“Would you mind telling me，” I asked her， “if you evermeet with the character commonly denominated as ‘AMan About Town’ during your daily wanderings？”
“I think I know whom you mean，” she answered， with agentle smile. “We see them in the same places night afternight. They are the devil’s body guard， and if the soldiersof any army are as faithful as they are， their commandersare well served. We go among them， diverting a fewpennies from their wickedness to the Lord’s service.”
She shook the box again and I dropped a dime into it.
In front of a glittering hotel a friend of mine， a critic，was climbing from a cab. He seemed at leisure； and I putmy question to him. He answered me conscientiously， as Iwas sure he would.
“There is a type of ‘Man About Town’ in New York，”
he answered. “The term is quite familiar to me， but Idon’t think I was ever called upon to define the characterbefore. It would be difficult to point you out an exactspecimen. I would say， offhand， that it is a man whohad a hopeless case of the peculiar New York disease ofwanting to see and know. At 6 o’clock each day life beginswith him. He follows rigidly the conventions of dress andmanners； but in the business of poking his nose into placeswhere he does not belong he could give pointers to a civetcat or a jackdaw. He is the man who has chased Bohemiaabout the town from rathskeller to roof garden and fromHester street to Harlem until you can’t find a place inthe city where they don’t cut their spaghetti with a knife.
Your ‘Man About Town’ has done that. He is always on thescent of something new. He is curiosity， impudence andomnipresence. Hansoms were made for him， and goldbandedcigars； and the curse of music at dinner. There arenot so many of him； but his minority report is adoptedeverywhere.
“I’m glad you brought up the subject； I’ve felt theinfluence of this nocturnal blight upon our city， but Inever thought to analyse it before. I can see now that your‘Man About Town’ should have been classified long ago.
In his wake spring up wine agents and cloak models； andthe orchestra plays ‘Let’s All Go Up to Maud’s’ for him，by request， instead of H？ndel. He makes his rounds everyevening； while you and I see the elephant once a week.
When the cigar store is raided， he winks at the officer，familiar with his ground， and walks away immune， whileyou and I search among the Presidents for names， andamong the stars for addresses to give the desk sergeant.”
My friend， the critic， paused to acquire breath for fresheloquence. I seized my advantage.
“You have classified him，” I cried with joy. “You havepainted his portrait in the gallery of city types. But I mustmeet one face to face. I must study the Man About Town atfirst hand. Where shall I find him？ How shall I know him？”
Without seeming to hear me， the critic went on. Andhis cab-driver was waiting for his fare， too.
“He is the sublimated essence of Butt-in； the refined，intrinsic extract of Rubber； the concentrated， purified，irrefutable， unavoidable spirit of Curiosity and Inquisitiveness.
A new sensation is the breath in his nostrils； when hisexperience is exhausted he explores new fields with theindefatigability of a—”
“Excuse me，” I interrupted， “but can you produce oneof this type？ It is a new thing to me. I must study it. I willsearch the town over until I find one. Its habitat must behere on Broadway.”
“I am about to dine here，” said my friend. “Come inside，and if there is a Man About Town present I will point himout to you. I know most of the regular patrons here.”
“I am not dining yet，” I said to him. “You will excuse me.
I am going to find my Man About Town this night if I haveto rake New York from the Battery to Little Coney Island.”
I left the hotel and walked down Broadway. The pursuitof my type gave a pleasant savour of life and interest tothe air I breathed. I was glad to be in a city so great， socomplex and diversified. Leisurely and with somethingof an air I strolled along with my heart expanding at thethought that I was a citizen of great Gotham， a sharer inits magnificence and pleasures， a partaker in its glory andprestige.
I turned to cross the street. I heard something buzz likea bee， and then I took a long， pleasant ride with Santos-Dumont.
When I opened my eyes I remembered a smell ofgasoline， and I said aloud： “Hasn’t it passed yet？”
A hospital nurse laid a hand that was not particularlysoft upon my brow that was not at all fevered. A youngdoctor came along， grinned， and handed me a morningnewspaper.
“Want to see how it happened？” he asked cheerily. I readthe article. Its headlines began where I heard the buzzingleave off the night before. It closed with these lines：
“—Bellevue Hospital， where it was said that his injurieswere not serious. He appeared to be a typical Man AboutTown.”