II

Five years passed. Times had changed with me. I had long since left my

humble quarters at Miss Buffum's and now had two rooms in an uptown

apartment-house. My field of work, too, had become enlarged. I had

ceased to write for the Sunday papers and was employed on special

articles for the magazines. This had widened my acquaintance with men

and with life. Heretofore I had known the dark alleys and slums, the

inside of station-houses, bringing me in contact with the police and

with some of the detectives, among them Alcorn of the Central Office, a

man who had sought me out of his own accord. Many of these trusted me

and from them I gathered much of my material. Now I explored other

fields. With the backing of the editor I often claimed seats at the

opening of important conventions--not so much political as social and

scientific; so, too, at many of the public dinners given to our own and

distinguished foreign guests, would a seat be reserved for me, my

object being the study of men when they were off their guard--reading

their minds, finding out the man behind the mask, a habit I had never

yet thrown off. Most men have some mental fad--this was mine. Sometimes

my articles found an echo in a note written to me by the guests

themselves; this would fill me with joy. Often I was criticised for the

absurdity of my views.

On this occasion a great banquet was to be given to Prince Polinski, a

nephew of the Czar and possible heir to the throne. The press had been

filled with the detail of his daily life--of the dinners, teas and

functions given by society in his honor; of his reception by the mayor,

of his audience at the White House; of the men who guarded his person;

of his "opinions," "impressions" and "views" on this, that and the

other thing, but so far no one had dissected the man himself.

What our editor wanted was a minute analysis of the mind of a young

Russian studied at close range. The occasion of the banquet was

selected because I could then examine him at my leisure. The results

were to be used by the editor in an article of his own, my memoranda

being only so much padding.

When I entered and took up a position near the door where I could look

him over, Delmonico's largest reception-room was crowded with guests:

bankers, railroad presidents, politicians, officers of the army and

navy, judges, doctors, and the usual collection of white shirt-fronts

that fill the seats at a public dinner of this kind. The Prince was in

the uniform of an officer of the Imperial Navy. He was heavily built

and tall, with a swarthy face enlivened by a pointed mustache. The

Russian Ambassador at his side was in full dress and wore a number of

decorations: these two needed no pointing out. Some of the others were

less distinguishable-among them a heavily-built man in evening-dress,

with a full beard and mustache which covered his face almost to his

eyes--soft and bushy as the hair on a Spitz dog and as black. With a

leather apron and a broad-axe he would have passed at a masquerade for

an executioner of the olden time. Despite this big beard, there was a

certain bearing about the man--a certain elegance both of manner and

gesture--talking with his hands, accentuating his sentences with

outstretched fingers, lifting his shoulders in a shrug (I saw all this

from across the room where I stood)--that showed clearly not only his

high position, but his breeding. What position he held under the Prince

I was, of course, unaware, but it must have been very close, for the

big Russian kept him constantly at the royal side. I noted, too, that

the Prince was careful to introduce him to many who were brought up to

shake his hand.

When the procession was formed to march into the dining-hall, Polinski

came first on the arm of the mayor; then followed a group of

dignitaries, including the Ambassadors, the black-bearded man walking

by the side of the Prince, who would now and then turn and address him.

My seat was against the wall opposite the dais, and knowing that I

should have scant opportunity to study the Prince's face from where I

sat, I edged my way along the side of the corridor, the crowd making

progress difficult for him, but easy for me, as I crept close to the

wall. When I reached the door opening into the banquet hall I took up a

position just inside the jamb, so that I could get a full view of the

Prince as he passed.

At this instant I became aware that a pair of broad shoulders were

touching mine. Turning quickly, I found myself looking into the face of

the bearded Russian. His eyes were fastened on mine, an inquiring,

rather surprised look on his face, as if he was wondering at the bad

manners of a man who would thrust himself ahead of a royal personage.

For an instant the features were calm and impassive, then as he

continued to look at me there flashed out of his eyes a search-light

glance that shot straight through me.

It was Bing!

Bearded like a Cossack; more heavily built, solemn, dignified, elegant

in carriage and demeanor, with not a trace of jollity about him--but

Bing all the same! I could have sworn to it!

The flash burned for an instant; the eyes behind the canvas dodged

back, then with a graceful wave of the hand he turned to the Ambassador

who was now abreast of him and said in a voice so low that I caught the

words but not the full tone:

"Isn't it a charming sight, your Excellency? There is nothing like the

hospitality of these wonderful Americans." And the two passed into the

brilliantly-lighted hall.

I made my way to my seat and sat thinking it over. That he had

recognized me was without question; that he had ignored me was equally

true--why, I could not tell.

For years I had made him one of my heroes. He had stood for

cheerfulness, for contentment with one's lot, for consideration for

another--and always a weaker brother. When his abrupt departure had

been criticised by my fellow-boarders, I had stemmed the tide against

him, dilating on his love for his children, on his loneliness away from

them; on his simplicity, his common-sense, his desire to help even a

young fellow like me who had no claim upon him. In return he had seen

fit to treat me with contempt--I who would have been so proud to tell

him how his advice had helped me and what progress I had made by

following it.

The incident took such hold upon me that I found myself dissecting his

mentality instead of that of the Great Personage in the public eye. As

I analyzed my feelings I found that he had hurt my heart more than my

pride. I would have been so glad to shake his hand--so glad to rejoice

with him over his changed conditions--once the occupant of a front room

in a cheap boarding-house, supporting himself by filling space in the

columns of an encyclopaedia, and now the bosom friend of Princes and

Ambassadors!

Then a doubt arose in my mind. WAS it Bing? Had I not made a mistake?

How could a smooth-shaven Dane with blond hair transform himself into a

swarthy Russian with the beard of a Cossack? There was, it is true, no

change in the eyes or in the round head--in the whiteness and width of

the forehead, or the breadth of the shoulders. All these I went over

one by one as I watched him every now and then lean across the table

and speak to some of the distinguished guests that surrounded him. The

thing which puzzled me was his grave, sedate demeanor, dignified,

almost austere at times. A man, I thought, might grow a beard and dye

it, but how could he grow a different set of manners, how smother his

jollity, how wipe out his spontaneous buoyancy?

No, it was not Bing! It was only my stupid self. I was always ready to

find the mysterious and unnatural. I turned to the guest next me.

"Do you know who that man is on the dais," I asked; "the one all black

and white, with the big beard?"

"Yes, one of the Prince's suite; some jaw-breaking name with an

'-usski' on the end of it. He brought him with him; looks like a bull

pup chewing a muff, doesn't he?"