One may hope， in spite of the metaphorists， to avoidthe breath of the deadly upas tree； one may， by great goodfortune， succeed in blacking the eye of the basilisk； onemight even dodge the attentions of Cerberus and Argus， butno man， alive or dead， can escape the gaze of the Rubberer.
New York is the Caoutchouc City. There are many，of course， who go their ways， making money， withoutturning to the right or the left， but there is a tribe abroadwonderfully composed， like the Martians， solely of eyesand means of locomotion.
These devotees of curiosity swarm， like flies， in a momentin a struggling， breathless circle about the scene of anunusual occurrence. If a workman opens a manhole， if astreet car runs over a man from North Tarrytown， if a littleboy drops an egg on his way home from the grocery， if acasual house or two drops into the subway， if a lady loses anickel through a hole in the lisle thread， if the police draga telephone and a racing chart forth from an Ibsen Societyreading-room， if Senator Depew or Mr. Chuck Connorswalks out to take the air—if any of these incidents oraccidents takes place， you will see the mad， irresistiblerush of the “rubber” tribe to the spot.
The importance of the event does not count. They gazewith equal interest and absorption at a chorus girl or ata man painting a liver pill sign. They will form as deep acordon around a man with a club-foot as they will arounda balked automobile. They have the furor rubberendi.
They are optical gluttons， feasting and fattening on themisfortunes of their fellow beings. They gloat and poreand glare and squint and stare with their fishy eyes likegoggle-eyed perch at the book baited with calamity.
It would seem that Cupid would find these ocularvampires too cold game for his calorific shafts， buthave we not yet to discover an immune even among theProtozoa？ Yes， beautiful Romance descended upon two ofthis tribe， and love came into their hearts as they crowdedabout the prostrate form of a man who had been run overby a brewery wagon.
William Pry was the first on the spot. He was anexpert at such gatherings. With an expression of intensehappiness on his features， he stood over the victim of theaccident， listening to his groans as if to the sweetest music.
When the crowd of spectators had swelled to a closelypacked circle William saw a violent commotion in thecrowd opposite him. Men were hurled aside like ninepinsby the impact of some moving body that clove them likethe rush of a tornado. With elbows， umbrella， hat-pin，tongue， and fingernails doing their duty， Violet Seymourforced her way through the mob of onlookers to the firstrow. Strong men who even had been able to secure a seaton the 5.30 Harlem express staggered back like children asshe bucked centre. Two large lady spectators who had seenthe Duke of Roxburgh married and had often blockedtraffic on Twenty-third Street fell back into the secondrow with ripped shirtwaists when Violet had finished withthem. William Pry loved her at first sight.
The ambulance removed the unconscious agent ofCupid. William and Violet remained after the crowd haddispersed. They were true Rubberers. People who leavethe scene of an accident with the ambulance have notgenuine caoutchouc in the cosmogony of their necks.
The delicate， fine flavour of the affair is to be had onlyin the after-taste—in gloating over the spot， in gazingfixedly at the houses opposite， in hovering there in adream more exquisite than the opium-eater’s ecstasy.
William Pry and Violet Seymour were connoisseurs incasualties. They knew how to extract full enjoyment fromevery incident.
Presently they looked at each other. Violet had abrown birthmark on her neck as large as a silver halfdollar.
William fixed his eyes upon it. William Pry hadinordinately bowed legs. Violet allowed her gaze to lingerunswervingly upon them. Face to face they stood thusfor moments， each staring at the other. Etiquette wouldnot allow them to speak； but in the Caoutchouc City it ispermitted to gaze without stint at the trees in the parksand at the physical blemishes of a fellow creature.
At length with a sigh they parted. But Cupid had beenthe driver of the brewery wagon， and the wheel that brokea leg united two fond hearts.