A Splendid Hazard. Harold MacGrath

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      "That's just the trouble. You've spoiled me."

      "Well, you may take my word for it, you won't have the patience to sit down at home here and write a hundred thousand words that mean anything. There's no reason why you can't do my work and write novels on the side. We both know a dozen fellows who are doing it. We've got to have this article, and you're the only man we dare trust alone on it, if it will flatter you any to know it."

      "Come, pussy, come!"

      "If it's a question of more money—"

      "Perish the thought!" cried Fitzgerald, clasping his knees and rocking gently. "You know as well as I do, Hewitt, that it's the game and not the cash. I've found a new love, my boy."

      "Double harness?" with real anxiety. Hewitt bit his scrubby mustache.

       When a special correspondent married that was the end of him.

      "There you go again!" warned the recalcitrant. "If you don't stop eating that mustache you'll have stomach trouble that no Scotch whisky will ever cure. The whole thing is in a nutshell," a sly humor creeping into his eyes. "I am tired of writing ephemeral things. I want to write something that will last."

      "Write your epitaph, Jack," drawled a deep voice from the reading table. "That's the only sure way, and even that is no good if your marble is spongy."

      "Oh, Cathewe, this is not your funeral," retorted the editor.

      "Perhaps not. All the same, I'll be chief mourner if Jack takes up novel writing. Critics don't like novels, because any one can write an average story; but it takes a genius to turn out first-class magazine copy. Anyhow, art becomes less and less particular every day. The only thing that never gains or loses is this London Times. Someday I'm going to match the Congressional Record and the Times for the heavyweight championship of the world, with seven to one on the Record, to weigh in at the ringside."

      "You've been up north, Arthur," said Fitzgerald. "What's your advice?"

      "Don't do it. You've often wondered how and where I lost these two digits. Up there." The Times rattled, and Cathewe became absorbed in the budget.

      Arthur Cathewe was a tall, loose-limbed man, forty-two or three, rather handsome, and a bit shy with most folk. Rarely any one saw him outside the club. He had few intimates, but to these he was all that friendship means, kindly, tender, loyal, generous, self-effacing. And Fitzgerald loved him best of all men. It did not matter that there were periods when they became separated for months at a time. They would some day turn up together in the same place. "Why, hello, Arthur!" "Glad to see you, Jack!" and that was all that was necessary. All the enthusiasm was down deep below. Cathewe was always in funds; Fitzgerald sometimes; but there was never any lending or borrowing between them. This will do much toward keeping friendship green. The elder man was a great hunter; he had been everywhere, north and south, east and west. He never fooled away his time at pigeons and traps; big game, where the betting was even, where the animal had almost the same chance as the man. He could be tolerably humorous upon occasions. The solemn cast to his comely face predestined him for this talent.

      "Well, Fitz, what are you going to do?"

      "Hewitt, give me a chance. I've been home but a week. I'm not going to dash to the Pole without having a ripping good time here first. Will a month do?"

      "Oh, the expedition doesn't leave for two months yet. But we must sign the contract a month beforehand."

      "To-day is the first of June; I promise to telegraph you yes or no this day month. You have had me over in Europe eighteen months. I'm tired of trains, and boats, and mules. I'm going fishing."

      "Ah, bass!" murmured Cathewe from behind his journal.

      "By the way, Hewitt," said Fitzgerald, "have you ever heard of a chap called Karl Breitmann?"

      "Yes," answered Hewitt. "Never met him personally, though."

      "I have," joined in Cathewe quietly. He laid down the Times. "What do you know about him?"

      "Met him in Paris last year. Met him once before in Macedonia. Dined with me in Paris. Amazing lot of adventures. Rather down on his luck, I should judge."

      "Couple of scars on his left cheek and a bit of the scalp gone; German student sort, rather good-looking, fine physique?"

      "That's the man."

      "I know him, but not very well." And Cathewe fumbled among the other newspapers.

      "Dine with me to-night," urged Hewitt.

      "I'll tell you what. See that Italian over there with the statues? I am going to buy him out; and if I don't make a sale in half an hour, I'll sign the dinner checks."

      "Done!"

      "I'll take half of that bet," said Cathewe, rising. "It will be cheap."

      Ten minutes later the two older men saw Fitzgerald hang the tray from his shoulders and take his position on the corner.

      "I love that chap, Hewitt; he is what I always wanted to be, but couldn't be." Cathewe pulled the drooping ends of his mustache. "If he should write a novel, I'm afraid for your sake that it will be a good one. Keep him busy. Novel writing keeps a man indoors. But don't send him on any damn goose chase for the Pole."

      "Why not?"

      "Well, he might discover it. But, honestly, it's so God-forsaken and cold and useless. I have hunted musk-ox, and I know something about the place. North Poling, as I call it, must be a man's natural bent; otherwise you kill the best that's in him."

      "Heaven on earth, will you look! A policeman is arguing with him."

       Hewitt shook with laughter.

      "But I bought him out," protested Fitzgerald. "There's no law to prevent me selling these."

      "Oh, I'm wise. We want no horse-play on this corner; no joyful college stunts," roughly.

      Fitzgerald saw that frankness must be his card, so he played it. "Look here, do you see those two gentlemen in the window there?"

      "The club?"

      "Yes. I made a wager that I could sell one of these statues in half an hour. If you force me off I'll lose a dinner."

      "Well, I'll make a bargain with you. You can stand here for half an hour; but if you open your mouth to a woman, I'll run you in. No fooling; I'm talking straight. I'm going to see what your game is."

      "I agree."

      So the policeman turned to his crossing and reassumed his authority over traffic, all the while never losing sight of the impromptu vender.

      Many pedestrians paused. To see a well-dressed young man hawking plaster Venuses was no ordinary sight. They knew that some play was going on, but, with that inveterate suspicion of the city pedestrian, none of them stopped to speak or buy. Some newsboys gathered round and offered a few suggestions. Fitzgerald gave them back in kind. No woman spoke, but there wasn't one who passed that didn't look at him with more than ordinary curiosity. He was enjoying it. It reminded him of the СКАЧАТЬ