John Bangs - The Dreamers - A Club

“Order, gentlemen, order!” cried the master of ceremonies, again rapping upon the table. “The members will kindly not interrupt the speaker. As I was saying, gentlemen,” he continued, “we are now to listen to the narration of tales which I am convinced will cause the unlaid ghosts of the past grand masters of the story-tellers’ art to gnash their spirit teeth with anguish for that they in life failed to realize the opportunities that were theirs in not having told the tales to which we are about to listen, and over which, when published, the leading living literary lights will writhe in jealousy.”

When the applause which greeted these remarks had subsided, Mr. Jones resumed:

“That there may be no question of precedence among the gifted persons from whom we are now to hear, I have provided myself with a small leathern bottle, such as is to be seen in most billiard-parlors, within which I have placed twelve numbered ivory balls. These I will now proceed to distribute among you. When you receive them, I request that you immediately return them to me, that I may arrange the programme according to your respective numbers.”

Mr. Jones thereupon distributed the ivory balls, and when the returns had been made, according to his request, he again rose to his feet and announced that to Mr. Thomas Snobbe, of Yonkers, had fallen the lot of telling the first story, adding that he took great pleasure in the slightly supererogative task that devolved upon him of presenting Mr. Snobbe to his audience. Mr. Snobbe’s health was drunk vociferously, after which, the stenographer having announced himself as ready to begin, the distinguished son of Yonkers arose and told the following story, which he called

You can’t always tell what kind of a day you are going to have in town in October just because you happen to have been in town on previous October days, and Van Squibber, for that reason, was not surprised when his man, on waking him, informed him that it was cold out. Even if he had been surprised he would not have shown it, for fear of demoralizing his man by setting him a bad example. “We must take things as they come,” Van Squibber had said to the fellow when he engaged him, “and I shall expect you to be ready always for any emergency that may arise. If on waking in the morning I call for a camel’s-hair shawl and a bottle of Nepaul pepper, it will be your duty to see that I get them without manifesting the slightest surprise or asking any questions. Here is your next year’s salary in advance. Get my Melton overcoat and my box, and have them at the Rahway station at 7.15 to-morrow morning. If I am not there, don’t wait for me, but come back here and boil my egg at once.”

This small bit of a lecture had had its effect on the man, to whom thenceforth nothing was impossible; indeed, upon this very occasion he demonstrated to his employer his sterling worth, for when, on looking over Van Squibber’s wardrobe, he discovered that his master had no Melton overcoat, he telegraphed to his tailor’s and had one made from his previous measure in time to have it with Van Squibber’s box at the Rahway station at the stipulated hour the following morning. Of course Van Squibber was not there. He had instructed his man as he had simply to test him, and, furthermore, the egg was boiled to perfection. The test cost Van Squibber about $150, but it was successful, and it was really worth the money to know that his man was all that he should be.

“He’s not half bad,” said Van Squibber, as he cracked the egg.

“It’s wintry,” said Van Squibber’s man on the morning of the 5th of October.

“Well,” Van Squibber said, sleepily, “what of that? You have your instructions as to the bodily temperature I desire to maintain. Select my clothing, as usual – and mark you, man, yesterday was springy, and you let me go to the club in summery attire. I was two and a half degrees too warm. You are getting careless. What are my engagements to-day?”

“University settlement at eleven, luncheon at the Actors’ at one, drive with the cynical Miss Netherwood at three, five-o’clock tea at four – ”

“What?” cried Van Squibber, sharply.

“At fuf – five, I should say, sir,” stammered the embarrassed man.

“Thought so,” said Van Squibber. “Proceed, and be more careful. The very idea of five-o’clock tea at four is shocking.”

“Dinner with the Austrian ambassador at eight, opera at eleven – ”

“In October? Opera?” cried Van Squibber.

“Comic,” said the man. “It is Flopper’s last night, sir, and you are to ring down the curtain.”

“True,” said Van Squibber, meditatively – “true; I’d forgotten. And then?”

“At midnight you are to meet Red Mike at Cherry Street and Broadway to accompany him to see how he robs national banks, for the Sunday Whirald .”

“What bank is it to be?”

“The Seventeenth National.”

“Gad!” cried Van Squibber, “that’s hard luck. It’s my bank. Wire Red Mike and ask him to make it the Sixteenth National, at once. Bring me my smoking-jacket and a boiled soda mint drop. I don’t care for any breakfast this morning. And, by-the-way, I feel a little chilly. Take a quinine pill for me.”

“Your egg is ready, sir,” said the man, tremulously.

“Eat it,” said Van Squibber, tersely, “and deduct the Café Savarin price of a boiled egg from your salary. How often must I tell you not to have my breakfast boiled until I am boil – I mean ready until I am ready for it?”

The man departed silently, and Van Squibber turned over and went to sleep.

An hour later, having waited for his soda mint drop as long as his dignity would permit, Van Squibber arose and dressed and went for a walk in Central Park. It was eccentric of him to do this, but he did it nevertheless.

“How Travers would laugh if he saw me walking in Central Park!” he thought. “He’d probably ask me when I’d come over from Germany,” he added. And then, looking ahead, a thing Van Squibber rarely did, by-the-way – for you can’t always tell by looking ahead what may happen to you – his eyes were confronted by a more or less familiar back.

“Dear me!” he said. “If that isn’t Eleanor Huyler’s back, whose back is it, by Jove?”

Insensibly Van Squibber quickened his pace. This was also a thing he rarely did. “Haste is bad form,” he had once said to Travers, who, on leaving Delmonico’s at 7.20, seemed anxious to catch the 7.10 train for Riverdale. Insensibly quickening his pace, he soon found himself beside the owner of the back, and, as his premonitions had told him, it was Eleanor Huyler.

“Good-morning,” he said.

“Why, Mr. Van Squibber!” she replied, with a terrified smile. “You here?”

“Well,” returned Van Squibber, not anxious to commit himself, “I think so, though I assure you, Miss Huyler, I am not at all certain. I seem to be here, but I must confess I am not quite myself this morning. My man – ”

“Yes – I know,” returned the girl, hastily. “I’ve heard of him. He is your alter ego .”

“I had not noticed it,” said Van Squibber, somewhat nonplussed. “I think he is English, though he may be Italian, as you suggest. But,” he added, to change the subject, “you seem disturbed. Your smile is a terrified smile, as has been already noted.”

“It is,” said Miss Huyler, looking anxiously about her.

“And may I ask why?” asked Van Squibber, politely – for to do things politely was Van Squibber’s ambition.

“I – I – well, really, Mr. Van Squibber,” the girl replied, “I am always anxious when you are about. The fact is, you know, the things that happen when you are around are always so very extraordinary. I came here for a quiet walk, but now that you have appeared I am quite certain that something dramatic is about to occur. You see – you – you have turned up so often at the – what I may properly call, I think, the nick of time, and so rarely at any other time, that I feel as though some disaster were impending which you alone can avert.”