Tales From Bohemia by Robert Neilson Stephens

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"Oh, 'Tell' is a long opera and Guille will have an encore for the aria in
the last act. That will give us a few minutes more."

III

_A Telegraphic Revelation_

A boy walking down Girard Avenue, as Appleton got into the cab, had been
whistling the tune of "They're After Me,"--a thing that was new to the
variety stage last fall, but is dead this summer. The air, whistled by the
boy, clung to Appleton's sense, and he unconsciously hummed it to himself
as his cab went on its grinding way over the stones.

The cabman was considerate of his horse, and he coolly ignored Appleton's
occasional shouts of, "Get along there, won't you?"

It was, therefore, not impossible for the bicyclists to keep in sight of
the coupé.

"All this concern about a man you say you don't care for," said Haslam to
Amy, as the bicycle turned up Broad Street. "It's unprecedented."

"It's only humanity."

"You didn't bother about following me around like this when you threw me
over."

"You didn't threaten to kill yourself."

"No; if I had, I'd have carried out my threat. But for months I endured a
living death--or worse."

"Really? Did you, though?"

Eager inquiry and sudden elation were expressed in this speech.

"Of course I did. Why do you ask in that way?"

"Oh--you took me by surprise. Why did you never tell me it affected you so?
I thought--I thought--"

"What did you think?"

"That if you really cared for me you would have--tried again."

"What? Then I was fatally ignorant! I thought that when you said a thing,
you meant it."

"I didn't know what I meant until it was too late."

"But is it too late--ah! see, he's getting out of the cab at the Grand
Opera House."

They quickly switched the bicycle from the street to the sidewalk, and both
dismounted.

They were checked at the entrance to the theatre by the appearance of
Appleton. He was coming from within the building, and with him were two
women, one elderly and unattractive, the other a plump young person with
bright blue eyes in a saucy face that had more claim to piquant effrontery
than to beauty. She was simply dressed and was all smiles to Appleton.

Amy and Haslam quickly turned their backs, thus avoiding recognition, and
while they seemed to be looking through the glass front into the vestibule,
they overheard the following conversation between the blue-eyed girl and
Appleton.

"I'm glad you found us at last, Tom. Three acts of grand opera are about
enough for me, thanks, and we'd have left sooner if your telegram that
you'd be in town to-night hadn't made me expect to see you."

"Well, I've been hunting for you in every open theatre in town where
there's grand opera. In your answer to my telegram from the Catskills, you
said merely you were going to the opera this evening. You didn't say what
opera, but I supposed it was this one, so I bought a ticket as soon as I
arrived in town at the down-town office. I got here after the first act,
and spent all the second act looking around for you."

"It's strange you didn't see us. We were in the middle of row K, right."

"Well, I missed you, that's all, and I kept a watch on the lobby after the
act, thinking you'd perhaps come out between the acts. Then I went to the
Park Theatre, and then to the Girard Avenue."

Amy and Haslam went into the vestibule. Amy was crimson with anger. Haslam
quietly said:

"Do you wish to continue the pursuit?"

Before she found time to answer, another matter distracted her attention.

"Look! There's Mary, the housemaid, who was to stay up for me till I got
home. She has come here for me."

The servant stood by the door leading into the lobby, in a position
enabling her to scan the faces of people coming out from the auditorium.

"Oh, Miss Amy, are you here? I was waiting for you to come out. Here's a
telegram that came about a half-hour ago. I thought it might be important."

Amy tore open the envelope.

"Why," she said to Haslam, "this was sent to-day from Philadelphia to me
at the Catskills, and my cousins have had it repeated back to me. And
look--it's signed by you."

"I surely didn't send it."

But there was the name beyond doubt, "Henry Haslam, M.D."

"This is a mystery to me, I assure you," reiterated the doctor.

"But not to me," cried Amy. "Read the message and you'll understand."

He read these words:

"Mr. Appleton is very ill. His life depends upon his will-power. He tells
me that you alone can say the word that will save him. Henry Haslam, M.D."

Haslam smiled.

"A clever invention to make you think he tried to execute his threat. Now
you know what he was doing while you were taking your handbag home. He
probably concocted the scheme on his journey. But why did he sign my name,
I wonder?"

She dropped her eyes and answered in a low tone:

"Because he knew that I would believe anything said by you."

"Would you believe that I love you still more than I did three years ago?"

"Yes; if it came from your own lips--not by telegraph."

She lifted her eyes now, and her lips, too; Mary the housemaid sensibly
looked another way.

THE END.

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