Olympian Nights | Page 9

each member confided in shall not communicate what she has heard to more--or to less--than ten people."
"I know," said I. "The Dorcas habit has followers among my own people."
"But see where it placed me!" cried the little creature. "There was me, or I--I don't know whether Greek or English is preferable to you--charged with the love affairs of the universe. Confiding all I knew, like a dutiful husband, to my wife, and having her letting it all out to the public through the society. Why, my dear fellow, it wasn't long before the immortals began to accuse me of being in the pay of the Sunday newspapers, and you must know as well as anybody else that Love has nothing to do with them. Even the affairs of my sovereign began to creep out, and innuendoes connecting Jupiter with people prominent in society were printed in the opposition organs."
"Poor chap!" said I, sympathetically. "I did not realize that you had to contend against the Sunday-newspaper nuisance as we mortals have."
"We have," he said, quickly, almost resignedly; "and they are ruining even Olympus itself. Still, I made a stand. Told Psyche she talked too much, and from that time on confided in her no more."
"And how did she take it?" I asked.
"She declined to take it at all," said Cupid, with a sigh. "She demanded that I should tell her everything on penalty of losing her--and I lost her. She left me a little over a thousand years ago, and my mother for the same reason sent me adrift fifteen hundred or more years ago. That is why I am eking out a living running an elevator," he added, sadly. "Still, I'm happy here. I go up when I feel sad, and go down when I feel glad. On the whole, I am as happy as any of the gods."
"However, Dan," I cried, sympathetically, slapping him on the back, "you have your official position, and that will keep you in--ah--well, you don't seem to need 'em, but it would keep you in clothes if you could be persuaded to wear them."
"No," said the little elevator boy, sadly. "I don't want 'em in this climate--nor are they necessary in any other. All over the world, my dear fellow, true love is ever warm."
There was a decided interval. I felt sorry for the little lad who had been a god and who had become an elevator boy, so I said to him:
"Never mind, Danny, you are sure of your office always."
"I wish it were so," said he, sadly. "But really, sir, it isn't. You may think that love rules all things nowadays, but that is a fallacy. Of late years a rival concern has sprung up. I have found my office subjected to a most annoying competition which has attracted away from me a large number of my closest followers. In the days when we acknowledged ourselves to be purely heathen, love was regarded with respect, but now all that is changed. Opposite my office in the government building there is a matrimonial corporation doing a very large business, by which the fees of my position are greatly reduced. Possibly after you have had your audience with Jove to-morrow you will take a turn about the city, in which event you will see this trust's big brazen sign. You can't miss it if you walk along Mercury Avenue. It reads:
+----------------------------------+ | MAMMON & CO. | | Matchmakers | | | | FORTUNES GUARANTEED: | | HAPPINESS EXTRA | | | | GEO. W. MAMMON | | President | | | | HORACE GREED | | Gen'l Manager | | | | BRANCH OFFICE | | 67 Gehenna Ave., Hades | +----------------------------------+
"Dear me!" I cried. "Poor Love!"
"I don't need your sympathy," said the boy, quickly, drawing himself up proudly. "It can't last, this competition. Man and god kind will soon see the difference in the permanence of our respective output. This is only a temporary success they are having, and it often happens that the spurious articles put forth by Mammon & Company are brought over to me to be repaired. My sun will dawn again. You can't put out the fires in my furnaces as long as men and women are made from the old receipt."
Here the elevator stopped, and a rather attractive young woman appeared at the door.
"Here is where you get out, sir," said the elevator boy.
"You are Mr.----" began the girl.
"I am," I replied.
"I have orders to show you to number 609," she said. "The proprietor will see you to-morrow at eleven."
"Thank you very much," I replied, somewhat overcome by the cordiality of my reception. It is not often that mere beggars are so hospitably received.
"Good-night, Cupid," I added, turning to the little chap in the elevator. "I trust we