His Lordship's Leopard: A Truthful Narration of Some Impossible Facts. Wells David Dwight

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СКАЧАТЬ way to his anxiety for her comfort and happiness. She was by no means difficult to approach; they soon were chatting gaily together, and by the time the repast was finished were quite on the footing of old friends – so much so, indeed, that Cecil ventured to ask her a question which had been uppermost in his mind for some time.

      "Why did Mr. Smith call you the Leopard when he introduced you to me at the station?" he said.

      "Oh," she answered, laughing, "that's generally the last bit of information my friends get about me. It has terminated my acquaintance with a lot of gentlemen. Do you think you'd better ask it, just when we are beginning to know one another?"

      "Are you another Lohengrin," he said, "and will a white swan come and carry you off as soon as you've told me?"

      "More probably a cable-car," she replied, "seeing we're in New York."

      "Then I shall defer the evil day as long as possible," he answered.

      "You seem to forget," she returned, "that I don't know as yet what our business relations are to be."

      "And you seem to forget," he replied, "that there are still some strawberries left on that dish."

      She sighed regretfully, saying:

      "I'm afraid they must go till next time – if there's to be a next time."

      Banborough vowed to himself that instead of confining the advertisement of his book to the city alone, he would extend it to Harlem and Brooklyn – yes, and to all New York State, if need be, rather than forego the delight of her society.

      "Isn't your father an English bishop?" continued Miss Arminster, interrupting his reverie.

      "Now how on earth did you know that?" exclaimed Cecil.

      The little actress laughed.

      "Oh, I know a lot of things," she said. "But I was merely going to suggest that we call you 'Bishop' for short. Banborough's much too long a name for ordinary use. What do you say, boys?" turning to the men of the company.

      A chorus of acclamation greeted this sally, and to the members of the A. B. C. Company Cecil Banborough was 'the Bishop' from that hour.

      "And now," said the Englishman, "that you've christened me, suppose we come to the business in hand?"

      Every one was at once intently silent.

      "I am," he continued, "the author of 'The Purple Kangaroo.'"

      The silence became deeper. The audience were politely impressed, and the heavy villain did a bit of dumb show with the leading serious, which only needed to have been a trifle better to have proved convincing.

      "Yet," continued the author, "owing to the popular interest in an imminent war and a lack of energy on the part of my publishers, the book doesn't sell."

      "Impossible!" exclaimed Mr. Smith. "Impossible! Why, I was saying only the other day to Henry Irving, 'Hen,' I said – I call him 'Hen' for short, – 'that book – '"

      "What you say doesn't cut any ice," broke in Spotts. "What were you saying, sir?"

      "I was about to remark," continued Banborough, "that what the novel needs is advertising. For an author to make the round of the shops is so old an artifice that any tradesman would see through it."

      "It is," interjected the tragedian. "I have more than once demanded the lower right-hand box when I was playing the leading rôle."

      "And always got it," added Spotts. The silence was appalling, and Cecil rushed into the breach, saying:

      "It's occurred to me, however, that if a number of people, apparently in different walks of life, were to call at the various bookshops and department stores of the city, demanding copies of 'The Purple Kangaroo,' and refusing to be satisfied with excuses, it might create a market for the book."

      "A first-rate idea!" cried Spotts heartily.

      "But supposing it was in stock?" suggested the more cautious duenna.

      "I shall of course see you're provided with funds for such an emergency," the author hastened to add; "and if you ladies and gentlemen feel that you could canvass the city thoroughly in my interests at – ten dollars a day and car-fares?" he ventured, fearing he had offered too little.

      "I should rather think we do," said Spotts emphatically. "Ten dollars a day and car-fares is downright luxury compared with one-night stands and a salary that doesn't get paid. You're a might good fellow, Mr. Banborough," continued the young actor, "and Violet and I and the rest of the company will do our best to make your book a howling success." And as he spoke he laid his hand familiarly on the little actress's shoulder, an action which did not altogether please Cecil, and made him realise that in the attractive young comedian he had found a strong rival for Miss Arminster's favour.

      "Well, then, we'll consider it settled," he said; whereat the company arose and clasped his hands silently. Their satisfaction was too deep for words. Spotts was the first to rouse himself to action.

      "Come," he said, "we mustn't lose any time. Your interests are ours now, Mr. Banborough, and the sooner we get to work the more thoroughly we'll earn our salary," and touching a bell, he said to the answering messenger:

      "Bring me a New York directory," thereby showing an honest activity which was much appreciated by his employer.

      An hour later, the company, fully primed, departed joyfully on their mission.

      Banborough, rich in the comforting sense of a good morning's work well accomplished, retired to his club to dream of the success of his book. In spirit he visited the book-stalls, noting the growing concern of the clerks as they were obliged to turn away customer after customer who clamoured for "The Purple Kangaroo.". He saw the hurried consultations with the heads of firms, who at length realised their blind stupidity in neglecting to stock their shelves with the success of the season. He saw the dozens of orders which poured into the publishing house, and heard in fancy that sweetest of all announcements that can fall upon an author's ears: "My dear sir, we have just achieved another edition."

      So dreaming, he was rudely awakened by a slap on the shoulder, and the cheerful voice of Marchmont, saying:

      "Who's asleep this time?"

      "Not I," replied his friend, "only dreaming."

      "Of the success of 'The Purple Kangaroo'?" asked the journalist. "Well, you'll have it, old man – see if you don't – and live to bless the name of Marchmont and the Daily Leader. Why, thousands will be reading your book before the week's out."

      "What do you mean?" gasped the Englishman. "Surely you don't know – ?" For he feared the discovery of his little plot.

      "Know!" replied the journalist. "I know that your book has leaped at one bound from fiction to the exalted sphere of politics. Now don't you breathe a word of this, for it's professional, but the Spanish secret-service agents have taken the title of your novel as their password. The city is watched by our own special corps of detectives, and the instant 'The Purple Kangaroo' is used in a suspicious sense we arrest the spies and unravel the plot."

      "But, good heavens, man! You don't understand – " began Banborough.

      "I understand it all. I tell you the Daily Leader will not shrink from its duty. It'll leave no stone unturned to hound the offenders down. I dare СКАЧАТЬ