The City of Masks Part 27

"Go ahead and inquire," said Trotter, pressing her arm encouragingly.

"Ask the butler if he didn't call a cab for Miss Emsdale,--and also ask him why in thunder it isn't here."

The patrolman hesitated. "Who are you," he asked, stepping a little closer to Trotter.

"I am this young lady's fiance," said Trotter, with dignity.

"Her what?"

"Her steady," said Trotter.

The policeman laughed,--good-naturedly, to their relief.

"Oh, well, _that_ being the case," said he, and started away. "Excuse me for b.u.t.tin' in."

"Sure," said Trotter amiably. "If you see a taxi, old man."

"Leave it to me," came back from the fog.

Jane nestled close to her tall young man. His arm was about her.

"Wasn't he perfectly lovely?" she murmured.

"Everything is perfectly lovely," said he, vastly rea.s.sured. He had taken considerable risk with the word "fiance."

CHAPTER XIII

NOT CLOUDS ALONE HAVE LININGS

THE weather turned off warm. The rise in the temperature may have been responsible for the melting of Princess Mariana Theresa Sebastano Michelini Celestine di Pavesi's heart, or it may have sharply revealed to her calculating mind the prospect of a long and profitless season in cold storage for Prince de Bosky's fur-lined coat. In any event, she notified him by post to call for his coat and take it away with him.

The same post brought a letter from the Countess du Bara advising him that her brother-in-law, who conducted an all-night cafe just off Broadway in the very heart of the thriftless district, had been compelled to dismiss the leader of his far-famed Czech orchestra, and that she had recommended him for the vacancy. He would have to hurry, however.

In a postscript, she hoped he wouldn't mind wearing a red coat.

The Countess du Bara was of the Opera, where she was known as Mademoiselle Belfort and occupied a fairly prominent position in the front row of chorus sopranos. Some day she was to make her debut as a princ.i.p.al. The Director of the Opera had promised her that, and while she regarded his promise as being as good as gold, it was, unfortunately, far more elastic, as may be gathered from the fact that it already had stretched over three full seasons and looked capable of still further extension without being broken.

But that is neither here nor there. It is only necessary to state that the Countess, being young and vigorous and satisfactorily endowed with good looks, was not without faith in the promises of man. In return for the Director's faith in her, she was one day going to make him famous as the discoverer of Corinne Belfort. For the moment, her importance, so far as this narrative is concerned, rests on the fact that her brother-in-law conducts a cafe and had named his youngest daughter Corinne, a doubtful compliment in view of his profane preference for John or even George. He was an American and had five daughters.

De Bosky was ecstatic. Luck had turned. He was confident, even before he ventured to peer out of his single little window, that the sun was s.h.i.+ning brightly and that birds were singing somewhere, if not in the heart of the congested East Side. And sure enough the sun was s.h.i.+ning, and hurdy-gurdies were subst.i.tuting for bobolinks, and the air was reeking of spring. A little wistfully he regretted that the change had not come when he needed the overcoat to s.h.i.+eld his s.h.i.+vering body, and when the "opportunity" would have insured an abundance of meat and drink, to say nothing of a couple of extra blankets,--but why lament?

There was a sprightliness in his gait, a gleam in his eyes, and a cheery word on his lips as he forged his way through the suddenly alive streets, and made his way to the Subway station. This morning he would not walk. There was something left of the four dollars he had earned the week before shovelling snow into the city's wagons. True, his hands were stiff and blistered, but all that would respond to the oil of affluence.

There was no time to lose. She had said in the postscript that he would have to hurry.

Two hours later he burst excitedly into the bookshop of J. Bramble and exclaimed:

"And now, my dear, good friend, I shall soon be able to return to you the various amounts you have advanced me from time to time, out of the goodness of your heart, and I shall--what do I say?--blow you off to a banquet that even now, in contemplation, makes my own mouth water,--and I shall--"

"Bless my soul," gasped Mr. Bramble. "Would you mind saying _all_ of it in English? What is the excitement? Just a moment, please." The latter to a mild-looking gentleman who was poising a book in one hand and inquiring the price with the uplifting of his eyebrows.

De Bosky rapped three or four times on the violin case tucked under his arm.

"After all the years and all the money I spent in mastering this--But, you are busy, my good friend. Pray forgive the interruption--"

"What has happened?" demanded Mr. Bramble, uneasily.

"I have fallen into a fortune. Twenty-five dollars a week,--so!" he said whimsically. "Also I shall restore the five dollars that Trotter forced me to take,--and the odd amounts M. Mirabeau has--Yes, yes, my friend, I am radiant. I am to lead the new orchestra at Spangler's cafe. I have concluded negotiations with--ah, how quickly it was done! And I approached him with fear and trembling. I would have played for him, so that he might judge,--but no! He said 'No, no!' It was not necessary.

Corinne's word was enough for him. You do not know Corinne. She is beautiful. She is an artiste! One day she will be on the lips of every one. Go! Be quick! The gentleman is departing. You will have lost a--a sale, and all through the fault of me. I beseech you,--catch him quick.

Do not permit me to bring you bad luck. Au revoir! I go at once to acquaint M. Mirabeau with--au revoir!"

He dashed up the back stairway, leaving Mr. Bramble agape.

"It was only a ten-cent book," he muttered to the back of the departing customer. "And, besides, you do not belong to the union," he shouted loudly, addressing himself to de Bosky, who stopped short on the stairs.

"The union?"

"The union will not permit you to play," said the bookseller, mounting the steps. "It will permit you to starve but not to play."

"But the man--the man he said it was because I do not belong to the union that he engages me. He says the union holds him, up, what? So! He discharge the union--all of them. We form a new orchestra. Then we don't give a d.a.m.n, he say. Not a tinkle d.a.m.n! And Corinne say also not a tinkle d.a.m.n! And I say not a tinkle d.a.m.n! _Voila!_"

"G.o.d bless my soul," said Mr. Bramble, shaking his head.

M. Mirabeau rejoiced. He embraced the little musician, he pooh-hooed Mr.

Bramble's calamitous regard for the union, and he wound up by inviting de Bosky to stop for lunch with him.

"No, no,--impossible," exclaimed de Bosky, feeling in his waistcoat pocket absent-mindedly, and then glancing at a number of M. Mirabeau's clocks in rotation; "no, I have not the time. Your admirable clocks urge me to be off. See! I am to recover the overcoat of my excellent friend, the safe-blower. This letter,--see! Mrs. Moses Jacobs. She tells me to come and take it away with me. Am I not the lucky dog,--no, no! I mean am I not the lucky star? I must be off. She may change her mind. She--"

"Mon dieu! I'd let her change it if I were you," cried M. Mirabeau. "I call it the height of misfortune to possess a fur coat on a day like this. One might as well rejoice over a linen coat in mid-winter. You are excited! Calm yourself. A bit of cold tongue, and a salad, and--"

"Au revoir!" sang out de Bosky from the top of the steps. "And remember!

I shall repay you within the fortnight, monsieur. I promise! Ah, it is a beautiful, a glorious day!"

The old Frenchman dashed to the landing and called down after his speeding guest:

"Fetch the coat with you to luncheon. I shall order some moth-b.a.l.l.s, and after we've stuffed it full of them, we'll put the poor thing away for a long, long siesta. It shall be like the anaconda. I have a fine cedar chest--"

But Mr. Bramble was speaking from the bottom of the steps.

"And the unfeeling brutes may resort to violence. They often do. They have been known to inflict serious injury upon--"

"Tonight I shall play at Spangler's," cried de Bosky, slapping his chest. "In a red coat,--and I shall not speak the English language. I am the recent importation from Budapesth. So! I am come especially to direct the orchestra--at great expense! In big letters on the menu card it shall be printed that I am late of the Royal Hungarian Orchestra, and at the greatest expense have I been secured. The newspapers shall say that I came across the ocean in a special steamer, all at Monsieur Spangler's expense. I and my red coat! So! Come tonight, my friend. Come and hear the great de Bosky in his little red coat,--and--"

"Do not forget that you are to return for luncheon," sang out M.

Mirabeau from the top of the stairs.

There were tears in de Bosky's eyes. "G.o.d bless you both," he cried.