the two brothers;

or, plucked from the burning.

“no, herbert, i would advise you to tear up that card and put temptation away from you. if you yield now you will weaken your moral character, and you will have less strength to resist another time.”

the speaker, a young man of grave, honest aspect, was standing with his hand laid in a kindly way on his younger brother’s shoulder. the latter, whose face was cast in a more delicate and a weaker mould, stood irresolutely twirling in his hand a card of invitation to an afternoon tea.

“i don’t see what harm it will do just for this one time,” he said, pettishly.[pg 209] “you’re always preaching about temptation, john; but, for my part, i think it’s my duty as a writer to see a little of every side of life. i want to write a novel some day and to have one of the scenes laid at a kettledrum. how can i describe one unless i see it myself?”

“i hope, herbert,” said the elder brother, mildly, “that you will never sink so low as to write a new york society novel; but that is surely what you will come to if you abandon yourself to the pernicious habit of attending afternoon teas. do you remember your old playfellow, walter weakfish? it is only three years since he began to sip tea at kettledrums. at that time he was considered one of the very best reporters in the city, while at the poker table he commanded universal respect. you know, of course, that his downward career has been very rapid since his first fall, and that he has sounded every depth of ignominy and[pg 210] shame; but do you know where he is now?”

“i heard some time ago,” replied herbert, “that he had become an habitual frequenter of the most exclusive musical circles in boston, and that—”

“no,” interrupted the elder; “that was a malicious report. it is true that he once attended an organ recital, but that was all. at present he is conducting, over his own signature, a department entitled ‘old uncle squaretoes’s half-hour chats with the little folks,’ in a philadelphia paper.”

“merciful heavens!” cried herbert; “i had no idea it was as bad as that; but can nothing be done to save him?”

“i fear not,” replied the elder brother, sadly; “and now, herbert, i shall say no more. you must choose your own course; but remember that our poker club meets to-night in the room over cassidy’s exchange, and you must—”

[pg 211]“yes, and drop another double x,” exclaimed herbert, bitterly.

“and learn the great lesson of life,” said john, “that in this vale of tears the hand that shapes our destiny will ofttimes beat three of a kind.”

and with these impressive words john dovetail departed, leaving his brother still twirling the engraved card between his fingers and hesitating.

“pshaw!” he exclaimed at last, “i don’t care what john says. i’m sick of his preaching, anyhow; and besides i’m not going to get the society habit fastened on me through just one kettledrum! i’ll go there just to see what it’s like.”

that afternoon herbert tasted of the forbidden intoxicant of feminine flattery, drank five cups of tea, and ate four pieces of sticky cake. he was introduced to a leader of the chromo literary set, who told him that she “adored clever men,”[pg 212] and begged him to come to her next sunday evening reception. then he allowed himself to be patronized by a dude who copied letters in a broker’s office by day and led the cotillion by night; and he had not been in the drawing-room half an hour before his mind became affected by the “society talk” going on about him to such a degree that he found himself chuckling in a knowing manner at an idiotic story about ollie winkletree, of the simian club.

it was at this moment that the warning words of his brother john suddenly came back to him, and he realized that it was time to go.

he had no appetite for dinner that night—the tea and the sticky cake had done their work; and instead of joining the poker class over cassidy’s exchange, he sat down by the fire to brood over the new life that was opening before him. the society bee—the most malevolent[pg 213] insect in the world’s hive—had stung him under his bonnet, the poison was already in his veins, and when john returned at midnight from the poker meeting his brother addressed him as “deah boy.”

now john dovetail had always looked after his younger brother with the same solicitude that he would have bestowed upon a helpless child, and to-night there was an anxious look in his face as he seated himself by the open fire and drew from his vest-pocket the cigar which he had won by throwing dice with cassidy at the exchange. he was prepared to enjoy himself for a half-hour in that peace of mind which an easy conscience alone can give. his evening had been well spent—thanks to that merciful dispensation which has ordained that even the vilest sinner shall fill a bobtail flush once in a while—and yet, as he sat there before the glowing embers, dark misgivings[pg 214] filled his mind. older than his brother by fully four years, and of infinitely wider experience and knowledge of the world, he knew only too well the danger that lurked in the leaves of the five-o’clock tea.

“alas!” he said to himself, “i hear that the swelled head is very prevalent this winter. it is contagious, and there is no place—not even an amateur theatrical company—where one is so sure to be exposed to it as at a kettledrum. suppose, after my years of watchful care, my poor brother were to be taken down with it!”

the weeks rolled on, and herbert, having once yielded to temptation, soon found it almost impossible to control his appetite for society functions. not only had he formed as undesirable a list of acquaintances as he could have made by heading the cotillion for three seasons,[pg 215] but he even had the temerity to tell his brother john—whose life was still one of noble purpose and lofty endeavor—that he wondered how he could spend all his evenings playing poker in the room over cassidy’s exchange, instead of—

“instead of what, herbert?” demanded john, in clear, ringing accents. “instead of doing as you have been doing ever since you took your first plunge into the maelstrom of tea and cake and lemonade that is fast whirling you to destruction? no, herbert, i have watched you day by day, and i have noted the change that has gradually come over you. for weeks past you have been gradually growing apart from me and from your old-time associates, and have affiliated yourself with a class of people who are far beneath you. where were you last night at the hour when you should have been opening jack-pots in the room over cassidy’s exchange?[pg 216] you were up-town skipping the tralaloo.”

herbert started and grew pale. “how did you find that out?” he asked, hoarsely.

“and whose tralaloo were you skipping?” continued john, sternly, without heeding the interruption. “you were tralalooing with the de sneides of steenth street, and you dare not deny it!”

“well!” exclaimed the younger brother, “i don’t see any harm in that. isn’t the de sneide family all right?”

john dovetail’s clear, honest eyes blazed with anger. then with a great effort he controlled himself, and went on in a voice which trembled a little in spite of him.

“all right? herbert dovetail, do you dare to stand before me and to talk about the de sneides being all right, when you yourself told me that they concocted from a half-pint of santa cruz rum—a half-pint, mind you—a beverage which they[pg 217] served to over one hundred human souls? and did they not add to this crime that of blasphemy, by calling it punch? o herbert! do you know what will happen if you keep on in the path which you have chosen? you will become the victim of that awful form of paresis known as the swelled head. already i have noticed symptoms of it in you.”

“oh, pshaw!” cried herbert, impatiently; “just as soon as a man begins to go into society a little you say he’s got the swelled head. it’s simply because you’re jealous of my success—but what’s the matter, john? are you ill?”

for his brother was leaning against the table, his hand pressed to his heart and his face white with an awful fear.

“merciful heavens!” john exclaimed; “a sure and unfailing sign; the poor boy is stricken already and does not know it. but he shall be saved!”

[pg 218]one night john persuaded his brother to attend a meeting of the poker class, by telling him that two german gentlemen who had played the game just enough to think they knew it all were going to be present.

herbert accepted the invitation chiefly because he knew he would not meet any one he had borrowed money from, and was given a kindly welcome by his old associates, although, owing to the peculiar nature of his disease, he had failed to recognize several of them when he met them in the street the week before.

to be sure, he cast a slight gloom over the company by calling for sherry when the rest of the company were drinking the old stuff; but that was pardoned because of his unfortunate tea-drinking propensities, and the game went on merrily.

something of the old light came back into the boy’s eye as the pile of chips in[pg 219] front of him began to grow apace; and the old glad smile lit up his face once more as baron snoozer laid down two big pair only to be confronted by herbert’s three little fellows.

and yet still he called for sherry.

but it is always the unexpected that happens. just as the game broke up the waiter informed john dovetail that there was a gentleman down-stairs who wished to see him.

“show him up!” cried john, pleasantly, as he cashed in his chips.

the stranger appeared and john arose to greet him. he wore a large chrysanthemum in his buttonhole and held a macaroon in his hand, which he nibbled from time to time. his make-up was that of a dude.

“you do not know me, i fear,” he said to john. “i am sadly changed, i know; but the time was, gentlemen, when i sat at this very table; and, oh, how i would[pg 220] have enjoyed a night like this!” he added, glancing significantly at the rueful faces of the two german gentlemen, who were turning their pockets inside out.

all the members of the club were now listening with intense interest; and john began with, “your face, sir, seems strangely familiar—”

“wait,” said the visitor, with a sad smile, “until you hear my story. once, as i said before, i sat in this very game nearly every night; but now what am i? one day—it was five years ago—some fiend incarnate led me all unknowing to a reception in an artist’s studio. tea was ordered—i partook of it and was lost. since then i have gone down, down, down; and to-morrow i leave this city forever. there is but one thing left for me to do. you will see me no more after to-night. do none of you remember walter weakfish?”

“walter weakfish!” gasped john.[pg 221] “why, i thought you were in philadelphia, doing the ‘old uncle’—”

“no,” replied the unhappy young man, “i have been worse than that. i have been a society reporter. yes, it is i who have written about the lovely ‘spriggie’ stone and the queenly mrs. ‘jack’ astorbilt, who wore a passementerie of real lace down the front breadth of her moire antique gown. i wrote about those people so much that finally i imagined that i knew them; and then i borrowed money from people who did know them, and ordered clothes from their tailors, until now avenue a is my favorite thoroughfare. and now i must leave the city forever; but, herbert, do you take warning from the wreck you see before you now. good-by, my old friends!” and walter weakfish started for the door.

“stay!” cried john. “can we do nothing for you? shall we never see you again?”

[pg 222]“no,” replied walter, pausing for a moment on the threshold, “never again: for i am going to washington to patrol the great national free-lunch route which they call official society, and to write correspondence for the western papers. after that, the morgue.”

the door closed, and he was gone. then a moment’s silence was broken by a wail of anguish from herbert.

“thank heaven!” cried john, “his heart is touched, and he is saved. everybody in the room have something with me.”

and before morning the swelling in herbert’s head was reduced so rapidly that he had to drink thirteen hot scotches to counteract it. and from that day to this he has never been to another kettledrum, nor taken anything stronger than rye whisky.