MR. KEARNS HAS A PREMONITION
For some moments after the Colonel had left the room the three men sat
in silence. Then General Mainwarren turned to the Professor.
“You will forgive me if my words have been too blunt,” he said
courteously; “but students of sociology agree that the conditions of
the present epoch had their origin in your day; that such origin can
be distinctly traced back; and that with the men of your time lies the
responsibility for whatever exists to-day.”
“And you, I trust, will pardon any undue warmth on my side,” replied
the Professor, “but this I must say; however much you may be disposed
to blame the people of my day, you, personally, if you will permit me
to say so, seem disposed to carry out measures far more arbitrary and
drastic than were ever adopted in our time.”
“You refer to the measures I spoke of in relation to the coal supply?”
asked General Mainwarren.
“Yes. Certainly you don’t claim that God, or Nature--call it what you
will--placed those deposits exclusively for your benefit and that you
can deal with them absolutely as you will, regardless of the rights,
interests or welfare of humanity in general?”
“It was ill-advised,” retorted the General, slowly and with emphasis,
“for you to raise that point. If you will remember, it was in your
time that that very point was first set up.”
“I fail to recall----”
“Surely not! Wasn’t it in your day that the claim was for the first
time advanced that these very coal deposits were vested in certain
hands by divine appointment and that the right to manage such
properties must be left solely and entirely to the discretion of those
whom the Almighty had so selected? Wasn’t this question of divine right
advanced, for the first time in the history of the Republic, in your
day and--successfully maintained?”
“How successfully maintained?”
“Can you even question! I have studied carefully the history of the
time and I at least know my facts. Wasn’t the situation then critical
enough? The operators withheld the output. The people were perishing
from cold. Death stalked abroad. Had not the State Government ample
power to declare that the public health and safety required the seizure
of those lands, with compensation, of course, to the owners? This
sovereignty right of eminent domain was invoked when it was a question
of putting through a new street, or creating a right of way for some
quasi-public corporation. But when it came to exercising the right
against a powerful corporation, it seems your suffering people feared
to even whisperingly advocate the measure. So,” continued the General,
“the people were permitted to languish and die and the theory of divine
right took its birth and, as you perceive, has flourished apace since
then.”
“By George! there’s a good deal of truth in what you say!” exclaimed
Kearns.
“When did these events occur to which you have referred?” questioned
the Professor.
“Early in the present century,” replied the General.
“We must distinctly disclaim responsibility for anything occurring
after June the tenth, nineteen hundred,” declared the Professor, with a
smile.
“True, I had forgotten that!” replied General Mainwarren with a laugh.
“But what I don’t understand,” said the Professor, again grown serious,
“is that you, who seem to so thoroughly grasp and understand these
evils, should be willing to actively engage in their perpetuation.”
Before General Mainwarren could reply to this home-thrust, the door
opened and Colonel Cuming reappeared.
“Can you imagine,” he exclaimed with evident excitement, “the errand of
the royal messenger?”
“Oh, to hurry Somebody on his journey, of course--before we’ve had half
a chance of enjoying his society,” pouted Beatrice, who had followed
the Colonel into the room. “A summons to Court----”
“A summons to Court--that part is right,” interrupted the Colonel,
“but you haven’t guessed rightly as to whom. The message is this: ‘His
Majesty commands Colonel Sir Maynard Cuming to repair at once to Court
and to bring with him his notable guests, Professor Walter Stuart
Dean and Mr. Thomas Kearns, the details concerning whose remarkable
experiences His Majesty has learned with much interest.’ What do you
say to that?”
Both the Professor and Kearns stood agape with astonishment. Beatrice’s
voice was the first to break the silence.
“And do I go, too, papa?”
“Certainly, my dear--if you wish.”
“If I wish! Well, yes; I decidedly do. Just think of the fun of going
to Court and seeing cousin Dorothy. My cousin, Dorothy,” she added,
as an explanatory interjection for the benefit of the Professor and
Kearns, “is one of the maids of honor to the Queen.”
“Yes,” added General Mainwarren, “and she is as popular at the Court as
she is beautiful, which in this case is saying much.”
“Ah, my dear,” exclaimed the Colonel wistfully, “you haven’t seen
Dorothy since you were quite a little girl. I fear you may find things
somewhat changed. Dorothy may not be inclined to devote so much
attention to my little country bud as in the old days.”
“Oh,” said Beatrice with enthusiasm, “I am convinced Dorothy will never
change toward me. She’s not that kind. When do we start?”
“To-morrow.”
“To-morrow! Oh, how shall I ever be able to get ready! I must be off to
look after things. I hope I shan’t appear before the Court and Dorothy
quite like a dowdy!” And she pirouetted out of the room.
“Forgive her, gentlemen,” said the Colonel indulgently, “she’s only a
child yet, you know. But, tell me what you think of this news I bring.”
“Think!” replied the Professor; “what are we to think. It’s impossible
to imagine what we can be needed for--except, perhaps, as curiosities.
I’m quite unfamiliar with the atmosphere of a Court and I think I
may truthfully say that my friend Kearns is equally so. I don’t know
whether we should go.”
“And I think I may truthfully say,” declared Kearns, with a laugh,
“that I have had an extensive experience with courts, though not of
this precise character. Still, like the Professor, I am in doubt as to
whether we ought to go. I’ve no particular liking for figuring as a
curiosity.”
“It would never do to refuse the royal command,” said the Colonel. “Oh,
by the way, there is something I had nearly forgotten. His Majesty has
especially inquired as to the health of Mr. Kearns and will receive him
in special audience immediately after his arrival at the Court.”
“Well, well,” exclaimed the Professor with light sarcasm, “let me
congratulate you, my friend. You seem to be basking in the sunshine of
royal favor.”
But Kearns sat with bent brows, apparently in deep thought. A moment
later he sprang lightly to his feet.
“Yes,” he exclaimed with determination, “we’ll go. I’ve been there
before, you know.”
“Where?” asked the Professor. “To the Court?”
“No,” answered Kearns grimly, “not to the Court, but I’ve had
experiences of this kind before. In the old days there were lots of
times when the rich and the grand solicitously inquired as to the
health of Mr. Thomas Kearns and were graciously pleased--it used to be
‘exceedingly pleased’ or ‘eagerly anxious’ in those days--to receive
him in special audience. My experience tells me that when the rich and
the great and the mighty are suddenly seized with a vivid interest
in my health, joined to an anxiety to see me in special audience, it
is safe to gamble there are special reasons therefor. In the classic
language of my day: ‘There is something doing’--some cash, or jewels,
or maybe a lady gone astray and Thomas Kearns is needed to fix the
difficulty, or solve the puzzle.”
“You think,” said the Professor, “that----”
“That there is some trouble at Court, or some danger which threatens
the King upon his throne,” said Kearns with conviction.
“I shall not be astonished if you were right,” said General Mainwarren
slowly.
The rest of the day was spent in preparations for the departure. Not
least amongst these preparations was the selection for the Professor
and Kearns, of a wardrobe which would modernize them in dress, at
least. Some further instruction as to the changes which had taken place
and as to the methods and manners of the Court were also given, with
General Mainwarren and the Colonel as instructors. Interspersed with
matters of Court etiquette, they learned the details of the great war
recently so successfully closed between Russia and the Allies--the
United States and Great Britain--in which, after many fierce struggles
and an invasion resembling in many details that of the great Napoleon,
the power of the fierce, barbaric Colossus of the North had finally
been crushed.
At dinner that evening, Beatrice, full of life and spirits, was in
joyous anticipation of the journey before them. Her prattle kept the
party in merry mood, all except General Mainwarren, who seemed somewhat
thoughtful and preoccupied.
“We will enjoy our coffee and cigars in the music room,” said the
Colonel to the Professor and Kearns, when dinner was over. “You shall
indulge in a treat that was unattainable in your times.”
He led the way to a spacious apartment adjoining the library--an
apartment from walls of which protruded a number of giant-like trumpets.
“There,” said the Colonel, pointing to two of the larger instruments,
“we have direct connection with the Haymarket Theatre, in London,
and also with the Covent Garden Theatre. Those other two instruments
connect with two opera houses in Paris. I cannot treat you to English,
or to French opera. Owing to the difference in time, neither of these
cities is in action at its theatres at this moment. I can, however,
let you hear some of the leading attractions in New York.”
“Yon mean to say,” exclaimed the Professor with rapt interest, “that
you are practically in telephonic communication with the principal
cities of the world?”
“Hardly that,” answered the Colonel modestly, “since my music room is
not large enough to permit of it, but it could be done. As it is, I am
in touch with London, Paris, and several of the principal cities in
this country. Now, listen to this. I am going to connect with the Folly
Theatre, in New York. They have a revival on there of an old operetta;
quite a favorite, I believe, in your time.”
“What is its name?” asked Kearns.
“Dolly Varden,” replied the Colonel effusively; “Dolly Varden, the
title rôle of which, if I recall aright, was created by that charming
_artiste_ of your day, Glaser--the glorious Glaser, whose name has come
down to us as the queen of comedy of the Western world.”
As the Colonel finished speaking, he turned a rubber-covered knob in
the wall beside one of the instruments and instantly there floated
through the room the strains of “The Lay of the Jay,” from Edwards’
captivating operetta. Sweetly and clearly music and words floated into
the room:
“Once there was a jay-bird; a rather ancient jay-bird,
Who lived on the top of a tree.”
As the song ended, Kearns and the Professor were visibly affected.
The minutes passed. Still they listened, entranced, until the close of
the opera. Then came the sounds of a moving multitude, joined to the
playing of the band.
“The audience is leaving,” remarked the Professor regretfully, “and
the orchestra is playing the air ‘My Country ’Tis of Thee.’ Thank God!
You have, at least, retained that old, familiar song.”
“You mistake!” said General Mainwarren solemnly. “It is no longer known
by that name.”
“What, then?” gasped the Professor.
“God Save our Gracious King!” said the General.