Lion and the Unicorn | Page 5

the American.
"Wait and see," said the visitor.
"Thank you," said the American, meekly.

Every one who came to the first floor front talked about a play. It
seemed to be something of great moment to the American. It was only
a bundle of leaves printed in red and black inks and bound in brown
paper covers. There were two of them, and the American called them
by different names: one was his comedy and one was his tragedy.
"They are both likely to be tragedies," the Lion heard one of the visitors
say to another, as they drove away together. "Our young friend takes it
too seriously."
The American spent most of his time by his desk at the window writing
on little blue pads and tearing up what he wrote, or in reading over one
of the plays to himself in a loud voice. In time the number of his
visitors increased, and to some of these he would read his play; and
after they had left him he was either depressed and silent or excited and
jubilant. The Lion could always tell when he was happy because then
he would go to the side table and pour himself out a drink and say,
"Here's to me," but when he was depressed he would stand holding the
glass in his hand, and finally pour the liquor back into the bottle again
and say, "What's the use of that?"
After he had been in London a month he wrote less and was more
frequently abroad, sallying forth in beautiful raiment, and coming home
by daylight.
And he gave suppers too, but they were less noisy than the Captain's
had been, and the women who came to them were much more beautiful,
and their voices when they spoke were sweet and low. Sometimes one
of the women sang, and the men sat in silence while the people in the
street below stopped to listen, and would say, "Why, that is So-and-So
singing," and the Lion and the Unicorn wondered how they could know
who it was when they could not see her.
The lodger's visitors came to see him at all hours. They seemed to
regard his rooms as a club, where they could always come for a bite to
eat or to write notes; and others treated it like a lawyer's office and
asked advice on all manner of strange subjects. Sometimes the visitor
wanted to know whether the American thought she ought to take Lœ10

a week and go on tour, or stay in town and try to live on Lœ8; or
whether she should paint landscapes that would not sell, or racehorses
that would; or whether Reggie really loved her and whether she really
loved Reggie; or whether the new part in the piece at the Court was
better than the old part at Terry's, and wasn't she getting too old to play
"ingenues" anyway.
The lodger seemed to be a general adviser, and smoked and listened
with grave consideration, and the Unicorn thought his judgment was
most sympathetic and sensible.
Of all the beautiful ladies who came to call on the lodger the one the
Unicorn liked the best was the one who wanted to know whether she
loved Reggie and whether Reggie loved her. She discussed this so
interestingly while she consumed tea and thin slices of bread that the
Unicorn almost lost his balance in leaning forward to listen. Her name
was Marion Cavendish and it was written over many photographs
which stood in silver frames in the lodger's rooms. She used to make
the tea herself, while the lodger sat and smoked; and she had a
fascinating way of doubling the thin slices of bread into long strips and
nibbling at them like a mouse at a piece of cheese. She had wonderful
little teeth and Cupid's-bow lips, and she had a fashion of lifting her
veil only high enough for one to see the two Cupid-bow lips. When she
did that the American used to laugh, at nothing apparently, and say,
"Oh, I guess Reggie loves you well enough." "But do I love Reggie?"
she would ask sadly, with her tea-cup held poised in air. " I am sure I
hope not," the lodger would reply, and she would put down the veil
quickly, as one would drop a curtain over a beautiful picture, and rise
with great dignity and say, "if you talk like that I shall not come again."
She was sure that if she could only get some work to do her head would
be filledwith more important matters than whether Reggie loved her or
not.
"But the managers seem inclined to cut their cavendish very fine just at
present," she said. "If I don't get a part soon," she announced,