An International Episode | Page 5

had better be careful. "We must not begin with making mistakes," said
his companion.
"But he told us, you know--he told us," urged the young man, alluding
again to the friend on the steamer.
"Never mind what he told us!" answered his comrade, who, if he had
greater talents, was also apparently more of a moralist.
By bedtime--in their impatience to taste of a terrestrial couch again our
seafarers went to bed early--it was still insufferably hot, and the buzz of
the mosquitoes at the open windows might have passed for an audible
crepitation of the temperature. "We can't stand this, you know," the
young Englishmen said to each other; and they tossed about all night
more boisterously than they had tossed upon the Atlantic billows. On
the morrow, their first thought was that they would re-embark that day
for England; and then it occured to them that they might find an asylum
nearer at hand. The cave of Aeolus became their ideal of comfort, and
they wondered where the Americans went when they wished to cool off.
They had not the least idea, and they determined to apply for
information to Mr. J. L. Westgate. This was the name inscribed in a
bold hand on the back of a letter carefully preserved in the pocketbook
of our junior traveler. Beneath the address, in the left-hand corner of
the envelope, were the words, "Introducing Lord Lambeth and Percy
Beaumont, Esq." The letter had been given to the two Englishmen by a
good friend of theirs in London, who had been in America two years
previously, and had singled out Mr. J. L. Westgate from the many
friends he had left there as the consignee, as it were, of his compatriots.
"He is a capital fellow," the Englishman in London had said, "and he
has got an awfully pretty wife. He's tremendously hospitable-- he will
do everything in the world for you; and as he knows everyone over
there, it is quite needless I should give you any other introduction. He

will make you see everyone; trust to him for putting you into
circulation. He has got a tremendously pretty wife." It was natural that
in the hour of tribulation Lord Lambeth and Mr. Percy Beaumont
should have bethought themselves of a gentleman whose attractions
had been thus vividly depicted; all the more so that he lived in the Fifth
Avenue, and that the Fifth Avenue, as they had ascertained the night
before, was contiguous to their hotel. "Ten to one he'll be out of town,"
said Percy Beaumont; "but we can at least find out where he has gone,
and we can immediately start in pursuit. He can't possibly have gone to
a hotter place, you know."
"Oh, there's only one hotter place," said Lord Lambeth, "and I hope he
hasn't gone there."
They strolled along the shady side of the street to the number indicated
upon the precious letter. The house presented an imposing
chocolate-colored expanse, relieved by facings and window cornices of
florid sculpture, and by a couple of dusty rose trees which clambered
over the balconies and the portico. This last-mentioned feature was
approached by a monumental flight of steps.
"Rather better than a London house," said Lord Lambeth, looking down
from this altitude, after they had rung the bell.
"It depends upon what London house you mean," replied his
companion. "You have a tremendous chance to get wet between the
house door and your carriage."
"Well," said Lord Lambeth, glancing at the burning heavens, "I 'guess'
it doesn't rain so much here!"
The door was opened by a long Negro in a white jacket, who grinned
familiarly when Lord Lambeth asked for Mr. Westgate.
"He ain't at home, sah; he's downtown at his o'fice."
"Oh, at his office?" said the visitors. "And when will he be at home?"

"Well, sah, when he goes out dis way in de mo'ning, he ain't liable to
come home all day."
This was discouraging; but the address of Mr. Westgate's office was
freely imparted by the intelligent black and was taken down by Percy
Beaumont in his pocketbook. The two gentlemen then returned,
languidly, to their hotel, and sent for a hackney coach, and in this
commodious vehicle they rolled comfortably downtown. They
measured the whole length of Broadway again and found it a path of
fire; and then, deflecting to the left, they were deposited by their
conductor before a fresh, light, ornamental structure, ten stories high, in
a street crowded with keen-faced, light-limbed young men, who were
running about very quickly and stopping each other eagerly at corners
and in doorways. Passing into this brilliant building, they were
introduced by one of the keen-faced young men-- he was a charming
fellow, in wonderful cream-colored garments and a hat with a