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"You will fail this time," I said, emphatically. "Perhaps so," admitted Van Sweller, looking out of the window into the street below, "but if so it will be for the first time. The authors all send me there. I fancy that many of them would have liked to accompany me, but for the little matter of the expense." "I say I will be touting for no restaurant," I repeated, loudly.
Among his comrades was Lawrence O'Roon, a man whom Van Sweller liked. A strange thing and a hazardous one in fiction was that Van Sweller and O'Roon resembled each other mightily in face, form, and general appearance. After the war Van Sweller pulled wires, and O'Roon was made a mounted policeman.
The fact of the matter is, that we're all in trade when we've got anything, from poetry to pork, to sell; and it's all foolishness to talk about one fellow's goods being sweller than another's. The only way in which he can be different is by making them better.
All he said was: "You were just in time; but I think you are making a mistake. You cannot afford to ignore the wishes of the great reading public." I took Van Sweller to my own rooms to my room. He had never seen anything like it before. "Sit on that trunk," I said to him, "while I observe whether the landlady is stalking us.
If she is not, I will get things at a delicatessen store below, and cook something for you in a pan over the gas jet. It will not be so bad. Of course nothing of this will appear in the story." "Jove! old man!" said Van Sweller, looking about him with interest, "this is a jolly little closet you live in! Where the devil do you sleep? Oh, that pulls down!
If Hudson Van Sweller, in policeman's uniform, has saved the life of palpitating beauty in the park where is Mounted Policeman O'Roon, in whose territory the deed is done? How quickly by a word can the hero reveal himself, thus discarding his masquerade of ineligibility and doubling the romance! But there is his friend! Van Sweller touches his cap.
And it will stir you to find Van Sweller in that fruitful nick of time thinking of his comrade O'Roon, who is cursing his gyrating bed and incapable legs in an unsteady room in a West Side hotel while Van Sweller holds his badge and his honor. Van Sweller hears Miss Ffolliott's voice thrillingly asking the name of her preserver.
"Oh, Sally," Martie was again fired, "we could have creamed chicken and sandwiches that's all anybody ever wants! And it's so much sweller than messy sherbets and layer cake. And we could decorate the rooms with greens " "Our rooms are lovely, anyway!" Sally stated with satisfaction. "Why, with the folding doors open, and fires in both grates, they would be perfectly stunning!"
I had thought you were a gentleman." "What it is you are objecting to, old man?" asked Van Sweller, in a surprised tone. "To your dining at ," I answered. "The pleasure would be yours, no doubt, but the responsibility would fall upon me. You intend deliberately to make me out a tout for a restaurant. Where you dine to-night has not the slightest connection with the thread of our story.
"For heaven's sake talk like a man," I said, sternly. "Do you think it is manly to use those mushy and inane forms of address? That man is neither dear nor old nor a boy." To my surprise Van Sweller turned upon me a look of frank pleasure. "I am glad to hear you say that," he said, heartily. "I used those words because I have been forced to say them so often. They really are contemptible.
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