HOW STORRI FOOLISHLY WROTE A MESSAGE
Governor Obstinate being stubbornly and openly for gold, party opinion,
disliking concealment and skulking mystery, began to burn the grass of
imperious inquiry about the feet of Senator Hanway. Men could understand
a gold-bug or a silver-bug, and either embrace or tolerate him according
to the color of their convictions. But that monstrous insect of finance,
the straddlebug, pleased no one; and since Senator Hanway, whose
patriotism was self-interest and who possessed no principle beyond the
principle of personal aggrandizement, was on every issue a straddlebug,
finance first of all, our sinuous statesman commenced to taste troublous
days.
Senator Gruff urged him to declare for gold.
"You will have two-thirds of the better element with you," said Senator
Gruff, "and by that I mean the richer element."
Senator Hanway submitted that while the richer or managing element was
for gold, the masses might be for silver. If he were nominated following
a gold declaration, a silver public might defeat him at the polls.
"But the public," explained Senator Gruff, disagreeing, "are as sheep;
the managers of party are the wolves. The howl of one wolf in politics
is of graver moment than the bleating of many sheep."
"But the sheep are the more numerous," laughed Senator Hanway, who was
amused by what he termed the zoölogical figures of Senator Gruff.
"What matters that?" said Senator Gruff. "Wasn't it Virgil who wrote
'What cares the wolf how many the sheep be'? The wolves, I tell you,
win."
Senator Hanway, full of inborn furtivities, still hung in the wind of
doubt.
"Would it not be as wise," he argued, "to claim the public's attention
with some new unusual proposition? Might not the public, being wholly
engaged thereby, forget finance?"
Senator Gruff thought this among things possible; at least it might be
tried. Something surely must be done, or Senator Hanway would be
compelled to disclose his attitude on Silver versus Gold.
It was the decision of Senators Hanway and Gruff that the former should
bring up for Senate discussion the resolution concerning that Georgian
Bay-Ontario Canal. Credit Magellan was dead and gone, and had been since
the "bear" failure against Northern Consolidated. But no one in the
Senate, no one indeed not of the osprey pool, had heard of Credit
Magellan. Therefore, Senator Hanway could handle the Canal resolution as
a thing by itself. It could be offered as a measure important, not alone
nationally but internationally, and to all the world. Senator Hanway
would force no vote; but he would be heard, and his Senate friends and
allies would be heard. There should arise such a din of statesmanship
that the dullest ear in the country must be impressed with the Canal as
a subject of tremendous consequence. The public intelligence might thus
be made to center upon the Canal. The latter would subtract from, even
if it did not wholly swallow up in the common regard, that dangerous
query of finance.
"You may be right," observed Senator Gruff. He said this dubiously, for
he wasn't as sure as was Senator Hanway of either a public interest or
its direction touching the Canal. "It will be a novelty; and the public
is as readily caught by novelty as any rustic at a fair. But you might
better get to it at once. I had word from the Anaconda people yesterday;
they urge definite utterance on the money question. They say that either
silver or gold will do as a position; but they must know which it is to
be in order to select timber for the delegations. It won't do to name
silver delegates if you mean in the eleventh hour to declare for gold."
Senator Hanway brought up his Georgian Bay-Ontario Canal and talked a
profound hour. Other Senators followed, and the Canal held the carpet of
debate for three full days. Then it was sent back to the Foreign
Committee without a vote.
But the object of the discussion had been reached. Canal took the place
of Money in the people's mouth, and Senator Hanway, his name gaining
favorable place in every paper, particularly in the _Daily Tory_, became
a prodigious personality by acclamation. The most besotted of Governor
Obstinate's adherents now conceded the superior strength of Senator
Hanway, and two or three States which held their conventions about this
time instructed their delegates to vote for him as a unit. Mr. Harley
and Senator Gruff, being nearest to Senator Hanway, were jubilant; they
complimented and extolled the acumen that substituted Canal for Finance
as a popular shout.
"You've got it," ejaculated Senator Gruff, slapping Senator Hanway on
the shoulder with a freedom cherished by statesmen among themselves;
"the ticket is as good as made, with Hanway at the head. Put Frost on
for Vice President, and it will be all over but the fireworks."
Senator Hanway was of one mind with Senator Gruff; he could discover no
gap in his fences through which defeat might crowd.
"It's as it should be, John," observed Senator Hanway, when one evening
he and Mr. Harley were alone in his study. Richard had just left,
bearing an elaborate interview with Senator Hanway in which the Georgian
Bay-Ontario Canal was displayed as the question paramount and
precedental to all others, the interview being intended for the next
issue of the _Daily Tory_. "It would be hard, indeed," continued Senator
Hanway, "to be wiped out in politics just as we were wiped out in
stocks. I can look on present pauperism calmly enough, if it is to be
followed by the White House for four years. It would be our turn then to
issue German defiances, and use Monroe to milk the Market."
"Yes," assented Mr. Harley, a greedy twinkle in his eye, "a White House
should place us on high ground."
Mr. Harley, being thus reminded of the osprey pool, remarked that he
received a line that afternoon saying the mysterious builder of the
corner in Northern Consolidated had been discovered in Robert Lance
Bayard. The old gray buccaneer would at once learn the terms upon which
they might ransom themselves.
"If it be so much as three millions for our share," said Senator Hanway,
"it will cut us both off at the roots. Three millions would take the
last bond and the last share of stock in our boxes."
"The offer will be made for a million a man," said Mr. Harley; "but
should Mr. Bayard refuse, there's no help. He holds us at his mercy."
"Absolutely!" assented Senator Hanway, with a sigh. Then in livelier
manner: "Still, as I observed, we must console ourselves with a
Presidency. That Georgian Bay-Ontario Canal was a fortunate thought. My
nomination is certain; and the success of the ticket with the people
seems quite as sure. We must offset a loss in stocks by this mighty
profit in politics.
"Changing the subject," continued Senator Hanway, "young Storms seems to
be the accepted lover of Dorothy. I'm gratified by it; he has no money,
but Mr. Gwynn will act the generous part. What surprises me is the
submission of Barbara; she was decidedly tragic in her objections one
evening."
"Yes," said Mr. Harley, soberly exultant, his conquest of Mrs.
Hanway-Harley in the matter of that matrimony being the only battle he
had ever won from his domestic Boadicea, "yes, Barbara did object; put
it on the ground that Storms was a beggar. Thereupon I expounded her own
bankruptcy to her, showed her how it was the pot calling the kettle
black, and Barbara, feeling that she hadn't a leg to stand on,
surrendered."
Mr. Harley said nothing of that Storri secret between Dorothy and
himself.
"When will you appoint the wedding?" asked Senator Hanway.
"Dorothy will attend to that, I take it. Should she come for my advice,
I shall vote for expedition. Marriage is so much like shooting a rifle
that one ought not to hang too long on one's aim."
Richard received a wire from Mr. Bayard calling him to New York. The
next day he was closeted with the ticker-King at Thirty, Broad.
"We have never," said Mr. Bayard, "declared our respective shares in the
corner in Northern Consolidated."
Richard insisted on leaving the naming of interests to Mr. Bayard.
"I should say even interests then--half and half," returned Mr. Bayard.
Richard acquiesced.
"Then," said Mr. Bayard, "I must tell you that I'm offered seven
millions for the seven members of the pool as it now exists. You
remember your friend Storri perished on the first call for margins; we
have already taken a half-million from him."
"You won't mind," said Richard diffidently, "if I make an amended
proposition?"
"Let me hear it," returned Mr. Bayard, mildly curious; "I'm quite sure I
shall prefer your proposal to my own."
"As preliminary then," said Richard, "permit me to give you an informal
invitation to my wedding with Miss Harley; it is set for June first."
"I shall be present," said Mr. Bayard, smilingly elevating his brows.
"And Miss Harley: who is she?"
"She's Mr. Harley's daughter, and Senator Hanway's niece. Between us, I
hardly feel like reducing my sweetheart's family to bankruptcy on the
eve of our nuptials."
"I've known it done, however," returned Mr. Bayard, beating down a
chuckle.
"I've no doubt," observed Richard. "For all that I'd like to miss the
experience. This is my idea: suppose we divide men and not money. Give
me Senator Hanway, Mr. Harley, and Storri, and you take the five."
"It shall be as you desire," said Mr. Bayard, "for I see what you would
be at. This was not a speculation but a love affair; Miss Harley is your
profit."
Richard confessed to Mr. Bayard's reading of the riddle; Dorothy with
him had been the prize, and she was won. As for Mr. Harley and Senator
Hanway, Richard would have them released without loss; they were to be
restored, plack and bawbee, to what had been theirs on that tumultuous
Wednesday when the osprey pool made its initial swoop.
"Adjust the business with them June second," explained Richard. "My
wife"--he said "my wife" with a dignity that was visible--"and I will be
then on our way to the Mediterranean. Present yourself as the only one
in the affair, please; my name is a cat that I don't want let out of the
bag."
"And now, my romantic young friend," remarked Mr. Bayard, "you forget
Storri. What shall I do with the half-million taken from him?"
"Give one-half to Inspector Val; and with the other purchase an annuity
for a gentleman named Sands. I'll send Mr. Sands to you. I want to be
out of the country, however, before you arrange any of these matters."
"That's right," declared Mr. Bayard; "I know of nothing more grinding
than gratitude. By the way, how old is this Mr. Sands?"
"About thirty."
"He should have at least fifteen thousand dollars a year."
"He has so keen an approval of whisky," explained Richard, "that I don't
care to give him the money outright."
Mr. Bayard stated that he would send word to the old gray buccaneer,
fixing June second for the settlement and accepting the pool's offer of
seven millions.
"And when the day arrives," observed Mr. Bayard, "I'll carry out your
financial forgiveness of Senator Hanway and Mr. Harley."
"Not forgetting to hide my name?"
"Not forgetting to hide your name. But Inspector Val and Mr. Sands will
have to know."
"It will make the less difference; by that time I'll be three hundred
miles off-shore."
"And having," said Mr. Bayard, "so pleasantly adjusted our business,
suppose we smoke in confirmation of the adjustment. Also, if you will,
please explain the humbug of Mr. Gywnn. Why are you, who are among the
world's five wealthiest men, so anxious to pretend poverty and hide your
money-light beneath a bushel?"
"Mr. Gwynn is no humbug," returned Richard; "under my thumb, he acts for
me in business. I am saved a deal of bother at slight expense and
slighter risk. Now and then, of course, I find him absorbing some sly
hundreds. When he bought the _Daily Tory_, he substituted a pretended
agent between himself and Talon & Trehawke, and in that way sequestered
over eleven thousand dollars behind the mask of commissions. But I
always discover and rectify these discrepancies. And I forgive them,
too; for Mr. Gwynn was educated to a theory of perquisites, and such
little lapses as those _Daily Tory_ commissions are but the outcrop of
old habits too deeply rooted to be eradicated."
"But you present him as your patron--as the head of your house."
"There you're in the wrong," laughed Richard. "When I returned from
Europe bringing Mr. Gwynn, society seized upon him for its own. Society
went wild over Mr. Gwynn; it discovered in him treasures of patricianism
and a well-bred elegance. Since society insisted upon the enthronement
of Mr. Gwynn, it would have been impolite, nay narrow, on my part to
object. Besides, I recognized in it the essence of democracy and as an
American rejoiced. 'By all means,' said I, 'society shall have its
excellent way. I can give it little, but I can give it Mr. Gwynn.'"
Richard's old cynicism was for the moment restored, and the laughing
philosopher--who is only a laughing hyena in trousers and cutaway--shone
out in all a former Abderitish glory. In the brittle case of Mr. Bayard
the laughing cynic did not laugh alone; that gray eagle of the tape saw
much in Mr. Gwynn and his polite adventures to delight him. He declared
the situation to be a most justifiable sarcasm addressed, not against an
individual, but an age.
"It was," said Mr. Bayard, "a splendid vengeance upon the snobs. But
that doesn't explain," he continued, "why you were sedulous to hide your
millions from others--from Miss Harley, for a sample."
Richard braced himself and made a clean breast. He had been educated by
musty professors, visionaries, rusty creatures of theories and alcoves;
he had come to be as morbid as the atmosphere he was reared in on that
subject of his gold. It would corrupt whomsoever approached him. He,
Richard, would never know love or friendship--nothing better than a
world's greed would he know. Announce his millions, and he would have no
existence, no identity, no name; all would be merged in those millions.
He would never be given a friendship; he must purchase it. He would
never be given a woman's love; he must buy her love!
"Thus was I demon-haunted of my own gold," said Richard. "It seemed to
stand between me and all my heart went hungry for. That was my feeling;
I was galled of money. I determined to hide my wealth; I would discover
what friendships I might inspire, what loves I could attract, with only
the meager capital of my merit."
"Well," said Mr. Bayard dryly, "every man at some period must play the
fool. All's well that ends well; I shall follow your wishes concerning
Messrs. Harley, Hanway, Val, and Sands, attend your wedding, extend
congratulations, and salute the bride."
Mrs. Hanway-Harley, Mr. Harley, and Senator Hanway were duly informed of
those orange blossoms meditated by Dorothy for June. Bess, who still
retained her place as managing angel, pointed out the propriety of such
information. Bess said that Richard ought to break the news to the
Harleys and to Senator Hanway. But Richard's heart was weak; he
confessed his cowardice squarely. In his own defense he pleaded the
memory of his former interview with Mrs. Hanway-Harley; it was yet heavy
upon him, and he could summon no courage for another. Then Dorothy
became the heroine; she would inform Mrs. Hanway-Harley with her own
young lips. This she did, bearing herself the while with much love and
firmness, since Richard--quaking inwardly, but concealing his craven
condition from Dorothy--supported her throughout.
Mrs. Hanway-Harley surprised everybody with the moderate spirit in which
she received the word. True, her manner could not have been called
boisterously joyful, and indeed she made no pretense of the kind. She
kissed Dorothy; she would have kissed Richard had not that gentleman
plainly lacked the fortitude required for so embarrassing a ceremony.
Having pressed her maternal lips to Dorothy's forehead, Mrs.
Hanway-Harley remarked that it was good of the young lovers to bring
their plans to her. She realized, however, that it was no more than a
polite formality, for the affair long before had been taken out of her
hands. Her consent to their wedding would sound hollow, even ludicrous,
under the circumstances; still, such as it was, she freely granted it.
Her objection had been the poverty of Mr. Storms, and that objection was
disregarded. Mrs. Hanway-Harley could do no more; they would wed, and in
later years, while being ground in the mills of a dollarless experience,
they might justify the wisdom of her objection. In this gracious fashion
did Mrs. Hanway-Harley sanction the union of her only daughter Dorothy
with Mr. Richard Storms; after which she folded her matronly hands in
resignation, bearing meanwhile the manner of one who will face the worst
bravely and hopes that others are prepared to do the same.
Dorothy was quite affected, and hung round the neck of Mrs.
Hanway-Harley, shedding copious tears. Richard, who felt decidedly
foolish and could not shake off the impression that Mrs. Hanway-Harley
was somehow the victim of his happiness,--such was the serious effect of
that lady's acting,--confessed himself delighted when the interview was
over. When Dorothy and he were by themselves, Richard drew a deep
breath, and confided to Dorothy that Mrs. Hanway-Harley was a load off
his mind, whatever that should mean.
The formalities above recorded having been disposed of, Dorothy, nobly
abetted by Bess and extravagantly encouraged by Mr. Harley, plunged into
the business of her trousseau with the utmost fury. She became the
center of a bevy of dressmakers and milliners, and these artists got
vastly in the way of Richard when he called. Richard, being excluded,
put in hours in the harmless society of Mr. Fopling, who looked upon
Richard, now his wedding day was fixed, in fearful admiration, and said
that some day he supposed he must come to it himself. Mr. Fopling spoke
of marriage as though it were a desperate creature of citadels and mines
and scaling ladders and smoke-filled breaches, to face which would call
for the soul of a paladin.
As Dorothy's gown-buying and hat-trimming expanded into a riot of
ribbons and flounces and all decorative things, Mrs. Hanway-Harley,
attracted by a bustle dear to the feminine heart, was drawn more and
more from out her shell of martyrdom until finally she stood in the
fore-front of the mêlée, giving directions. She never omitted, however,
to maintain a melancholy, and comported herself at all times as should a
mother who only bows to the dread inevitable and but dresses her child
for the sacrifice.
Storri about this time was excessively and secretly the busy man. He
went often to New York, and held conferences with Steamboat Dan. The
latter, at Storri's suggestion, began picking up his people; all were
criminal, all aquatic, and two were capable, respectively, of
discharging the duties of a sailing master and an engineer.
Whenever Storri visited New York, Inspector Val was never far to find;
now and then he sent for Steamboat Dan to hear how the plans of Storri
moved. Steamboat Dan failed not to respond; for he was stricken of a
wholesome fear of Inspector Val. And well he might be. There was that
prison cell in Joliet all vacant for his coming; and he must protect the
shady peace of the Albion House near James Slip. Altogether, there was
no help for it; Steamboat Dan must yield to his destiny of stool pigeon
or pay the penalty in stripes. Wherefore he appeared faithfully when
called, and told Inspector Val of Storri's preparations. The _Zulu
Queen_, rich in stores, her bunkers choked with coal, waited only to be
fired up; those men who were to sail her had been secured; her papers
and her captain's papers as well as those of her engineer were ready.
The one thing now was Storri's signal; and with that all hands would go
aboard, get up steam, and point the sable cutwater of the _Zulu Queen_
for Washington.
Steamboat Dan informed Inspector Val of nothing which the thief-taker's
sagacity or vigilance had not anticipated. But Inspector Val clung to
the safe theory that, whether for his facts or deductions, he could not
have too much confirmatory proof; wherefore he was prone to put
Steamboat Dan to frequent question. One day, however, the stool pigeon
gave Inspector Val a surprising piece of information. It related to a
talk which he had had with Storri the evening before.
"It was at the heel of the hunt like," explained Steamboat Dan, "an'
just as he's about to go, he ups an' makes it known that he's goin' to
need a benziner--need a firebug."
"And of course you promised to find one," said Inspector Val.
"I had him ready; one of the gang is Benzine Bob, an' you know as well
as I do that when it comes to touchin' a match to a crib, an' then
collectin' the insurance, there's nobody nearer bein' the goods than
Benzine Bob."
"Yes, I regard Bob as a most gifted incendiary," said Inspector Val.
"Sure; he could teach it. But what do you figger this Russian's goin' to
burn?"
"We'll learn in good time. You must have Bob agree to everything this
party asks."
"No trouble on that score; settin' fire to things is Benzine Bob's
religion. He says his prayers to an oiled rag, and a box of matches is
his Bible."
Storri, taking dark and stormy nights for the visits, twice splashed up
the drain to see how London Bill came on. Storri was heedful to give the
signals agreed upon by rapping on the walls of the drain. He had no
desire to be killed in the dark by London Bill upon a theory that he,
Storri, was the enemy, and so rapped out the signals handsomely, with a
little hammer he had by him for the purpose, while still ten rods from
the scene of operations.
London Bill was slowly, yet surely, boring forward with his tunnel. The
clay as it was dug must be dragged to the mouth of the tunnel in the
willow basket, and cast into the stream; that was a process to require
time. However, time there was and plenty; London Bill would have his
work in perfect trim against the Friday evening for which the final and
decisive attack on the gold was scheduled. The tunnel, as London Bill
had said it must be, was about four feet high and three in width, and
Storri found that he went in and out very readily by traveling on hands
and knees. Storri would have come oftener to observe how London Bill
fared with his work, but the cracksman discountenanced the thought.
"There's no sense in comin'," explained London Bill. "You can't do any
good, an' you get in the way. Besides, there's the chance of being piped
off; some party might see you and catch on."
One day Inspector Val brought Richard a contrivance made of thin rubber.
It was circular, and eighteen inches in diameter. If the rubber
contrivance resembled anything, it was one of those hot-water bags
common in the trade of hospitals. It was hollow, and had a metal mouth
shaped like the mouth of a bottle; instead of water, however, the bag
was intended to hold air. Pumped full of air, the rubber bag, or rather
cushion, exhibited a thickness of about six inches. It looked a little
like a life preserver; the more since there was a hole in the center,
albeit the hole was no wider than an inch across. The rubber bag or
cushion was extremely light, the material being twice the weight of that
employed in the making of toy balloons. Inflated and considered as a
raft, the rubber cushion would support a weight of twenty pounds, and
draw no more than three inches of water in so doing.
"Storri bought four thousand of these from the Goodyear Company,"
vouchsafed Inspector Val; "had them made after patterns of his own. A
mighty tidy invention, take my word for it!" and the eye of Inspector
Val glanced approval of the circular rubber raft. Then he showed Richard
how the cushion could be inflated in a few seconds with an air-pump; and
how, being inflated, an automatic valve closed and kept the air
prisoner. "A tidy arrangement, take my word, and does that Russian party
credit!"
"What will he do with it?" asked Richard.
"Put the question later," responded Inspector Val, who was a slave to
the dramatic and never turned loose his climaxes prematurely.
The San Reve was of a nature too easily the prey of somber suspicions to
ever find perfect happiness. Besides she had been saddened, if not
soured, by the rougher, harder visitations of life. As nearly as she
might be, however, these days the San Reve was happy. And peace came to
her more and more as spring deepened into May. Storri was every day to
see her; and the most patient investigation only served to make it sure
that he had ended his relations with the Harleys. Storri went no more to
the Harley house, and if there had existed a least of chance that he
would wed Miss Harley, the peril was passed by. The San Reve began to
doubt if such a plan had ever been in Storri's mind; she was inclined to
think herself a jealous fool for entertaining the belief. She had
wronged her Storri; it was as he told her from the first; his relations,
those of business, had been solely with Mr. Harley. At this view, so
flattering to the loyal truth of Storri, the San Reve's bosom welled
with a great love for that nobleman. The gray-green eyes became quietly
serene; the strong beauty of her face gathered effulgence in the
sunshine of love's confidence renewed.
It was an evening in the early days of May. Storri was saying that he
had been commanded, through the Russian Embassy, to report to "His
Czar"; he must be in St. Petersburg June fifteenth. The San Reve had
begun to believe in the Czar as a close intimate of her Storri.
"Yes, he has called me home, my San Reve," cried Storri. "There is much
that he would know about these pig Americans, and who can tell him
better than his Storri. When I go, which will be about June first, you
shall go with me."
The San Reve's heavy face was in a glow. Russia? yes; and she would see
France again! Storri read the pleasure in her glance. Observing that it
made the San Reve more beautiful, he was taken of a natural wish to add
to it.
"Yes, you shall accompany me; I would not, no not even for my Czar, be
separated from you, my San Reve."
Storri was as fond of fiction as Mr. Harley, and of a far livelier
imagination. Once started on an untruth, he would pursue it hither and
yon as a greyhound courses a hare. Like every artist of the mendacious,
he was quick for those little deeds that would give his lies a look of
righteous integrity. Thus it befell on the occasion in hand.
"Behold now," cried Storri, as though the idea had just occurred to him,
"I will, while the thought is fresh with me, telegraph a friend in New
York to select our staterooms for the next ship after June first."
Storri wrote his message; the San Reve watching him, her heart a-brim
with love and the happiness of returning home. She would see France, see
Paris--see them with the man whom she adored! Storri whirred the
telegraph call that was fixed in the hall; presently a gray-coat lad
appeared and bore away the message. Then Storri beamed affably upon the
San Reve, who took his hand and put it to her grateful lips.
Storri beamed because he was in a right royal humor. The episode had
been unpremeditated, and yet it dove-tailed to the advantage of his
designs. The maneuver, he could see, had extinguished the final sparks
of the San Reve's jealous suspicions; extinguished them at a time, too,
when it was of consequence to lull the San Reve into fullest assurance
of his faith. And at that he had not thrown away his wire. Storri had
remembered that he must send a word to Steamboat Dan in the morning. He
decided to forestall the morning; he would dispatch the message at once.
Being one of those who suck joy from deceit, it gave Storri a thrill of
supremest satisfaction to transact the duplicity of which she was to be
one of the victims, in the unsuspecting presence of the San Reve. The
Storri vanity owned an appetite for two-faced triumphs of that feather.
Storri had departed; and the San Reve was thinking on her love for him,
and how they would return together to the France she was sick to see.
The bell rang; it was the messenger lad in need of light. The message
did not specify the city; the lad had been told to return and have the
omission supplied.
The San Reve took the message with the purpose of writing in "New York."
She ran her gray-green eye over it. The message read:
Daniel Loughlin,
Albion House, James Slip.
Get the men together at your place; I will meet them Friday. They
must go aboard at once, and take the yacht to Fortress Monroe. We
shall then be sure of having it in Washington when we want it. B.
The San Reve read and re-read until she had every word by heart. Then
remembering the boy, she wrote in "New York," and sent him on his way.
Boy gone, the San Reve, doubts revived and all her jealous suspicions
restored to sharpest life, gave herself to groping out the meaning of
that message by the light of those lies wherewith Storri had solemnized
its production.