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Page 53
With this mild but deserved rebuke I left Van Sweller in his
dressing-room, and waited for him in his library.
About an hour later his valet came out, and I heard him telephone for an
electric cab. Then out came Van Sweller, smiling, but with that sly,
secretive design in his eye that was puzzling me.
"I believe," he said easily, as he smoothed a glove, "that I will drop
in at -----* [Footnote: See advertising column, "Where to Dine Well," in
the daily newspapers.] for dinner."
I sprang up, angrily, at his words. This, then, was the paltry trick he
had been scheming to play upon me. I faced him with a look so grim that
even his patrician poise was flustered.
"You will never do so," I exclaimed, "with my permission. What kind of a
return is this," I continued, hotly, "for the favors I have granted you?
I gave you a 'Van' to your name when I might have called you 'Perkins'
or 'Simpson.' I have humbled myself so far as to brag of your polo
ponies, your automobiles, and the iron muscles that you acquired when
you were stroke-oar of your 'varsity eight,' or 'eleven,' whichever it
is. I created you for the hero of this story; and I will not submit to
having you queer it. I have tried to make you a typical young New York
gentleman of the highest social station and breeding. You have no reason
to complain of my treatment to you. Amy Ffolliott, the girl you are
to win, is a prize for any man to be thankful for, and cannot be
equalled for beauty--provided the story is illustrated by the right
artist. I do not understand why you should try to spoil everything. 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. [FOOTNOTE: See advertising column,
"Where to Dine Well," in the daily newspapers.] "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
tonight has not the slightest connection with the thread of our story.
You know very well that the plot requires that you be in front of the
Alhambra Opera House at 11:30 where you are to rescue Miss Ffolliott a
second time as the fire engine crashes into her cab. Until that time
your movements are immaterial to the reader. Why can't you dine out of
sight somewhere, as many a hero does, instead of insisting upon an
inapposite and vulgar exhibition of yourself?"
"My dear fellow," said Van Sweller, politely, but with a stubborn
tightening of his lips, "I'm sorry it doesn't please you, but there's no
help for it. Even a character in a story has rights that an author
cannot ignore. The hero of a story of New York social life must dine at
----* [*See advertising column, "Where to Dine Well," in the daily
newspapers.] at least once during its action."
"'Must,'" I echoed, disdainfully; "why 'must'? Who demands it?"
"The magazine editors," answered Van Sweller, giving me a glance of
significant warning.
"But why?" I persisted.
"To please subscribers around Kankakee, Ill.," said Van Sweller, without
hesitation.
"How do you know these things?" I inquired, with sudden suspicion. "You
never came into existence until this morning. You are only a character
in fiction, anyway. I, myself, created you. How is it possible for you
to know anything?"
"Pardon me for referring to it," said Van Sweller, with a sympathetic
smile, "but I have been the hero of hundreds of stories of this kind."
I felt a slow flush creeping into my face.
"I thought..." I stammered; "I was hoping ...that is... Oh, well, of
course an absolutely original conception in fiction is impossible in
these days."
"Metropolitan types," continued Van Sweller, kindly, "do not offer a
hold for much originality. I've sauntered through every story in pretty
much the same way. Now and then the women writers have made me cut some
rather strange capers, for a gentleman; but the men generally pass me
along from one to another without much change. But never yet, in any
story, have I failed to dine at ----.*" [*Footnote: See advertising
column, "Where to Dine Well," in the daily newspapers.]
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