“Nothing truer was ever said,” chipped in Connors. “The ordinary newspaper of today but reflects the cowardice of wealth. There is little of the sincerity of conviction which prevailed in the days of Horace Greeley.”
“They always cram Greeley down our throats,” cried Doane.
“Well,” said Connors, “wasn’t he a pretty bold and fearless man?”
“I’ll admit all that,” retorted Doane, “but I never did worship at the shrine of any journalistic God.”
“But,” said Wayland, apparently realizing that the argument was growing somewhat intense, “we have wandered some distance from the original query.”
“The real object of our presence here,” interposed the editor. “Come, now, what brought you here, Connors?”
“I must yield,” said Connors, “since the moulder of public opinion implores the mere politician to tell the truth.”
“Be careful,” said Wayland, “sensations may be at a premium.”
“Bah,” said Doane, in real anger, “I never mix shop with social intercourse.”
“Now,” said the wily politician, “don’t let us lose our tempers.”
“I did not intend offense,” said Wayland.
“And now,” said Connors, “since my friend has made the _amende de honorable_, I will state frankly that I came here to take Ouida Angelo to the Italian opera.”
“Well,” sighed Wayland, “it would be no fun for all of us to go together.”
“Nor,” said Connors, “can we very well divide the lady into three separate existences.”
“I suggest,” said Wayland, “that we draw lots.”
“There,” said Doane, “again breaks out his natural spirit of speculation and chance.”
“No intention to talk shop,” sarcastically retorted Wayland.
This proposition finally proving agreeable, a simple plan of lot-drawing was indulged in by these favorites of fortune, the result of which was a victory for Doane.
“I wonder if he plays fair,” spoke up Connors.
“Gentlemen,” said Doane, evidently gratified by his success, “don’t weep. Allow me to console you. She really cares for neither of us. Now, you are young, vigorous men. I am a free lance. I sleep all day; work all night. You may have the hope of some day wedding decent, commonplace wives. Just the creatures to be the safe and proper mothers of your children. What matters it, if I, who hate everybody, and whom everybody hates, am swallowed up in the mad vortex of passion? Society loses nothing, and gains a dainty bit of gossip to chew on for a month.”