The Younger Set | Page 3

there except
the children and servants, and Captain Selwyn had not yet called. So he
left no message, merely saying that he'd call up again. Which he forgot
to do.
* * * * *
Meanwhile Captain Selwyn was sauntering along Fifth Avenue under
the leafless trees, scanning the houses of the rich and great across the
way; and these new houses of the rich and great stared back at him out
of a thousand casements as polished and expressionless as the
monocles of the mighty.

And, strolling at leisure in the pleasant winter weather, he came
presently to a street, stretching eastward in all the cold impressiveness
of very new limestone and plate-glass.
Could this be the street where his sister now lived?
As usual when perplexed he slowly raised his hand to his moustache;
and his pleasant gray eyes, still slightly blood-shot from the glare of the
tropics, narrowed as he inspected this unfamiliar house.
The house was a big elaborate limestone affair, evidently new. Winter
sunshine sparkled on lace-hung casement, on glass marquise, and the
burnished bronze foliations of grille and door.
It was flood-tide along Fifth Avenue; motor, brougham, and victoria
swept by on the glittering current; pretty women glanced out from
limousine and tonneau; young men of his own type, silk-hatted,
frock-coated, the crooks of their walking sticks tucked up under their
left arms, passed on the Park side.
But the nods of recognition, lifted hats, the mellow warnings of motor
horns, clattering hoofs, the sun flashing on carriage wheels and
polished panels, on liveries, harness, on the satin coats of horses--a gem
like a spark of fire smothered by the sables at a woman's throat, and the
bright indifference of her beauty--all this had long since lost any
meaning for him. For him the pageant passed as the west wind passes
in Samar over the glimmering valley grasses; and he saw it through
sun-dazzled eyes--all this, and the leafless trees beyond against the sky,
and the trees mirrored in a little wintry lake as brown as the brown of
the eyes which were closed to him now forever.
As he stood there, again he seemed to hear the whistle signal, clear,
distant, rippling across the wind-blown grasses where the brown
constabulary lay firing in the sunshine; but the rifle shots were the
crack of whips, and it was only a fat policeman of the traffic squad
whistling to clear the swarming jungle trails of the great metropolis.
Again Selwyn turned to the house, hesitating, unreconciled. Every

sun-lit window stared back at him.
He had not been prepared for so much limestone and marquise
magnificence where there was more renaissance than architecture and
more bay-window than both; but the number was the number of his
sister's house; and, as the street and the avenue corroborated the
numbered information, he mounted the doorstep, rang, and leisurely
examined four stiff box-trees flanking the ornate portal--meagre
vegetation compared to what he had been accustomed to for so many
years.
Nobody came; once or twice he fancied he heard sounds proceeding
from inside the house. He rang again and fumbled for his card case.
Somebody was coming.
The moment that the door opened he was aware of a distant and curious
uproar--far away echoes of cheering, and the faint barking of dogs.
These seemed to cease as the man in waiting admitted him; but before
he could make an inquiry or produce a card, bedlam itself apparently
broke loose somewhere in the immediate upper landing--noise in its
crudest elemental definition--through which the mortified man at the
door strove to make himself heard: "Beg pardon, sir, it's the children
broke loose an' runnin' wild-like--"
"The _what_?"
"Only the children, sir--fox-huntin' the cat, sir--"
His voice was lost in the yelling dissonance descending crescendo from
floor to floor. Then an avalanche of children and dogs poured down the
hall-stairs in pursuit of a rumpled and bored cat, tumbling with yelps
and cheers and thuds among the thick rugs on the floor.
Here the cat turned and soundly cuffed a pair of fat beagle puppies,
who shrieked and fled, burrowing for safety into the yelling heap of
children and dogs on the floor. Above this heap legs, arms, and the tails
of dogs waved wildly for a moment, then a small boy, blond hair in
disorder, staggered to his knees, and, setting hollowed hand to cheek,

shouted: "Hi! for'rard! Harkaway for'rard! Take him, Rags! Now,
Tatters! After him, Owney! Get on, there, Schnitzel! Worry him,
Stinger! Tally-ho-o!"
At which encouraging invitation the two fat beagle pups, a waddling
dachshund, a cocker, and an Irish terrier flew at Selwyn's nicely
creased trousers; and the small boy, rising to his feet, became aware of
that astonished gentleman for the first time.
"Steady, there!" exclaimed Selwyn, bringing his