The Lure of the Mask | Page 9

all that."
Hillard's laughter broke forth again, and he leaned back. Merrihew
would always be twenty-six, he would always be youthful.
"And this Kitty Killigrew? I believe I've seen posters of her in the
windows, now that you speak of it."
"Well, Jack, I've got it bad this trip. I offered to marry her last night."
"What!"
"Truth. And what do you think? Dropped me very neatly two thousand
feet, but softly. And I was serious, too."
"It seems to me that your Kitty is not half bad. What would you have
done had she accepted you?"
"Married her within twenty-four hours!"
"Come, Dan, be sensible. You are not such an ass as all that."
"Yes, I am," moodily. "I told you that I was a jackass half the time; this
is the half."
"But she won't have you?"

"Not for love or money."
"Are you sure about the money?" asked Hillard shrewdly.
"Seven hundred or seven thousand, it wouldn't matter to Kitty if she
made up her mind to marry a fellow. What's the matter with me,
anyhow? I'm not so badly set-up; I can whip any man in the club at my
weight; I can tell a story well; and I'm not afraid of anything."
"Not even of the future!" added Hillard.
"Do you really think it's my money?" pathetically.
"Well, seven thousand doesn't go far, and that's all you have. If it were
seventy, now, I'm not sure Kitty wouldn't reconsider."
Merrihew ran his tongue along the cigar wrapper which had loosened.
He had seven thousand a year, and every January first saw him
shouldering a thousand odd dollars' worth of last year's debts.
Somehow, no matter how he retrenched, he never could catch up. It's
hard to pay for a horse after one has ridden it to death, and Merrihew
was always paying for dead horses. He sighed.
"What's she like?" asked Hillard, with more sympathy than curiosity.
Merrihew drew out his watch and opened the case. It was a pretty face;
more than that, it was a refined prettiness. The eyes were merry, the
brow was intelligent, the nose and chin were good. Altogether, it was
the face of a merry, kindly little soul, one such as would be most likely
to trap the wandering fancy of a young man like Merrihew.
"And she won't have you," Hillard repeated, this time with more
curiosity than sympathy.
"Oh, she's no fool, I suppose. Honest Injun, Jack, it's so bad that I find
myself writing poetry on the backs of envelopes. And now she's going
to Europe!"
"London?"

"No. Some manager has the idea in his head that there is money to be
made in Italy and Germany during the spring and summer. American
comic-opera in those countries; can you imagine it? He has an angel,
and I suppose money is no object."
"This angel, then, has cut out a fine time for his bank account, and he'll
never get back to heaven, once he gets tangled up in foreign red-tape.
Every large city in Italy and Germany has practically its own opera
troupe. In full season it is grand opera, out of season it is comic-opera,
not the American kind; Martha, The Bohemian Girl, The Mascotte, The
Grand Duchess, and the like. And oh! my boy, the homeliest chorus
you ever dreamed of seeing; but they can sing. It's only the ballerina
who must have looks and figure. Poor angel! Tell your Kitty to strike
for a return ticket to America before she leaves."
"You think it's as bad as that?"
"Look on me as a prophet of evil, if you like, but truthful."
"I'll see that Kitty gets her ticket." Merrihew snapped the case of his
watch and drew his legs from under the table. "I lost a hundred last
night, too."
"After that I suppose nothing worse can happen," said Hillard cheerily.
"You will play, for all my advice."
"It's better to give than receive ... that," replied Merrihew
philosophically. "I've a good mind to follow the company. I've always
had a hankering to beat it up at Monte Carlo. A last throw, eh? Win or
lose, and quit. I might."
"And then again you mightn't. But the next time I go to Italy, I want
you to go with me. You're good company, and for the pleasure of
listening to your jokes I'll gladly foot the bills, and you may gamble
your letter of credit to your heart's content. I must be off. Who is riding
the Sandfords' black?"
"Haven't noticed. What do you think of Kitty?"

"Charming."
"And the photo isn't a marker."
"Possibly not."
"Lord, if I could only hibernate for three months, like a bear! My
capital might then readjust itself, if left alone that length of time. Jack,
why the deuce haven't