# "A Modern Hercules," The Tale of a Sculptress/Chapter 9

CHAPTER IX.
DECIDED BY LOT.
It was evening, and three of the most prominent men of New York City confronted each other at the residence of the sculptress. Milton Wayland, a noted stock broker, Edmund Connors, a successful politician, and Iago Doane, an editor, formed the trio.
"I trust," said Wayland, "we may now and forever settle the question of superiority at whist."
"I did not come here to play whist tonight," said Connors, frankly and boldly.
"Pray, then," said the editor, with ill-concealed sarcasm, "what brought you here?"
"Are you my father confessor?" said the politician.
"No," replied Doane, "I have enough agonies of my own; nor would I like to hold in my soul the knowledge of all your evil deeds."
"Do you think a politician is worse than an editor?" said Connors.
"Frankly speaking," said Doane, "no. The difference in our deception of the public lies in the method only."
The men were evidently ill at ease, but all laughed at Doane's boldness.
​"We poor monied men," said Wayland, "seem to be altogether out of consideration."
"How so?" said Connors.
"Because in this day and generation," said Wayland, "thanks to Doane, the newspapers have killed our trade by exposing our tricks."
Connors looked on in grim satisfaction at the contest between money and printer's ink, and quietly said: "I am not so sure that newspapers are just what they should be."
"What's the complaint against us?" said Doane, in mock fear.
"There is as little honesty in journalism as there is in the world of finance," said Wayland.
"Nothing truer was ever said," chipped in Connors. "The ordinary newspaper of today but reflects the cowardice of wealth. There is little of the sincerity of conviction which prevailed in the days of Horace Greeley."
"They always cram Greeley down our throats," cried Doane.
"Well," said Connors, "wasn't he a pretty bold and fearless man?"
"I'll admit all that," retorted Doane, "but I never did worship at the shrine of any journalistic God."
"But," said Wayland, apparently realizing that the argument was growing somewhat intense, "we have wandered some distance from the original query."
"And that was?" said Connors.
"The real object of our presence here," interposed the editor. "Come, now, what brought you here, Connors?"
​"I must yield," said Connors, "since the moulder of public opinion implores the mere politician to tell the truth."
"Be careful," said Wayland, "sensations may be at a premium."
"Bah," said Doane, in real anger, "I never mix shop with social intercourse."
"Now," said the wily politician, "don't let us lose our tempers."
"I did not intend offense," said Wayland.
"And now," said Connors, "since my friend has made the amende de honorable, I will state frankly that I came here to take Ouida Angelo to the Italian opera."
"And so did I," said Wayland.
"That also was my purpose," said Doane.
"Well," sighed Wayland, "it would be no fun for all of us to go together."
"Nor," said Connors, "can we very well divide the lady into three separate existences."
"I suggest," said Wayland, "that we draw lots."
"There," said Doane, "again breaks out his natural spirit of speculation and chance."
"No intention to talk shop," sarcastically retorted Wayland.
This proposition finally proving agreeable, a simple plan of lot-drawing was indulged in by these favorites of fortune, the result of which was a victory for Doane.
"Doane always wins," complained Wayland.
"I wonder if he plays fair," spoke up Connors.
"Gentlemen," said Doane, evidently gratified by his success, "don't weep. Allow me to console you. She really cares for neither of us. Now, you are young, ​vigorous men. I am a free lance. I sleep all day; work all night. You may have the hope of some day wedding decent, commonplace wives. Just the creatures to be the safe and proper mothers of your children. What matters it, if I, who hate everybody, and whom everybody hates, am swallowed up in the mad vortex of passion? Society loses nothing, and gains a dainty bit of gossip to chew on for a month."
Ouida majestically burst upon them at this juncture.
"So," she cried, "you have been making me the subject of chance. Pray, what excuse dare you offer for such a profane proceeding?"
"And, Ouida, you should have heard of the consolation he offered, as he gloated over his victory."
Without giving the sculptress a chance to ask, Doane quickly said: "I told them, madame, that you would marry neither of them."
"Did you insinuate that it was possible that I might marry you?"
"No, but here, publicly, I proclaim the fact, that my newspaper and I are yours at a moment's notice."
"Yes, your perpetual offer at times grows somewhat wearisome," said Ouida, "but, seriously speaking, Doane, get a law passed which will allow marriage for a limited period, renewable at the option of the parties, and I will try you for a brief period. The thought of being forever tied to one man appals me."
"But," remonstrated Connors, "you forget, dear lady, that sometimes offspring follows marriage."
"Bah," said Ouida, passionately, "they ought to be throttled ere conceived. There are too many carelessly ​reared brats in the world today. It would be a good thing to stop pro-creation for a generation."
"There is really some sense in that," thoughtfully reflected Wayland aloud.
Ouida continued: "The Romans were wise. They killed children not physically perfect. Pharaoh sacrificed the first born of the Jews. I see no cruelty whatever in the idea. But I will not continue this discussion. I am too full of anger."
"Because I won?" said the editor.
"Partially so," replied Ouida. "I was not consulted, and I refuse to be bound by such a silly arrangement. Think you that one sour, dyspeptic, gossipy editor, would for an entire evening suffice me, especially at the opera, where one who listens to the music, is entirely out of the fashion?"
"But—" the editor started in on a protest.
"I shall not listen to you," cried Ouida, as she imperiously stamped her shapely foot, "I will settle this matter by inviting you all to occupy seats in my box. I shall take no vote upon the matter, for well I know your acceptance is unanimous."
"But, madame," protested Wayland, "this is most unkind; you should not treat us as though we were children."
"I would you were as innocent," bantered the lady of the house.
"What do you know about us?" said Connors.
"Do you think I don't get some compensation for allowing Doane among my intimates?" said Ouida.
"So he gives you the news, does he, before the dear public gets it?" said Connors.
​"A truce to this nonsense," said Wayland. "Gentlemen, what shall we do—accept the polite invitation of her royal highness?"
"Accept," said Ouida, in breathless indignation, "accept? Is there any doubt of it? Oh, well, there need not be. I withdraw it—"
"Seriously?" said Doane.
"I'll give a railroad," said the stock broker, "to make my peace with her."
"Now understand me," said Ouida, imperiously, "I am not offended at anything any one has said. This, above all other places, is Liberty hall. Law, ordinary social rules, have long been banished, but as we were talking, I was seized with a monstrous, overwhelming inspiration. I must be alone tonight. I felt as though I might carve the boldest stroke of 'A Modern Hercules.' Go! nor stay upon the order of your going."
No protest prevailed, and the trio left; nor did they stop on the street to offer consolation to each other.