XXI
"This," she said, "will acquaint you in a measure with thetrustworthiness of the Princess Zimbamzim. And, if the policeman infront of her house could hear what I am going to tell you, he'd neverremain there while his legs had power to run away with him."
* * * * *
They met by accident on Madison Square, and shook hands for the firsttime in many years. High in the Metropolitan Tower the chimes celebratedthe occasion by sounding the half hour.
"It seems incredible," exclaimed George Z. Green, "that you could havebecome so famous! You never displayed any remarkable ability in school."
"I never displayed any ability at all. But you did," said Williamsadmiringly. "How beautifully you used to write your name on theblackboard! How neat and scholarly you were in everything."
"I know it," said Green gloomily. "And _you_ flunked in almosteverything."
"In everything," admitted Williams, deeply mortified.
"And yet," said Green, "here we are at thirty odd; and I'm merely abroker, and--_look_ what _you_ are! Why, I can't go anywhere but I findone of your novels staring me in the face. I've been in Borneo: they'rethere! They're in Australia and China and Patagonia. Why the devil doyou suppose people buy the stories you write?"
"I'm sure I don't know," said Williams modestly.
"I don't know either, though I read them myself sometimes--I don't knowwhy. They're all very well in their way--if you care for that sort ofbook--but the things you tell about, Williams, never could havehappened. I'm not knocking you; I'm a realist, that's all. And when Iread a short story by you in which a young man sees a pretty girl, andbegins to talk to her without being introduced to her, and thenmarries her before luncheon--and finds he's married a BalkanPrincess--good-night! I just wonder why people stand for your books;that's all."
"So do I," said Williams, much embarrassed. "I wouldn't stand for themmyself."
"Why," continued Green warmly, "I read a story of yours in some magazinethe other day, in which a young man sees a pretty girl for the firsttime in his life and is married to her inside of three quarters of anhour! And I ask _you_, Williams, how you would feel after spendingfifteen cents on such a story?"
"I'm terribly sorry, old man," murmured Williams. "Here's yourfifteen--if you like----"
"Dammit," said Green indignantly, "it isn't that they're not readablestories! I had fifteen cents' worth all right. But it makes a man soreto see what happens to the young men in your stories--and all the queensthey collect--and then to go about town and never see anything of thatsort!"
"There are millions of pretty girls in town," ventured Williams. "Idon't think I exaggerate in that respect."
"But they'd call an officer if young men in real life behaved as theydo in your stories. As a matter of fact and record, there's no moreromance in New York than there is in the annual meeting of the BritishAcademy of Ancient Assyrian Inscriptions. And you know it, Williams!"
"I think it depends on the individual man," said Williams timidly.
"How?"
"If there's any romance in a man himself, he's apt to find the worldrather full of it."
"Do you mean to say there isn't any romance in me?" demanded George Z.Green hotly.
"I don't know, George. Is there?"
"Plenty. Pl-en-ty! I'm always looking for romance. I look for it when Igo down town to business; I look for it when I go home. Do I find it?No! Nothing ever happens to me. Nothing beautiful and wealthy beyond thedreams of avarice ever tries to pick me up. Explain _that_!"
Williams, much abashed, ventured no explanation.
"And to think," continued Green, "that you, my old school friend, shouldbecome a celebrity merely by writing such stories! Why, you're ascelebrated as any brand of breakfast food!"
"You don't have to read my books, you know," protested Williams mildly.
"I don't have to--I know it. But I do. Everybody does. And nobody knowswhy. So, meeting you again after all these unromantic years, I thoughtI'd just ask you whether by any chance you happen to know of anyparticular section of the city where a plain, everyday broker might makea hit with the sort of girl you write about. Do you?"
"Any section of this city is romantic enough--if you only approach it inthe proper spirit," asserted Williams.
"You mean if my attitude toward romance is correct I'm likely toencounter it almost anywhere?"
"That is my theory," admitted Williams bashfully.
"Oh! Well, what _is_ the proper attitude? Take me, for example. I'vejust been to the bank. I carry, at this moment, rather a large sum ofmoney in my inside overcoat pocket. My purpose in drawing it was to blowit. Now, tell me how to blow it romantically."
"How can I tell you such a thing, George----"
"It's your business. You tell people such things in books. Now, tell me,face to face, man to man, how to get thoroughly mixed up in the sort ofromance you write--the kind of romance that has made William McWilliamWilliams famous!"
"I'm sorry----"
"What! You won't! You admit that what you write is bunk? You confessthat you don't know where there are any stray queens with whom I mightbecome happily entangled within the next fifteen minutes?"
"I admit no such thing," said Williams with dignity. "If your attitudeis correct, in ten minutes you can be up against anything on earth!"
"Where?"
"Anywhere!"
"Very well! Here we are on Madison Square. There's Admiral Farragut;there's the Marble Tower. Do you mean that if I walk from this spot forten minutes--no matter in what direction--I'll walk straight intoRomance up to my neck?"
"If your attitude is correct, yes. But you've got to know the elementsof Romance when you see them."
"What are the elements of Romance? What do they resemble?" demandedGeorge Z. Green.
Williams said, in a low, impressive voice:
"Anything that seems to you unusual is very likely to be an element in apossible romance. If you see anything extraordinary during the next tenminutes, follow it up. And ninety-nine chances in a hundred it will leadyou into complications. Interfering with other people's business usuallydoes," he added pleasantly.
"But," said Green, "suppose during the next ten minutes, or twentyminutes, or the next twenty-four hours I _don't_ see anything unusual."
"It will be your own fault if you don't. The Unusual is occurring allabout us, every second. A trained eye can always see it."
"But suppose the Unusual doesn't occur for the next ten minutes,"insisted Green, exasperated. "Suppose the Unusual is taking a vacation?It would be just my luck."
"Then," said Williams, "you will have to imagine that everything you seeis unusual. Or else," he added blandly, "you yourself will have to startsomething. _That_ is where the creative mind comes in. When there'snothing doing it starts something."
"Does it ever get arrested?" inquired Green ironically. "The creativemind! Sure! _That's_ where all this bally romance is!--in the creativemind. I knew it. Good-bye."
They shook hands; Williams went down town.