Hearts and Masks | Page 5

dime-museum?"--banteringly.
"I have a few minutes to spare," said I.
"By the way, I forgot to ask you what card you drew."
"It was the ten of hearts."
"The ten of hearts?" Her amazement was not understandable.
"Yes, the ten of hearts; Cupid and all that."
She recovered her composure quickly.
"Then you will not blow up the post-office to-night?"
"No," I replied, "not to-night."
"You have really and truly aroused my curiosity. Tell me, what does
the ten of hearts mean to you?"
I gazed thoughtfully down at her. Had I truly mystified her? There was
some doubt in my mind.
"Frankly, I wish I might tell you. All I am at liberty to say is that I am
about to set forth upon a desperate adventure, and I shall be very
fortunate if I do not spend the night in the lock-up."

"You do not look desperate."
"Oh, I am not desperate; it is only the adventure that is desperate."
"Some princess in durance vile? Some villain to smite? Citadels to
storm?" Her smile was enchantment itself.
I hesitated a moment. "What would you say if I told you that this
adventure was merely to prove to myself what a consummate ass the
average man can be upon occasions?"
"Why go to the trouble of proving it?"--drolly.
"I am conceited enough to have some doubts as to the degree."
"Consider it positive."
I laughed. "I am in hopes that I am neither a positive ass nor a
superlative one, only comparative."
"But the adventure; that is the thing that mainly interests me."
"Oh, that is a secret which I should hesitate to tell even to the Sphinx."
"I see you are determined not to illuminate the darkness,"--and she
turned carelessly toward her uncle, who was serenely contemplating the
glowing end of a fat perfecto.
I bowed and passed out in Sixth Avenue, rather regretting that I had not
the pleasure of the charming young person's acquaintance.
The ten-spot of hearts seemed to have startled her for some reason. I
wondered why.
The snow blew about me, whirled, and swirled, and stung. Oddly
enough I recalled the paragraph relative to Mrs. Hyphen-Bonds. By this
time she was being very well tossed about in mid-ocean. As the old
order of yarn-spinners used to say, little did I dream what was in store
for me, or the influence the magic name of Hyphen-Bonds was to have

upon my destiny.
Bismillah! (Whatever that means!)

II
After half an hour's wandering about I stumbled across a curio-shop, a
weird, dim and dusty, musty old curio-shop, with stuffed peacocks
hanging from the ceiling, and skulls, and bronzes and marbles,
paintings, tarnished jewelry and ancient armor, rare books in vellum,
small arms, tapestry, pastimes, plaster masks, and musical instruments.
I recalled to mind the shop of the dealer in antiquities in Balzac's La
Peau de Chagrin, and glanced about (not without a shiver) for the fatal
ass's skin. (I forgot that I was wearing it myself that night!) I was
something of a collector of antiquities, of the inanimate kind, and for a
time I became lost in speculation,--speculation rather agreeable of its
kind, I liked to conjure up in fancy the various scenes through which
these curiosities had drifted in their descent to this demi-pawnshop; the
brave men and beautiful women, the clangor of tocsins, the haze of
battles, the glitter of ball-rooms, epochs and ages. What romance lay
behind yon satin slipper? What grande dame had smiled behind that
ivory fan? What meant that tarnished silver mask?
The old French proprietor was evidently all things from a pawnbroker
to an art collector; for most of the jewelry was in excellent order and
the pictures possessed value far beyond the intrinsic. He was waiting
upon a customer, and the dingy light that shone down on his bald
bumpy head made it look for all the world like an ill-used billiard-ball.
He was exhibiting revolvers.
From the shining metal of the small arms, my glance traveled to the
face of the prospective buyer. It was an interesting face, clean-cut,
beardless, energetic, but the mouth impressed me as being rather hard.
Doubtless he felt the magnetism of my scrutiny, for he suddenly looked
around. The expression on his face was not one to induce me to throw
my arms around his neck and declare I should be glad to make his

acquaintance. It was a scowl. He was in evening dress, and I could see
that he knew very well how to wear it. All this was but momentary. He
took up a revolver and balanced it on his palm.
By and by the proprietor came sidling along behind the cases, the
slip-slip fashion of his approach informing me that he wore slippers.
"Do you keep costumes?" I