"Restitution?--his son?"
"Yes. To my sincere regret he is an invalid who may or may not live
the year out. He has already made a will, in which he leaves all to
you. The will is in my safe at home. I return to-night, so I may not
see you again in this world of sin and tribulation." The merry twinkle
had returned to his eyes. "I am very old."
"It is worth all the trouble to have met you," said I. "You should
have made the jolt very easy."
So we shook hands, and he gave me a cigar, around which was wrapped the
check. He winked. Then he laughed, and I joined him, though my
laughter resembled mirth less than it did the cackle of a hen which was
disturbed over the future of her brood.
I left him and went down into the wine room and ordered a stiff brandy
and soda. When that disappeared I ordered another. I rattled the ice
in the glass. "Ha, ha, ha!" I roared, as the events of the past
twenty-four hours recurred to me. There must have been a suicidal
accent to my laughter, for the bartender looked at me with some
concern. I called for another brandy and shot the soda into it myself.
I watched the foam evaporate, "Ha, ha, ha!"
"Hard luck?" the bartender asked sympathetically.
"Yes," said I. I seemed to be speaking to several bartenders who
looked at me with several varieties of compassion.
"Have another on me," said the bartender.
I had another, and went out into the street. I walked down Broadway,
chuckling to myself. What a glorious farce it all was! My fortune!
Phyllis my wife! What if she had accepted me? I laughed aloud, and
people turned and stared at me. Oh, yes! I was to travel and write
novels and have my pictures in book reviews, and all that! When I
arrived at the office I was on the verge of total insanity. I was
obliged to ask the paragrapher to write my next day's leader. It was
night before I became rational, and once that, the whole world donned
cap and bells and began capering for my express benefit. The more I
thought of it, the more I laughed. What a whimsical world it was! And
was there anything in it so grotesque as my part? I took the check
from my pocket and cracked it between my fingers. A cigar was in my
mouth. Should I light it with the check? It was for $1,000. After
all, it was more than I had ever before held in my hand at once. But
what was a paltry thousand, aye a paltry ten thousand, to a man's
pride? I bit off the end of my cigar, creased the check into a taper,
and struck a match. I watched it burn and burn. I struck another. I
held it within an inch of the check, but for the life of me I could not
light it.