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Read Ebook: The Tracer of Lost Persons by Chambers Robert W Robert William Frederick Edmund Illustrator
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Ebook has 1675 lines and 55671 words, and 34 pages
THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS
BY R. W. CHAMBERS
TO MR. AND MRS. WILLIAM A. HALL
--HERACLITUS.
THE TRACER OF LOST PERSONS
He was thirty-three, agreeable to look at, equipped with as much culture and intelligence as is tolerated east of Fifth Avenue and west of Madison. He had a couple of elaborate rooms at the Lenox Club, a larger income than seemed to be good for him, and no profession. It follows that he was a pessimist before breakfast. Besides, it's a bad thing for a man at thirty-three to come to the conclusion that he has seen all the most attractive girls in the world and that they have been vastly overrated. So, when a club servant with gilt buttons on his coat tails knocked at the door, the invitation to enter was not very cordial. He of the buttons knocked again to take the edge off before he entered; then opened the door and unburdened himself as follows:
"Mr. Gatewood, sir, Mr. Kerns's compliments, and wishes to know if 'e may 'ave 'is coffee served at your tyble, sir."
Gatewood, before the mirror, gave a vicious twist to his tie, inserted a pearl scarf pin, and regarded the effect with gloomy approval.
"Say to Mr. Kerns that I am--flattered," he replied morosely; "and tell Henry I want him."
"'Enry, sir? Yes, sir."
The servant left; one of the sleek club valets came in, softly sidling.
"Henry!"
"Sir?"
"I'll wear a white waistcoat, if you don't object."
The valet laid out half a dozen.
"Sir?"
"Very good, sir."
"Yes, sir; thanky', sir," returned the valet gravely.
"And--Henry!"
"Sir?" with martyred dignity.
"When you are tired of searching for my olivine and opal pin, just find it, for a change. I'd like to wear that pin for a day or two if it would not inconvenience you."
"Very good, sir; I will 'unt it hup, sir."
Gatewood put on his coat, took hat and gloves from the unabashed valet, and sauntered down to the sunny breakfast room, where he found Kerns inspecting a morning paper and leisurely consuming grapefruit with a cocktail on the side.
"Hullo," observed Kerns briefly.
"I'm not on the telephone," snapped Gatewood.
"I beg your pardon; how are you, dear friend?"
Kerns, undisturbed, applied himself to cocoa and toasted muffins. Grapefruit and an amber-tinted accessory were brought for the other and sampled without mirth. However, a little later Gatewood said: "Well, are you going to read your paper all day?"
"What you need," said Kerns, laying the paper aside, "is a job--any old kind would do, dear friend."
"I don't want to make any more money."
"Bridge. I will be amiable enough by noon time."
"Yes, you're endurable by noon time, as a rule. When you're forty you may be tolerated after five o'clock; when you're fifty your wife and children might even venture to emerge from the cellar after dinner--"
"Wife!"
"I said wife," replied Kerns, as he calmly watched his man.
He had managed it well, so far, and he was wise enough not to overdo it. An interval of silence was what the situation required.
"I never have seen my ideal," retorted Gatewood sulkily, "but I know she exists--somewhere between heaven and Hoboken."
"You're sure, are you?"
"All the same," insisted Kerns, "did you ever consider that if your ideal does exist somewhere, it is morally up to you to find her?"
"Haven't I inspected every d?butante for ten years? You don't expect me to advertise for an ideal, do you--object, matrimony?"
"Go ahead," replied Gatewood, tranquilly lighting a cigarette. "I know what you'll say."
"No, you don't. Firstly, you are having such a good time in this world that you don't really enjoy yourself--isn't that so?"
"I--well I--well, let it go at that."
"Secondly, with all your crimes and felonies, you have one decent trait left: you really would like to fall in love. And I suspect you'd even marry."
"Good. Then there's a way! I know--"
"Oh, don't tell me you 'know a girl,' or anything like that!" began Gatewood sullenly. "I've heard that before, and I won't meet her."
"I don't want you to; I don't know anybody. All I desire to say is this: I do know a way. The other day I noticed a sign on Fifth Avenue:
KEEN & CO. TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS
It was a most extraordinary sign; and having a little unemployed imagination I began to speculate on how Keen & Co. might operate, and I wondered a little, too, that, the conditions of life in this city could enable a firm to make a living by devoting itself exclusively to the business of hunting up missing people."
Kerns paused, partly to light a cigarette, partly for diplomatic reasons.
"What has all this to do with me?" inquired Gatewood curiously; and diplomacy scored one.
"Why not try Keen & Co.?"
"Try them? Why? I haven't lost anybody, have I?"
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