Never be it said that fate itself could awe the soul of Fogg. Next day, when Handy called on him, he found his irrepressible friend preparing to saunter forth. That he failed to appreciate the humiliation of the previous evening there was not the slightest reason to believe. His restless spirit, however, was too strong to compel him willingly to remain indoors. He was nothing, if not active. In fact, he was miserable unless when employed in some optimistic scheme. No matter how impracticable it might appear to others, he invariably perceived a means to circumvent its difficulties. He believed in taking the biggest kind of chance on the smallest possibility of success. He was a remarkably unique proposition.

"Hello, hello!" exclaimed Handy. "What's all this about? Up and dressed. Say, don't you know you're a sick man?" Fogg gazed at his friend more in surprise than anger, and turned his head aside. "Did you hear what I said? You don't mean to tell me that you are going out in the streets to-day?"

"Why not?" replied Fogg.

"After what took place last night?"

"I must, you know!"

"With a busted blood-vessel in your innards and a—a—a——"

"Oh, come now, Handy, this thing has gone far enough. I appreciate all you did for me in an emergency, but there's no necessity for keeping up the deception any longer. I tell you I have an important engagement——"

"Hold! Avast heaving and take a hitch," interrupted the veteran. "Give me no more of that important engagement business in mine. I have some say in this matter, I have."

"You have—and how, pray?"

"Well, I'll give it you, and straight, too."

"Go on, then."

"Well, you were to have taken a benefit last night, weren't you?"

"I'm listening."

"An' you didn't, did you?"

"Well, no—not exactly a—benefit," replied Fogg slowly, with a sickly smile.

"And why didn't you?"

"Well, you are aware of the reason as well as I," Fogg answered, slightly irritated; "because I didn't have the necessary funds to carry out my plans, therefore——"

"Rubbish and stuff!" retorted Handy contemptuously. "You always get things mixed."

"What do you mean?" inquired the mystified Fogg, looking more perplexed than ever. "I do not quite understand you!"

"No, I didn't expect you would. Not be able to give a show without funds! Fiddlesticks! You make me tired. Darn it! Any one could do the turn with funds, and if you had the funds you wouldn't need a benefit—unless, indeed, you needed them to take a pleasure trip to Europe or to buy an automobile. But the man who can pull off a venture of that kind I regard as a financier; a man to be respected; a man of mettle—I mean the kind of mettle that's next door to genius, so to speak. By the way, old man, how do you spell that mettle—mettle or metal?"

"I would spell it B-R-A-S-S."

For a moment, Handy was completely put out, then extending his hand, he said: "Fogg, you may not know it, but you're a humorist. That wasn't half bad, as we say in England. I was never there, but it goes, all the same."

Fogg smiled, but Handy looked serious. He was in a troubled state of mind on account of Fogg's expressed determination to leave the house. He remembered all too vividly that he had been chief engineer of Fogg's escapade of the preceding night. He had to economize on truth; originate a fit, burst a blood-vessel, and carry out several minor details to make the undertaking thoroughly convincing. These, of course, he was willing to father, and, for that matter, felt a certain pride in their performance, when he remembered they resulted in relieving the troubles of a friend. But he was hurt when he came to reflect that the friend for whom he had undertaken so much had so little regard for the fitness of things and embarrassments of the situation as to venture forth the following day. It was too much for his sensibilities.

"The idea, Fogg, of showing yourself in public to-day, or to-morrow, or even the next day, is simply preposterous. It is out of the question. I may almost pronounce it like flying in the face of Providence. Remember, you are still a sick man, and I am sponsor for your illness. Bear in mind, you were taken out of the theatre as good as a dead one, in the garb of Claude Melnotte."

"Yes; and thanks to that infernal Smith," interrupted Fogg, "the suit is as good as ruined, with the stuff he spilt over it."

"There you go again. Why, you unthinking ingrate, only for that marked feature of the episode, you might at this moment be laid up in the hospital, if the stage hands, fiddlers, costumer, and bill-posters got in their work. Instead of that, here you are where sympathizing friends can visit you and hearken to your tale of woe. Don't you see," continued Handy, "if you are met on the street people will be likely to draw their own conclusions and regard last night's emergency illness as a fraud? You know how uncharitable even the best of friends are at odd times. While if you keep within doors and recover slowly, no such uncharitable fancy can be conjured into existence. Besides, the time spent in convalescence may be employed by that fertile brain of yours in devising some scheme for the future. I never willingly was party to a fraud, but when a friend gets into a bad box it becomes a human duty on the part of another friend to help him out. The end in view justifies the means. Friends don't go to that trouble, as a rule, but they ought to. Then you must have some consideration for dramatic consistency. Even actors can not burst blood-vessels with impunity over night and then go gallivanting about town next day. And again, is all this fine advertising you are going to get out of last night's realism to be thrown away and go for nothing? Oh, no! I guess not! My dear Fogg, you have got to be repaired before you are again seen in public."

Handy's eloquent and forcible argument convinced Fogg that a week indoors was the proper course for him to pursue, and also be guided solely by the veteran during his convalescence.

"Now, then, get to bed at once. You cannot tell who may get it into his head to call upon you. It is more than likely that Draper will be here after the Melnotte outfit."

"Goodness gracious, I forgot all about that!" exclaimed Fogg.

"I thought so. Never overlook details. If you had traveled over this broad land of the free and the home of the brave as extensively as I have, you would recognize their importance. They are, my dear boy, most important factors of success in the show line, as in every other business. You can start a show without money if you are careful in the arrangement of your details beforehand. I might be able to give you some useful advice on that subject, which would prove serviceable if you ever contemplate going on the road."

"I did have an idea of that kind," replied Fogg. "I think there's money in it. Don't you?"

"Well, that depends."

"On what?"

"That I can't precisely explain. I have seen some of the worst so-called actors that ever trod the boards catch on with the fickle public, while counting railroad ties was the reward for some of the most talented in the business. It isn't talent, ability, or merit that always tells in this world. Don't you know that? To be sure, if you have money to back any one or all of them up, together with grit enough to hold on until the tide turns, you may stand a chance. But sometimes, even then one gets left."

"Pshaw! I've known fellows without any one of these qualifications you have enumerated succeed—fellows who had neither friends nor capital to aid them," responded Fogg, as he removed his coat. "How do you account for that, old man?"

"Easily enough," answered Handy, seemingly not a bit put out. "They must have had those magnificent endowments which may be tersely summed up in the simple words 'cheek' and 'push,' qualities sufficiently potent to transform a mouse-trap into a fortune or a tobacco patent of some kind into a grand opera house. These are, my boy, the magician's wand. Hurry up and peel off your vest. Cheek is the capital with which the impecunious push ahead while modest merit remains in the background waiting for a chance. There, now, don't stand and stare. Pull off your shoes. You're too slow. As I was saying, cheek in business generally is the avant courier of success. Catch on to my French? Say, what's the matter now—burst a button off your pants? Never mind. You'll have plenty of time to make repairs during the week. Remember what I tell you. Cheek backed up by energy will win every time, and don't make any mistake about it. There, now, lie down and give me a chance to mend you and help to get your business affairs in some kind of shape that will be intelligible. By the way, have you such things as a pipe and tobacco on the premises?"

"Yes, you will find them on the shelf yonder. But see here, Handy. I don't half like this quarantine business—lying down and playing sick when I am as well as you are!"

"Then why in the name of Christopher Columbus' cat didn't you think of that before you went off in that fit last night! What did you do that for, eh? A joke? The punishment fits the crime, my friend, and you might as well make up your alleged mind to that fact, and that you'll have to take such medicine as I prescribe for at least a week to come."

Just then was heard the ring of the hall bell, and shortly after a servant-like knock at the door of the apartment followed. Handy motioned his patient to lie down and keep still, and then called, "Come in!" The door opened and a servant popped in her head and informed the two friends that down-stairs was a man named Draper, who wanted to see Mr. Fogg.

"Draper! Draper!" repeated Handy, as if endeavoring to recall the name to his recollection. "Fogg, dear boy, do you know any one named Draper?" Then turning to the servant: "Are you certain you got the gentleman's name correct?"

"He towld me his name was Draper, and sure that's all I know about him."

"Will you be kind enough, like a good girl, to skip down-stairs and ask the gentleman to send up his card?" said Handy in his most persuasive manner.

The lady who officiated as menial evidently did not relish another journey up and down-stairs, but Handy's winning way and manner of appealing to her had the desired effect. She condescended to oblige, but with a look, however, that might readily be mistaken for one other than pleasure over the job, with an accompanying murmur of words that sounded very much like "people puttin' on airs."

"Why, Handy, you know very well who that is down at the door," said Fogg, raising himself in bed.

"Know! Well, I should smile! Why, of course I know. But, my boy, I need a little time to get things straightened out before we receive visitors. Lie down and keep quiet. I'm running this show. These Melnotte duds will have to go to the wash. Ten to one that's what Draper has called for. That fellow has an eye as sharp as a hawk."

"What has that to do with the case?"

"This, if you are anxious to know. Draper would get on to that red ink stain quicker than a wink. You couldn't fool that gentleman on ink for blood. Just cast your eagle eye over it." He held the blouse up for inspection. "Why, it looks more like cranberry sauce on a jamboree than human gore. I will stow this away in the closet, and now bear in mind it has gone to the wash."

"Oh, all right!"

"Come in." This in answer to a knock at the door, and Bedelia, for such was the lady attendant's name, reappeared.

"The man down at the door below sez as how he has no card wid him, but that yez knows him very well already. He sez he's a customer."

"A what?" yelled Handy.

"A customer," shouted back Bedelia.

"A customer," echoed Handy, and then in his most agreeable manner continued: "Now, my gentle friend, for I know you are gentle, and therefore must be a friend, did not the man in the gap below tell you he was a costumer, and not a customer? Think, for the difference between the two is of some degree of importance."

"Well, sur, I may not be as well up in the new-fangled ways of spakin' as some other people are. Begor! with yer cawn'ts an' shawn'ts, an' chawnces, an' the divil only knows what in the way of pronunciayshon, a dacint, hard-workin' gerl can't make out half what's said nowadays. You call the man down-stairs wan thing an' I call him another, but both of them are the same man. Arrah! what's the matther wid yez, at all, at all?"

With this withering invective, Bedelia looked as if she could annihilate Handy.

The veteran in an amusingly polite manner arose and bowed. "All right, Bedelia, and if it's all the same to you, you may as well waltz the customer up."

"Well, sur," she answered, with what she possibly considered satiric dignity, "I'll sind him up, but I would like yez to understhand that I've plinty to do widout climbing up and down two pair of stairs waitin' on show-actors," and she then hurried out and bang! went the door.

"Fogg, my boy," said Handy, with a smile, "that handmaiden is a passion flower. 'Twould be an injustice to the more modest posy to designate her a daisy."

He was about to indulge in a laugh, when a masculine knock at the door interrupted. Moving quietly across the room, he opened the door. A nod of recognition and the costumer entered.

"Will you kindly take a seat, Mr. Draper?" he said in a subdued voice, as he motioned the visitor to a chair beside the bed.

"It's awfully kind of you, Draper, to call," said Fogg in a feeble tone of voice, at the same time extending his hand. "This is a bad blow. Who would have thought this time yesterday that I would now be——"

"Hush!" interrupted Handy gently. "You must keep still and not grow excited. You know what the doctor said." Then turning to the costumer, Handy explained Fogg's condition, the possible effect excitement would be likely to produce, and the evil consequences that might ensue. "He is not yet quite out of danger, but I guess he'll pull through, provided he will keep still and obey orders. The doctor says——Oh! by the way, Mr. Draper, you didn't meet the doctor on your way up, did you?" inquired Handy meekly, as he placed the invalid's hand back under the coverlet.

"No!" replied Mr. Draper, "I did not. What physician is attending him?"

"Oh! Doctor—ah—Doctor——Some German name. Hold on! That last prescription will tell us." But somehow or other Handy could not lay his hand on it.

"Never mind. Don't put yourself to any trouble. It doesn't matter."

"Oh, by the way, Mr. Draper," and Handy bent down toward him and in a low tone of voice said, "That Melnotte dress our poor friend had on at the time of the occurrence was so soiled that we had to send it to the laundry before returning it. It will be all right, though."

"Darn the thing!" replied Draper, somewhat indignantly. "You don't mean to think that is what I called around for. No, sir." Then rising from the chair, he turned toward Fogg. "Now, then, old chap, get all right again. Your friend here will look after you. I merely dropped in to pay a little friendly visit." He turned to leave the room, at the same time beckoning to Handy to step outside the door.

The two went out together, and though the time Handy remained away was brief, Fogg's anxiety magnified it and it made him restless. At length Handy returned, and with much more subdued demeanor than before he went out. He appeared grave and thoughtful.

"What's up now?" inquired Fogg, half raising from the bed. "What did Draper have to say? Is it that which disturbs you?"

Handy remained silent for a time. "Yes. It is not only what he said, but what he did that knocks me."

"I am really sorry to hear you say so," sympathetically replied Fogg.

"You know when we went outside"—and Handy breathed a heavy sigh and paused—"Draper placed his hand on my shoulder and said, 'Mr. Handy, you are a friend of Fogg?' I nodded an assent. 'I don't suppose,' he says, 'he has any too much ready money for an emergency of this kind, so that when affliction pays an unwelcome visit and sudden sickness crosses the threshold a few dollars at such a time come not amiss.'"

"Good-hearted fellow, after all."

"'Now,' he continued, 'don't let anything worry the poor devil. Let him consider the bill for costumes chalked off. Here, put this ten dollars to the best advantage you can use it for any little necessaries that may be wanting in the sick-room.'"

"You don't mean it!" cried Fogg excitedly.

"Oh, hang it, that was too much for me!" And Handy began to pace the floor nervously.

"And what did you do when he offered the money?"

"Do!" replied Handy indignantly. "Do! Why, I declined to take it, of course. I can do a good many things; but no—not that, not that."

"Right!"

"I told him you were not in need of anything. You had all you wanted. That was a lie, of course, but then there are times and circumstances when a lie may counterfeit truth. I insisted I could not accept it. What do you think he said?"

"Can't imagine."

"'Well!' he replied, 'if he doesn't want for anything, what was the benefit got up for? Here, take the stuff, and have no more silly nonsense about it.' He then thrust the money into my vest pocket and hurried down the stairs."

"Handy, you amaze me!"

"There it is," and he threw the bills on the bed to Fogg, and walked the room with pain distinctly written over his usually happy face. "The world is not so cold-hearted after all. Those we least suspect have hearts to feel for sufferings of others, and what is more, they have a practical way of expressing their sympathy." Then turning to Fogg, he added with much feeling: "This incident saddens me!"

"You are right. This money must be returned. I cannot take it," and Fogg too became thoughtful.

For the first time the evil of the fraud which had been perpetrated became forcibly evident to both men. One genuine act of kindness had stripped deceit of its covering more effectively than the logic of a hundred sermons.

"Perhaps the next experience," said Handy, still in a reflective mood, "will be the appearance of that tough stage carpenter who threatened to compel you to describe the beauties of your palace by Lake Como with sky borders and wings, with a supply of delicacies from his humble home, or maybe a contribution in cash exceeding the sum you agreed to pay him for his labor, in order that he might show his kindly disposition to assist when misfortune overtook you."

Both were visibly affected. The deception they practiced, though it brought a certain temporary relief from an embarrassing situation, also carried with it its own punishment. For a time they remained silent.

"Handy," began Fogg, "if the thing had been real and resulted fatally, I verily believe that old man Funkenstein would have volunteered to furnish the music for my funeral, and not have charged my friends a red cent."

"Sure! And what's more," replied Handy, the humorous side appealing to his fancy, "let me tell you, as a dead one you would have drawn a darn'd sight bigger house than you ever can as a live actor."

Notwithstanding his troubles, Fogg appreciated the humorous sally of his associate. He threw himself back on his bed and enjoyed a hearty laugh. Handy permitted him to enjoy his merriment and then reminded him that although to the outer world he was on the blink, so far as prosperity was concerned, the enforced inaction of the sick-room would never bridge over the difficulties that encompassed him. He reminded Fogg that he was financially dead broke. It is true he was in the great city, the mecca toward which all strolling players turn their eyes as well as their toes when they are in financial straits, but the fact of being in the metropolis was not sufficient. It was necessary to set about doing something.

"Let me tell you, Fogg, that thinking without action to back it up cuts no ice. Never did—never will. You may think until doomsday and accomplish nothing. I will point a moral without ornamenting a tale, by relating an experience I once had when I was out West some time ago with a company and got stranded, and if you will loan me your ear I will a tale unfold. What say you?"

"Proceed."

"First let me dispose of a quiet pipeful of tobacco to collect my scattered thoughts and I will unbosom myself."