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Updated: June 22, 2025
At the door stood Bob Binkley, his old friend and companion of the days before he had renounced the world Bob, himself, arrayed like the orchids of the greenhouse in the summer man's polychromatic garb Bob, the millionaire, with his fat, firm, smooth, shrewd face, his diamond rings, sparkling fob-chain, and pleated bosom. He was two years older than the hermit, and looked five years younger.
Binkley had abandoned art and was prating of the unusual spring catch of shad. Miss Elise arranged the palette-and-maul-stick tie pin of Mr. Vandyke. A Philistine at some distant table was maundering volubly either about Jerome or Gérôme. A famous actress was discoursing excitably about monogrammed hosiery. A hose clerk from a department store was loudly proclaiming his opinions of the drama.
Sit on that limestone rock over there; it's softer than the granite." "I can't understand it, old man," said Binkley. "I can see how you could give up a woman for ten years, but not ten years for a woman. Of course I know why you did it. Everybody does. Edith Carr. She jilted four or five besides you. But you were the only one who took to a hole in the ground.
Binkley took Medora to the boarding-house and left her, with a society bow, at the foot of the hall stairs. She went up to her room and lit the gas. And then, as suddenly as the dreadful genie arose in vapor from the copper vase of the fisherman, arose in that room the formidable shape of the New England Conscience. The terrible thing that Medora had done was revealed to her in its full enormity.
"Don't mind, old chap," said Binkley, of the fish-stall. "You know how I like to butt up against the fine arts. Mr. Vandyke Mr. Madder er Miss Martin, one of the elect also in art er " The introduction went around. There were also Miss Elise and Miss 'Toinette. Perhaps they were models, for they chattered of the St. Regis decorations and Henry James and they did it not badly.
"Annie Ashton," said I, simply. "She played Nannette in Binkley & Bing's production of 'The Silver Cord. She is to have a better part next season." "Take me to see her," said North. Miss Ashton lived with her mother in a small hotel. They were out of the West, and had a little money that bridged the seasons. As press-agent of Binkley & Bing I had tried to keep her before the public.
The hermit leaned against the wooden walls of his ante-cave and wriggled his toes. "I know how you feel about it," said Binkley. "What else could she do? There were her four sisters and her mother and old man Carr you remember how he put all the money he had into dirigible balloons? Well, everything was coming down and nothing going up with 'em, as you might say.
On the next day Medora formed her resolutions. Beelzebub, flung from heaven, was no more cast down. Between her and the apple blossoms of Harmony there was a fixed gulf. Flaming cherubim warded her from the gates of her lost paradise. In one evening, by the aid of Binkley and Mumm, Bohemia had gathered her into its awful midst.
The eye of Binkley fixed a young man at his table with the Bohemian gleam, which is a compound of the look of the Basilisk, the shine of a bubble of Würzburger, the inspiration of genius and the pleading of a panhandler. The young man sprang to his feet. "Hello, Bink, old boy!" he shouted. "Don't tell me you were going to pass our table. Join us unless you've another crowd on hand."
The others had recourse to whiskey, the Klondike, politics, and that similia similibus cure. But, say Hamp, Edith Carr was just about the finest woman in the world high-toned and proud and noble, and playing her ideals to win at all kinds of odds. She certainly was a crackerjack." "After I renounced the world," said the hermit, "I never heard of her again." "She married me," said Binkley.
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