Of course, Van Bibber lost all the money he saved at the races on the Fourth of July.  He went to the track the next day, and he saw the whole sum melt away, and in his vexation tried to “get back,” with the usual result.  He plunged desperately, and when he had reached his rooms and run over his losses, he found he was a financial wreck, and that he, as his sporting friends expressed it, “would have to smoke a pipe” for several years to come, instead of indulging in Regalías.  He could not conceive how he had come to make such a fool of himself, and he wondered if he would have enough confidence to spend a dollar on luxuries again.

It was awful to contemplate the amount he had lost.  He felt as if it were sinful extravagance to even pay his car-fare up-town, and he contemplated giving his landlord the rent with keen distress.  It almost hurt him to part with five cents to the conductor, and as he looked at the hansoms dashing by with lucky winners inside he groaned audibly.

“I’ve got to economize,” he soliloquized.  “No use talking; must economize.  I’ll begin to-morrow morning and keep it up for a month.  Then I’ll be on my feet again.  Then I can stop economizing, and enjoy myself.  But no more races; never, never again.”

He was delighted with this idea of economizing.  He liked the idea of self-punishment that it involved, and as he had never denied himself anything in his life, the novelty of the idea charmed him.  He rolled over to sleep, feeling very much happier in his mind than he had been before his determination was taken, and quite eager to begin on the morrow.  He arose very early, about ten o’clock, and recalled his idea of economy for a month, as a saving clause to his having lost a month’s spending money.

He was in the habit of taking his coffee and rolls and a parsley omelette, at Delmonico’s every morning.  He decided that he would start out on his road of economy by omitting the omelette and ordering only a pot of coffee.  By some rare intuition he guessed that there were places up-town where things were cheaper than at his usual haunt, only he did not know where they were.  He stumbled into a restaurant on a side street finally, and ordered a cup of coffee and some rolls.

The waiter seemed to think that was a very poor sort of breakfast, and suggested some nice chops or a bit of steak or “ham and eggs, sah,” all of which made Van Bibber shudder.  The waiter finally concluded that Van Bibber was poor and couldn’t afford any more, which, as it happened to be more or less true, worried that young gentleman; so much so, indeed, that when the waiter brought him a check for fifteen cents, Van Bibber handed him a half-dollar and told him to “keep the change.”

The satisfaction he felt in this wore off very soon when he appreciated that, while he had economized in his breakfast, his vanity had been very extravagantly pampered, and he felt how absurd it was when he remembered he would not have spent more if he had gone to Delmonico’s in the first place.  He wanted one of those large black Regalías very much, but they cost entirely too much.  He went carefully through his pockets to see if he had one with him, but he had not, and he determined to get a pipe.  Pipes are always cheap.

“What sort of a pipe, sir?” said the man behind the counter.

“A cheap pipe,” said Van Bibber.

“But what sort?” persisted the man.

Van Bibber thought a brier pipe, with an amber mouth-piece and a silver band, would about suit his fancy.  The man had just such a pipe, with trade-marks on the brier and hall-marks and “Sterling” on the silver band.  It lay in a very pretty silk box, and there was another mouth-piece you could screw in, and a cleaner and top piece with which to press the tobacco down.  It was most complete, and only five dollars.  “Isn’t that a good deal for a pipe?” asked Van Bibber.  The man said, being entirely unprejudiced, that he thought not.  It was cheaper, he said, to get a good thing at the start.  It lasted longer.  And cheap pipes bite your tongue.  This seemed to Van Bibber most excellent reasoning.  Some Oxford-Cambridge mixture attracted Van Bibber on account of its name.  This cost one dollar more.  As he left the shop he saw a lot of pipes, brier and corn-cob and Sallie Michaels, in the window marked, “Any of these for a quarter.”  This made him feel badly, and he was conscious he was not making a success of his economy.  He started back to the club, but it was so hot that he thought he would faint before he got there; so he called a hansom, on the principle that it was cheaper to ride and keep well than to walk and have a sunstroke.

He saw some people that he knew going by in a cab with a pile of trunks on the top of it, and that reminded him that they had asked him to come down and see them off when the steamer left that afternoon.  So he waved his hand when they passed, and bowed to them, and cried, “See you later,” before he counted the consequences.  He did not wish to arrive empty-handed, so he stopped in at a florist’s and got a big basket of flowers and another of fruit, and piled them into the hansom.

When be came to pay the driver he found the trip from Thirty-fifth Street to the foot of Liberty was two dollars and a half, and the fruit and flowers came to twenty-two dollars.  He was greatly distressed over this, and could not see how it had happened.  He rode back in the elevated for five cents and felt much better.  Then some men just back from a yachting trip joined him at the club and ordered a great many things to drink, and of course he had to do the same, and seven dollars were added to his economy fund.  He argued that this did not matter, because he signed a check for it, and that he would not have to pay for it until the end of the month, when the necessity of economizing would be over.

Still, his conscience did not seem convinced, and he grew very desperate.  He felt he was not doing it at all properly, and he determined that he would spend next to nothing on his dinner.  He remembered with a shudder the place he had taken the tramp to dinner, and he vowed that before he would economize as rigidly as that he would starve; but he had heard of the table d’hote places on Sixth Avenue, so he went there and wandered along the street until he found one that looked clean and nice.  He began with a heavy soup, shoved a rich, fat, fried fish over his plate, and followed it with a queer entree of spaghetti with a tomato dressing that satisfied his hunger and killed his appetite as if with the blow of a lead pipe.  But he went through with the rest of it, for he felt it was the truest economy to get his money’s worth, and the limp salad in bad oil and the ice-cream of sour milk made him feel that eating was a positive pain rather than a pleasure; and in this state of mind and body, drugged and disgusted, he lighted his pipe and walked slowly towards the club along Twenty-sixth Street.

He looked in at the cafe at Delmonico’s with envy and disgust, and, going disheartenedly on, passed the dining-room windows that were wide open and showed the heavy white linen, the silver, and the women coolly dressed and everybody happy.

And then there was a wild waving of arms inside, and white hands beckoning him, and he saw with mingled feelings of regret that the whole party of the Fourth of July were inside and motioning to him.  They made room for him, and the captain’s daughter helped him to olives, and the chaperon told how they had come into town for the day, and had been telegraphing for him and Edgar and Fred and “dear Bill,” and the rest said they were so glad to see him because they knew he could appreciate a good dinner if any one could.

But Van Bibber only groaned, and the awful memories of the lead-like spaghetti and the bad oil and the queer cheese made him shudder, and turned things before him into a Tantalus feast of rare cruelty.  There were Little Neck clams, delicious cold consomme, and white fish, and French chops with a dressing of truffles, and Roman punch and woodcock to follow, and crisp lettuce and toasted crackers-and-cheese, with a most remarkable combination of fruits and ices; and Van Bibber could eat nothing, and sat unhappily looking at his plate and shaking his head when the waiter urged him gently.  “Economy!” he said, with disgusted solemnity.  “It’s all tommy rot.  It wouldn’t have cost me a cent to have eaten this dinner, and yet I’ve paid half a dollar to make myself ill so that I can’t.  If you know how to economize, it may be all right; but if you don’t understand it, you must leave it alone.  It’s dangerous.  I’ll economize no more.”

And he accordingly broke his vow by taking the whole party up to see the lady who would not be photographed in tights, and put them in a box where they were gagged by the comedian, and where the soubrette smiled on them and all went well.