A New Sensation

by Albert Ross

Had I told you that I would go, that afternoon, you would have had a chance to think it over and perhaps to change your mind. It is the fleeing bird that attracts the attention of the hunter. You gave me the name of "David Camwell, Lambs Club," which before I slept that night I had turned into Donald Camran, from a list of members which I was easily able to procure. I learned that Donald Camran was rich; that he was considered erratic; that he answered your description in personal appearance; and that he had been, as you said, recently ill.

The next time you adopt a false name do not use your own initials. Nine-tenths of the people who do this slip up on that banana peel.

When you left my room, that first afternoon, I was as certain you would return as that the sun would rise on the following day. The chapters of the "novel" you afterwards dictated to me prove how entirely accurate I was in my estimates. I take much pride, also, in the second letter I sent you, for I covered my "fly" with attractive colors to dazzle your eye and meet every point likely to arise in your mind. My card was to convince you that I was the very proper young lady I professed to be. To do this without acting the silly prude was a task fit only for such thoroughly trained hands as mine. Next I spoke of the matter of compensation, to convince you that I was really a working girl and not a mere adventurer. You had plenty of means and the price of my weekly stipend was not likely to alarm you.

As it would really be necessary for me to have considerable money to make a suitable appearance I gently hinted something in relation to that matter, leaving it, however, to your own judgment what should be done. I believe I may claim that in the composition of that letter I showed decided talent. At any rate it accomplished its purpose.

When your answer came I knew that I was going. I would not have paid five dollars to be assured of that. But when you returned to me I still had to pretend a little doubt—not too much, that would have spoiled everything. I left it to you to say whether, after all, you really wanted me to take the journey, doing it in a way that alarmed your fears lest you were going to lose me. I had to keep "the scent warm," as the saying is. The rushing way in which you bought my trunks and sent me the first installment of cash would have removed my doubts, had any remained.

I then thought I might as well get clothed while I was about it and sent the third letter, which we may call "Exhibit C." In that I appealed to the chivalrous part of your nature, arousing your sympathies, and yet without putting myself for one instant in the rôle of a mendicant.

"If I am to go I am unwilling to disgrace you"—that was all there was to it.

Again I was justified by the result. You came as soon as I would let you—I had "gone out of town over New Years," you remember, and you showered another lot of bankbills on my head.

Now here is just where a less experienced person would have made her mistake. Seeing how easily you could be induced to disgorge, she would have hinted at expenditures that would have caused a revolt even in your generous brain. I came late on purpose that Tuesday morning (I had only been a couple of blocks away) in order to work up the fever that I knew was latent in you. I suggested that you go to the shops, knowing that you would grasp at the chance to occupy so close a position to me as the cab would afford. At Altman's I pretended to be shocked at some of the prices, so that you would pronounce them the extremity of cheapness. (How could you do anything else?) And I hinted bashfully at the question of jewelry, knowing that you would send me all I could reasonably expect, as you did the next day.

Then I went to dine with you in a private room, primarily because I was nearly starved to death, secondarily because I knew it would fasten you to me the closer. I put on that awful blue veil to give you the impression that I had never done such a thing before, when as a matter of fact the waiter who served us knows my face as well as he does his mother's, if he has one. He knew enough to conceal that fact, however, as I am certain, from previous experience, every waiter in that house would have done.