The Fortune Hunter | Page 8

only, and it therefore suspects those who look as if they did not work and did not know how. Sophie was soon answering of her own accord the questions Heilig as a gentleman could not ask. ``You must have heard of Mr. Feuerstein? He's an actor-- at the German Theater. I don't think he's much of an actor--he's one of the kind that do all their acting off the stage.''
Heilig laughed unnaturally. He did not feel like laughing, but wished to show his gratitude to Sophie for this shrewd blow at his enemy. ``He's rigged out like a lunatic, isn't he?'' Otto was thinking of the long hair, the low-rolling shirt collar and the velvet collar on his coat,--light gray, to match his hat and suit.
``I don't see what Hilda finds in him,'' continued Sophie. ``It makes me laugh to look at him; and when he talks I can hardly keep from screaming in his face. But Hilda's crazy over him, as you see. He tells all sorts of romances about himself, and she believes every word. I think she'll marry him--you know, her father lets her do as she pleases. Isn't it funny that a sensible girl like Hilda can be so foolish?''
Heilig did not answer this, nor did he heed the talk on love and marriage which the over-eager Sophie proceeded to give. And it was talk worth listening to, as it presented love and marriage in the interesting, romantic-sensible Avenue A light. Otto was staring gloomily at the shadow of the tree. He would have been gloomier could he have witnessed the scene to which the unmoral old elm was lending its impartial shade.
Mr. Feuerstein was holding Hilda's hand while he looked soulfully down into her eyes. She was returning his gaze, her eyes expressing all the Schwarmerei of which their dark depths were capable at nineteen. He was telling her what a high profession the actor's was, how great he was as an actor, how commonplace her life there, how beautiful he could make it if only he had money. It was an experience to hear Mr. Feuerstein say the word ``money.'' Elocution could go no further in surcharging five letters with contempt. His was one of those lofty natures that scorn all such matters of intimate concern to the humble, hard-pressed little human animal as food, clothing and shelter. He so loathed money that he would not deign to work for it, and as rapidly as possible got rid of any that came into his possession.
``Yes, my adorable little princess,'' he rolled out, in the tones which wove a spell over Hilda. ``I adore you. How strange that I should have wandered into THIS region for my soul's bride--and should have found her!''
Hilda pressed his clasping hand and her heart fluttered. But she was as silent and shy as Heilig with her. What words had she fit to express response to these exalted emotions? ``I--I feel it,'' she said timidly. ``But I can't say it to you. You must think me very foolish.''
``No--you need not speak. I know what you would say. Our hearts speak each to the other without words, my beautiful jewel. And what do you think your parents will say?''
``I--I don't know,'' stammered Hilda.
``They are so set on my marrying''--she glanced toward Otto--how ordinary he looked!--``marrying another--a merchant like my father. They think only of what is practical. I'm so afraid they won't understand--US.''
Feuerstein sighed--the darkness prevented her from seeing that he was also frowning with impatience and irritation.
``But it must be settled at once, my heart's bride,'' he said gently. ``Secrecy, deception are horrible to me. And I am mad to claim you as my own. I could not take you without their consent--that would be unworthy. No, I could not grieve their honest hearts!''
Hilda was much disturbed. She was eminently practical herself, aside from her fondness for romance, which Mr. Feuerstein was developing in a way so unnatural in her surroundings, so foreign to her education; and she could see just how her father would look upon her lover. She feared he would vent plain speech that would cut Mr. Feuerstein's sensitive soul and embattle his dignity and pride against his love. ``I'll speak to them as soon as I can,'' she said.
``Then you will speak to them to-morrow or next day, my treasure, and I shall see you on Sunday afternoon.''
``No--not Sunday afternoon. I must stay at home--father has ordered it.''
``Disappointment--deception-- postponement!'' Feuerstein struck his hand upon his brow and sighed tragically. ``Oh, my little Erebus-haired angel, how you do test my love!''
Hilda was almost in tears--it was all intensely real to her. She felt that he was superfine, that he suffered more than ordinary folk, like herself and her people. ``I'll do the best I can,'' she pleaded.
``It