A Man and His Money | Page 8

snap-shot illustration
occupying a conspicuous position on the society page.
"Prince Boris Strogareff, riding in the park," the picture was labeled.
The newspaper photographer had caught for his sensational sheet an
excellent likeness of a foreign visitor in whom New York was at the
time greatly interested. A picturesque personality--the prince--half
distinguished gentleman, half bold brigand in appearance, was depicted
on a superb bay, and looked every inch a horseman. Mr. Heatherbloom
continued to stare at the likeness; the features, dark, rather wild-looking,
as if a trace of his ancient Tartar ancestry had survived the cultivating
touch of time. Then the young man on the bench once more turned his
attention to the text accompanying the cut.
"Reported engagement of Miss Elizabeth Dalrymple to Prince Boris

Strogareff ... the prince has vast estates in Russia and Russia-Asia ... his
forbears were prominent in the days when Crakow was building and the
Cossacks and the Poles were engaged in constant strife on the steppe ...
Miss Dalrymple, with whom this stalwart romantic personage is said to
be deeply enamored, is niece and heiress of the eccentric Miss Van
Rolsen, the third richest woman in New York, and, probably, in the
world ... Miss Dalrymple is the only surviving daughter of Charles
Dalrymple of San Francisco, who made his fortune with Martin
Ferguson of the same place, at the time--"
The paper fell from Mr. Heatherbloom's hand; for several moments he
sat motionless; then he got up, unloosened his charges and moved on.
They naturally became once more wild with joy, but he heeded not
their exuberances; even Naughty's demonstrations brought no
answering touch of his hand, that now lifted to his breast and took
something from his pocket--an article wrapped in a pink tissue-paper.
Mr. Heatherbloom unfolded the warm-tinted covering with light
sedulous fingers and looked steadily and earnestly at a miniature. But
only for a brief interval; by this time Curly et al. had become an
incomprehensible tangle of dog and leading strings about Mr.
Heatherbloom's legs. So much so, indeed, that in the effort to extricate
himself he dropped the tiny picture; with a sudden passionate
exclamation he stooped for it. The anger that transformed his usually
mild visage seemed about to vent itself on his charges but almost at
once subsided.
Carefully brushing the picture on his coat, he replaced it in his pocket
and quietly started to disentangle his charges from himself. This was at
length accomplished; he knew, however, that the unraveling would
have to be done all over again ere long; it constituted an important part
of his duties. The promenade was punctuated by about so many
"mix-ups"; Mr. Heatherbloom accepted them philosophically, or
absent-mindedly. At any rate, while untying knots or disengaging
things, he usually exhibited much patience.
It might have been noticed some time later that Mr. Heatherbloom,
retracing his footsteps to Miss Van Rolsen's, betrayed a rather

vacillating and uncertain manner, as if he were somewhat reluctant to
go into, or to approach too near the old-fashioned stiff and stately
house. For fear of meeting some one, or a dread of some sudden
encounter? With Miss Van Rolsen's niece? So far he had not seen her
since that first day. Perhaps he congratulated himself on his good
fortune in this respect. If so, he reckoned without his host.
It is possible for two people to frequent the same house for quite a
while without meeting when one of them lives on the avenue side and
flits back and forth via the front steps, while the other comes and goes
only by the subterranean route; but, sooner or later, though belonging
to widely different worlds, these two are bound to come face to face,
even in spite of the determination of one of the persons to avert such a
contingency!
Mr. Heatherbloom always peered carefully about before venturing from
the house with his pampered charges; he was no less watchfully alert
when he returned. He could not, however, having only five senses, tell
when the front door might be suddenly opened at an inopportune
moment. It was opened, this very morning, on the third day of his
probation at such a moment. And he had been planning, after reading
the newspaper article in the park, to tender his resignation that very
afternoon!
It availed him nothing now to regret indecision, his being partly
coerced by the masterful mistress of the house into remaining as long
as he had remained; or to lament that other sentiment, conspiring to this
end--the desire or determination, not to flee from what he most feared.
Empty bravado! If he could but flee now! But there was no fleeing,
turning, retreating, or evading. The issue had to be met.
Miss Dalrymple, gowned in a filmy material which lent an evanescent
charm