The Disappearance of Kimball Webb

Kimball Webb didn't look at all like a man who would disappear mysteriously. Though I'm not sure mysteriously disappearing men, as a class, have physical characteristics in common. But one rather imagines them eerie looking, with deep, cavernous eyes and hollow cheeks.

Kimball Webb had nothing of the sort. He was a bit distinguished looking, but that was because he was a New Englander by birth, and a playwright by profession and had won the D. S. C. in the late war. Now, though a lame knee interfered slightly with his outdoor pursuits, his mind was alert and eager to return to work and his brain was fairly bursting with new ideas for his plays. First, however, he must needs attend to a certain business of getting married. A delightful business it seemed to Webb, for Elsie Powell was as lovely and desirable in the flesh as she had looked to him when seen in his troubled dreams in far off France.

There is a lot to be said about Elsie, but that properly comes in the next chapter.

Mrs. Webb and Miss Henrietta Webb sat at their pleasant breakfast table, and while they wait for the son and brother, I'll describe them.

Every detail of their appearance and manner shrieked Boston,--so you don't need much more surface description. A mental interior view would show hearts devotedly, even absurdly, fond of Kimball Webb, and minds which reasoned against showing fully that devotion.

The New England repression of feeling is not effaced by life in New York; indeed, the circumstance often accentuates the trait.

And the Webbs lived in New York. This condition crucified the souls of both women but they came cheerfully, because it was Kimball's wish. He felt his dramatic talent was of a wing-spread too wide for the narrow opportunities of his native town, and there were other lures in the metropolis, especially Elsie.

So, with a smile on their lips but tears in their eyes, his mother and sister left the shadow of their State House dome, and set up their household gods in an old but comfortable house in the East Sixties, not far from Park Avenue. It was on Park Avenue that Elsie lived.

Webb's love of all beautiful things,--especially Elsie,--had led him to have the back yard of their home fixed up like an old patio or close or some such doings, and had scattered over its paved area, benches, statues, lions and other more or less damaged stoneware, picked up from certain worthwhile dealers in antiques.

So it was on this picturesque outlook the dining room windows opened, and the house being on the south side of the street, the morning sun added cheer to the already pleasant breakfast scene.

"Kimball is late this morning," said Miss Webb, naturally, though unnecessarily.

"Small wonder," returned her mother. "I happen to know that he was up till all hours at his dinner party."

"What a foolish idea, having a bachelor dinner the night before one is married. I should think he'd prefer a good night's rest to fit him for the responsibilities of the ceremony."

"Few responsibilities devolve on Kimball's shoulders. The best man looks after everything, I'm told."

"And Fenn Whiting can do that. He is the most capable man I ever saw, when it comes to social matters of any sort. But I'm a little surprised at his consenting to be best man. You know he worships Elsie."

"I know. He tried to cut Kim out."

"And I wish he had! I shall never be reconciled to Kim's marrying that girl--"

"Rather late now to raise objections, Henrietta."

"As if I hadn't been raising them right along from the day I first heard the outrageous news!"

"Yes, and what good did it do?"