A BACHELOR PROTECTORATE.
Craig has himself seen enough of the daily life along the Midway to
feel some sympathy for his companion, whose doleful refrain has at
least the merit of sincerity.
The popularity of the Midway was something of a joke during the life
of the Fair, but never questioned. It is since the close of the great
Exposition that the people of this country have gradually awakened to
the fact that as a congress of nations, this Plaisance was the most
successful thing ever planned and executed.
Everyone has pleasant memories of hours spent in strolling up and
down, of queer sights witnessed, and, perhaps, singular adventures in
connection with these people from the four quarters of the earth.
In every prominent city of the land these memories have been kept alive
by a series of entertainments, representing the Midway in the height
of its glory; breezy items can be found in the papers, describing the
wonders of the world’s highway, and many snatches of glowing rhetoric
attest to the pleasure derived by the writer in the scenes on the
Plaisance. In defense of Wycherley, who haunted these scenes until he
loved them as a Parisian is devoted to his city, it may not be out of
place to reproduce one of these items which appeared recently in a
prominent Western paper:
* * * * *
“It was not until about July 1 that the denizens of the merry Midway
got their houses and shops in order, and settled down to business.
They easily made up for lost time, however, and during the four
bright happy months that followed, the famous street was far and away
the principal popular attraction of the Fair. Those who went to spend
the whole day at the Exposition, equipped with lunch, camp chair, and
guidebook, usually turned up in the Plaisance about every two hours.
Others who made briefer visits to the park either began or ended them
in the same attractive quarter. School teachers, who made out their
programme for the educational features in the Liberal Arts building,
generally landed in Cairo Street. Students of sculpture who went with
the best intentions of studying the marble models in the Art Palace,
ended by studying living models in the Moorish Palace. Ministers who
hoped to prepare themselves for missionary work, were easily persuaded
that they would be best equipped by looking over the Dahomeyans and
South Sea Islanders. And as to young America--well, the day for him was
not done till he had tossed off half a dozen or more bumpers of beer in
Old Vienna.
“All this is now a memory. The places that knew these merry parties
shall know them no more forever. The Samoan now sits serenely under
his island palm; the Bedouin is again astride his steed, and with
shaded eyes looks off across the desert; the Egyptian 'neath the
shadow of the mighty pyramids, recounts the marvels of his half year
in the New World; and the sad-eyed Cingalese woman tells her sisters
in 'the gorgeous East’ about the wondrous West; while the American,
whose energy and genius reared it all, now sees those sights through
a darkened glass, and faintly hears the once familiar sounds, muffled
and indistinct, as of a distant troop of boys at play. He goes plodding
on in paths of busy commerce, farther and farther along, till time and
distance intervene, and Midway sights grow dimmer still, and Midway
sounds sink to a whisper.”
* * * * *
These then are the feelings that cause the Thespian such sorrow. He
hates to think that before snow flies this gay scene will have vanished
as a dream, never to be seen again.
“Cheer up, my dear fellow,” says Aleck, “there will be other fairs as
great as this.”
“But never again a Midway. However, let us throw dull care to the
winds. It ill becomes us to mourn, we who are butterflies of the hour.
What would you now, my lord?”
Wycherley smiles again--the passing of his grief has been very
rapid--for his nature is buoyant.
“I have no plans. We can move around until it is time to go. I am
impressing this scene on my mind so that at any future day I may
reproduce it by simply closing my eyes. When before now, on American
soil, could you see such groups as that sauntering along?” nodding in
the direction of a squad of Algerians and Moors walking past, clad in
the turban and caftan, burnoose and colored robes of their class, with
the inevitable heavy slippers on their feet.
Close behind come a trio of Celestials chattering like parrots, while
in sight at the same time are one or more natives of India, Dahomey,
and Lapland, representing the antipodes. It is the bringing together
of people who live at the frozen north, and those from the burning
equator; the exposition of their home life, their peculiar habits,
their war customs, and marriage ceremonies, that lends such a charm
to a gathering like this. Contrast it by a visit to the Liberal Arts
building and see what civilization does for the human family, what
wonderful treasures are within the grasp of everyone who lives to-day
in an enlightened community.
Just as the squad of Moors and Algerians move past in their sauntering
way, Wycherley is heard to utter an exclamation.
“Who would have believed it?” he says.
“What now?” asks Aleck, wondering if his companion is dreaming of the
fortune he is to win or lose on the morrow.
“She is a flirt, I do believe,” continues the actor.
“Oh, it’s the dark-eyed Spanish senorita who worries the boy. Never
mind; remember there’s as good fish in the sea as ever were caught.”
“You’re a Job’s comforter, Aleck. Under the circumstances, physician,
heal thyself,” retorts the other.
“Eh? What now?”
“It chances to be the young woman in whom you have such a deep
interest.”
At this Craig becomes all attention.
“You mean Dorothy--where is she?” he demands.
“Hush! not quite so loud, my boy. Glance over yonder, she is just going
into the Japanese bazaar.”
As Craig looks he receives a shock. The brilliant lights fall upon a
face he cannot forget and which is just being covered by the light veil
attached to her hat. Dorothy it is, the millionaire’s daughter. His
interest is quickly aroused, and under the circumstances it is not at
all strange that he should desire to see who her male companion may be.
They are conversing eagerly, as though deeply interested in each other.
Another moment and the bazaar has closed upon them.
“Let us follow,” suggests Wycherley, at once.
Aleck hesitates.
“I’m not sure that it would be just the thing,” he says doubtfully, but
the other gives a scoffing laugh.
“Tell that to the marines. You want to go--you have a deep interest in
this young lady, and it is but natural you should want to see who her
companion is. Come.”
The temptation is irresistible.
“I can buy another cane, at any rate,” he mutters.
“How many have you got now?” asks Wycherley.
“Two dozen or more. It’s a fad of mine, you see.”
They enter the bazaar, which, if not a very spacious building, is at
least well-stocked, and usually crowded with sight-seers or purchasers.
Aleck endeavors to keep at a distance from the pair whose entrance has
inspired their action, at the same time he manages to direct numerous
glances at the gentleman in question.
“Well, what d’ye make of him?” asks Wycherley.
“I am favorably impressed with his looks,” is the frank response that
causes a low whistle of surprise to leave the actor’s lips.
“Well, I’ll be hanged! In confidence between us, my dear fellow, I
quite agree with you. Looks like an independent young chap. There’s
something about his style, his bronzed face and hands, the soft hat he
wears, and his general get-up, that suggests the miner to me.”
“Well, it didn’t occur to me before, but now that you mention it I can
see the same thing. What it means, I am at a loss to say.”
“See how fondly she clings to him.”
“Claude, you are cruel.”
“Nonsense, my dear boy. Follow my example. When I found my cake was
dough, I gave her up without a struggle. That’s diplomacy in love
matters. I learned it long ago, on the stage. Go thou and do likewise.
Seriously, I reckon you haven’t the ghost of a show there, so be
philosophical, my merry bachelor, and take things as they come. As for
myself, I’m trying to place this gentleman; something about his face
seems familiar. It may be I’ve noticed him on the Midway at some time.”
Aleck buys his cane, and continues to keep a good distance between the
couple and himself. They are simply looking at the curios displayed by
the cunning Japs, and appear to be more engrossed with each other than
the objects around. All of which causes our bachelor the most peculiar
sensations of his life.
At one moment he has firmly resolved that he will not seek the presence
of this fair one on the succeeding night, and immediately he has
bitter reflections, of which he is ashamed later on, reflections that
bear upon Dorothy in the sense of her mother being brought up in the
peculiar tenets of Oriental life, which in a measure may have descended
to the daughter.
Again his mind undergoes a change, and he scores himself for such a
thought. He remembers the face first seen under the wintry sky of
Canada, and again on the Ferris wheel of the Midway; remembers that she
claimed her mission to be a sacred one, and until further proof to the
contrary is brought he must believe in her innocence.
What if this is some lover who has incurred the parental anger, and
whom she dares not receive at home--he has the face and bearing of a
true man.
“Don’t imagine you have a mortgage on her affection, Aleck Craig,” he
mutters sneeringly, as if to mock the strange feeling of pain that
assails his heart; “and it's none of your business if by chance she
has met her fate before discovering that a bachelor of your size was
haunting the Fair looking for her. Well, perhaps I may strike up an
acquaintance with this young fellow, and, confound it--be a brother to
her yet.”
“I thought it would happen. I looked for just that same thing to
occur,” breaks in Wycherley, in a thrilling stage whisper.
“What now?” asks Craig guiltily, fearing he has again been talking
indiscreetly above his breath.
“Wait a minute! Examine these elegant tablecloths worked with silk;
aint they beauties? Now, the coast of Bohemia is clear.”
Aleck of course turns his head quickly to see who has caused such
commotion in the mind of his companion, and Wycherley watches the face
of the Canadian, well knowing it will be an index to his feelings. A
figure is moving down the aisle--a woman dressed attractively, but
heavily veiled. As soon as Aleck’s eyes fell upon her graceful form, he
is struck with the peculiar charm of her person, and the actor seeing
this bends over to say:
“I see, you, too, have guessed her identity. It is the Veiled Fortune
Teller of Cairo Street--and yonder is Dorothy. Perhaps the strange
events of this remarkable night are not yet concluded, my dear boy.”
_BOOK TWO._
THE MAN FROM DENVER.