Arms and the Woman | Page 8

advice to you: Accept the check, in the
privacy of your room tear it up, or light a cigar with it; that's about all
it's worth. You will feel no little satisfaction in lighting a cigar with it,
that is, if you are anything like me. Think of it! a thousand dollars to
light your cigar. It is an opportunity not to be missed. When you grow
old you will say to your grandchildren: 'Once I lit a cigar with a
thousand-dollar check.' The oldest inhabitant will be silenced forever; it
may become history. And then, too, if there are spirits, as Scripture
says there are, your uncle's will writhe at the performance. I trust that
you will forgive me my part in the matter. I have taken a fancy to you,
and if you will accept my friendship I shall be happy to accept yours.
Your uncle's revenge will not be a marker to the restitution his son will
make."
"Restitution?--his son?"
"Yes. To my sincere regret he is an invalid who may or may not live

the year out. He has already made a will, in which he leaves all to you.
The will is in my safe at home. I return to-night, so I may not see you
again in this world of sin and tribulation." The merry twinkle had
returned to his eyes. "I am very old."
"It is worth all the trouble to have met you," said I. "You should have
made the jolt very easy."
So we shook hands, and he gave me a cigar, around which was
wrapped the check. He winked. Then he laughed, and I joined him,
though my laughter resembled mirth less than it did the cackle of a hen
which was disturbed over the future of her brood.
I left him and went down into the wine room and ordered a stiff brandy
and soda. When that disappeared I ordered another. I rattled the ice in
the glass. "Ha, ha, ha!" I roared, as the events of the past twenty-four
hours recurred to me. There must have been a suicidal accent to my
laughter, for the bartender looked at me with some concern. I called for
another brandy and shot the soda into it myself. I watched the foam
evaporate, "Ha, ha, ha!"
"Hard luck?" the bartender asked sympathetically.
"Yes," said I. I seemed to be speaking to several bartenders who looked
at me with several varieties of compassion.
"Have another on me," said the bartender.
I had another, and went out into the street. I walked down Broadway,
chuckling to myself. What a glorious farce it all was! My fortune!
Phyllis my wife! What if she had accepted me? I laughed aloud, and
people turned and stared at me. Oh, yes! I was to travel and write
novels and have my pictures in book reviews, and all that! When I
arrived at the office I was on the verge of total insanity. I was obliged
to ask the paragrapher to write my next day's leader. It was night before
I became rational, and once that, the whole world donned cap and bells
and began capering for my express benefit. The more I thought of it,
the more I laughed. What a whimsical world it was! And was there

anything in it so grotesque as my part? I took the check from my pocket
and cracked it between my fingers. A cigar was in my mouth. Should I
light it with the check? It was for $1,000. After all, it was more than I
had ever before held in my hand at once. But what was a paltry
thousand, aye a paltry ten thousand, to a man's pride? I bit off the end
of my cigar, creased the check into a taper, and struck a match. I
watched it burn and burn. I struck another. I held it within an inch of
the check, but for the life of me I could not light it.
"The devil take it!" I cried. I flung the cigar out of the window and laid
the check on my desk. Courage? Why, it needed the courage of a
millionaire to light a cigar with a $1,000 check!
The office boy, who came in then, was salvation. The managing editor
wanted to see me. I sprang up with alacrity; anything but the sight of
that figure 1 and the three demon eyes of that $1,000 check!
"Winthrop," said the managing editor to me as I entered his office,
"you've got to go to London. Hillars has gone under----"
"Not dead!" I cried.
"No, no! He has had to give up work temporarily on account of drink.
If it was any other man I'd throw him over in short order. But I feel
sorry for Hillars, and