In his “Klondike Monologue¹” at the Orpheum, Buford, the actor, made a sudden and unexpected hit. The morning after his first appearance, both Dominick and Berny read in the paper eulogistic² notices of the new star. Dominick was particularly interested. He remembered Buford’s state of worry while at Antelope³ and was glad to see that the unlucky player was, in the parlance⁴ of his own world, “making good.”  
The evening papers contained more laudatory⁵ paragraphs. Buford’s act was spoken of with an enthusiasm which taxed the vocabulary of the writers who found that the phrases they had been using to describe the regular vaudeville⁷ performances were not adequate for so sparkling an occasion.
 
It was a rambling⁸ monologue of mining-camp anecdotes⁹, recollections, and experiences, delivered with confidential¹⁰, simple seriousness. Buford’s appearance in an immense, fur-lined overcoat with buttons made of gold nuggets and a voluminous[325] fur cap on his head, was given the last touch of grotesqueness¹¹ by a tiny tinsel spangle fastened on the end of his nose. This adornment¹², on his entrance hardly noticeable, was soon the focusing point of every eye. It looked as if it grew on its prominent perch¹³, and as he spoke⁶, a slight, vibrating movement, which he imparted to that portion of his visage, made the tinsel send out continuous, uneasy gleams. The more serious his discourse¹⁴ was and the more portentously¹⁵ solemn his face, the more glimmeringly¹⁶ active was the spangle, and the more hysterically¹⁷ unrestrained became the laughter of the audience. Altogether, Buford had made a success. Three days after his first appearance, people were talking about “The Klondike Monologue” as a few weeks before they had been talking about the last play of Pinero’s as presented by a New York company.
 
From what Buford had told him, Dominick knew that the actor’s luck had been bad, and that the period of imprisonment¹⁸ at Antelope was a last, crowning misfortune. Through it he feared that he had forfeited¹⁹ his Sacramento engagement, and the young man had a painful memory of the long jeremiad²⁰ that Buford, in his anxiety and affliction, had poured out to himself and Rose Cannon²¹. That the actor was evidently emerging from his ill fortune was gratifying to Dominick, who, in the close propinquity forced[326] upon them by the restricted quarters of Perley’s Hotel, had grown to like and pity the kindly²², foolish and impractical²³ man.
 
Now, from what he heard, Buford’s hard times should be at an end. Such a hit as he had made should give him the required upward impetus²⁴. Men Dominick knew, who had theatrical²⁵ affiliations²⁶, told him that Buford was “made.” The actor could now command a good salary on any of the vaudeville circuits in the country, and if “he had it in him” he might ascend²⁷ the ladder toward the heights of legitimate²⁸ comedy. His humorous talent was unique and brilliant. It was odd, considering his age, that it had not been discovered sooner.
 
Berny was very anxious to see him. Hazel and Josh had seen him on one of the first evenings and pronounced him “simply great.” She extorted²⁹ a promise from Dominick that, at the earliest opportunity, he would buy tickets for her, and, if he could not accompany her himself, she could go with one of her sisters. Dominick did not want to go. He had no desire to see Buford and be reminded of the three weeks’ dream which had interrupted the waking miseries³⁰ of his life, and more than that he hated, secretly and intensely, sitting beside Berny, talking to her and listening to her talk, during the three hours of the performance. The horrible falseness of it, the appearance of intimacy³¹ with a woman[327] toward whom he only felt a cold aversion, the close proximity³² of her body which he disliked, even accidentally, to brush against, made him shrink from the thought as from the perpetration of some mean and repulsive³³ deception³⁴.
 
He stopped to buy the tickets one midday on his way to lunch. He made up his mind to buy three, then Berny could either take her two sisters, or Hazel and Josh, whose craving³⁵ for the theater was an unassuageable passion. The good seats were sold out for days ahead and he had to be content with three orchestra chairs for an evening at the end of the following week. He was turning from the ticket office window when a sonorous³⁶ voice at his elbow arrested him:
 
“Mr. Ryan,” it boomed out, “do I see you at last? Ever since my arrival in the city I have hoped for the opportunity of renewing our acquaintance.”
 
It was Buford, but a rejuvenated³⁷ and prosperous Buford, the reflection of his good fortune shining from his beaming face and fashionable figure. The red rasped look had left his features and the hollows beneath his high cheek-bones were filled out. He was dressed in gray with an almost foppish³⁸ nicety, a fedora hat of a paler tint³⁹ on his head, and a cravat⁴⁰ of a dull red rising in a rich puffed⁴¹ effect below his collar. His shoes shone with the glassy polish of new patent leather; the red-brown kid gloves that he carried exhaled[328] an attractive odor of russia-leather. He held out his hand to Dominick, and the young man grasped it with real heartiness⁴².
 
“Glad to see you, Buford,” he said, “and glad to hear you’ve made such a success of it. I haven’t seen it myself, but I hear it’s a great show.”
 
Bufo............