I laugh, oh, yes, I laugh at the memory, until I think how silvery were these three wine-muddled old heads, and then I feel "the pity, oh, the pity of it!"
CHAPTER XVIII
A BELATED WEDDING
It was in a city in the far West that this small incident took place—a city of the mountains still so young that some of its stateliest business buildings of stone or marble, with plate-glass, fine furniture, and electric lighting, were neighboured not merely by shanties, but actually by tents.
But though high up in the mountains, the young city was neither too far nor too high for vice to reach it; and so it came about that a certain woman, whose gold-bought smiles had become a trifle too mocking and satirical to be attractive, had come to the
young city and placed herself at the head of an establishment where, at command, every one from sunset laughed and was merry, and held out hungry, grasping little hands for the gold showered upon them—laughed, with weary, pain-filled eyes—laughed, with stiff, tired lips sometimes—but still laughed till sunrise—and then, well, who cared what they did then?
And this woman had waxed rich, and owned valuable property and much mining stock, and was generous to those who were down on their luck, and was quick with her revolver—as the man who tried to hold her up on a lonely road found out to his sorrow.
Now to this city there came a certain actress, and the papers and the theatre bills announced a performance of the old French play of "Camille." The wealthy Madame Elize, as she styled herself, had heard and read much of both actress and play, and knew that it was almost a nightly occurrence for men to shed tears over two of the scenes,