The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, February 8, 1903, Page 2

o THE SUNDAY CALL whether you like it or not. Now, don't rebel. We'll have the poetess and per- aps she'll regale us with & poem au or a juicy doggerel a la maitre otel. Poor thing She flew off and approached the table ere the pallid lady of the rhymes sat gazing uture, and also into the kitche sl looked as though she were awal ither inspiration, or soup, b eaid Sallle, nodding fa- r sake the overturs, se and sit at b Ve are fellow st occasion we might kinship, don’t you think s fixed themselves glass : er. Sallie thought that xactly Uke cat's eyes, but ur declared not, 1 the have e e, pleadingly, for oug all Anastasia’s haggard face - end she would gladly have e barriers tnat-separated ady. “Come. It nd Llo-morrow we s & ave ® ed the poetess, im- e a s enough. 1 do mot tavor shape or form. I & 1des’ and here she 1 1 Ke as no inten- e in the poete nken voice sistakable, and se recolled astasia nad shown h sws, whic were nev ery aptly sheathed, and h 1 was somewhat discouraging amp-Post_Lucy, Hap ein and the others t matter mu e prove of the Sa a glowing retort—one t k erized Mrs. Atwoc « edg her lips, t e re- t view nd henpecking wives, and si ouble, triple and -quadr up” in her best h quaint epigram and The spades in the a called themselves spades; but 5 it, flung it at them € lively repetition all She was at her best r worst, and it was ! ality only that attracted ter the theater ghe went home rs and the gnomes came a veritable n-can he visions they showed ck again, in dual sol mpton; but later they nastasia Atwood, who ém and seemed to be ex nt theories. But Sal ear anything. The spec- mes gave her clairvoy- clairaudience. From the ¥ ns on e faces of Jack and 3 wever, Anastasia must have had le views to set forth, for 1 s dismay, b & blon g Jack's sho , while he sten with a rapt alr of sub- n. The spirit of the ar written—a nud ribald d above the three, and t, Anastasia pointed in tri upon the face of Ivy—yes. Jack—was a frozen horror irresistible. awoke with a start ghtmare. e switched on pa nd s ext day, w reply o b It was a the electric vivering she told Mr. estions anent idded eyes, stressingly, he as- aubriand e satd “that CHAY ‘liI’. :\ ng individual, blear-eyed, v nkempt. crept into the 8’ nest one n.put. about u month the epe k - t was not but he entered by Mr. Green s self-assurance to overcome the boys. His business reen, he sald, and he had an “exclusive story.” Years paisicd wreck had been and had made some metropolitan reached the sing ow * f ‘a reputat He ha n 1 d now nployment, he clung of Owldom and livelthood by selling He might have been Owldom as the sorry many of its votaries nted moral gnd the young irse, @ sinister ex- outh and strength erg ey could but the men this tz sive” things, the E pear in the office on &Y anh ineoherent demands in the name 1. All the owls iistened, and the hearts of these wspaper Row are warm. and recklessly generous. He appealed to y of them, or to all of them, from the jce boy to Sallle Sydenham were used to what they called a and though @ few might have marveled at this picture of degradation, discurded and vanished respect. they ave old Witherby! He was so sual, and there were 80 many of him Mr. Green was not in his happiest d man slouched in on this xheling_stale odors he “staff” labored Ir less wa een's desk, ectives at the The hum. tinkle—all and no = a that occurs ere else—were ible the ated; to the ini as ary as the y tion and exhalatior Green. was cross. A magnificent sc g with a wealth incandescent ity, had failed to materialize fact, obiiterated itself com & had “riled” the night city inclined to view life and to snarl at the al episodes that were to fill the morrow's paper He greeted old Witherby with nothing more than 2 frown; but he had prese d enough to set asic perpet wich that he had been pre lore until the spiiere, had grown aense anc useating e advent of the vinous visitor, be clear and bracing agair -ay, Mr. Green,” began Witherby, ntroductory sugh, “I've got you—just 1p: but if 1t s out, don't you forget Withe it on ‘iuesday morning ud here he grew confidential that ~ there's troul famous American_ actc e girls, Arthur Stuyve- and drew a red his lips. Then If against Mr. Green's tinued It seems that s an entanglemsnt—oh, th thing, you know, although Stu has generally managed to keep his af- handker- steadying desk. he Stuyvesant cross fairs from the public, una has had the reputation’ only until now. An actor in Stuyvesant's company told me that the her night Arthur was a little bit un der the weather” (..is was the poor old wreck's invariable way of characterizing his own chronic condition), “and that while in that state he had confessed that he was having @ hard time with his wife. Mrs. Stuyvesant had ‘tumbled’ to the liaison” (he pronounced it "leah- zong”), “and had (hreatened divorce. Now, you know, Stuyvesant doesn’t mind notoriety, and I don't fancy that a di- vorce case would bother him at gll. But he said that the lad in the case was quite unusua!, and that not for the world would he bring her name before the public. | asked the actor her name. e did not know. for Stuyvesant was ough se to tell him t 1 has been seen wit and—it 18 quite mysterious, - Mr Greern she wears & heavy gauze veil And there are rumora that they have & furnished apar(ment, where they meet yuite lu the general French novel Style Well, Miss Sydenham, what is it?" Sallie had risen from her seat, and stood staring stupidly at the night city editor with eves that were wide, blank and meaningless. Her 1ips were white, excepl where a tiny spot of blood seemed to indicate laceration. The eter- nal rouge on her skin surmounted, like the carmine clots. on the chalky make- up of & clown, a face that was utterly blanched. Mr. Green's words reached her us though spoken by a voice from another It, Miss Sydenham?’ he re- "an't you see thal I'm busy peated just now? Ehe sat down and tried to resume her taxk; bul the reputation of Clyde Fitch and ‘the criticism of his puppets seemecd 190 ridiculously trivial in comparison with the live, palpitating horror t0 which she had listened and must continue to listen. Her Land shook, and she wrote zigzags over her “copy” paper. The reporters never even paused in their work. These little recitations made no appeal to their interests. As u general thihg, moreover, they led to & “wiid goose chase' assign. ment that was distinctly irritating. “Gg on,” commanded Mr. Green. tinue, M7, Witherby.” ‘“There is little more,” the poor old ex- owl remarked, c’ulta sorrowfully. “Of course, it is possible that nothing more may happen. Everything may be ami- cably settled. You must move cautiously, very cautiously, Mr. Green. This is & tip, und it Is worth watching. You see, we Lave no inkling as to thé identity of the woman.. She might be—" “Oh, she might be one of the four hun- dred,” interrupted the night city editor, cxcifedly, rising and pacing @bout In feb- rile agitation. *“She might be anybody. She might be one of the most prominent names in the elite directory. It might pan out to be the greatest story of the season. These fools of women all go crazy over this insane mummer—this leathery, mutton-faced actor, with as much talent as a tobacconist's red Indian., It is §; credible.”’ Then, realising that his busi- ness instinct was being submerged by his artistic perception of “news.” old Witherby's effort must be appropri- belittled, he calmed mmmr “It mount to nothing at all, Mr. With- he sald. “T'll investigate it an hat it's worth. Thank you. Of you understand that this is ex- clusive. If it goes to any other paper— not a cent.” “You know me, Mr, Green,” replied the loose old lips. “‘You know m y word is my bond,”" And he shuffied out, a r of Lope In his blotted eyes, a fond an *Con- almost radiant expectation that Mrs. btuyvesant. with due respect for owldom, would make things profitably warm fof her recalcitrant husband. Mr. Green rub- bed his hands gleefully, opened the win- dow for the benefit of his olfactory senses, unwrapped the paper containing the ham sandwich, and sat down to think the matter over. Sallie's unfinished criticism lay on the desk before her, She had added nothing to 1t since old Witherby had interrupted her comments upon this mimic life, ar * she knew that it must go into the re.- oras lorever incomplete. She scrawled a last u.ting line, bringing the article to an utcxpected close, s.igned her name ‘ta it, and Landed it to an office boy to take t0 ine composing-room. ker mind was made up. Bhe wrenched the lugubrious thoughts from her brain, and with a fair simu.ation of her usually unsimulated ap.omb she went to Mr. Green desk . drawing up a chair, sat down bes.de him en,'”” she =aid. and she tried a e iaugn hat went very well in- deed, ane sounded quite like the real tiing, "1 heurd oid \Witherby's story. W wre_dareadtully inguisitive’ things, aren’t they? »They are not precisely cu- nous, ‘but tHey like to Know. Are you &0Wg (o do anything about it Jo anything abuut 1t?” he repeated spluttering, and guiping down the last crust “Do_ anything about it? Why, Miss Sydenham, aren’'t you newspaper an enough to se what this s.ory mean or might mean?"" Sallie iaugind again, for her merriment was the office’s perquisite. “Inaced | aw,” sne sa.d brightiy. “I Just wanted tu see you look surprised. Mr. Gréen. and of course you feli into the trap. Yes, | realize that this might be a great th —three columns and @ scare head. In fact, 1 was so awfully interested that I realiy couldn’t finish my work, and have just turned in a criticism to ‘which 1 was al- most ashamed to sign my name. It quite excited me—it appealed to me:; and for that reason, Mr, Green, I'm golng to be first in the field, and ask you to let me work it up. I think 1 could do it and make a big hit with it. I've met Arthur Stuyvesant. you know, and I could man- age him much better’ than an ordinaiy rcporter could do. Oh, do give me the chance, Mr, Green, please. I've never had an ignment before, but this one—oh, this 1s within my scope. I could ferret it out, 1 know I could. May I? May I, Mr. Green? her rather seriousl He looked at . and it seemed to him that she was flushed— but of course it was difficult to know for sure, as Sallie's flushes came in the shaps of powder und could be worn at any time. Then it gccurred to him that her idea was not absolutely implous, although unusual for dramatic critics are not, as a ruie, adept at news stories. Still, Sallie was a very bright girl, and she had never failed in anything.” In this case a woman's wit might accomplish what a man's more du- rate perception would balk at. “Why are you so anxious to work up th 7" he asked sharply. 4 Sallie was startied, and It geemed to her that he was reading her. “Why?" She glanced at those fishy eyes, and knew that thelr mind-reading pow- ers. were tightly circumscribed, Why? Because it's interesting. It will be a ge. I'm sick of grinding out criti- I'm tired of writing, ‘Arthuy Stuy- vesant was unreal.’ I want to show that he is real, and as horrid in reality as he is on the stage. I've said fifty times that he is a bad actor, Now, I believe, we can prove that he is a bad man. Oh, Mr. Green, I have the most gorgeous idea for writing up this story. I can weave his stage life into his real life, and I can compare him with various roles that I've seen him interpret. Last seagon he played a man leading a double lite, and the matinee girls were wild with de- light over it. This is my chance, and the more 1 think about it the more I see what 1 can do with it.” She was all aglow with excitement. Her lips were s0 dry that she was compelled to moisten them as she spoke. In her hands she held a small lace handkerchief, and she tore it slowly into tatters. Noth ing had meant more to her than this as- signment, and she wanted to show him that it signified much—and then, again, that it didn't. *“Nothing has ever occurred during your wanderings around the theaters to give you any inkling as to the identity of the woman?” He fixed his eyes upon her, penetratingly. “Oh, no,” she replied lightly. a performance I hurry downtown. But I feel sure that I can find out. Oh, I have many channels of information, Mr. Green. It must be somebody in high society, be- cause he goes out a good deal. I shouldn't wonder If the wing of the four hundred sheltered her. Oh, it will be such fun. 1 shall work at this assignment as though my whole reputation depended upon it. For énu will give it to me, won't you, Mr. Green?” Not so fast—not so fast, Miss Syden- ham.” But in reality he was delighted at this ‘outburst of enthusiasm, which con- trasted so favorably with the apathy of the male owls, who “went out on a story’” for th purpost of demonstrating not what was in'it, but what wasn't. “I won- der if Rita Eisenstein s in the office? Perhaps she could give us a point or two. Her society columns are pretty good, and perhaps she has heard rumors, on dits, or whispers. Perhaps—*" “You don't intend to give her the story?"' Sallie could scarcely frame the uestion, which, If she had only known it, was quite absurd, as Miss Eisenstein's literary and detective abilities were aboyt on a par with those of Mrs. Amelia iss Eisenstein was sent for, and re- “After berg Hutchinson. sponded promptly to Mr, Green's call. She “IT IS QUITE JRVE T WHATEVER YOU MAY HAVE HEARD, SAID MR3. STUYVESANT, QUIETLY ' appeared in the city room wearing her latest Division-strect confection rather rakishly upon the s.de of her head. She aid no attention whatsoever to Miss ydenham, and took elaborate pains_to compieteiy Ignore her presence be: Green. Miss Eisenstein assumed of great importance when the ni editor had fully explained himself At first she laughed in spectacu dain when he evclved his question asked her if, during her socigty jaunis she had heard any woman's name cou pled with that of Arthur Stuyvesant. She was anxious to pose as waiking only in the most exclusive paths, and she larded all her remarks with Astor and Vander- bilt, until Sallie almost began to believe thai Miss Eisenstein lived with them Mr. Green was not at all impressed by her airs and mannerisms, and nipped her eloquence in its bud, pinning her down to and prec.se answers. Like any other wel, reg- ulated owls, the night city editor held the feminine adjuncts In but slight es- teem. They Irritated him, as lacking the cool, ma f-fact logic of men, as well as the adorable non-logic of amusng women. He was wont to allude to them as excrescences when in_the sunctity of his domestic circle; and Mrs. Green, who had never been an owl, was pleased to see that in newspaperdom at any ra there would be no temptations for him to wander from his own fireside. Miss Eisenstein, brought down to imme- diate necessities, Insolently debited ~Mry Green with a list of candldates for th honor of sensational scandal. With non- chalant impudence, combined with a nau- seating jocularity, “she cast abominable slurs upon conspicuous reputations, and submerged honored names beneath the slime and ooze of Inconceivable stigma. She did it all with a fine sense of pride in-calling. The proud wives and daugh- ters of the four Kundred were trotted out in procession, and Miss Eisenstein re- viewed them through lenses of suspicion, Insinuation and loathsome innuendo. She tore them to tatters, wrecked fair fame and ravagefl pretentious chastity; and all the time there was conscious self-ap- gruvll In her eyes, and a great sense of er own journalistic importance in her uttered words. Sallle felt sick at heart as she listened to all this brazen palaver. A wave of d:s- gust swept her while M Eisenstein vig- orously trampled down smiling. reputable edifices and devastated a veritable hordeof characters. This was the stock In trade of the feminine owl. At the beck and call of this smug, audacious woman were latent fires, ready st a moment's notice to burst forth and lick into blackness all that had kept itself In untarnished security. The hatefulness of it! Yet this man—this {nstigator—could sit and listen to it! He did not spring at her throat and strangle the nofsome words as they struggled for exit. Sallie looked at him. in dismay. as he sat munching the cud of this odious debit account. No, Miss Eisenstein could not positive- ly say that she had heard any name ab- solutely coupled with that of Arthur Stuyvesant. But she knew for a fact that in society, just at present, there were a number of suspects, any one of whom could fit into—any disreputable story. There was Miss Snooks, who “came out” this season, for Instance. At Newport she had been very much di cussed, and there was a report that might have to retire beiore the New York season hegan. Very smart girl, very classy, but dreadfully fast! Every one knew the cat-and-dog life that youn Van Orden and his wife led. He ha accused her of awful things, before everybody, at Mrs. Popinjay's reception. He had mentloned no name, but . , . well, you could suit yourself. It was just’an amusing sort of puzsle; find the man. And there was little Julla de Brest, who had done horrible things, and made no bones about it. Bhe ha: been seen at Archie Forrest's chambers at an ungodly hour of the night. Archie knew all sorts of Bohemlans, actors, bon *viveurs, and folks with pimply reputa- tions. . . . There were the William- son irls, four of them, who had been packed off to Europe at the close of last se; on account of a scandal at a coun house. It had beey kept as dark ks possible but the facts leaked out Of course, they were not pretty; but they' had lots of money, and to an actor, you know, a girl with ready cash meant everything. Old Dowager Dump- kins. who must be sixty if a day, was rotoriously addicted to the society of young men—very young men. They 1id that she absolutely “supported’ RIggioso, the tenor of the Metropolitan Opera-House Company. Most actors r, for she sought them out, and N, them before the public, tied to he pron-strings. . And Lady Pompton—old Appleville’s daughter, who had been Id to Lord Algernon three seasons #go—she was very much ‘‘on razzle’ —oh, everybody knew it, and it had ceased to be a wonder. It was tacitly admitted, apd Lady Pompton had been threatened with “proceedings” by a cable from Lord Algernon, now at Nice There was Violet Dore, whose husband hadn't a eent to his name, b last assembly, W e necklacs worth @ She was utterly ly undis- criminating. In fact, the Four Hundred had almost determined to give her the cold shoulder. You see, the Four Hun- dred had no objection at all to a few little amiable peccadilloes, when they were not found out. But once discovered, then an example must be made, in all fa in all decen L igit city editor, who had flared possibilities when she began, looked per- plexed when she paused in the inter- minable debit account. It was an em- de richesses, and he did not like ik and choose” from a veritable magician’'s scrap-bag. He would have preferred two or three promising cases of misdemeanor and aauitery. Miss Eisenstein’s list was too inclusive, Ap- parently, it contained no righteous wo- men The “thousand liverled angels" waiting to “lackey” the saintly chastity “so dear to heaven” must have found their occupation gone with a vengeance. It was quite exasperating. Still, his Journalistic soul was moved to admira- tion, as he realized the extent of her knowledge. “It is a long 1ist,” he said, “very long. You are the right one to call upen in these emergencles, Miss Fisenstein,” .. “Oh, I've not nearly finished,” she simpered, primping. “I could babble on, like the brook, forever. I love my work, Mr. Green. I am an enthusiast; other- wise 1 simply couldn't keep abreast of the times. It is a great deal of a fag, but the cause is worth it. I do ‘net complals Sallle sat very silent, ashamed, for the first time. of the sex to which she b longed. These men, these hard-working beings in trousers, were surely infinitely superior. They earned the inevitable livelihood by the sweat of their brows, because they had to do it. She recoile in revolt from the spectacle of this owl- girl in the hat, her face wreathed iIn smiles. . Yet she herself was equally fo be censured. She did not glory in her ribald writings, or experi- ence a soulful satisfaction in the daily knowledge that she wrote with the li- cense of a man. Still, she wrote, and money was offered to her and- accepted. She neeaed it, of course—she needed it badly. . . - It _was an_ irritating problem. . . . She wished that she had not been there to listen to Rita Elsenstein's monologue. It had made her feel uncomfortabls and self-re- proachful. She thousht of the bar- foom playe with scavenger dialogue, that she openly discussed in the office with Mr, Green. , . . No, she was not justified for a single instant in con- demning Miss Elsenstein. They we: in the same class, although, perhaps, “ the dishonors had been distributed, Rita. would have been allotted the lion's share. “Shall 1 cortinue, Mr. Green?" quer- ied Miss Eisenstein, sweetly willing. She glanced at her reflection in the dark window and straightened her hat. It was a dream of a hat, and such a bargain! *“No, ne sald. wearlily. “That will do.” I'am very much obliged to you. I had no idea that there were so many subjects, Miss Eisenstein. It makes my work very much harder.” “You must dislike th contamination, Miss Eisenstein,” Sallie sajd, with voluntary malice t must be very.trying to a girl of your sensi- tive nature.” “It is,” retorted the other, with a bland smile. “But 1 do not have to write iniquities. 1 merely store them up fo future reference. It must be orse for you, writing them every day. Miss Eisenstein made a note of thls cutting rejoinder for the benefit of Ame- lta Amberg Hutcoinson, Happy Hippy, Lamp-Post Lucy, Anastasia Atwood and other associate vestals and sirens of Owidom. She had scored one at the expense of the disreputable Miss Syden- ham, who, with a reputation hanging in shreds, had launched her sarcasms at a conseientious worker, full of legitimate enthusiasm and pride, “Don’t mind her, Mi Mr. Green, soothingly withdrew. “‘She is jealous of you, nat- urally. Poor thing! I think she gets thir- five a week. And she works hard here is no doubt at all about that. She a mine of information. “A sewer,” retorted Salli He laughed. “But she has not thrown ny light upon the situation.” he ‘She has, In fact, rendered it cult to cope with. Sbe has us with a task, compared searching for a needle in a bundle of hay atmosphere of Sydenham,” sald as Miss Eisenstein {s mere pastime. I am afrald that I hardly llke to iIntrust you with such a job, Miss Sydenham. It is detective work and you are nat used to that kind thing. It seems ridiculous to ask a writer to attend to guch a matter as this. Don't you_ think— “‘Oh, please, Mr. Green"—Sallie felt perate, for the ground seemed to be > PIng beneath her feet—“I shall not fail you. I can’t tell you how excited I am about this story. I feel as much entl siasm as Miss Eisensteln does for her— for her weork.” . Mr. Green's interest in the matter was slightly on the wane. Journalistic prom- ises, that look rosy and luminous when first mooted, fade quickly Into unimpor- tance. Their value diminishes as they are eoldly discussed with accessory ob- stacles In sight. Moreover, the ever-er- rant spirit of libel seemed to hover men- acingly around this particular case, Every owl rushes in affright from this danger- ous, threatening spirit. Mr. Green's fer- vor was slightly dampened, and Sallle, noting it, began to feel that things might g0 her way. “Tell you what I'll do,” sald Mr. Green, in reaction; *“I can't assign you to this on my own responsibility. I'll discuss the tter with Mr. Childers—' No!" cried Sallie, in alarm. Yes," retorted the night cit with & smile. ‘You are not afrald of Childers. He likes you, and thinks the world of your work. I can't depart from the rules of the office to the extent of giving an important reportorial assign- ment to the dramatic critic without con- sulting the managing editor—"" T would sooner not,” she murmured, The complications seemed to ba piling up, and & great nameless dread oppressed ber. *See here, young woman;" he sald, in- dulgently, “you cannot rule the roost. You want this work and you shall have it, if possible. But I must cover myself, you know, so that if you get the pape: left—not that I believe for a moment will do so—the responsibility is removed from my shoulders. If you want to back out, |E¢u s still time. I do not ask you to worry about this case. It is the v last request I should make to you. It is you who suggest it. To please you I will editor, lay it he says yes— Very w Ask him Sallie sat, st untl) the tim ibly r the pr Elevated The 1 very matter «f whom myst! onometry; b Stuyvesa ing role resistible. intuftion are that she was ab: rats, when he stood there, ing for mental warmth. She utter valy ss but she that old WAtherb; through her min sinuation o apartm It 1 in Paul Bo a-terrel It was in Covington, “Green t: take an assignment, to unravel & fetchin of Mr. was the matter before Mr. C: tered . partic the subject of the ded ot's novels amous! o Elev. that you Arthur Stuyvesant, actor. T am willing glided In and had ap naked and unas largely Sallle newhat we arly ‘furnished ltke the situa- pled- 0" sald Jack Childers, as they seated with Charlle ntly silent, to persi, and episode in th He as ed me if I were willing. Of course, I sald I was. But I never s at her ow taken her to which she ¢ was no need tion. Memc Charlle Covington spoke for ould bave imagined ous for that kind non-editorial again experienced chery as she forced t Klm 1 want & said. “I write tos muc rusty. Besides, I think d—well, somebody might as well be that Her sense onld