority in this case. The Mayor of +New York and the representative of the Socialist press, Mr. Lubin, here, +have agreed to leave it to the decision of his Eminence." + +The Cardinal sent back word that he would see Mr. Rutgers. + +H. R. went in alone. He saw not the head of the Catholic hierarchy, but +a man in whose eyes was that light which comes from believing in God and +from hearing the truth from fellow-men who told him their sins. H. R. +bowed respectfully before the aged priest. + +"How may I help you? asked the Cardinal. He was an old man and this was +a young man. No more; no less; both of them children. + +"Your Eminence, I am the unfortunate American who in his misguided way +has tried to feed the hungry in order that New York's grown children may +realize that charity is not dead. If I have used the methods of a +mountebank it is because I have labored where God had been forgotten, +almost." + +"Generalities are not always verities, though they may come close to +them. I know about your work. I shall be glad to do what I can for you." + +"Thank you, sir. I promised to give ten thousand dollars in cash to any +New-Yorker who could answer this question: What is it we have all heard +about from earnest childhood and that we acknowledge exists; that is +neither a person nor a beast, neither a thing nor an object, but +something that no man can kill, though it is dead to-day; that all men +need and most New-Yorkers neglect; that should be present everywhere and +is found in no trade? The answer is a word of five letters and begins +with 'A.' There is a synonym that, though not exactly obsolete, is at +least obsolescent." + +"Five letters? Is it in English?" smiled the Cardinal. + +"It is in every good English dictionary. I think the dictionary is the +only place in which I can find it nowadays." + +"Oh no, my son." And the Cardinal shook his head in kindly dissent. + +"Reverend sir, I said anybody with brains could guess it." + +"It was not an ingenuous question, Mr. Rutgers." + +"It was a coupon that entitled anybody who held it to answer the +question and get ten thousand dollars. It was part of a ticket for +which the holder paid twenty-five cents to feed a starving fellow-being. +But what I wish you to do is to assure the reporters that it was a +legitimate question. The word is _Anima_." + +"I knew it." + +"Because you use it every day." + +"But your condition--" + +"New York's condition, your Eminence," corrected H. R., politely. "I +said the synonym, _soul_, would answer. Nobody won the ten thousand +dollars. New York will cudgel its brains because it did not win the ten +thousand dollars. In searching for the missing word it may find +something more precious--the missing _soul_." + +"Your way is not our way, but perhaps--" The Cardinal was silent, his +kindly eyes meditatively bent on H. R. + +"The reporters, your Eminence--" began H. R., apologetically. + +"Ah yes!" And the white-haired prelate accompanied H. R. to the room +where the reporters were waiting. + +"I have heard Mr. Rutgers's question. The word of five letters beginning +with an 'A' I think answers it, from his point of view, which is not +unreasonable. I cannot say that the inability to guess proves the +non-possession of brains--" + +"The Cardinal knew at once," put in H. R. + +"But that nobody should have guessed is astonishing." + +"They were not all Christians," explained H. R. + +"What is the answer?" asked a reporter. + +"A word of five letters beginning with 'A,'" said H. R. + +"Can't we publish it?" + +"It is our secret now. New York is very rich. When it discovers that one +word--or its synonym of four letters--it will be infinitely richer in +every way." + +The reporters brightened up. They saw columns and columns of guesses. +But the Cardinal looked thoughtful. Then he said to H. R.: + +"Come and see me again." + +"Thank you. I will, your Eminence." + +The Cardinal bowed his head gravely and H. R. and the newspaper men +left. + +"Are you a Catholic?" the _World_ man asked. + +"No," answered H. R., doubtfully. + +"All roads lead to Rome," interrupted Lubin, with a sneer. + +"Excepting one, Lubin," said H. R., pleasantly. "Keep on going, my boy. +It's nice and warm there." + + + + +XXV + + +The newspapers did nobly. Too many prominent names were involved for +them not to print the news. There was an opportunity for using real +humor and impressive statistics in describing the new labor-saving +machinery. The marvelous efficiency of H. R. as a practical +philanthropist, demonstrated by his elimination of people who had money +with which to buy food, and the simple but amazing efficacy of his +Thirst-Detector raised the story to the realm of pure literature. + +There was also a serious aspect to the entire affair. All the hungry +men, women, and children in Greater New York that had no money had been +fed. Assuming, as was probable, that most of the hungry were not +bona-fide residents of New York, it showed that in the metropolis of the +Western World less than one-thousandth of the total population were +hungry and penniless. No other city in the world could boast of such +statistics. + +But H. R.'s work was not done. Before he retired for the night, knowing +that his position in society and in the world of affairs was established +on an adamant base, he nevertheless composed thirty-eight communications +for the Public Sentiment Corps to send out the next day to the +newspapers. A sample will suffice: + + It has been clearly proven that New York is a great big city + with a great big heart. As always, it responded generously + to the call of Charity. The Hunger Feast at Madison Square + Garden was an extraordinary bit of municipal psychology and + an illuminating object-lesson. Why not make permanent a + state of mind of the public which does so much to dispel the + danger of a bloody revolution? Social unrest can be cured by + only one thing: Charity! Man does not need justice. He needs + the good-will of other men. The newspapers have it in their + power to check the hysterical and un-American clamor against + individual fortunes. They can throw open their columns! + Treat Charity as if it were as important as baseball or at + least billiards. Carry a regular Department of Charity every + day. Give your readers a chance to be kind. It will be a + novelty to many, but it will help all--the giver no less + than the beneficiary. If you will agree, Mr. Editor, I'll + send check. + +Other specimens emphasized the non-sectarian phase of such charities as +that conceived and carried to success by one of the most remarkable men +in a city where the best brains of the country admittedly resided. +Intelligent charity, wisely discriminating, truly helpful, had been +placed for all time among the possibilities. Systematized charities were +delusions, chimeras, thin air. There was a demand for the opportunity to +be decent and kind. Let the newspapers supply it. "If your readers want +lurid accounts of murder trials and divorce cases, let them have them. +If they want expert advice on how to help their fellow-men give it to +them, also. It remains to be seen whether there is one newspaper in New +York that knows real news when it sees it!" + +There were thirty-eight epistolary models in all. + +In the afternoon of the day following the Mammoth Hunger Feast H. R. +called at the Goodchild house. + +"Frederick, tell Miss Grace--" + +"She 'as _gone_, sir!" said Frederick, tragically. + +"Did she leave word when she would return?" + +"She 'as _gone_, sir!" persisted Frederick, in abysmal distress at the +news and at his inability to convey it in letters of molten meteors. He +added, "To Philadelphia." + +It sounded to him like Singapore. He did not think there was much +difference, anyhow. + +"Philadelphia?" echoed H. R., blankly. + +"Yes, sir!" said Frederick, with sad triumph. + +"Whatever in the world can she--" H. R. caught himself in time. He +nearly had reduced himself to the level of humanity--well called dead +level--by confessing ignorance aloud. + +"Mrs. Goodchild is at 'ome, sir!" suggested Frederick, ingratiatingly. + +"Damned good place for her!" muttered H. R., savagely, and gave +Frederick a five-dollar gold piece. In some respects, Frederick +admitted, America was ahead of the old country. + +H. R. walked away frowning fiercely. He went nearly a block before he +smiled. Love always interferes with the chemistry of the stomach and +hits the brain through the toxins. What an ass he was not to have +realized the truth on the instant: + +_Grace had run away from him!_ + +He returned to his office and told Andrew Barrett to set the Public +Sentiment Corps at work on the thirty-eight models he had prepared. Then +he wrote forty-two more. The consciousness of Grace's confessed weakness +gave him an eloquence he himself had never before known. They were +masterpieces. + +The newspapers always know they have made a bull's-eye when they get +letters from their readers. It is an obvious fact that a man who writes +is a steady customer--at least, until his communication is printed. + +The Public Sentiment Corps merely started the ball rolling. An avalanche +of letters from all sorts and conditions of men, women, and merchants +descended upon the editorial offices. + +It became clear, even to the newspapers, that people in New York were +willing to give, but they didn't know how. The papers, therefore, +announced that they would thereafter run Charity as a regular +department. It would be strictly non-sectarian. The world's greatest +authorities and most eminent philanthropists had been asked to +contribute--not money; articles. The _World_ printed a full-page +biography of St. Vincent de Paul and satanically invited some of its pet +aversions to send in their autobiographies. + +All the papers informed the charitable men and women of New York that +checks, clothing, supplies, etc., could be sent to the Charity editor. + +All the papers, also, invited H. R. to accept the editorship of the +page. His duties would consist of allowing his name to be printed at the +top of the page. + +He declined their offers with profound regret, but promised to give +interviews to the reporters whenever they wished. Personal matters +precluded his acceptance of their kind invitations. + +The personal matters consisted of the boom in sandwich advertising. +It was not uncommon to see "Sandwich-board Maker, approved by the +S. A. S. A.," in signs in various parts of the city. A new industry! + + + + +XXVI + + +In the mean time Grace was in Philadelphia. She had gone there for +sundry reasons. The telephone calls told on her nerves. Mr. Goodchild +had to install a new one, the number of which was not printed in the +Directory but confided to intimate friends. Requests for autographs, +interviews, money, food, advice, name of soap habitually used, +permission to name massage ointments and face lotions after her, +contributions to magazines, and ten thousand other things had been +coming in by mail or were made in person by friends and strangers until +Grace, in desperation, decided to go on a visit to Philadelphia. She +craved peace. + +Ruth Fiddle had long urged her to come. Grace had agreed to be one of +her bridesmaids in June and Ruth naturally wished to discuss marriage, +generally and particularly. + +Ruth delightedly met Grace at the station. Two young men were with her. +One was her fiance. The other was a very nice chap who had blood, +brains, and boodle. His ancestors had been William Penn's grandfather's +landlords in Bristol, England, and he himself had once written a story +which he had sent to the _Saturday Evening Post_. His father was in +coal, railroads, and fire insurance. + +They decided to adjourn to the Fairview-Hartford for luncheon. Before so +doing they talked. + +Ruth asked a thousand excited questions about the Hunger Feast, fame, +and the Rutgers Roll. Grace answered, and then confided to Ruth her iron +resolve never to marry H. R. She admitted that he was as great as the +papers said, even greater, and, besides, good-looking. But her +determination was inflexible. + +Ruth, to show she approved, told Grace that Monty--the writer--was her +fiance's chum and African hunting-companion. Monty himself told Miss +Goodchild that there was a good story in the whole affair. In fact, two +stories. In both of them the heroine--he looked at her and nodded his +head convincingly. "Drawn from life," he added. "Of course I'll have to +know you--I mean, the heroine--better. But don't you think she'd make a +great one?" + +She wasn't thrilled a bit. She was not even politely interested. What +was such talk, Grace impartially asked herself, to one who had been +madly cheered by thousands? + +Still, he was a nice boy, not so consciously clever as New-Yorkers who +chose to regard themselves as vaudeville wits. + +Finally they got into the waiting motor and went to the +Fairview-Hartford, where the eating is better than in any New York +hotel. + +As they were about to enter the dining-room Grace Goodchild put on her +restaurant look of utter unconsciousness and stone deafness and +blindness, which had grown into a habit since she became famous. + +She entered the dining-room ahead of the others, as usual. She took nine +steps before she stopped short. Her face went pale. + +Nobody had stopped eating! + +Nobody had turned around to stare! + +Nobody had stage-whispered, "There she is!" + +No woman had said, "Do you think she is as beautiful as the newspapers +try to make out?" + +Not one imbecile male look; not one feminine sneer! Nothing! No fame! + +"What's the matter?" asked Monty in alarm. + +Grace felt an overwhelming desire to stand there until the people +looked, even if it took a year. + +As the century-long seconds passed she barely could resist the impulse +to shout, "Fire!" + +"Anything wrong?" whispered Monty, with real concern. + +"N-no-nothing!" she stammered, and followed Ruth, who had passed her, +unnoticing. + +Her color returned as wrath dispelled amazement. + +For the first time since H. R. began to woo her in public places with +sandwiches Grace Goodchild actually had to eat food in a restaurant. In +New York famous people don't go to restaurants to eat. + +She was distraite throughout the luncheon. She thought Monty was an ass. + +And the other feeding beasts must have read the New York papers! There +was absolutely no excuse. + +In the evening the same thing happened. That is, nothing happened. The +Fiddles' friends tried to be particularly nice to her by talking of the +opera, novels, the dancing-craze, the resurgence of the Republican +party, and cubism. It only made it worse. And not one knew the Rutgers +Roll! + +The next day Ruth and the young men took her to the Philadelphia Country +Club. Same thing! And later to a dance at the Fitz-Marlton. Ditto! + +Her good looks, her gowns, and her nice manners made a very favorable +impression on all of Ruth's friends, male and female, young and old. +Hang 'em, that's all it did! + +It was like Lucullus being asked to eat sanitary biscuits. + +She had wanted peace. But not in a burial crypt. On the fourth day of +extinction she said to Ruth after breakfast: + +"My dear, I must return to New York!" + +"Oh no! Grace, darling, I've accepted seventeen--" + +"I must, Ruth. I simply must!" + +"But Monty is coming at one to take us to his father's--" + +Grace felt like saying that Monty could take himself to Hades or to +Atlantic City. But she merely shook her head. She dared not trust +herself to speak. Ruth appealed to her mother. But Mrs. Fiddle shrugged +her shoulders and said: "No use! New York!" She herself was a Van Duzen. + +And so Grace Goodchild returned home, five days before she was expected. + +"I couldn't stand it, mother," she explained, almost tearfully. + +"Very well," said Mrs. Goodchild. + +What else can a mother say in New York? And isn't it right to stand by +your own flesh and blood? + +Grace hesitated, full of perplexities and unformulated doubts and an +exasperating sense of indecision. She felt like opening the book of her +soul to other eyes. To hear advice or, at least, opinions. + +"I want to have a heart-to-heart talk with you, mother," said Grace, +hesitatingly. Then she apologized, self-defensively. "It concerns my +future, dear." + +"Yes, darling," said Mrs. Goodchild, absently. "I don't think. I'd like +it quite like Celestine's-- Grace, love, will you run over to Raquin's +spring exhibition at the Fitz-Marlton and look at it? It is next to the +black that Mrs. Vandergilt liked. I have an appointment with +Celestine--" + +Grace knew that the selection of a husband could wait, for fashions in +that line do not change so quickly as in skirts. She dutifully said, "I +will!" She also had her eye on one. + +Before going to Raquin's display she stopped at Oldman's. + +The store flunky opened the door of her motor and smiled happily when he +saw who it was. She was made subtly conscious that he was dying to +announce her name to the world at the top of his enthusiastic voice. +Life in New York had its compensations, after all. + +She entered. The shop-girls whispered to the customers on whom they were +waiting. The customers turned quickly and stared at Grace Goodchild. + +"She often comes here!" she heard the pretty little thing in charge of +seventy-two glove-boxes say proudly to a client. + +The girl who waited on Grace was a stranger. Nevertheless, when Grace +told her "I'll take these!" the girl said, "Very well, Miss Goodchild." + +"Oh!" gasped Grace. "You know me?" + +"What d'ye t'ink I am?" said the girl, indignantly. "Say, it was great, +Miss Goodchild!" + +The worship in the girl's eyes kept the language from being offensive. + +"Thank you!" + +"I hope you'll be very happy, Miss Goodchild," said the girl, and +blushed. "Oh, I didn't mean to be--I--I couldn't help wishing it, Miss +Goodchild!" + +"I'm sure I'm very grateful for your good wishes," Grace told her, +graciously. + +The child's--age twenty-four--eyes filled with tears. As Grace walked +away, Mayme's lips moved raptly. She was memorizing dem woids. + +On her way out Grace went through the same craning of necks, the same +vivid curiosity, the same half-audible murmurs, the same spitefulness in +the eyes of the women who, though rich, were not famous. Everybody is so +disgustingly rich nowadays that society had begun to applaud such +remarks as, "I've had to give up one of my motors," or, "Jim says he +won't put the _Mermaid_ in commission this year; simply can't afford +it." + +At Raquin's wonderful exhibition of models Grace saw exactly what she +wished to see. It would be worthy of her and of her throat. One who is +photographed many times a week has to have gowns; not to have them is +almost immoral. Grace was so concerned with doing her duty toward the +public that she forgot that she had come to see the third one, next to +Mrs. Vandergilt's black. She was nearly half-way home before she +remembered what her mother had asked her to do. + +Grace went back to the Fitz-Marlton. Dress was a public service. Mrs. +Goodchild's clothes must tell the public whose mother she was. + +She told the chauffeur "Home," and began to think. + +Pleasure could be made a duty. Blessed indeed is she in whose mind, as +in a vast cathedral, pleasure and duty solemnly contract nuptials. + +This beautiful figure of speech in turn made her think of marriage. If +she married Reggie or Mr. Watson or Percival or one of the others, what +would her married life be? What? + +One long visit to Philadelphia! + +"I could kill him!" she said to the flower-holder, frowning fiercely. +Happening to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror for that purpose +provided in an town cars, Grace smoothed her brow and smiled. A man +would have required slathers of flattery to dispel ill-humor. With a +woman, the truth is enough. A mirror does not lie. Providence is more +than kind to them; even automatic. + +If she wouldn't marry Reggie or the others and did marry H. R.-- But how +could she? + +She was an imaginative American girl with a sunshiny soul and much +vitality who lived in New York. She thought of her marriage to H. R. She +thought of the newspapers! The mound of clippings that instantly loomed +before her made her gasp. + +What wouldn't the newspapers do when _she_ married H. R., especially if +H. R., prompted by love, really made an effort? + +She was forced to admit that he was a remarkable man! + +"Papa," she said aloud, "will never consent!" + +Papa's life had been made miserable by H. R. Indeed, the only thing that +reconciled him to the ungrateful task of living was the steady growth of +the bank's deposits. It was due, Mr. Goodchild often declared, to his +management. But he couldn't speak about H. R. without profanity. + +Parental opposition was not everything. Marriage was a serious thing. + + + + +XXVII + + +The motor stopped. She had arrived at her house. The car door was opened +by H. R. + +She started back. Then she looked at him curiously, almost +awe-strickenly, as though her wishes had taken on magical properties of +automatic fulfilment. + +Was this the same remarkable person she had almost deified on the way +from Raquin's exhibition? What would he say? She prayed that he might +not spoil everything, by some inanity. + +He held out his hand to help her alight. Then he spoke. + +"It was time!" he said, and walked beside her--but a couple of inches +ahead. That was because, though he was an American husband-to-be, he +also was a man, a protector, a leader. Such men are cave-men minus the +club. + +Grace at times was not a true Goodchild. This time she said nothing. + +Frederick opened the door. His face expressed no sense of the +unusualness of the sight. + +H. R., with the air of a host, led Grace into the drawing-room. He stood +beside her in the gorgeous Louis XV. room. + +"Grace," he said, gently, "for twenty-nine days I've been the unhappiest +man in all New York. For five, the unhappiest in the entire world!" + +"Will you kindly release my hand?" she asked. No sooner had the words +left her lips than she realized they were piffle. Then she began to +laugh. It was the first official acknowledgment that no social barriers +divided them. + +"Suppose," she asked, with a humorously intended demureness, "that I +wished to use my handkerchief?" + +H. R. with his disengaged hand took his own out of his pocket and held +it to her nose. + +"Blow!" he said, tenderly. + +"I don't want to," she retorted and tried to pull away her hand. + +He replaced his handkerchief in his pocket. + +"All over but the mailing-list," he said to her. "Sit down here; by me!" + +Something within her stirred to revolt. Unfortunately, he did not +release her hand, but led her to the historic divan--part of the suite +for which Mr. Goodchild had paid eighteen thousand five hundred dollars +in the Sunday supplement. Marie Antoinette had been seated in that very +place when de Rohan brought the famous diamond necklace to show her. +(Same issue; third column, fourth page.) + +"I think that for sheer, unadulterated impudence--" she began, without +any anger, because she was too busy trying to decide what she must do to +him to put an end to a situation that had become intolerable--at least +in its present shape. + +"Grace, don't talk nonsense. Just let me look at you." + +He held her at arm's-length and looked into her eyes. He saw that they +were blue and clear and steady and looked fearlessly at him--the stare +of a child who doesn't know why she should be afraid. + +If they don't watch out that fearlessness becomes anything but childish +in New York. + +He continued to stare steadily, unblinkingly, into them. + +"I can't stand it! I can't stand it!" he said, hoarsely, and blinked his +eyes. Then he closed them--tight. Coward! + +She had felt his keen eyes bore through her garments, through her flesh, +into her very soul of souls--a look that frightened until it warmed; and +after it warmed, it again frightened--in another way. + +She saw a wonderfully well-shaped head and very clean-looking hair and a +very healthy-looking, clear-cut face and very strong shoulders and very +masterful hands. And from all of him came waves that thrilled--the +mysterious effluvia that compels and dominates the woman to whom Life +means this life. + +At length he spoke with an effort. "We shall be married in Grace +Chapel." He grew calmer, and added, "People will think it was named for +you!" + +"I am not going to marry you," she declared, vehemently. + +"No. I am going to marry you. After you are my wife we naturally will +talk about it. That will enable us to learn whether we shall stay +married or not. Grace," he said, earnestly, "I'll do anything you wish." + +"Leave this house, then." + +"It's _your_ house, dear," he reminded her, gently, "and I am your +guest. That puts it out of your power to enforce your desire. Don't you +see?" + +She tacitly admitted that there was an etiquette of hospitality by +asking, coldly, "Why should I marry you?" + +"I can't give you as many reasons as I might if you asked why I should +marry you. The principal two are that I love you and that I am the only +man whom Grace Goodchild can marry and still remain Grace Goodchild." + +It seemed to her impossible that he could be sitting beside her talking +about marriage seriously, and more than impossible that she could be +sitting there listening. + +"People know you as Grace Goodchild. After the marriage they will know +you as the Grace Goodchild that H. R. has married. What would become of +you if you cease to be Grace Goodchild?" + +She thought of Philadelphia, and shuddered. But he thought he had not +convinced her. He rose and said to her: + +"Oh, my love! You are so utterly and completely beautiful that if I have +a man's work to do I shall succeed only because the reward is you! I +have come to the turning-point in my career and I must have the light of +your eyes to guide me." + +She did not love him and therefore she heard his words very distinctly. +But she was a woman, and she was thrilled by his look and his voice and +by his manner. He was no longer a mountebank to her, but an unusual man. +And when she thought of not marrying him her mind reverted in some +curious way to Philadelphia and its subtle suggestions of sarcophagi and +the contents thereof. But this man must not think that he could win her +by stage speeches even though they might be real. She said to him, +determinedly: + +"We might as well understand each other--" + +"I am the creature; you are the creator," he quickly interjected. "You +are very beautiful, _very_! but you have much more than beauty. You +have brains, and I think your heart is a marvelous lute--" + +"A what?" she asked, curiously. No woman will allow the catalogue to be +skimped or obscured. + +"A lute, a wonderful musical instrument that some day will be played by +a master hand. When you cease to be merely a girl and become a woman, +with your capacity for loving when you let yourself go! Ah!" He closed +his eyes and trembled. + +All women, at heart, love to be accused of being psychic pyromaniacs. + +"_There will I give thee my loves!_" he muttered, quoting from the "Song +of Songs." + +She knew it wasn't original because he said it so solemnly. She dared +not ask from whom the quotation was. It sounded like Swinburne. + +"Come!" He was not quoting this time. He stood before her, his face +tense, his eyes aflame, his arms stretched imploringly toward her. + +She met his gaze--and then she could not look away. She saw the +wonderful man of whom the papers had printed miles of columns, who had +made all New York talk of him for weeks, who was young and strong and +comely and masterful, who had an old name and a fighting jaw, whose +words stirred the pulses like a quickstep on the piccolo. + +And his eyes made her understand what was meant by actinic rays. They +were looking at her, piercing through her garments until she felt +herself subtly divested of all concealments. + +And then she trembled as if his eyes physically touched her! She +thrilled, she blushed, she frowned--for she felt herself desired. And +her thoughts became the thoughts of a woman who is wooed by life, by +love, by a man's red blood and her own. Her New York inhibitions turned +to ashes. Life-long mental habits withered and shriveled and vanished in +microscopic flakes until into her self-hypnotized consciousness there +came the eternal query of the female who has stopped running, "What can +I give to this man?" + +And Hendrik, seeing her face, held his shaking hands before her, +impatiently beckoning to her to come. Some unseen spirit took her slim +hands and, without consulting her, placed them in his. + +And then he kissed her. + +The heavens flamed. She pushed him from her and sank back trembling upon +the divan on which Marie Antoinette was not sitting on the day when de +Rohan did not bring the diamond necklace that did not cause the French +Revolution, though Mr. Goodchild had paid eighteen thousand five hundred +dollars for the historic suite, in the Sunday supplement. + + + + +XXVIII + + +It is difficult for a man to know what to do after the first kiss. A +second kiss is not so wise as appears at first blush. It impairs mental +efficiency by rendering irresistible the desire for a third. A banal +remark is equally fatal. To tell her, "Now you are mine in God's sight," +is worse than sacrilegious; it is conducive to acute suffragism and some +polemical oratory. To say, "Now I am yours for ever," may be of +demonstrable accuracy, but also conduces to speech. + +Hendrik Rutgers was no ordinary man. He knew that one kiss does not make +one marriage nor even one divorce. But he knew that he was at least at +the church door and he had a wonderful ring in his waistcoat pocket. He +therefore became H. R. once more--cool, calm, master of his fate. + +It behooved him to do something. He did. He fell on his knees and +reverently bowed his head. And then she heard him say, "Grant that I may +become worthy of her!" + +Then his lips moved in silence. She saw them move. Her soul trembled. +Was she so much to this man? + +Great is the power of prayer even in the homes of the rich, however +cynics may sneer. + +He did not glance at her, feeling her eyes on him. When he judged it was +time he looked up suddenly, rose to his feet, and, in a diffident, +apologetic voice, observed: + +"Forgive me, dear! What did you say?" + +What could she say? She therefore said it: + +"Nothing!" very softly. + +"I was very far from New York--and yet you were with me, my love!" + +She thought of Philadelphia and her hand sought his with that +refuge-seeking instinct which cannot be statuted away from them. + +He met her half-way. He raised her hands to his lips and his disengaged +left sought his waistcoat pocket where the ring was. + +"She is in the drawing-room, sir, with Mr. Rutgers," came in faithful +Frederick's warning voice, raised above the menial's pitch. + +"What!" they heard Mr. Goodchild ejaculate. Then the titular owner of +the house entered. + +H. R. politely bowed. + +"How do you do?" he said, easily. "You are a trifle inopportune. Grace +and I were talking over our plans." + +Mr. Goodchild turned purple and advanced. Grace rose hastily. H. R. +meditatively doubled up his right arm, moved his clenched fist up and +down, felt his biceps with his left hand, and smiled contentedly. + +Mr. Goodchild remembered his manners and his years at one and the same +time. With his second calm thought he remembered the reporters. He +gulped twice and when he spoke it was only a trifle huskily: + +"Mr. Rutgers, I have no desire to make a scene in my own house." + +H. R. pleasantly pointed to a fauteuil. + +"I must ask you--" + +"Sit down and we'll talk it over quietly. You will find," H. R. assured +him, earnestly, "that I am not unreasonable. Have a seat." + +Mr. Goodchild sat down. + +H. R. turned to Grace and with one lightning wink managed to convey that +everybody obeyed him--excepting one, whose wish was a Federal statute to +him. + +She looked with a new interest at her father. It was, she realized, the +eternal conflict between youth and age. Love the prize! _Gratia +victrix!_ + +"I--I--am willing to admit"--Mr. Goodchild nearly choked as the unusual +words came from his larynx--"that you have shown--er--great cleverness +in your--er--career. But I must say to you--in a kindly way, Mr. +Rutgers, in a kindly way, believe me!--that I do not care to have +this--er--farce prolonged. If you are after--if there is any reasonable +financial consideration that will--er--induce you to desist--I--you--" + +"You have relapsed," interrupted H. R., amiably, "into the language of a +bank president. Suppose you now talk like a millionaire." It was not +really a request, but a command. + +Mr. George G. Goodchild obeyed. + +"How much?" he said. + +Grace looked as she felt--shocked. She had not fully regained her normal +composure. But this was a man who had kissed her. Was he to be bought +off with money? The shame of it overwhelmed her. She listened almost +painfully to H. R.'s reply. + +"I am now," H. R. impassively said to Mr. Goodchild, "waiting for you to +talk like a father." + +Mr. Goodchild stared at him blankly. + +"Like a father; like a human being," explained H. R. "Grace is no +bundle of canceled checks or a lost stock certificate. She is your +daughter." + +"Well?" + +"Excuse me; I mean she is your own flesh and blood--the best of your +flesh and blood, at that. Your wishes cannot be considered where her +happiness is at stake. Therefore what you think best is merely your +personal opinion and hence of interest to yourself and to nobody else." + +Mr. Goodchild quickly opened his mouth, but before the sound could come +H. R. went on, hurriedly, "Suppose you had set your heart upon her +becoming a mathematician. Would that make her one?" + +"Never!" instantly declared the non-mathematical Grace. + +Mr. Goodchild shook his head violently and again opened his mouth. But +H. R. once more surpassed him in speed and pursued, calmly +argumentative: + +"Or suppose you did not believe in vaccination. Is your opinion to be +allowed to prevail against the advice of your competent family physician +until Grace gets the disease and you are forced to acknowledge that you +were wrong? Or would even the sight of the most beautiful face in the +world pitted and pockmarked fail to shake your own faith in your own +infallibility?" + +Grace shuddered. "_Father!_" she exclaimed, horror-stricken, and glared +at Mr. Goodchild. She was now thinking of paternal opposition in terms +of smallpox. + +"But--" angrily expostulated Mr. Goodchild. + +"Exactly," agreed H. R., hastily. "That's it. Now for a favor. Will you +let me talk business with you? _My_ business!" + +Mr. Goodchild's business was to know all about the business of others. +But he did not take it home with him. However, before he could do more +than shake his head, H. R. went on: + +"I am organizing six companies." + +That sounded like good business. But Mr. Goodchild nodded +non-committally from force of habit. + +"The S. A. S. A. Imperial Sandwich Board Corporation. Capital stock, one +million, of which forty per cent. goes to the public for cash, forty per +cent. given to me--" + +"Forty?" irrepressibly objected Mr. Goodchild. + +"Forty," repeated H. R., firmly. "I am no hog. I get what my ideas, +designs, and patents are worth at a fair valuation. And twenty per cent. +goes to the S. A. S. A." + +"Why?" came from Mr. Goodchild before he could realize that he was +speaking bankerwise. + +"Because the S. A. S. A. will insist upon the company's boards being +used by all our customers. And besides, as head of the S. A. S. A., I +vote that twenty per cent. I thus control sixty per cent. and--" + +Mr. Goodchild brightened up, but remembered himself and said, very +coldly: + +"Go on." + +"We shall manufacture sandwiches of all kinds, at from one dollar to ten +thousand dollars and upward, and--" + +"Dreadful word! Loathe it!" + +"--The S. A. S. A. Memento Mori Manufacturing Company to manufacture and +sell the statuettes of the Ultimate Sandwich. Same capitalization. Same +holdings. You see, I have sold my ideas, designs, and patents so that +later on nobody can say my companies were overcapitalized. There are +also the Rapid Restaurant Service Appliance Company, and four others. +Same capitalization; same holdings. The money is all raised. And let me +say," finished H. R., sternly accusing, "that the people who furnish the +cash and buy the stock get _something_ for their money." + +"That's all very well," began Mr. Goodchild, contemptuously, "but--" + +"Exactly," said H. R. "I propose to transfer all our accounts to your +bank. You know you said you'd like to have mine when I became famous." + +"I know nothing about your companies, and care less. But I want to tell +you right now--" + +"What interest are you going to allow us on our balances?" cut in H. R. + +"No interest!" said Mr. Goodchild in a voice that really meant "No +Grace!" + +H. R. turned to his sweetheart and, desiring to forestall desertion, +took her hand in his and said to her: + +"Grace, this house is a very nice house. You have spent many happy hours +here. But it is, after all, only a house. And New York is _New York_!" + +And Philadelphia was _Philadelphia_! + +Grace's hand remained in H. R.'s. + +"You can't have her!" said Mr. Goodchild, furiously. + +"Who can't have whom?" asked Mrs. Goodchild, entering the room. + +H. R. released Grace's hand, approached Mrs. Goodchild, and, before she +knew what he was going to do, threw his right arm about her and kissed +her--a loud filial smack. + +She quickly and instinctively put one hand up to her hair, for the +strange young man had been a trifle effusive. But before she could +transform her surprise into vocal sounds the stranger spoke, in a voice +ringing with affectionate sincerity not too playful, you understand, but +convincing, nevertheless: + +"She inherits her good looks, her disposition, and her taste in dress +from you. I saw it the first time I met you. Don't you remember? And I +warn you now that if I can't marry Grace I'll kill that husband of yours +and marry _you_!" + +To prove it, he kissed her again, twice. + +"How dare--" shouted Mr. Goodchild. + +"I am not sure," said H. R. to Mrs. Goodchild, "that I want Grace now. +Between thirty-two and forty a woman is at her best." + +He patted her shoulder, as we paternally do with the young ones, and +went back to Grace. It all had happened so quickly that only H. R. was +calm. + +"My dear!" said Mrs. Goodchild, looking helplessly at Grace. + +"What is it, mother?" said H. R., appropriating the affectionate words. +And as she did not answer he asked, generally. "What do you say to the +eighth?" + +"An eighth?" echoed Mr. Goodchild, almost amiably, thinking, of +one-eighth of one per cent. + +"Of June!" said H. R. "That gives you ample time for everything, Grace. +And, remember, give the reporters the detailed list of the trousseau." + +"There isn't going to be any marriage. And there isn't going to be any +nauseating newspaper articles with pictures of intimate lingerie enough +to make a decent man blush." + +"A really decent man always blushes with shame when he does not give +_carte blanche_ to his only daughter," said H. R. with great dignity. + +"Mr.--er--Rogers," said Mrs. Goodchild. + +"Rutgers," corrected her prospective son-in-law. "The 'g' is hard. It's +Dutch, like Roosevelt, Van Rensselaer, and Cruger." + +"But we don't know anything about your family," she said, very +seriously. + +"Do you know," asked H. R., pleasantly, "the Wittelbachs?" + +"It's beer, isn't it?" she said. It might be the best brewing blood in +Christendom, but still it wasn't Wall Street or real estate. + +"Good shot!" exclaimed H. R., admiringly. "It is the patronymic of the +reigning house of Bavaria. You know, Munich, where beer is the thing. +And do you know the Bernadottes?" + +"I've heard of them," replied Mrs. Goodchild, made wary by her +non-recognition of a sovereign house. + +"It is not French delicatessen, but the royal family of Sweden. And the +Hapsburgs? The Emperor of Austria belongs to them. And Romanoff? The +Czar of Russia would answer to that if he voted. And there are also the +Hohenzollerns and the Bourbons and the Braganzas. And then," he +finished, simply, "there is _Rutgers_!" + +"It seems to me," put in Grace, coldly, "that I have something to say--" + +"Empress, you don't. Just look," interrupted H. R. "Of course, the date +is subject to your approval. I didn't have any luncheon. Will you tell +Frederick to bring some tea and a few sandwiches--" + +"Damnation!" shrieked Mr. George G. Goodchild. "Is a man to be insulted +in his own home? Get to hell out of here with your sandwiches!" + +"George!" rebuked Mrs. Goodchild, placidly. She never frowned. +Wrinkles. + +"Yes, George!" maniacally mimicked her husband. "It's sandwiches! +Sandwiches! Sandwiches! Everywhere! Yesterday I discharged my +secretary. I told him to send out for a chicken sandwich for me and +I heard him give the boy the order: 'Son-in-law for Mr. Goodchild. +Cock-a-doodle-do!' At this week's meeting of our directors Mr. +Garrettson asked me: 'How is the King of the Sandwiches? Living at your +house yet?' And the other jackasses all laughed. _Sandwiches!_" + +He turned to his daughter, and fearing that she was in the conspiracy, +asked her, vehemently: "Do you wish to be known all your life as the +Queen of the Sandwiches? Do you? Do you wish your humorous friends to +say to you, Grace, will you have a caviare husband?" + +"No!" replied Grace. Fame was fame, but ridicule was Hades. + +"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" said Mrs. Goodchild. + +"Tell Frederick," said H. R., fiercely, "to bring in fifteen Rutgerses, +if you prefer to call them that." + +"That isn't funny," rebuked Grace, coldly. "I don't think you are +accustomed to surroundings--" + +"No; it's hospitality. I'm starving." + +"You'll have sandwiches for breakfast, luncheon, and dinner, my child," +Mr. Goodchild told Grace, angrily but intelligently. "In the +newspapers!" + +"Of course I won't marry him!" said Grace, decisively. "It's +preposterous." + +H. R. went up to her. She shook her head. He spoke very seriously: + +"Grace, when people tell you that I have given free sandwiches to New +York they mean that I have taken the poorest of the poor, the pariahs of +commerce, the despised of the rabble, poor human derelicts, souls +without a future, without a hope, worse than dirt, poorer than poverty, +and I have made them _men_!" + +"Yes, but s-s-sandwiches," blubbered Grace. + +"I took these victims of society and capitalism and organized them, and +then I emptied them into the golden Cloaca Maxima that you call Fifth +Avenue, and lo! they emerged free men, self-supporting, well-fed, +useful, artistic. They have been the efficient instruments of fame. It +is they who have made you known from one end of the city to the other." + +"Yes; but sandwiches!" doggedly repeated Grace. + +"I have worked," said H. R., sternly, "with human souls--" + +"Sandwiches!" corrected Mr. Goodchild. + +H. R. flushed angrily. + +"The sandwich," he told them all with an angry finality, "is here to +stay. Our net receipts, after paying big wages, are over one thousand +dollars a day. What do you think I am, an ass? Or a quick lunch? Or a +bank president? _Pshaw!_ We've only begun! A capitalization of over five +millions at the very start and the business growing like cheap +automobiles, and me owning forty per cent. of the stock and controlling +sixty per cent. in perpetuity! These men have made me their leader. I +will not forsake them!" + +"Can you give me," said Mr. Goodchild, seriously, "evidence to prove +your statements?" If the love affair was not to end in an elopement it +would be wise to have a business talk with this young man, who, after +all was said and done, had a valuable asset in his newspaper publicity. + +"You may be a wonderful man," said Grace to H. R., "but all my friends +would ask me if I am going to have a mammoth sandwich instead of a +wedding-cake! I ask you not to persist--" + +H. R. smiled sympathetically and said: "You poor darling! Is _that_ all +you are afraid of?" + +She thought of Philadelphia and a quiet life, and she shook her head +sadly. Why couldn't he have made her famous by unobjectionable methods. + +But H. R. said, "I'll guarantee that my name will never again be +associated with sandwiches--" + +"You can't do it!" declared Grace, with conviction, thinking of humorous +American girls. "When they are friends all you have to do is to take out +the 'r' to turn them into fiends." + +Mrs. Goodchild said nothing, but frowned. It had just occurred to her +that here they all were, amicably talking with the man who had made +their lives grievous burdens. Mr. Goodchild also was silent, but +shrewdly eyed H. R. + +"I'll do it!" repeated H. R., confidently. + +"How can you without killing everybody?" challenged Grace, skeptically. +"Everybody knows you as the leader of the sandwich men, and if you form +companies--" + +"My child," H. R. told her, gently, "I don't know anything about +finance. That is why I want to get father's advice about my business. +Every man to his trade. But I do know New York. I ought to, hang it! My +grandfather owned what is now the Hotel Regina, and-- Well, look here! +If by the first of June nobody even remembers that I had anything to do +with sandwiches will you marry me?" + +"Yes," said Mr. Goodchild. + +If H. R. could do that he was fit to be anybody's son-in-law. If he +couldn't, the annoyance would end. + +"Grace?" asked H. R. + +"I'm willing to take a chance for two weeks," said Mr. Goodchild, +feeling certain he was displaying Machiavellian wisdom. But Grace shook +her head. + +"Everything you've done," she told H. R., "is child's play--" + +"What!" interrupted H. R., indignantly. "Make New-Yorkers give money for +charity that they might have spent for their own pleasure?" + +"Nothing alongside of making 'em forget that you invented sandwiches. If +it had been anything else, you might--I might--you--" She floundered +helplessly. Her life for weeks had been so full of excitement that she +could not co-ordinate her ideas quickly. + +"You don't know me, dear," said H. R. "I hate to say it myself, but, +really, I'm a wonder!" + +He looked so confident, so masterfully sure of himself, so little like a +dreamer, and so much like a doer, that Grace was impressed. + +"Can you?" she asked, more eagerly than Mr. Goodchild liked to see. But +then H. R. had never kissed him. + +"With your hand for the prize and your love for my reward? Can you ask +me if I can?" + +"Yes, I can. Can you?" + +"Yes!" he said. "But of course I'll need your help." + +"My help?" Doubt came back into her eyes. + +"Yes. This way." He took her in his arms and kissed her. + +Mrs. Goodchild stared, open-eyed. Mr. Goodchild grew purple, and +shouted: + +"Here! This is--" + +H. R. turned to him and said, "This is all right." And again he pressed +his lips to hers and kept them pressed this time. + +"I won't have it!" shrieked Mr. Goodchild, going toward the young +people, one fist upraised. + +H. R. ceased kissing, and spoke rebukingly: + +"What do you want me to do? Kiss her in the vestibule before ringing the +door-bell, as if we were plebeian sweethearts? Or in a taxi in the Park? +Listen: _Fear not to intrust your daughter to a man who never kisses her +save in the sight of those who brought her into this world!_" H. R. +spoke so aphoristically that Mr. Goodchild thought it was a quotation +from Ecclesiastes. + +H. R. took the ring out of his waistcoat pocket and gave it to Grace. + +"Here, my love!" + +It was a magnificent green diamond, the rarest of all. Mrs. Goodchild +rose quickly and said, "Let me see it!" Mother-like, being concerned +with her only daughter's happiness, she took the ring to the window. + +Grace followed. It was her ring. + +"Say, Big Chief," H. R. asked his prospective father-in-law, "do I get +the sand--do I get some slices of bread with some slices of viands, two +breads to one viand, and a cup of tea?" + +"Tea be hanged! Have a man's drink," hospitably and diplomatically said +Mr. Goodchild. There was still a chance of escaping. He knew what +violent opposition had done to sentimental daughters. + +"Yes, but you'll have to allow us a decent rate of interest on our +balances." + +"How much do you carry?" asked Mr. Goodchild, carelessly. + +"Enough for Dawson to offer three per cent. But let us not talk +business here. I'll call on you to-morrow. + +"All right. But Dawson can't do it, not even on time deposits, and--" + +"Scotch for mine," said H. R. "Is Frederick coming?" + +Mr. Goodchild was, after all, a gentleman. He rang for Frederick. He +also was thirsty. + +"Hendrik, it's beautiful," said Grace, enthusiastically. "But are you +perfectly sure you can--" + +"Empress, don't you wish it done?" + +"Of course." + +"Then, of course, it is done. You'll be able to yell '_sandwich_'! +anywhere in New York and nobody will think of anything except that you +are the most beautiful girl in the world. Give me another before +Frederick brings 'em." + +"Brings what?" + +"Lamb chops!" answered H. R., who was a humorist of the New York school. +"Quick!" And he kissed her twice. + +"We'll have tea up-stairs if you're really going to be one of the +family," said Mrs. Goodchild, with the dubious smile so familiar on the +faces of mothers of New York girls. + +"Come, Grace!" said H. R., taking her by the unringed hand. He knew +better--by instinct. + +It was a very satisfactory day. Such was the compelling force of his +self-confidence that before he left the house Mr. and Mrs. Goodchild +sincerely hoped he could accomplish the impossible and wipe out the +sandwich stain from the old Knickerbocker name of Rutgers. + + + + +XXIX + + +The next morning H. R. called Andrew Barrett into the inner office. + +"Shut the door," said he. + +Andrew Barrett did so and looked alarmed--alarmed rather than guilty. + +"To-morrow, and until further notice," said H. R., sternly, "you will +tell the department-store sandwiches to parade in front of the various +newspaper offices from morning until night." + +"But not in Park Row, surely?" + +"Exactly! And find out whether the business managers of the various +newspapers have been holding conferences with the managing editors. They +probably will--this afternoon or to-morrow." + +"How can I--" + +"By paid spies--office-boy scouts. Of course, lady stenographers being +more in your line-- No! Look me in the eye!" + +Andrew Barrett blushed and said, feebly: + +"I am taking the count, Chief." + +"Very well. I shall now go out and do your work. See that you do mine!" +And H. R. went out, leaving Andrew Barrett full of devastating +curiosity. + +"I wonder what he has up his sleeve now?" mused young Mr. Barrett. "I'll +bet it's a corker!" + +H. R. himself called on the head of one of the most progressive of New +York's great department stores--a man to whom full pages on week-days +were nothing. He, therefore, had heard of H. R., and also had used +sandwiches. He greeted the founder of the S. A. S. A. with respectful +interest. H. R. said, calmly: + +"I am here now to make you a present of from ten thousand to fifty +thousand dollars a year--in cash!" + +Mr. Liebmann, of course, knew that H. R., though an aristocrat, was +neither a fool nor a lunatic. He diplomatically asked, "And my gratitude +for your kindness may be expressed just how, Mr. Rutgers?" + +"By accepting the cash and putting it in your pocket, to have and to +hold until death do you part." + +"Mr. Rutgers, I am an old man and suspense is trying." And Mr. Liebmann +smiled deprecatingly. + +"I have come to show you how you may save the amount I have mentioned in +your newspaper-advertising appropriation. You big advertisers are now +helpless to help yourself. There are no rebates and you can't play one +paper against the others. Those days are over. Will you hear me to the +end and not go on at half-cock while I am talking?" + +"Yes," promised Mr. Liebmann, impetuously. + +"Mr. Liebmann, you must write a letter to all the advertising managers +of all the newspapers, saying that you have decided to discontinue all +advertising in the daily papers as soon as your contracts expire. Hold +your horses! Explain that you intend to reach your suburban trade +through the fashion magazines, local papers, and circulars, and that for +Manhattan and Brooklyn you have decided to use sandwiches--Don't talk +yet!" + +"I am only listening," Mr. Liebmann hastened to assure him. + +"The newspapers know that you are a Napoleonic advertiser. They will pay +to your communication the double compliment of belief and consternation. +They know you know your business and that you are not only ultra-modern, +but a pioneer. You have always been a highly intelligent advertiser. You +will then let me supply you with one hundred of our best men, who will +parade in front of the newspaper-offices in full regalia, and also in +plain sight of your dear friends, the advertising managers. You know +their psychology. Take it from me, you'll win. + +"The only thing you mustn't do is to call the reductions rebates. There +is no way by which the papers can get back at you. If I can make New +York feed the hungry, would it be very difficult for me to make the +advertising managers act wisely? Of course, if your letter does not +bring about a saving of not less than ten thousand dollars a year you +will not have to pay a penny for the sandwiches. I wish nothing written +from you. The word of a Liebmann is enough for a Rutgers. My family has +been in New York long enough for you to know whether a Rutgers is a man +of his word or not." + +"I'd rather shake hands with you than save a million a year in +advertising," said Mr. Liebmann. + +H. R. looked him straight in the eye--suspiciously, incredulously, +insultingly. Mr. Liebmann flushed and then H. R. said, earnestly: + +"I believe you, Mr. Liebmann!" and shook hands. + +Mr. Liebmann, bareheaded, proudly escorted him to the sidewalk. He +thanked H. R. to the last. + +H. R. called on the other liberal advertisers and, with more or less +ease, succeeded in impressing them as he had Mr. Liebmann. + +Then he visited the managing editors of all the daily papers. He began +with the best. The managing editor was delighted to see the man he had +helped to make famous. + +"I have come," H. R. told him, "to ask a great favor of you. I am, as +you know, very greatly interested in charity work. Your paper has been +good enough to publish my views." + +H. R. spoke with a sort of restrained zeal simply, not humorously, +obviously as a one-idea man, a crank, still young and undyspeptic. The +editor prided himself on his quick and accurate insight into character. +He said: + +"Oh yes; I know about your work." + +"Thank you. Well, sir, I find my usefulness to the cause somewhat +impaired by the persistence with which my name is associated with the +merely commercial phase of sandwiching. You know the sandwich men +commercially were vermin, and I have taught them to pay for their own +food. I took paupers and unpauperized them." + +"And the signs in your parade were great. I told them at the Union +League Club that at least one poor man's parade had shown brains. Not a +single threat! Not one complaint! Not one window smashed! Not one +spectator insulted! It showed genius!" And the editor held out his hand. + +"I am a Christian, sir," said H. R., gently. + +"Well, I'll shake hands, anyhow, if you'll let me," said the editor, +cordially. + +H. R. took his hand and looked so embarrassed that the editor would have +sworn he blushed. This was no publicity-seeker, no fake modesty. Yes, +that must be it--a Christian, the kind editors seldom shake hands with. + +"And so," continued H. R., earnestly, "if you please, if you would only +tell your reporters not to mention me in connection with sandwiches I +could do more for the cause. You see, what I did with the sandwiches was +merely the entering wedge. I don't want you to think I am complaining of +your reporters, sir; they have been more than kind to me; but if you +could see your way clear to not speaking about sandwiches as though they +were my personal property--" + +"You are the man who gave free sandwiches to New York," smiled the +editor, as though he had said something original. + +The situation was more serious than H. R. had believed, but he said, +with dignity: + +"I made free men of pariahs, sir. That job is finished. The newspapers +have helped nobly; and to-day, thanks to them, charity is brought daily +before their readers." + +"But it is less picturesque than your courtship of Miss Goodchild with +sandwiches." + +"There were"--and H. R. smiled deprecatingly--"peculiar circumstances +about my personal relations with Mr. Goodchild. Of course, I also +desired to prove to intelligent but not very original business men that +sandwiching is the most effective form of advertising. It is like all +art, sir. The personal quality gives to it a human appeal that no +combination of printed words on a page can have." + +"How do you make that out?" asked the editor. + +"When you read a play you see the printed words; but when you see the +same play well acted you find that the same words you have read and +liked reach the public through the senses of sight and of hearing as +well as through the intellect, and is thus trebly efficient on the +stage. Now, sandwiching is beyond question the highest form of +commercial advertising. It succeeds even in love! And--" + +"I congratulate you," said the editor, heartily. + +H. R. looked so serious that the editor found himself saying, with even +greater seriousness, "What you say is extremely interesting." + +"I have long studied--in my humble way--the psychology of the crowd. I +have discovered some very interesting things--at least they are +interesting to me, sir," apologized H. R., almost humbly. "I am led to +think, indeed I feel certain, that the art of sandwiching is in its +infancy. The marvelous imagination of the American people, their +resourcefulness and ingenuity, will make the development of artistic +sandwiching one of the most extraordinary commercial phenomena of the +twentieth century. But personally I am not interested in advertising, +sir, except as in this instance as a means to an end. When the result is +reached that is the end of my interest. And so, sir, though I feel +gratitude for the noble work your paper is doing for the cause of +charity, I really and honestly think that less attention should be paid +to the business side of one of our successful experiments with the +submerged tenth, and more to charity itself. Can't you tell your +reporters that sandwiching at union wages has nothing to do with it?" + +"News is news," said the editor, shaking his head regretfully. "We print +what is of interest to our readers." + +"If your readers were made to think of filling other people's stomachs +instead of their own there would be less dyspepsia--and more +newspaper-readers, sir. It is a discouraging fact that the world appears +to be more concerned over making money than over the unspeakable folly +of dying rich." + +"We can do without death more easily than without money," observed the +editor, sententiously. + +"Oh no! Death was invented in order to teach men how to live wisely. +This is the only reason why the cessation of the organic functions, +which is life's one great commonplace, has at all times attained to the +dignity of rhetoric. But I am taking your time. I hope you will be good +enough to drop sandwiches and stick to charity. I thank you for your +kindness; and--and," he finished, diffidently, "I should like to shake +hands with you." + +He looked appealingly at the editor, who thereupon shook his hand +warmly. + +"I'll do what I can for you, Mr. Rutgers. I am very glad to have met +you. Anything we can do to help you in your efforts we shall gladly do. +You are a very remarkable man and you have done greater work than you +seem to realize." + +H. R. shook his head vehemently, however, and retired in obvious +confusion. + +With a few trifling differences, due to the divers editorial +personalities, he did the same thing to the other managing editors. All +of them thought that none of the reporters really knew what manner of +man H. R. was. Withal, all of them were right. He was a wonder! + +On the next morning the eyes of the business managers of the great +metropolitan dailies, morning and evening, were made to glow by +twenty-seven letters from their biggest advertisers. The tenor of the +communications was that, as soon as existing contracts expired, the +twenty-seven biggest would do their urban advertising by means of +S. A. S. A. sandwiches. They expected to reach the suburbs through +fashion journals, circulars, and local media. + +The advertising managers smiled, not only at the palpable bluff, but at +the evidence of an infantile conspiracy. Before ten o'clock, however, +the vast crowds in front of their very doors made them swear. Scores of +sandwich men, advertising the said twenty-seven shops and the day's +bargains, were parading up and down, causing said crowds to collect and +to comment audibly and admiringly. + +The advertising managers rushed to the managing editors to tell than +that something must be done to prevent their sudden death. The managing +editors, to a man, recalled H. R.'s prophecy of the marvelous growth of +the most effective form of advertising. + +"That H. R.," said the managing editor of the _Times_, "is a wizard!" + +"You fellows made him," bitterly retorted the business manager. "He's +had more free advertising than I can book in a hundred and ten years!" + +"Why, he particularly asked me not to mention sandwiches!" + +"Well, by gad, you'd better not!" Then, "What d'ye want?" he snarled at +his first assistant, who came in with a sheet of paper in his right hand +and a look of perplexity in both eyes. + +The assistant silently gave him the copy: + + ALL THE LEADING SHOPS AND THE BIG DEPARTMENT STORES OF + GREATER NEW YORK ARE USING OUR SANDWICHES. THEY EMPLOY THE + BEST ADVERTISING TALENT IN THE WORLD. + + THEIR EXPERTS UNANIMOUSLY HAVE DECIDED THAT SANDWICHING IS + THE HIGHEST FORM OF ADVERTISING YET DISCOVERED. IT IS THE + CHEAPEST WHEN RETURNS AND RESULTS ARE CONSIDERED. + + ARE YOU USING OUR SANDWICHES, MR. MERCHANT? + + THEY WILL MOVE YOUR SHOP TO FIFTH AVENUE. + + TRY IT! EMPLOY ONLY UNION MEN. + + SOCIETY AMERICAN SANDWICH ARTISTS, + ALLIED ARTS BUILDING. + +For the first time in history the familiar + + O. K. + H. R., + _Sec._ + +was absent. + +It bore out the managing editor's assertion of H. R.'s distaste of +publicity. + +"Go out and lasso your maverick advertisers," said the managing editor, +sternly, after he had read the S. A. S. A. advertisement--full-page, +too! "I'll take care of the news columns." + +"The damned sandwich men are so thick in this town I'll have trouble in +breaking through their lines." + +"Use dynamite!" said the managing editor, savagely. He owned ten bonds +of his own paper. + +He then summoned the city editor and said, sternly: + +"Mr. Welles, under no circumstances whatever must this paper mention +sandwiches or sandwich advertising or the S. A. S. A." + +"Did you see their latest exploit? Two hundred and seventy-six +sandwiches to the block, by actual count. Talk about high art!" + +"They have commercialized it," frowned the managing editor. "Not a +line--ever!" + +The same thing must have happened in all the other offices. The public +talked about the advertising revolution and the wonderful new styles in +boards; and they looked in the next morning's papers to get all the +picturesque details, as usual. Not a word! + + + + +XXX + + +H. R. called, shortly after ten o'clock the next morning, at the Ketcham +National Bank to discuss with his father-in-law-to-be interest rates on +the balance he did not yet have. + +Mr. Goodchild had slept over the matter. He had spent an hour in going +over his annoyances and humiliations, and had failed himself with a +wrath that became murderous anger when he compelled himself to realize +that H. R. had it in his power to intensify the troubles of the +Goodchild family. The marriage of H. R. with his daughter became worse +than preposterous; it was a species of blackmail against which there was +no defense. He could not reach H. R. by means of the law or by speech or +by violence. + +When his anger cooled, however, he saw that what he had done was to pay +the young man the greatest compliment an elderly millionaire can pay +anybody. The more formidable your enemy is, the less disgraceful is your +defeat. Mr. Goodchild was as intelligent a man as one is apt to find in +the office of the president of a bank; but he was susceptible, as all +men are, to self-inflicted flattery. He therefore decided that H. R. was +a problem to be tackled in cold blood, with both eyes open and prayer in +the heart. The only plan of action he could think of was proposing to +H. R. to accomplish an impossibility; in fact, two impossibilities. He +also would treat H. R. amicably. + +"Good morning, young man!" he said, pleasantly. + +"Morning!" said H. R., briskly. "Now let's get down to cases. I expect +you to--" + +"Hold on!" said Mr. Goodchild, coldly, in order to keep from saying it +hotly. "Aren't you a trifle premature?" + +"No," said H. R. "I find I can give you a few minutes to-day." + +"You'll have to use some of those minutes in listening to me," said Mr. +Goodchild, trying to look as though this was routine business. + +"I'll listen," H. R. assured him, kindly. + +"You will admit that you have given me cause to--well, not to feel +especially friendly toward you." + +"Big men are above petty feelings," said H. R. "You will, in turn, admit +that you made a mistake in not advancing me in the bank-- Wait! I'll +listen later, as long as you wish. You object, I suppose, to my methods; +but let me point out to you that I have arrived! Where should I be if I +hadn't been talked about? And where shall I land if I keep on +hypnotizing the newspapers into giving me columns of space? You know +what publicity means in business to-day, don't you? Well, just bear in +mind that I not only make news, but, by jingo, I am news! There is only +one other man in the United States who can say that, and you may have to +vote for him for President, notwithstanding your fear of him. Wait!" +H. R. held up his hand, took out his watch, and went on: "For an entire +minute think of what I have said before you answer. Don't answer until +the time is up. One minute. Begin! Now!" + +H. R. held his hand detainingly two inches in front of Mr. Goodchild's +lips. Mr. Goodchild did not open them. He thought and thought, and he +became conscious that he had to argue with himself to find said answer. + +"Speak!" commanded H. R. when the minute was up. + +"The cases are not analogous. Publicity has its uses and--" + +"It has this one use--that you can always capitalize it. It spells +dollars--and, more than that, easy dollars, untainted dollars, dollars +that nobody begrudges you and that nobody wants to take away from +you--not even the Administration at Washington. Think over that for two +minutes. And he pulled out his watch once more. + +"Look here, I--" + +"Damn it, don't talk! Think!" said H. R. so determinedly that Mr. +Goodchild almost feared a scene would be enacted which he should regret +after seeing it in the newspapers. "You have wasted forty seconds in +overcoming your anger at my manner of speech," continued H. R., +reprovingly. "Begin all over. Two minutes. Now!" And before Mr. +Goodchild's wrath could become articulate he rose and walked over to a +window. + +H. R. stared across the street. It was there he had captured Fleming. +How far away that day seemed now--and how far below! The two minutes +were up. He turned to Mr. Goodchild. + +"Look here; you bank presidents are an unscientific lot. You ought to be +psychologists instead of being merely bookkeepers. It is knowledge of +people you need--not of human nature at its worst, or of political +economy, or of finance, but of people--the people who vote; the people +who in the end say whether you are to be allowed to enjoy your money and +theirs in comfort or not. Study them! You sit here and disapprove of my +methods because they violate some rule established years ago by somebody +as radical then as I appear to be now. It is not a question of good +taste or bad taste. It was good taste once to kill each other in duels, +and to drink two bottles of port, and to employ children in factories. +The suffragettes are attacked for methods--" + +"Do you mean to say you approve of their slashing pictures--" + +"That is beside the question. If the suffragettes stuck to ladylike +speeches and circulars they would be merely a joke at the club. The +right of women to vote is a problem. Well, the suffragettes have made +themselves exactly that--a problem! If they have not a sense of relative +values it is because they don't get me to run their campaign for them. I +could succeed without destroying one masterpiece. Maybe I will--some +day. And then I could marry ten bankers' daughters if I were not in love +with one. Let's come back to our own business. Do you think I have +brains?" + +"Well--" + +"No, no! Remember what I have said to you and consider whether it is +asinine; and think of what I have done and ponder whether it shows +hustling and executive ability, and those qualities that mean the power +to develop the individual bank account. Am I an ass or have I brains?" + +"Yes; but--" + +"All men of brains at all times have had more buts than bouquets thrown +at them. I tell you now that I have gone about this business for the +purpose of getting there. To become news, to be interesting to the +public in some way--in any way--is the quickest way. Then you can pick +your own way, a way that will commend itself to the well-bred +nonentities who never accomplish anything. Well, I am famous; and it's +up to me to decide what I shall do in the future to take advantage of +the fact that when people hear of H. R., or see those two initials in +print, they look for something interesting to follow. The least of my +troubles is that I shall become one of your respected depositors. I +don't drink; I am healthy--no taint of any kind, hereditary or acquired; +I don't have to lie to get what I want or cheat to get all the money I +need--and I need a lot. I've got ideas, and I don't fall down in +carrying them out, because I don't go on at half-cock. I never move +until I see my destination; and if there is a wall ahead I have my +scaling-ladder all ready long before I arrive at the wall." + +H. R. paused, and then went on more slowly: "When you get over your +soreness at the raw deal the newspapers have given you, you will be glad +to have a man of brains in your house. I don't want you to give Grace +anything; but I tell you now I'm going to marry her, and you'd better +begin to be reconciled to the idea of having me for a son-in-law. I want +to be your friend, because I'm quite sure you will not enjoy having me +for your enemy--not after I begin the counter attack." + +It is always the delivery that does it, as Demosthenes triply assured +posterity. Mr. Goodchild's eyes had not left H. R.'s face and he had +listened intently to the speech. He did not grasp in full all that H. R. +had said; but what really had emptied Mr. Goodchild of anger, and +filled him with an interest which was not very different from respect, +was the delivery. H. R.'s faculty of knowing how to speak to a +particular auditor was instinctive. It always is, with all such men, +whether they are famous or obscure, orators or life-insurance agents. It +is very simple when you are born with it. + +Mr. Goodchild, however, finding his own weapons of offense more +dangerous to himself than to the foe, fell back on defense. To do so, he +naturally began with a lie. That is the worst of verbal defenses. + +"I don't object to you personally. I--I even admit that I made a mistake +in not promoting you, though I don't know what position you could have +filled here that would have suited you--" + +"None; because you don't realize that banks need modernizing. None! Skip +all that and get back to me as your son-in-law." + +Mr. Goodchild, thinking of his two plans which were his one hope, asked, +abruptly: + +"Are you a man of your word?" + +"Since I have brains, I am. Are you?" + +"I object to your methods. Your speech I might overlook, though it comes +hard. I am speaking plainly. Now you are known as the Sandwich Man. That +would bar you from my club and from ever becoming a really--" + +"But that will stop. It will stop to-day. I have told Grace that within +a month nobody will ever connect my name with sandwiches." + +"Will you agree not to marry or seek to marry my daughter, or annoy us +in any way--in short, if a month from now you are still famous as the +organizer of the sandwiches, will you stop trying to be my son-in-law?" + +"Sure thing!" promised H. R., calmly. Mr. Goodchild was distrustful and +looked it, which made H. R. add, impressively: "I'll give you my word +that after to-day I'll never even try to see you or Grace, or write to +her, or revenge myself on you. So far as I am concerned I'll cease to +exist for you. And here's my hand on it." + +He held out his hand in such a manner that Mr. Goodchild took it and +shook it with the warmth of profound relief. Then he said, heartfully: + +"If you do that--" + +"Don't worry! It won't kill my business. I'll be just as famous as +ever." + +"The newspapers made you. Their silence will unmake you." + +"Oh no!" And H. R. smiled as one smiles at a child. + +Mr. Goodchild almost felt as though his head had been kindly patted. + +"Why not?" he asked. + +"Sandwiching is here to stay and--and my companies are organized. I'll +change the dummy directors as soon as you and I decide which of your +friends and clients shall be permitted to buy some of the stock my men +haven't sold. For cash, understand! The newspapers have done their work. +The newspapers in this instance are like incubators. I put in an egg. +The incubator hatched it. Then I took the chick out of the incubator. +Suppose the incubator now refuses to keep up the temperature of 102-1/2 +degrees Fahrenheit necessary to hatch the egg? Suppose the incubator +gets stone cold? Well, let it! The chick is out and growing. And let me +tell you right now that I am not going to let Wall Street financiers get +their clutches on my chick. They'd caponize it. Talking about interest +rates--" + +"How big a balance do you expect to keep with us?" asked Mr. Goodchild. +He did not like to admit the surrender. + +"It depends on you." H. R. pulled out his watch, looked at the time, +snapped it shut, and said: "I haven't time to go over the business; but +I'll send one of my office men to tell you all you want to know. Listen +to him and then ask him any questions you wish. So far as you and I are +concerned we are beyond the sandwich stage. I'll send Barrett to you +this afternoon. And, believe me, you are going to be my father-in-law. +Good morning!" He left the office without offering to shake hands. + +On his way out H. R. stopped to speak to Mr. Coster, to whom he owed so +much for having led him, as a clerk with the springtime in his blood, to +the president's office to be discharged. + +"Well, old top, here I be!" said H. R., kindly humorous in order to +remove all restraint. + +"How do you do, Mr. Rutgers?" said Coster, respectfully. + +The clerks looked at their erstwhile fellow-slave furtively, afraid to +be caught looking. Was this Hendrik Rutgers? Was this what a man became +when he ceased to be a clerk? + +Ah, but a salary! Something coming in regularly at the end of the week, +rain or shine! Gee! but some men are born lucky! + + + + +XXXI + + +H. R. returned to his office feeling that the big battle was about to +begin. The preliminary skirmishes he had won. He had captured fame and +must now begin his real attack on fortune. He spent an hour dictating +plans of campaign for his various companies. Shortly before noon he told +the stenographer to call up Miss Goodchild and inform her that Mr. +Rutgers would be there in half an hour. + +He had promised not to call on Grace for a month after that day. He must +not make love to her. He was determined to keep his promise; but she +must not forget him. He had accustomed her to his impetuous wooing. In +thirty days of inaction much might be undone if he did nothing. + +He was punctual. He found Grace waiting for him, curious to know what +had happened at H. R.'s conference with her father at the bank. Her +curiosity made her forget many other things. + +She expected a characteristic greeting from H. R., but his face was so +full of adamantine resolution that her curiosity promptly turned into +vague alarm. She had told herself she did not love him, but +instinctively she now walked toward him quickly. + +"What is it?" she asked. + +He waved her back and said, hastily: + +"Stop right where you are! Don't come any nearer. For the love of Mike, +don't!" + +She had been thinking of treating him coldly, to keep him at a distance. + +"What is it?" she asked again, and again advanced. + +"Don't!" said H. R., with a frown. + +She now felt alarmed, without giving herself any reason for it. + +"Wh-what's the m-matter?" she asked. + +"You!" he answered. "You!" + +She stared at him. He was looking at her so queerly that naturally she +thought something had happened to her face. She looked into the mirror +on her right. It was not so. Another look fully confirmed this. So she +looked at him. His expression had lost some of its anxiety. + +"I promised your dad," he explained, "that I would not see you after +to-day, or call here, or try to make love to you by mail, or annoy you +or him in any way until I had wiped the sandwich stain off your surname. +I have a month in which to do it, and I promised all that! One month! +Not to see you! But--" + +He looked at her so hungrily that, born and bred in New York though she +was, she blushed hotly and turned her face away. Then she felt the +thrill by which victory is made plain to the defeated. + +"But--but--" repeated H. R. through his clenched teeth, and took a step +toward her. + +Whatever she saw in his face made her smile and say, challengingly: + +"But what?" + +Being very wise, he caught his breath and said, sharply: + +"Don't do that!" + +"Do what?" she asked, innocently, and kept on smiling. + +"I will not see you!" + +"You won't?" She ceased to smile, in order to look skeptical. + +"No, I won't; I'll keep my word, Grace." He was speaking very earnestly +now. "I love you--all of you; the good and the bad, your wonderful +woman's soul and your perennial childishness. You are so beautiful in so +many ways that you yourself cannot know how completely beautiful you +are. But I love more than your beauty. After it is all over you will +realize that I can be trusted implicitly. Never has man been put to such +a task. Don't you know--can't you see what I am doing?" + +She knew; she saw. She felt herself mistress of the situation. She +therefore said, softly: + +"I shouldn't want you to commit suicide here." + +Hearing no reply, she looked at him. He was ready for it. She saw his +nostrils dilate and his fists clench and unclench. + +"Then I won't see you. But--but you can see me," he said. + +She frowned. + +He went on: "I shall lunch every day at Jerry's--small table in the +northeast corner. At one o'clock every day for a whole month." + +Did he expect her to run after him? She said, very coldly: + +"That wouldn't be fair." + +"If you go to Jerry's for luncheon with one of your girl friends, and +you see me eating alone, keeping bushels of wonderful news all to +myself, is that making love to you?" + +"Yes." + +"No!" he contradicted, flatly. "But I'll do more-- I'll let you tell +Mrs. Vandergilt that you own the only engine of destruction available +against man's stupidity." + +Knowing that he was alluding to her beauty, she said: + +"What are you talking about?" + +"Well, I belong to you, don't I? And if women are to get the vote can't +you tell dear Ethel's mother--" + +"Do you mean old Mrs. Vandergilt?" she interrupted. + +"Yes." + +"Then say so." + +"I will," he meekly promised. "You tell the old lady that you will +insure success for the Cause by lending me to her. I've got a scheme +that will do more in a month than all the suffragettes have accomplished +in fifty years. You might get Ethel interested in my plan--" + +"I won't!" She smiled the forgiving smile that infuriates. She lost her +head. "You think I am jeal--that I'm--" + +"I think not of you, but of myself, and of how I may keep my promise to +your father and survive. If you see me, and can talk to me, I shall live +honorably. Will you shake hands?" He held out his right hand. She +ignored it. He deliberately took hers and led her to a chair. "Will you +do what I ask, dear?" he entreated, humbly. + +"No!" She stood there, cold, disdainful, refusing everything--even to +sit down. + +"Then," he said, tensely, "then I must--" He seized her in his arms and +kissed her unresponsive lips. "I am not making love to you," he +murmured. "I am not!" And he kissed her again. "I promised not to see +you; and I won't--not even if you see me." + +He released her and was silent. She looked up and saw that his eyes were +tightly closed. + +"I'll be there," she said, triumphantly, "at one o'clock." + +"I am a man of my word!" he said, fiercely. + +"Every day!" she added, with decision. + +She did not know that this wifelike attitude thrilled him as not even +the kisses had; but he said, earnestly: + +"No. I'm going now. It's good-by for a month. For a whole month!" + +"Northeast corner table," she said, audibly, as though to herself. +"Northeast cor--" + +"Play fair!" he urged. "Amuse yourself with Mrs. Vandergilt." He looked +at her as though he desired her to occupy herself with some hobby for +thirty days. The sight of her face, and nothing else that she could see, +made him say, "Good-by!" And he almost ran out of the room. + +She went up-stairs to get her gloves. On second thought she called Ethel +on the telephone and invited her to luncheon at Jerry's. + +He was waiting for her at the northeast corner table when she and Ethel +went in. Grace, who had been looking toward the southwest corner, where +the exit to the kitchen was, turned casually and saw him. + +"There's Hendrik!" she said to Ethel. + +He had not risen. He looked up casually now and approached them. + +"I was born lucky," he told them, and shook hands with Grace. To Miss +Vandergilt he said, very seriously, "Are you Grace's friend?" + +"I'm more than that," answered Ethel; "I am the best friend she's got." + +"Then I am doubly lucky. I have a table, Ethel. I want you to be a +witness to the miracle." There was no reason why he should call Miss +Vandergilt by her first name. Even Ethel looked it. But H. R. merely +said: "Take this chair, Grace. Ethel--here." + +"It seems to me--" began Grace, coldly. + +"Your friends are my friends. The miracle, Ethel, is that I've promised +not to make love to Grace for a whole month--thirty days; forty-three +thousand two hundred precious wasted minutes!" + +"Don't you sleep?" interjected Ethel, curiously. + +"My poor carcass does, but not my thoughts of her. Now let us eat and be +miserable." + +It was a wonderful luncheon. H. R. let them do all the talking. He was +at his coffee when Ethel mentioned her mother. + +"Ah, yes!" said H. R. "By the way, has Grace told her?" + +"Told her what?" + +Grace caught his eye and shook her head with a frown. + +"Very well, dear girl," he said to her. To Ethel he explained, "She +doesn't wish me to tell you of her plan." + +"Oh, do! Please!" said Ethel, eagerly. + +"I'm in training for the position of her husband, Ethel," H. R. told +her. "She says no--that's all; plain no!" + +"Grace, tell him to tell me!" said Ethel. + +"Shall I, Grace?" smiled H. R. + +Ethel looked at her and smiled. It made Grace so furious that she said: + +"I have no control over his speech." + +"Then, Ethel, it is only that Grace has a plan for a suffrage campaign +that--well, it isn't for me to boast of her strategy; but it's a sure +winner. I thought she would tell your mother." + +"It doesn't interest me," said Grace, very coldly, being hot within. + +"It will after you're married," observed Ethel, sagely. + +"That depends on whom I marry," said Grace, casually. + +"So it does," assented H. R., calmly. + +"I agree with Hendrik," said Ethel, more subtly personal than Grace +thought necessary; so she pushed back her chair and took up her gloves. + +"Same table, same time--to-morrow?" H. R. said this to Grace so that +Ethel could hear it. + +"No," said Grace. + +"Very well," he said, meekly. "I'll be here just the same--in case." + +She shook her head. Ethel, who was carefully not looking, saw her do it. + +Grace did not appear the next day, but Ethel did, properly accompanied +by her own mother. They walked toward the northeast corner, on their way +to a near-by table. H. R. rose and approached them. + +"Just in time," he said to them. "Thursday always was my lucky day." + +They sat down. To the waiter he said: + +"Tell the chef--for three; for me." + +"Yes, Mr. Rutgers," said the waiter, very deferentially. + +"What have you up your sleeve, Mrs. Vandergilt? And how near is +victory?" + +"You mean--" + +"The Cause!" said H. R., reverently. + +"I never heard you express an opinion," said Mrs. Vandergilt, +suspiciously. + +"You have expressed them for me far better than I could. Mine isn't a +deep or philosophical mind," he apologized to the mind that was. "I +merely understand publicity and how sheeplike men are." + +"If you understand that, you understand a great deal," remarked Mrs. +Vandergilt, sententiously. + +"Grace thought--" began H. R., and caught himself in time. "You haven't +talked to her about it?" + +"Grace?" + +"Miss Goodchild." + +"No. Why should I?" + +"No reason--only that she has what I, as a practical man, in my low-brow +way, think is a winner. Of course the suffrage has long since passed the +polemical stage. The question does not admit of argument. The right is +admitted by all men. But what all men don't admit is the wrong. And all +men don't admit it, because all women don't." + +"That is true," said Mrs. Vandergilt, vindictively. + +"Any woman," pursued H. R., earnestly, "can make any man give her +anything she wants. Therefore, if all the women wanted all the men to +give them anything, the men would give it. A woman can't always take +something from a man; but she can always get it. To put it on the high +plane of taking it as a right may be noble; but what I want is results. +So long as I get results, nothing short of murder, lying, or ignoble +wheedling can stop me. Grace and I went all over that; but she seems to +have lost interest--" + +"Yes, she has," confirmed Ethel, so amiably that H. R. smiled +gratefully; and that annoyed Ethel. + +"You have asked for justice," pursued H. R., addressing himself to Mrs. +Vandergilt; "but it is at the ignoble side of man that you must shoot. +It is a larger target--easier to hit." + +"But--" began Mrs. Vandergilt. + +"If I were a woman my dream should be to serve under you and implicitly +obey all orders. I'd distribute dynamite as cheerfully as handbills. +Without competent marshals do you imagine Napoleon could have done what +he did? + +"Don't I know it?" said Mrs. Vandergilt, bitterly. + +"How would you go about it?" interjected Ethel, who had grown weary of +her own silence. + +"I'd get the marshals. I'd get subordinates that, when your mother said +'Do thus and so!' she could feel sure would obey orders. The general +strategy must come from her." + +"I've said that until I was black in the face," said Mrs. Vandergilt. +"I've told them--" And the great leader talked and talked, while H. R. +stopped eating to listen with his very soul. With such a listener Mrs. +Vandergilt was at her best. + +"Mother, the squab is getting cold," said Ethel. + +"The next time it will be cold in advance," said H. R., impatiently. "Go +on, Mrs. Vandergilt!" + +But Mrs. Vandergilt, knowing she could not finish at one luncheon, shook +her head graciously and invited H. R. to dinner the next evening. + +"I can hardly wait!" murmured H. R. + + + + +XXXII + + +The dinner at Mrs. Vandergilt's home was H. R.'s initial social triumph. +The first thing he did was to confess to Mrs. Vandergilt that what he +desired above all things was to be her military secretary. All he asked +was to serve the Cause so long as she led, and no longer. + +"I hate failures," he told her. "I don't propose to be identified with +any. If I did not see in you what I do I should not be here. I know +creative genius when I see it. You paint the picture. I am only the +frame-maker--necessary, but not among the immortals." + +"You are more than that," she assured him, with a smile. He shook his +head. + +"I can fool the rabble; but you know the trick! Organize your personal +staff. Fire them with your own enthusiasm. Of course they won't all have +brains; but they will do to stop gaps and follow instructions." + +And Mrs. Vandergilt, in order that all might know that great minds +acknowledged a greater mind, cracked up H. R. to the sky. H. R.'s +success was all the greater since he made a point of declining most +invitations. He was seen only where most people wished to be seen. That +made him talked about. + +Grace heard about his stupendous social success. Since the demand for +H. R.'s presence came from her social equals, he was at last a desirable +possession. She stayed away from Jerry's in a mood of anger that +naturally made it impossible for her to stop thinking of H. R. + +Meantime H. R. regularly, every day, sent a complete file of newspapers +to the Goodchild residence. By his orders the Public Sentiment Corps +bombarded the editors with requests for information as to the Society of +American Sandwich Artists, and of sandwiching in general. He prepared +learned and withal highly interesting articles on sandwiches, their +history and development. He suggested over divers signatures that all +court notices should be brought to the public's notice by sandwiches, +thereby getting nearer to the picturesque town-crier of our sainted +forefathers. + +Not a single communication was printed. The department stores were +holding out for lower advertising rates. Many of the letters asked +questions about H. R. in his capacity as the greatest living authority +on sandwiches. These, also, were ignored. On the other hand, to show +they were not prejudiced, the papers continued to run the charity page +and used suggestions furnished by H. R., giving him full credit when it +came to philanthropies that had nothing to do with sandwiches. + +The series of harrowing radiographs of diseased viscera, published with +success by the most conservative of the evening journals, was one of +H. R.'s subtlest strokes. And prominent persons took to contributing +checks and articles, both signed in full, in response to H. R.'s +occasional appeals in aid of deserving destitution. + +Then the Public Sentiment Corps began to ask, with a marvelous diversity +of chirography and spelling, why H. R. did not undertake to secure +votes for women and employment for men. Mrs. Vandergilt, when asked +about it by the reporters, replied: + +"H. R. is my most trusted adviser. Just wait! When we are ready to move +we'll begin; and there will be no stopping us this time!" They published +her remarks and her photograph, and also H. R.'s. + +Mr. Goodchild had tried, one after another, to get all the newspapers to +attack H. R. viciously--then to poke fun at him; and he had failed +utterly. When he read the Vandergilt interview, on his way home that +evening, he decided to speak to Grace. + +"Mrs. Vandergilt is crazy," he said. + +"Have they sent her away?" asked Grace, her face full of excitement. +Poor Ethel! + +"Not yet; but I see she has taken up that--that--" + +"Hendrik?" asked Grace, and frowned. + +Mr. Goodchild nodded. Then he asked, suspiciously: + +"You haven't seen him?" + +"Yes; but not to--well, he hasn't made--he has kept his word to you. And +the newspapers don't print anything about sandwiches." + +"No--damn 'em!" he muttered. + +"I thought you didn't want them to." + +"I don't want you to have anything to do with him. It is perfectly +absurd to think of marrying a fellow like that--" + +"He can marry anybody now," she told him. Thinking of this made her so +angry that she said, "He hypnotizes people so they think he is--" + +"I know what he is," he interrupted. "I'd like to--" + +"I suppose you would," she acquiesced; "but you can't deny he is an +extraordinary person, and--" + +"Do you love him?" he interrupted. + +Grace hesitated. She had to in order to be honest. + +"I--I don't know," she answered, finally. + +"Great Scott! Do you mean to say you don't know that?" + +"No; I don't," she replied, tartly. + +She thought of H. R., of all he had done, of all he had said to her, of +all he might yet do. And then she thought of the way H. R. had been +taken up by the people at whose homes she dined and danced. She shook +her head dubiously. + +"Well, finish!" said her father, impatiently. + +"He makes people do what he wants them to," she said, slowly; "though he +says he will do what I wish him to do, and--" + +"Can you make him do what he doesn't want to do?" challenged her father, +with his first gleam of sense. + +She thought of H. R.'s love of her. + +"Yes," she said, thrilled at the thought of her power. + +"Then make him give you up!" + +Her father permitted himself a smile of incredulity, which made her say: + +"I will!" + +Mr. Goodchild rose. He patted her cheek encouragingly and said: + +"I think you will, my dear." + +"I am going to make him--" + +"I beg pardon, but Miss Goodchild is wanted at the telephone, sir," +announced Frederick. + +Grace went to answer the phone. It was Marion Molyneux who spoke. + +"Is it true, Grace, that your engagement with H. R. is off?" + +"Who told you?" naturally asked Grace before she could think of anything +else. + +"Why, everybody is talking about it; and--" + +"Everybody knows my business better than I do." + +"Well, they say Mrs. Vandergilt doesn't give him time to--" + +"Is he engaged to her?" + +"Oh, dear! You are angry, aren't you? Well, I am glad it isn't true. +Good-by." + +How could the engagement be off when it never had been on? Grace made up +her mind to talk to him very plainly, for the last time, that evening. +She knew he would be at the Vandergilts' dinner dance that night. Well, +she was going there, anyhow. Therefore she went. She almost had to elbow +her way to where he stood. Mrs. Vandergilt was beside him; but Grace +could see that H. R. owned the house. + +"How do you do, my dear?" said Mrs. Vandergilt, so very graciously that +Grace was filled with fury. + +It was plain that H. R. was making a professional politician of Mrs. +Vandergilt. Grace smiled at her--that is, she made her lips do it +mechanically. Then she addressed the fiance to whom she was not engaged: + +"Hendrik!" + +That was all she actually said, but, with her eyes, in the manner known +only to women who are sure they are not in love, she commanded him to +follow her. + +"You see him all the time and we don't get a chance very often," +protested a vulgar little thing whose father was a financial pirate of +the first rank and had given her all the predatory instincts. "Go on, +H. R.! Tell us some more. Do!" + +Grace's eyes grew very bright and hard, and her cheeks flushed. + +"I have news for you," she said to H. R., calmly ignoring the others. + +"I am sorry, children," said H. R., regretfully. "Business before +pleasure." + +"Your business," persisted the vulgar little thing, "is to obey!" + +"Hence my exit," he said, and followed Grace. + +She led the way to the conservatory. She was conscious of her own +displeasure. This enabled her to dispense with the necessity of finding +reasons for her own feelings. She halted beside an elaborately carved +marble seat, built for two, and motioned for him to sit down. He looked +at her. She then said: + +"Sit down!" + +He obeyed. Then she sat beside him. The seat was skilfully screened by +palms and ferns. + +"I had a little talk with father this morning," she went on, and +frowned--in advance. + +"You poor thing!" he murmured, sympathetically, as though he were +thinking of what she must have suffered. + +As a matter of fact his mind was full of the conviction that she herself +did not know which way she was going to jump and it behooved him to pick +the right way. + +"He asked me whether I loved you," she went on, sternly. + +"Well, the answer to that was an easy syllable. When we go back you tell +Mrs. Vandergilt that you have decided to allow me to serve under her. +Don't worry; I'll be the boss. Ethel has played up like a trump--" + +"I told him I didn't," she interrupted. + +"You couldn't have told him that!" He smiled easily. "There was no +occasion for it. Now tell me exactly what you did say to him." + +He could see anger in her eyes--the kind of anger that is at least a +first cousin to hatred. + +"I said--" + +"The exact words." + +The change in his voice made her look at him. His eyes, keen, masterful, +were fixed on hers. They looked hard, yet not altogether ruthless; and +particularly they looked as though they could read thoughts with no +effort, which made it necessary to tell the truth. + +"I told him I didn't know," she said. To preserve her self-respect she +sneered. + +"What a wonderful girl you are!" + +In his eyes she saw a great admiration. She could not tell what it was +this man considered so wonderful; but, whatever it was, he knew +exactly--and she did not! + +"If I really loved you, shouldn't I know it?" + +"Of course not. You are not the surrendering kind. The others are--born +slaves, diminutive souls, toys, little pets. Souls like yours don't +marry; they mate with an eagle! You will love me as I love you. And then +there is nothing that we, together, cannot do! Nothing!" + +She opened her mouth, but he checked her speech by saying, sternly: + +"Why do you think it is that, having loved you, I cannot love any one +else? Because I alone know what you are and what you will be! Grace, I +promised your father I would not make love to you until I had deleted +one word from our visiting-cards. It is done; but the month isn't up +quite, and I won't make love to you. That's flat! I can't break my +word." + +He looked so determined that naturally she looked away and said, very +softly: + +"And--and if I should want you to?" + +"You should want me to make love to you, but not to break my word!" + +"But you say you love me," she complained. + +"Love you!" + +It flamed in his eyes and his hand reached for hers; but he checked +himself abruptly. She extended her hand, but he edged away from her. She +drew nearer to him. He retreated to the very edge of the seat. She was +pursuing now. He bit his lip and frowned. + +She no longer thought of other things. She knew he could not retreat any +farther. She covered his hand with hers. He suddenly clutched it so +tightly that he hurt her, and that gave her the fierce joy of success in +love as she understood it. She felt like shouting: "Hurt me! Hurt me! +I've got you!" But what she did was to murmur: + +"Hendrik!" + +"What?" he said, hoarsely, resolutely keeping his eyes from looking into +hers. + +"Hendrik, do you really love me?" + +"My promise!" he whispered, tensely, and looked at her pleadingly. +"Don't, dear!" + +She understood him perfectly; so she smiled. It was her iron will +against his. He must do what he did not wish to do, and do it because +she wished it! She did not wish to kiss him; but she wished, +hypnotist-like, to compel him to kiss her. With her eyes she beckoned +him to come closer. + +Knowing that this would clinch it he stared back at her with a pitiful +appeal in his troubled eyes, and shook his head weakly, as though his +soul, thinking of his honor, was saying: "No, no! Please don't!" + +Her face moved toward him a little and stopped. Something within her was +stamping its foot, saying: "Yes! Yes!"--like a peevish child. + +H. R., continuing to follow the subtle strategy of the reversed +position, stared fascinatedly at her lips. Then slowly, like a man in a +trance, his face moved toward hers. On the very brink he paused and +said, brokenly: "No! Oh, my darling! No! No!" + +She said nothing, in order not to commit herself; but she smiled at him, +while her eyes, luminous and blue, pounded away on his resolve, +battering it to pieces. Nearer his face came--nearer--until his lips +reached hers. + +His honor had been wrecked on the coral reef; but all she knew, and all +she cared to know, was that she had won! She was so certain of it and +showed it so plainly that he knew he had better make it doubly sure; so +he pressed his cheek against hers, that she might not see his face while +he murmured: + +"Now you can't cast me off!" + +It was an entreaty, with the nature of which she was familiar from her +literary studies; and her answer, eminently feminine, was: + +"Never, dearest!" + +He started to his feet abruptly. + +"Don't follow me!" he said, harshly, and walked away very quickly. + +When she rejoined the crush in the drawing-room she learned that H. R. +had excused himself on the plea of urgent business and had gone. + +"What is he going to do?" they asked her, eagerly. + +They were sure it was something picturesque, but she saw in their +excited wonderment the appraisal of her victory. The displeasure and +suspicion in Mrs. Vandergilt's eyes gave her intense joy. + +She was willing to pay for her victory. He loved her! She could make him +do whatever she wished. It did not matter whether she loved him or not. +There was now no reason, that she could see, why she should not marry +him--if the worst came to the worst. + + + + +XXXIII + + +Grace did not hear from H. R. the next morning as she fully expected. +Since expectation is disguised desire, she was vexed by his silence. She +had conquered. Why did he not acknowledge? + +She obeyed what she would have called a sudden impulse of no particular +significance and called up his office. Andrew Barrett answered. He told +her that H. R. had gone away--nobody knew whither--and would not return +until the following Thursday. + +H. R.'s move was so mysterious that it could mean but one thing: He was +running away! + +Merely to make sure of it, she went to Jerry's at one o'clock. The +northeast corner table was there, but not H. R. However, she sat down +and waited. + +She ordered her luncheon herself, irritated at having to do what he +should have done. If it was business that kept H. R. away, she ought to +know it. The right to know everything was part of the spoils. When he +came back there would be no more ignorance--ever again! + +At three o'clock she went home. But as the days passed she became +uneasy. H. R. was the only human being she completely dominated. +Brooding on his inexplicable absence, her thoughts came more and more to +take the form of the question that victrices always ask of high Heaven: +"Have I lost him?" + +That made her love him. + +At noon on the 20th of May he telephoned to her: + +"Meet me at the Plaza at four--for tea. Don't fail! Good-by!" + +"Wait!" she exclaimed, angrily, rebellion surging within her by reason +of his dictatorial tone of voice. She had been very anxious to see him, +but not at that price. + +He had wisely hung up the receiver, however. That compelled her to do +what he had told her to do. She had something to say to him. + +She found him sitting at a small table in the Palm Room. Ethel +Vandergilt and Reggie Van Duzen were with him. She approached him +frowning, because she ran the usual gantlet of stares, and overheard the +usual murmurs: "That's Grace Goodchild! Do you think she is as pretty +as--" + +Ethel greeted her affectionately, and Reggie looked proud to be there. +He was a worshipper of the dynamic H. R. But all that H. R. himself +said, in his exasperatingly peremptory voice, was: + +"Month is up to-day. Now for the test! Tell Ethel you want some +sandwiches!" + +Grace started slightly and realized that Ethel had not overheard +H. R.--he had taken care that she should not. + +"No! I--I'm afraid, Hendrik," she stammered, turning pale. Women love to +gamble--in their minds, when alone. + +"You? Afraid? Of anything?" He looked at her in pained amazement. "Look +at me!" + +She did. + +"I--I'll marry you any--anyway," she said, to show it was not cowardice, +but the reverse. + +"Play the game!" he said, sternly. + +Before she knew it she obeyed. She sat down limply and said: + +"Ethel, I w-want a s-s-sandwich!" + +"You poor thing! You're actually faint with hunger. Don't you want some +bouillon? Waiter!" + +"No; I want a sandwich!" said Grace, loudly. You would have thought she +had said, "_Jacta est alea!_" + +Ethel and Reggie heard Grace use that word. People all about them knew +who she was and had proudly told their out-of-town companions all about +H. R. and Grace Goodchild. They, too, heard Grace say she wanted a +sandwich. + +Not a soul smiled! Not having seen anything about it in the newspapers +for a month, New York had forgotten that H. R. had wooed Grace with +sandwiches. H. R. was as famous as ever, but his fellow-citizens no +longer knew why or how. + +The waiter took the order with unsmiling respect. Grace looked at H. R. +almost with awe. He smiled reassuringly and asked her: + +"Aren't you going to ask Ethel?" + +"Ask me what?" said Ethel. + +Grace was silent, because she was blushing like a silly thing in public. + +"On the eighth of June," said H. R. "I suppose you won't mind being a--" + +Ethel naturally interrupted him by saying to Grace: + +"I'm so glad! Is it announced?" + +"You're the first one we've told, dear girl," H. R. declared, solemnly. +"Reggie, you will give me courage at the altar?" + +"Will I?" chuckled Reggie, proudly, and insisted on shaking hands. + +H. R. rewarded him. He said: + +"Reggie, I'm going to let you help me in my campaign. I'm going to the +Assembly in the autumn." + +"Albany!" said Reggie, enthusiastically. "First stop on the way to +Washington! There was Cleveland--and Roosevelt; and now--" + +"Oh, Hendrik!" gasped Grace. She would help him all she could--at the +receptions. + +Then she looked at Ethel to see whether she, also, understood national +politics. Ethel did. She said, with conviction: + +"And we'll all vote for him, too!" + +The waiter laid a plate of sandwiches before Grace. + +H. R. stared at them--a long time, as though he were crystal-gazing. He +saw the labor-unions, the churches, the aristocracy, the bankers, the +newspapers, the thoughtless, and the hungry; and all were with him and +for him. He was the only man the Socialists really feared. If he was +H. R. to New York, why should he not become H. R. to the nation? + +He saw himself on the steps of the Capitol on a 4th of March. It was +typical Rutgers weather. The mighty sun was trying its best to please +him and incidentally tranquilizing Big Business by shining goldenly. The +clouds, however, were pure silver--with an eye to the retail trade. + +In the distance he saw the monument erected with infinite pains to the +one American who could not tell a lie. It was a great white finger +pointing straight at heaven. It was as though George Washington's +stupendous gesture meant, "That is where I got it from!" + +That is the place from which everything good comes. It should not be +difficult, H. R. thought, to convince his fellow-Americans of it. They +had been accustomed to reading, every day, "In God we trust." It was on +all the dollars. + +"Hendrik!" said Grace. + +H. R. started from his dream and passed his hand over his eyes. + +"Grace," he said to her resolutely, "my work is just beginning!" + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of H. R., by Edwin Lefevre + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK H. R. *** + +***** This file should be named 33314.txt or 33314.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/3/1/33314/ + +Produced by Annie McGuire. 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