Arms and the Woman | Page 3

had ended the life of the one; it might end
the life of the other.
The foreman in the composing room waited some time for that required
column and a half of editorial copy. I lit my pipe; and my thoughts ran
back to the old days, to the many times Dan had paid my debts and to
the many times I had paid his. Ah, me! those were days when love and
fame and riches were elusive and we went in quest of them. The crust is
hyssop when the heart is young. The garret is a palace when hope flies
unfettered. The most wonderful dreams imaginable are dreamt close to
the eaves. And when a man leaves behind him the garret, he also leaves
behind the fondest illusions. But who--who would stay in the garret!
And as my thoughts ran on, the question rose, Whom would they send
in his place--Dan's? I knew London. It was familiar ground. Perhaps
they might send me. It was this thought which unsettled me. I was
perfectly satisfied with New York. Phyllis lived in New York. There
would be time enough for London when we were married. Then I
began to build air castles. A newspaper man is the architect of some
splendid structures, but he thoughtlessly builds on the sand when the
tide is out. Yes, foreign corresponding would be all well enough, I
mused, with Phyllis at my side. With her as my wife I should have the
envy of all my fellow craftsmen. We should dine at the embassies and

the attachés would flutter about us, and all London would talk of the
beautiful "Mrs. Winthrop." Then the fire in my pipe-bowl went out.
The copy boy was at my elbow again.
"Hang you!" said I.
"The foreman says he's coming down with an axe," replied the boy.
It was like churning, but I did manage to grind the copy. I was satisfied
that the United States and Great Britain would not go to war over it.
The late afternoon mail brought two letters. I opened the one from
Phyllis first. It said:
"DEAR JACK--Uncle Bob has a box for the opera to-night, but he has
been suddenly called to Washington; politics, possibly, but he would
not say. Aunty and I want you to go with us in his stead. Ethel and her
fiancé, Mr. Holland, will be together, which means that Aunty and I
will have no one to talk to unless you come. Carmen is to be sung.
Please do not fail me.
"PHYLLIS."
Fail her! I thought not.
Then I read the second letter. I read it three or four times, and even then
I was not sure that I was not dreaming. I caught up my pipe again,
filled it and lit it. I read the letter once more. I was solemnly informed
that my uncle was dead and that I was mentioned in the will, and that if
I would kindly call at the Hoffman House the following morning a
certain sum of money would be given to me. I regretted that I had
reached that age when a man's actions must be dignified, although
alone; otherwise I dare say I should have danced the pas seul. Whatever
my uncle's bequest might be, I believed that it would make me
independently rich. I am ashamed to admit that I did not feel sorry at
the news of his sudden departure from this life. It is better to be rich
than to be ambitious. It is better to have at hand what you want than to
work for it, and then not get it. Phyllis was scarcely an arm's length

away now. I whistled as I locked up my desk, and proceeded down
stairs and sang a siren song into the waxen ears of the cashier.
"You have only twenty coming this week, Mr. Winthrop," said he.
"Never mind," I replied; "I'll manage to get along next week." It was
only on very rare occasions that I drew my full pay at the end of the
week.
I dined at a fashionable restaurant. As I sipped my wine I built one of
my castles, and Phyllis reigned therein. There would be a trip to Europe
every summer, and I should devote my time to writing novels. My
picture would be the frontispiece in the book reviews, and wayside
paragraphs would tell of the enormous royalties my publishers were
paying me. I took some old envelopes from my pocket and began
figuring on the backs of them as to what purposes the money should be
put. It could not be less than $50,000, perhaps more. Of course my
uncle had given a harbor to a grudge against me and mine, but such
things are always forgotten on the