Brewster's Millions

by George Barr McCutcheon

"You do it up to the handle," she put in. "And you are much too generous to be vulgar. But it worries me, Monty, it worries me desperately. It's the future I'm thinking of—your future, which is being swallowed up. This kind of thing can't go on. And what is to follow it? You are wasting your substance, and you are not making any life for yourself that opens out."

"Peggy," he answered very seriously, "you have got to trust me. I can't back out, but I'll tell you this. You shall not be disappointed in me in the end."

There was a mist before the girl's eyes as she looked at him. "I believe you, Monty," she said simply; "I shall not forget."

The curtain rose upon the next act, and something in the opera toward the end seemed to bring the two very close together. As they were leaving the theater, there was a note of regret from Peggy. "It has been perfect," she breathed, "yet, Monty, isn't it a waste that no one else should have seen it? Think of these poverty-stricken peasants who adore music and have never heard an opera."

"Well, they shall hear one now." Monty rose to it, but he felt like a hypocrite in concealing his chief motive. "We'll repeat the performance to-morrow night and fill the house with them."

He was as good as his word. Bertier was given a task the next day which was not to his taste. But with the assistance of the city authorities he carried it through. To them it was an evidence of insanity, but there was something princely about it and they were tolerant. The manager of the opera house was less complacent, and he had an exclamatory terror of the damage to his upholstery. But Brewster had discovered that in Italy gold is a panacea for all ills, and his prescriptions were liberal. To him the day was short, for Peggy's interest in the penance, as it came to be called, was so keen that she insisted on having a hand in the preliminaries. There was something about the partnership that appealed to Monty.

To her regret the DeMille dinner interfered with the opening of the performance, but Monty consoled her with the promise that the opera and its democratic audience should follow. During the day Mrs. Dan had been deep in preparations for her banquet, but her plans were elaborately concealed. They culminated at eight o'clock in the Cova not far from the Scala, and the dinner was eaten in the garden to the sound of music. Yet it was an effect of simplicity with which Mrs. Dan surprised her guests. They were prepared for anything but that, and when they were served with consommé, spaghetti—a concession to the chef—and chops and peas, followed by a salad and coffee, the gratitude of the crowd was quite beyond expression. In a burst of enthusiasm "Subway" Smith suggested a testimonial.

Monty complained bitterly that he himself had never received a ghost of a testimonial. He protested that it was not deserved.

"Why should you expect it?" exclaimed Pettingill, "when you have risen from terrapin and artichokes to chops and chicory? When have you given us nectar and ambrosia like this?"

Monty was defeated by a unanimous vote and Mrs. Dan's testimonial was assured. This matter settled, Peggy and Mrs. Valentine, with Brewster and Pettingill, walked over to the Scala and heard again the last two acts of Aida. But the audience was different, and the applause.