A few have found out this oasis in the July desertof Manhattan. During that month you will see thehotel's reduced array of guests scattered luxuriouslyabout in the cool twilight of -- its lofty dining-room,gazing at one another across the snowy waste of unoccupied tables, silently congratulatory.
Superfluous, watchful, pneumatically moving waiters hover near, supplying every want before it is expressed. The temperature is perpetual April. Theceiling is painted in water colors to counterfeit a summer sky across which delicate clouds drift and do notvanish as those of nature do to our regret.
The pleasing, distant roar of Broadway is transformed in the imagination of the happy guests to thenoise of a waterfall filling the woods with its restfulsound. At every strange footstep the guests turn ananxious ear, fearful lest their retreat be discoveredand invaded by the restless pleasure-seekers who areforever hounding nature to her deepest lairs.
Thus in the depopulated caravansary the littleband of connoisseurs jealously bide themselves duringthe heated season, enjoying to the uttermost the delights of mountain and seashore that art and skillhave gathered and served to them.
In this July came to the hotel one whose card thatshe sent to the clerk for her name to be registeredread "Mme. Heloise D'Arcy Beaumont."
Madame Beaumont was a guest such as the HotelLotus loved. She possessed the fine air of the elite,tempered and sweetened by a cordial graciousnessthat made the hotel employees her slaves. Bell-boysfought for the honor of answering her ring; theclerks, but for the question of ownership, would havedeeded to her the hotel and its contents; the otherguests regarded her as the final touch of feminineexclusiveness and beauty that rendered the entourageperfect.
This super-excellent guest rarely left the hotel.Her habits were consonant with the customs of the discriminating patrons of the Hotel Lotus. To enjoythat delectable hostelry one must forego the city asthough it were leagues away. By night a brief excursion to the nearby roofs is in order; but duringthe torrid day one remains in the umbrageous fastnesses of the Lotus as a trout hangs poised in the pellucid sanctuaries of his favorite pool.
Though alone in the Hotel Lotus, Madame Beaumont preserved the state of a queen whose lonelinesswas of position only. She breakfasted at ten, a cool,sweet, leisurely, delicate being who glowed softly inthe dimness like a jasmine flower in the dusk.
But at dinner was Madame's glory at its height.She wore a gown as beautiful and immaterial as themist from an unseen cataract in a mountain gorge.The nomenclature of this gown is beyond the guessof the scribe. Always pale-red roses reposed againstits lace-garnished front. It was a gown that thehead-waiter viewed with respect and met at the door.You thought of Paris when you saw it, and maybe ofmysterious countesses, and certainly of Versailles andrapiers and Mrs. Fiske and rouge-et-noir. There wasan untraceable rumor in the Hotel Lotus thatMadame was a cosmopolite, and that she was pullingwith her slender white bands certain strings betweenthe nations in the favor of Russia. Being a citizeness of the world's smoothest roads it was smallwonder that she was quick to recognize in the refinedpurlieus of the Hotel Lotus the most desirable spot inAmerica for a restful sojourn during the heat of midsummer.
On the third day of Madame Beaumont's residencein the hotel a young man entered and registered himself as a guest. His clothing -- to speak of hispoints in approved order -- was quietly in the mode;his features good and regular; his expression that ofa poised and sophisticated man of the world. He informed the clerk that he would remain three or fourdays, inquired concerning the sailing of Europeansteamships, and sank into the blissful inanition of thenonpareil hotel with the contented air of a traveller inhis favorite inn.
The young man -- not to question the veracity ofthe register -- was Harold Farrington. He driftedinto the exclusive and calm current of life in the Lotusso tactfully and silently that not a ripple alarmed hisfellow-seekers after rest. He ate in the Lotus andof its patronym, and was lulled into blissful peacewith the other fortunate mariners. In one day heacquired his table and his waiter and the fear lest thepanting chasers after repose that kept Broadwaywarm should pounce upon and destroy this contiguousbut covert haven.
After dinner on the next day after the arrival ofHarold Farrington Madame Beaumont dropped herhandkerchief in passing out. Mr. Farrington recovered and returned it without the effusiveness of aseeker after acquaintance.
Perhaps there was a mystic freemasonry betweenthe discriminating guests of the Lotus. Perhapsthey were drawn one to another by the fact of theircommon good fortune in discovering the acme of summer resorts in a Broadway hotel. Words delicate incourtesy and tentative in departure from formalitypassed between the two. And, as if in the expedientatmosphere of a real summer resort, an acquaintancegrew, flowered and fructified on the spot as does themystic plant of the conjuror. For a few momentsthey stood on a balcony upon which the corridorended, and tossed the feathery ball of conversation.
"One tires of the old resorts," said Madame Beaumont, with a faint but sweet smile. "What is the useto fly to the mountains or the seashore to escape noiseand dust when the very people that make both followus there?"
"Even on the ocean," remarked Farrington, sadly,"the Philistines be upon you. The most exclusivesteamers are getting to be scarcely more than ferryboats. Heaven help us when the summer resorter discovers that the Lotus is further away from Broadwaythan Thousand Islands or Mackinac."
"I hope our secret will be safe for a week, anyhow," said Madame, with a sigh and a smile. "I donot know where I would go if they should descendupon the dear Lotus. I know of but one place so delightful in summer, and that is the castle of CountPolinski, in the Ural Mountains."
"I hear that Baden-Baden and Cannes are almostdeserted this season," said Farrington. "Year byyear the old resorts fall in disrepute. Perhaps manyothers, like ourselves, are seeking out the quiet nooksthat are overlooked by the majority."
"I promise myself three days more of this deliciousrest," said Madame Beaumont. "On Monday theCedric sails."
Harold Farrington's eyes proclaimed his regret."I too must leave on Monday," he said, "but I donot go abroad."
Madame Beaumont shrugged one round shoulder ina foreign gesture.
"One cannot bide here forever, charming though itmay be. The chateau has been in preparation for melonger than a month. Those house parties that onemust give -- what a nuisance! But I shall never forget my week in the Hotel Lotus."
"Nor shall I," said Farrington in a low voice,and I shall never forgive the Cedric."
On Sunday evening, three days afterward, the twosat at a little table on the same balcony. A discreetwaiter brought ices and small glasses of claret cup.
Madame Beaumont wore the same beautiful evening gown that she had worn each day at dinner. Sheseemed thoughtful. Near her hand on the table lay asmall chatelaine purse. After she had eaten her iceshe opened the purse and took out a one-dollar bill.
"Mr. Farrington," she said, with the smile thathad won the Hotel Lotus, "I want to tell you something. I'm going to leave before breakfast in themorning, because I've got to go back to my work.I'm behind the hosiery counter at Casey's MammothStore, and my vacation's up at eight o'clock tomorrow. That paper-dollar is the last cent I'll seetill I draw my eight dollars salary next Saturdaynight. You're a real gentleman, and you've beengood to me, and I wanted to tell you before I went.I've been saving up out of my wages for a yearjust for this vacation. I wanted to spend one weeklike a lady if I never do another one. I wanted toget up when I please instead of having to crawl outat seven every morning; and I wanted to live on thebest and be waited on and ring bells for things justlike rich folks do. Now I've done it, and I've had thehappiest time I ever expect to have in my life. I'mgoing back to my work and my little hall bedroomsatisfied for another year. I wanted to tell youabout it, Mr. Farrington, because I -- I thought youkind of liked me, and I -- I liked you. But, oh, Icouldn't help deceiving you up till now, for it was alljust like a fairy tale to me. So I talked about Europe and the things I've read about in other countries,and made you think I was a great lady.
"This dress I've got on -- it's the only one I havethat's fit to wear -- I bought from O'Dowd & Levinsky on the installment plan."
"Seventy-five dollars is the price, and it was madeto measure. I paid $10 down, and they're to collect$1 a week till it's paid for. That'll be about all Ihave to say, Mr. Farrington, except that my name isMamie Siviter instead of Madame Beaumont, and Ithank you for your attentions. This dollar will paythe installment due on the dress to-morrow. I guessI'll go up to my room now."
Harold Farrington listened to the recital of theLotus's loveliest guest with an impassive countenance.When she had concluded he drew a small book like acheckbook from his coat pocket. He wrote upon ablank form in this with a stub of pencil, tore out theleaf, tossed it over to his companion and took up thepaper dollar.
"I've got to go to work, too, in the morning," hesaid, "and I might as well begin now. There's areceipt for the dollar instalment. I've been a collector for O'Dowd & Levinsky for three years.Funny, ain't it, that you and me both had the sameidea about spending our vacation? I've alwayswanted to put up at a swell hotel, and I saved up outof my twenty per, and did it. Say, Mame, how abouta trip to Coney Saturday night on the boat -- what?"
The face of the pseudo Madame Heloise D'ArcyBeaumont beamed.
"Oh, you bet I'll go, Mr. Farrington. The storecloses at twelve on Saturdays. I guess Coney'll beall right even if we did spend a week with the swells."
Below the balcony the sweltering city growled andbuzzed in the July night. Inside the Hotel Lotusthe tempered, cool shadows reigned, and the solicitouswaiter single-footed near the low windows, ready ata nod to serve Madame and her escort.
At the door of the elevator Farrington took hisleave, and Madame Beaumont made her last ascent.But before they reached the noiseless cage be said:"Just forget that 'Harold Farrington,' will you?McManus is the name -- James McManus. Somecall me Jimmy."
"Good-night, Jimmy," said Madame.
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