All Story Magazine, December 1913 — page 28: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

738 he explained, “ from a very old busi- ness friend of mine. members of the Stock Exchange about the same time, and many of our in- terests have been affiliated ever since. He is coming in from the West to- night—probably is at his hotel now, and though I’ve been trying to think up an excuse all day, I’m afraid I can’t get out of it. Tm awfully sorry—”"” “Oh, that’s all right,” I assured him. “No doubt I'll manage to ainuse myself in some way.” So we both laughed, and lied our way to freedom from each other for one evening; Rollins evidently as se- cretly anxious as I. The “ old friend from the West’ story sounded so very much like the “ friend just home from India,’ that I was extremely skeptical about it; but I was not satis- fied that,everything was to be all right until he dropped me at my hotel and left me there. Then J felt at liberty to turn my thoughts without restraint toward Grant’s Tomb. I would have liked very much to have been able to discuss the thing with Campbell, and was not at all sure, when I started out at quarter past eight, that I would actually meet the butler. The fellow was not so dread- fully important so far as I could see; but, of course, I wanted to be on the spot to confirm my surmise that he had really written the note. Grant’s Tomb, as every American knows, is situated upon the loftiest rise of Riverside Park, overlooking the Hudson River. Sightseeing cars or a Fifth Avenue bus will take you there, and you will find that the magnificent resting-place for a magnificent man occupies the center of a generous space; and possibly your bus may not go any farther, but will sweep round the broad driveway encircling the tomb and go off down-town again. The taxi referred to in the note would necessarily require to do the same thing; that is, approach the tomb We became: THE ALL-STORY MAGAZINE. from down-town upon the driveway on the right, and make the circle to re- turn. There is a constant stream of cars passing to and fro, and not a little pe- destrian traffic, if the evening is fine. The flare of electric lamps lights up the main drive, but beyond it there is plenty of shadow, and the seats strung along the sidewalk, close to the park rail, are usually occupied—two people upon each seat. The Hudson, lapping the foot of the park’s gentle slope, and dotted with the bobbing lights of miscel- laneous craft, rolls on in broad maj- esty to the sea. Across the water the Jersey shore winks at fitful distances; and as I waited, watching for a taxi that would show signs of having the tomb for its destination, the search- light from an Albany boat swept over the scene in a ghostly fashion. Several of the people occupying seats in the shadows were startled into more decorous attitudes, and I caught sight of a taxi that had just trundled past, break from the common stream and turn to encircle the rendezvous. I made no effort at concealment, and I had decided, on the run up- town, not to be bothered with any in- solence or hints of blackmail, or any- thing in fact, but an explanation as to where I had seen that limp before. Then I would send the chap home with a little advice upon the value of silence, which he would preserve un- less he wished to have his head punched. Thus I was mentally and physically quite prepared for him when the taxi, with other eyes than mine upon it, drew into the curb. Approaching it without hesitation I stood waiting for the butler to get out. He did not get out; nor did the chauffeur leave his seat. I began to think I had made a mis- take and some audible, though not in- telligible comment from the seats be- hind me hinted that I was making an ass of myself. comnicloooks.com