That, in itself, appeared to be a strange proceeding, but one evening as
I entered a fashionable Fifth avenue restaurant on one of my tours of
inspection of plutocratic conditions, I was amazed to see her seated at
one of the tables, drinking wine with a male companion. Her face was
flushed from the effects of the beverage, and she was acting a trifle
hilarious, and displaying traits of frivolity such as I had never
observed in her before. As I caught her eye she gave a quick start, and
then deliberately turned her head in another direction, and pretended
not to have seen me. At this act I rushed out into the street, and it
was with great difficulty that I was able to control my feelings.
The next evening I met her in the park, and was further surprised when
she not only failed to mention the incident, but intimated that she had
spent the evening at an entirely different place. She appeared so
innocent, however, and was so charming in her manner that I almost
immediately forgot the affair, and said nothing about it. A few nights
later, though, as I was walking down Broadway, near Twenty-seventh
street, I noticed a large crowd of men and women gathered, and
questioning a bystander as to the reason thereof, I was informed that a
stylishly dressed lady was "too drunk to navigate" and was in the hands
of a policeman. As I craned my neck to get a glimpse of the unfortunate
woman, I was shocked beyond expression to find that it was none other
than Arletta who had created the commotion. Horrified, I rushed through
the crowd, pushing men right and left, until I had reached the
policeman, who was holding her up by the arm and trying to ascertain her
name and address. She could hardly stand, and seemed dazed to the point
of falling, but as I spoke her name, her memory revived somewhat, and,
fixing her half-closed eyes upon me, she said: "Why, hello Jack" And
then, turning to the officer, remarked: "This is my friend Jack; he will
take me home." I could not understand the reason she called me Jack. She
had never addressed me in that way before. But without delay I informed
the policeman that I would take charge of her, and requested him to call
a cab. When the vehicle arrived it became necessary for me to lift her
bodily into it, and then I was at a loss to know just where to take her.
In order to get away from the crowd, however, I told the driver to go on
and I would give him the address later.
"Tell him to take us to the Seraglio Apartments," she mumbled.
"Do you know where the Seraglio Apartments are?" I inquired of the
driver.
"Yes, sir, in Central Park West," replied he, as he whipped up his horse
and started in that direction.
Arletta said no more, but remained silent, as if stupefied from the
effects of the intoxicating drink she had taken.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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