The Wit and Humor of America, Volume VII | Page 8

Carrington, without a word,
started with him. In the club entrance Presidio whispered, "Follow;
don't walk with me. There's not much chance that any one here will
recognize me, but if I was pinched on any old score you'd better not be

in my company." He went ahead, and Carrington followed. They had
walked down Fifth Avenue several blocks when Mr. Francis Holt cut in
between them, and shadowed Presidio with elaborate caution.
Carrington saw this, and mused. "I think I know that young man who
has so plainly got friend Presidio under observation. Surely, it's Holt, a
year or two after me. What can he--Hello, I say!"
Holt saw the intention of Presidio to turn off the avenue toward a little
church round the corner, and advancing suddenly, laid a strong hand on
Presidio's shoulder, saying, "Come quietly with me, and I'll make no
fuss; but if you don't, I'll call a policeman."
Carrington overtook them. Holt was excited, wild-eyed, disheveled,
and seemed not to have slept for a week. Presidio coolly awaited
events.
"Hello, Holt!" exclaimed Carrington. "How are you, old chap? Haven't
seen you for years."
"Good heavens, this is lucky!" cried Holt. "Carrington, since the night
your rooms were plundered I've been on the track of this villain. I was
bound to explain the mystery of that night; determined to prove that I
could unravel a plot, detect a crime! Do you understand? This is the
fellow who rifled your room. Robbed you!"
"Yes, I know, old fellow," Carrington replied soothingly, for he saw
that Holt was half hysterical from excitement. "He's always robbing me,
this chap is. It's a habit with him. I've come rather to like it. Walk along
with us, and I'll tell you all about it."
They turned the corner and walked down the side street, but only Holt
talked: of his sleepless nights and tireless days solving his first crime
case. A carriage drove up to the curb and Mrs. Presidio stepped out. At
a wink from Presidio Carrington stepped in.
"Betty," said Presidio to his wife, "shake hands with an old friend of
mine and of Mr. Carrington's. I want you to know him. Mr. Holt, shake
hands with Madame Courvatal, my wife."

"Why, Mr. Holt, glad to meet you personally!" exclaimed Betty. "This
is the gent, Willie, I've told you about: comes to the show every night
just before our turn, and goes out as soon as we are off."
"Glad you like the turn so much," Presidio said, smiling oddly. Holt,
with his hand to his brow was gasping. The carriage door opened and
Carrington's head emerged: "Oh, Holt, come here."
Holt, with a painfully dazed expression, went to the carriage. "My
dear," Carrington said to some one inside who was struggling to hide,
"this is Mr. Francis Holt; one of my oldest and dearest friends. He's the
discreetest fellow I know and will arrange the whole matter in a minute.
You must, darling! Fate has offered us a chance for life's happiness,
and as I say--Holt, like a good fellow, go into the parsonage and
explain who I am, and who Miss Caroline Curtis is. Your people know
all the Curtises, and we're going to get married, and--don't protest,
darling!--like a good chap, Holt, go and--for God's sake, man, don't
stare like that! You know us, and can vouch for us. Tell the parson that
the Curtises and Carringtons are always marrying each other. Holt! will
you move?"
An hour later a little banquet was served in the private dining-room of a
hotel, and Mrs. Carrington was explaining, between tears and laughter,
how good, kind Madame Courvatal had told her that everything was
ready for a wedding, and that she would be a cruel woman, indeed, not
to make such a loving lover happy; and she couldn't make up her mind
to say yes, and it was hard to say no--just after receiving Porter's
despairing note.
"My note, dear?" asked Carrington, but Presidio coughed so loudly she
did not hear her husband's question. Holt drank to the bride and groom
several times before he began soberly to believe he was not in a dream.
Mr. and Mrs. Presidio beamed broadly, and declared that life without
romance was no kind of a life for honest folk to live.
"Holt!" exclaimed Carrington, when the train carriage was announced,
"you've been a brick about all this. I don't know how to show my
appreciation."

"I'll tell you how," suggested Presidio. "Let Mr. Holt be the one to tell
Mr. Curtis. He deserves the privilege of informing the governor."
"The very thing, Holt, old chap!" cried Carrington. "Will you do it?"
"You're awfully kind," answered Holt, "but I think this old friend could
do it with more art and understanding."
"What, my Willie?" cried