One Wonderful Night | Page 2

the Sixth Avenue Elevated?"
Devar's forehead wrinkled with surprise.
"Hello, there! Hold on! How often have you told me that you had never
seen New York since you were a baby?" he cried.
"Nor have I. Ten years ago, almost to a day, I sailed from Boston to
Europe with my people, and I had never revisited New York after
leaving it in infancy, though both my father and mother hailed from the
Bronx."
"There's a cog missing somewhere, or my mental gear-box is out of
shape."
"Not a bit of it. One may learn heaps of things from maps and books."
"Start right in, then, and take an honors course, for behold in me a map
and a book and a high-grade society index for the whole blessed little
island of Manhattan."
"Thank you. What is that slender, column-like structure to the left of
the Singer Building?"
Devar gazed hard at the graceful tower indicated by his friend; then he
laughed.
"Oh, you're uncanny, that's what you are," he said. "You've lived so

long in the East that you've imbibed its tricks of occultism and
necromancy. I suppose you have discovered in some way that that
mushroom has sprung up since the old man sent me to Heidelberg?"
"I guessed it, I admit. It does not figure among the down-town
sky-scrapers in the latest drawing available in London."
"And d'ye mean to tell me that you can pick out any of these
top-notchers merely by studying a picture?"
"Yes. Probably you could do the same if you, like me, felt yourself a
returned exile."
Young Devar awoke at last to the fact that his companion was
brimming over with subdued excitement. Whether this arose from the
intense nationalism of an expatriated American, or from some more
subtle personal cause, he could not determine, but, being young, he was
cynical. He looked at the strong, set face, the well-knit, sinewy figure,
the purposeful hands gripping the fore rail of the promenade deck; then
he growled, with just the least spice of humorous envy:
"Say, Curtis, old man, you ought to have a hell of a good time in New
York!"
"At any rate, I shall not suffer from lack of enthusiasm," came the
quick retort.
Devar felt the spur, and his restless, bird-like eyes condescended to
dwell for a few seconds in silence on the splendid panorama in front.
The Lusitania had passed through the Narrows before the two young
men had strolled along the upper deck of the great steamship to the
'vantage point of a gangway which made a half-circle around the
commander's quarters. Already the Statue of Liberty loomed
majestically over the port bow, and the wide expanse of the Hudson
River was framed by the wooded slopes of Staten Island, the low
shores of New Jersey, and the heights of the Palisades. Somewhat to
the right rose the imperial outlines of newest New York, that wonderful
city which, even in the memory of children, has raised itself hundreds

of feet nearer the sky. A thin, blue haze gave glamour to a delightful
scene, glowing in the declining rays of a November sun. The gigantic
strands of the Brooklyn Bridge showed through it like some aerial path
to a fabulous land, while, merging fast in the shadows, other dim
specters told of even greater engineering marvels higher up the East
River. A fleet of bustling vessels, for the most part ferry-boats and tugs
of every possible size and shape, scudded across the spacious
waterways, and lent to the picture exactly that semblance of vitality, of
energetic purpose, of relentless effort to be up and doing--whether the
New Yorker was going home from his office, or his wife was coming
into town for dinner and a theater--which one, at least, of the city's
uncounted sons had confidently expected to find in it.
So John Delancy Curtis drew a deep breath that sounded almost like a
sigh, but a pleasant smile illumined his somewhat stern face as he
turned to Devar and said:
"I am giving myself fourteen days' free run of the town before I go
West to visit some relatives. They live in Indiana, I believe.
Bloomington, Monroe County, is the latest address I possess. Don't
forget to ring me up to-morrow. You remember the hotel, the Central,
in West 27th Street."
"Oh, forget it!" cried the other vexedly. "Why in the world are you
burying yourself in that pre-historic shanty? Man alive, the Holland
House is only a block away, and there are 'steen hotels of the right sort
strung out along Fifth Avenue, 'way up to Central Park----"
"It's just a whim," broke in Curtis, who did not feel like explaining at
the moment that he was choosing a quiet old inn in a side street because