But, no; crises in general must wait, seeing that our particular one
stands clamoring for solution. The concrete bids away with the
abstraction. None of our friends of this history could be brought just
now, for a single moment, to seek solace in philosophy, unless it might
be Professor Blatherwick--and he is entirely oblivious of the fact of
the crisis having made its appearance.
Not so, for instance, with the professor's extraordinary daughter,
whose feelings were so lacerated by the culminating proof of the
fickleness of Brassfield at the Pumphreys' reception that she wondered
how she could ever have thought of keeping him in that perfidious plane
of consciousness in the hope that therein he would cleave to her only.
Better a good friend in Amidon, said she, than a false lover in
Brassfield. Howbeit, she isolated herself and mourned, thinking much
of the wrong her deed of the reception had done to Amidon, and
wondering how it might be remedied.
Nor with Mr. Amidon, who, while ignorant of the full extent of his
misfortune in the eyes of Elizabeth, yet knew that he was deep, deep in
disgrace with her, and found so many plausible reasons for it that the
episode at the reception seemed the least of them. He knew enough of
Brassfield to believe him guilty on any charge which might be brought
against him. The only doubt he allowed himself was as to how far he,
Florian Amidon, was morally responsible for Brassfield's wrong-doings.
He had no doubt that Miss Scarlett had a real grievance against
Brassfield, and, in an extremity of woe, made up his mind that Amidon
must hold himself to the sorry trade of answering a debt he never
contracted. He knew from a brief interview with Alvord that the
political situation was bad, but for this he had scarcely a thought
since the tragic breaking-up of their little Belshazzar's Feast. It
was his relations with Miss Waldron and Miss Scarlett which placed him
beyond the reach of philosophy.
So also is Judge Blodgett, who has been busy since the banquet, some of
the time with a towel about his brow, searching through Edgington's
library, to which his connection with the Bunn's Ferry well case gave
him the _entree_, for the law of breach of promise of marriage as
defined by the Pennsylvania decisions. Edgington himself was
apparently always from his office. Blodgett's call on Fuller and Cox
was most unsatisfactory, Mr. Fuller with some acerbity disclaiming all
knowledge of any such case as Scarlett versus Brassfield, and Mr. Cox
being invisible.
"They act," said he to Florian, "like people who are out for revenge,
or a vindication, or something besides money. I don't consider their
attitude favorable to a compromise."
"Well," said Amidon, "that does not surprise me at all."
"It doesn't, eh?" went on the judge. "Well, I can't say that anything
surprises me; though I was a little taken off my feet by a rumor that
something took place between you and the plaintiff at that party the
other night. How was that?"
"There may have been something," said Amidon calmly, "but you must get
particulars from some one else--Clara, perhaps. You see, she was
giving tests, and put me into that--Brassfield state, (why, I can't
understand)--and I don't know what occurred; but there was something."
"I'd like to know about that," said the judge contemplatively, "I'd
like to know. That stairway episode--that collision, you remember--may
not count for much on the trial; but with a few corroborative
circumstances, eh, my boy? Farmer jury; pretty girl; blighted
affection; damned villain, you know. But say! she's got something to
prove if she wins, under the authorities here, and there are more cases
in this state than there ought to be in the whole world; but a
summer-resort engagement, girl of mature years, a little bit swift down
the quarter-stretch and all that--cheer up, Florian, we'll win, or
we'll make it a great case----"
"Blodgett," answered Amidon, who heard with horror the lawyer's
forecast of the trial, "she may not have to prove anything. There may
not be any trial. I must know these facts! I may owe her reparation.
I may--anything! I must know; and no one but Madame le Claire can help
us, and she must act through that accursed scoundrel who has got us
into all this--Brassfield! Go to her, Blodgett, and tell her that she
must see us. I have asked for an interview a dozen times since that
reception but she won't see any one. Get an interview for this
afternoon; and you must be present and hear her bring out of him a full
confession; not as my attorney, but as my friend, as a gentleman. If
you find out the worst, as I believe, I shall offer----"
Judge Blodgett gave Amidon's hand a warm grasp.
"That's like you, Florian," he exclaimed, "and it's the part of a man!
But I'd see her in Halifax first! Why, you may be called to give
up--have you considered--Miss Wald----"
"No no!" said Amidon, "that--_she_ is no longer a factor in the case.
It's all over with her anyhow, if---- I can't talk of that; but can't
you see that this other matter must be cleared up--before I can even
come into her presence? Can't you see----"
"I'll see the madame," said the judge. "Yes--I'll see her! I'll see
her at once. I guess you're right about it, Florian."
Madame le Claire was keenly conscious of the converging lines of fate,
the meeting of which was so rich in baleful promise. She was
prostrated at the result of her work at the reception. She had seen
Florian in a position of utter humiliation. She had observed the gray
pallor in Elizabeth's face as she walked from the room, and felt on her
conscience the murder of their happiness. She had seen--and this hurt
her more than she would to herself admit--she had seen Brassfield walk
from a whispered conversation with herself--an amorous, wooing
conversation--to a secret meeting with Daisy Scarlett; so that she felt
despoiled of the hold she had had on the affections of even Amidon's
false second self, Brassfield. For all this she blamed herself because
of the little jealous spite, to gratify which she had made Brassfield
walk his disastrous hour on the stage. What should she do? What could
she do? She secluded herself and pondered. On this second day, she
made her resolve: she would see Miss Waldron, and if possible explain
as much of the mystery as might serve to satisfy her with reference to
the affair of the East Room. Accordingly, a note went up to the house
with the white columns, asking for a meeting. And as the messenger
departed, the card of Judge Blodgett came in.
"No!" said Madame le Claire, to his request, "no, I must be excused! I
can not conscientiously put him in that state again. If you could have
seen him when last----"
"Exactly!" said the judge, filling in the pause. "And as I didn't see
that reception affair, you must tell me about it. It's important for
me to know."
When he had been told, the judge walked back and forth in evident
perturbation, fingering over the leaves of a little square book which
he took from his pocket.
"Did you ever," said he at last, "happen to hear what was the rule laid
down in the breach of promise case of Hall versus Maguire?"
"Breach of promise!" ejaculated the young woman, inferring a volume
from the words. "What do you mean?"
"These facts of which you inform me," said he, "bring Mr. Amidon's case
within the rule in Hall versus Maguire, square as a die! Oh, I forgot
to tell you! Mr. Amidon, doing business under the name and style of
Eugene Brassfield, has been sued by Miss Daisy Scarlett, for breach of
promise. No publicity, as yet, but----"
"Oh, it must be stopped!" exclaimed the occultist; "it shall be
stopped! He is not guilty. He was irresponsible--ask papa about it;
he will tell you so. This girl is coming to see me here to-day: I'll
tell her how wrong----"
"No, no, my dear!" said the judge in a fatherly manner. "That would
never do, never! You may have given a hint as to this matter of
irresponsibility, worth considering. Promise of marriage--civil
contract; abnormal state--irresponsibility: it looks pretty well! You
should have been a lawyer. But this thing of having dealings with Miss
Scarlett except in the presence of and through her legal advisers,
Messrs. Fuller and Cox--not for a moment to be thought of by an
honorable practitioner: not for a moment!"
Madame le Claire regarded him with a lofty scorn meant for these
antiquated scruples of his; but before she could find words, the knock
of the bell-boy called her attention to the door.
"Miss Waldron is below!" said she. "Judge, you may bring Mr. Amidon up
in half an hour. I shall then be at liberty, and may grant his
request. Please leave me, now; I have asked Miss Waldron to be shown
up, and must see her alone."
Elizabeth Waldron, in this plexus of disasters, found nowhere a gleam
of comfort. Her fine chagrin at the thought of such things as she
feared might be censurable as overfree self-revelation to her lover in
such things as letters and the sweet concessions of the new
betrothal--all this was past, now. Tragedy has this of comfort in it:
its fateful lightnings burn out of the atmosphere of life all the
noisome littlenesses which have seemed worthy of concern. So it was
with Elizabeth, as she now faced the very annihilation of all for which
she had lived--centered in that "perfect lover," who was now worse than
annihilated in this descent to a plane which made every act of homage
to her so mean and common that she would have felt his status uplifted
by some proof of great guilt on his part. And she could see no way of
acquitting him. There was mystery in it, but no exculpation.
Mystery----
With the idea of mystery came in the image of the strange girl with the
fascinating glance and the party-colored hair. Could it be possible
that the occult power possessed by her might somehow furnish an
explanation of her lover's strangely base behavior? More and more did
this fixed thought engross her mind. She felt that she must know--must
see this woman and her colorless father. Desire grew to resolve;
resolve bred inquiry as to ways of compassing an interview; and in the
midst of the inquiry, came Madame le Claire's messenger. Her answer
was the putting on of her cloak for a visit to the occultist's parlors.
The two women faced each other like hostile champions in a truce.
Elizabeth's first aversion to the other had been swept away in the
flood of righteous jealousy created by the Scarlett episode. Madame le
Claire's unreasoning feeling of injury had been mitigated by the same
baleful affair, and her sense of justice fought for Elizabeth; but no
two women loving the same man ever met without antagonism.
"I thank you," said Miss Waldron, "for this invitation. I think you
owe me the benefit of such light as you can give on some--some
things--which are dark to me."
A little angry flush rose to Madame le Claire's cheek at the tone in
which the first part of this speech was uttered. It passed away, and
was replaced by a gentler expression at the doleful and faltering
conclusion.
"I owe you," she answered, "more in the way of knowledge than you
imagine. I expect other visitors. Will you step into this little rear
room? I may be called away from you for a while, but I shall return."
"I need not tell you," said Elizabeth, "how vitally important it is to
me to know whether there was anything in your mesmeric influence
over--Mr. Brassfield--which would cause him to do--things unworthy of
him--as he did. Did you impose any such thing on him by your
power?--could you have been so cruel?"
"Before I answer that," replied Clara, "there are many things to tell.
When did you first meet Mr. Amidon.--Brassfield, I mean?"
"Why do you call him by that name?" cried Elizabeth. "That is what
Mrs. Hunter called him! One moment he told me he knew her; the next,
he denied it to her face. What is there in this matter of names?"
Madame le Claire looked with a fixed and unwavering calmness at Miss
Waldron, and answered in a tone of perfect reassurance.
"There is nothing in it which can't be easily explained. You have
known Mr. Brassfield a long time?"
"Since I was seventeen. He did my aunt and me a great favor, which
lifted us out of poverty--about some land we had, and oil
discoveries--I went away soon after this, but he has always been very
kind and good--until--until this----"
Elizabeth walked to the window and looked out for a long time, during
which Madame le Claire regarded her fixedly and tried not to hate her.
"Did he tell you much of his past?"
"No, he said it was a very ordinary past, and that he would tell us all
about it some time; and then the subject never came up again. I never
really cared!"
"Let me tell it to you," said Madame le Claire. "He was, all his life,
a man of wealth and standing. He was a scholar and a student of the
fine arts and letters. He was the pride of his town and his
university. Then, all at once, nearly six years ago, came on him one
of those strange experiences of which I, through my profession, am able
to speak to you as one having knowledge. He became another man. His
mind had drawn across it a dead line cutting off everything back of a
certain date. He did not tell you of his life, _because he did not
remember it himself_."
Elizabeth gasped, and turned pale.
"This life of his----" she began.
"--was a life which was in every way better--which will add to your
pride in him. But you must be prepared for some strange and unexpected
things. Now, for instance, a name--a name seems important; but what is
it? This loss of personality--of self-consciousness relating to the
past--it was loss of name, of mode of life, of all memory, except
certain blind, unconscious reflexes, in which the brain had no part.
How the name of Brassfield was suggested to this new-born personality
of his, no one can tell, he least of all. But----"
"Then his name--his name is--is not----"
Now here was a situation for a diplomat. To say that Brassfield was an
assumed name, an alias, was to shock the girl's womanish conservatism
to its very base. Madame le Claire proved herself a diplomat.
"Why," said she, as if the matter were, after all, of no importance,
"the name of Brassfield is his, legally, Judge Blodgett says, and
morally. These business names, as distinguished from others, are quite
common now, I am told--take mine, for instance. Eugene Brassfield was
not his name until five years ago, when this happened. He is really
Florian Amidon, son of the chemist Wilford Amidon, of whom, I have no
doubt, you have read."
The fact that the name of Wilford Amidon had never reached her ears,
did not occur to Elizabeth. Madame le Claire's choice of expression
sounded like the announcement that Florian was a prince just throwing
off his incognito. The subtle sophistry of this way of putting it
found grateful harborage in Elizabeth's hungry soul. For a moment she
felt comforted. Then came back the thought that, after all, she had
found out nothing of the matters she had come to search out.
"It is very strange," said she, "but, after all, it only adds to the
mystery. Why did he do those things? Did you make him do them? And
why did he say that he knew Mrs. Hunter, and then deny it? And if he
knew about his past when he said he knew her, did he not know it as
well afterward? I can not be blinded to these matters by a statement
of things merely mysterious and strange. I must have----"
"My friend," said Madame le Claire, "all these things will be
explained, trust me. The person tapping at the outer door is Judge
Blodgett with Mr. Am----with your future husband. Things will occur of
which you should know, and which can not take place if they know you
are here. It will be most honorable for you to stay. Remain here and
note well what happens, and you will get much light on your troubles,
and on his--of some of which you do not yet know, which I do not
understand, but which will be cleared up. You will say nothing, but
watch and listen."
Before Miss Waldron could protest, the other woman was gone. Florian
and Judge Blodgett were brought into the middle room, and seated with
their faces from the portiere, behind which Elizabeth waited, wondering
what she should do, feeling that she had the right to know, and
obedient to the mesmerist's commands. Mr. Amidon began _in medias
res_, too full of grim determination for any circumlocution.
"Madame le Claire," said he, "recently, as I sat at supper, I was
notified that this Miss Scarlett has begun suit against me for breach
of promise."
"Yes," said Madame le Claire, "I have heard of it. It is most unjust."
Elizabeth, astounded at Amidon's statement, heard her new friend's
reply as some far-off note of succor in doubtful and deadly battle.
She sat close, now, and listened.
"Ever since I came to myself," went on Amidon, "and through your
wonderful power found out about this life of mine here in Bellevale,
the name of Miss Scarlett has come up from time to time as connected
with it. I have always shrunk from having you find out just what
our--relations--have been, and the whole thing has been dark to
me--dark and forbidding. What wrong I--this man Brassfield--may have
done her, I can not know without your aid. I must know this, now. If
she has been wronged, she shall have reparation, as full as I can give."
"What do you mean," said Madame le Claire--and Elizabeth held her
breath--"by full reparation?"
"First let us know the wrong! If that exists, the reparation will be
for Miss Scarlett and her advisers to name."
"But they may name the keeping of the promise they say you have made!"
"I have thought that all over."
"But your engagement to----"
"The lady you are about to mention," said Amidon, "must have ceased to
care much for me, after what I am told took place the other night; and
when she learns of this other disgrace, as she must before she sees me
again--if she ever does--it will be all over--for ever--except the
wrong to her--for which reparation can never be made. I----"
"Oh, it is too dreadful!" cried Madame le Claire. "And for that worst
thing--the other night--I only am to blame! I put into you the
character in which you have become weak and drawn aside by suggestions
not natural to your own character. Can you ever forgive me?"
"I have never thought of blaming you!" he protested. "You? Why, no
one ever had so good a friend; all the chance I have had to win
happiness here, you gave me. I have lost that--by misfortune. Now
help me to make things as near right as I can. Put me back into the
world of Brassfield, and let me know the worst that I--he--has done."
"Coom een!" said the voice of the professor in the corridor. "Coom
een! Clara iss not here now: den she must be someveres. Pe bleaced to
sit vile I look. Anyhow, she vill soon return. Ach, Herr Cox, ve
missed you creatly at our supper--eatings of reasons and sdreams of
souls! Ach! Here iss our friendt te chutche, ant Herr
Amidon--Brassfield, I mean!"
Madame le Claire appeared in the archway.
"Ah, Miss Scarlett," said she, "you are early. May I ask you to
return, in----"
"No!" It was the voice of Miss Scarlett which replied. "No, I'm not
going! And if 'Gene Brassfield is in there, Billy Cox has something to
say to him. Here, Mr. Alvord, you come in, too; he's out there hunting
for 'Gene. Billy, do your duty now!"
"Pardon me," said Mr. Cox, advancing into the next room, followed by
Miss Scarlett. "Pardon me, Judge Blodgett, I have a few words for you
and your client. Miss Scarlett has made me agree to apologize to Mr.
Brassfield about that summons; and if 'Gene Brassfield thinks I owe him
any apology for putting it on to him a little before his out-of-town
friends, I'll make it. But here are the facts, and he knows it: for
four years he's been rawhiding me at every chance with his practical
jokes. He had me arrested and detained for a whole day on fake
telegrams at Wilkesbarre, only last fall; and just before that he got
everybody at the Springs to thinking I was Tascott, and induced a rural
constable to take me into custody. Why, Alvord here in his worst
estate hasn't been as bad as he's been. If he's lost any opportunity,
I don't remember it; and, of course, I've got back once in a while, and
may be about even. But everything has been good-natured and brotherly,
as ought to be between members of the gang. _And_, of course, when the
cannon-crackers began to go off that night, I knew he was doing it. I
was over in Major Pumphrey's parlor, where Daisy had invited me, during
the eruption, and I told her about these things, and wished for some
way of getting even, and--and some one spoke of this breach of promise
suit, and we--that is, I--got up the summons, and I told Ed Tootle to
serve it on you at your orgy--you had no business to expect me to enter
any free-for-all inebriates' competition--you know that, 'Gene! It may
have been a little extreme as a joke; but if you'd laughed it off as
you always do, nobody would have thought anything of it except to chaff
you about it. But what do you do? You make as serious a thing of it
as if you hadn't been trotting with our crowd for five years or so.
You set this old--my learned friend from the West--briefing it up, and
you make a fool of me. Worse than that, you place Daisy in a most
objectionable position; and, by George, 'Gene, I claim the apology is
due from you, to me and Daisy!"
That he, Florian Amidon, had ever been guilty of playing such pranks as
the ones described by Mr. Cox, seemed incredible; but his sense of
relief at the way his burden rolled away in the light of Cox's
indignant apology overcame all other sensations. He sprang forward to
offer his hand cordially to Mr. Cox.
"I agree with you!" said he. "I do owe you an apology, and I freely
offer it. As for the offense I have given Miss Scarlett, I can only
say that I have had a very strange mental experience lately, of which
my friends here can tell you, or I should never have--never have taken
the matter--as I did. I beg you both to forgive me!"
"'Gene," said Miss Scarlett, offering her hand, "I'm too game a sport
to go mourning because I lost out, and you ought to have known--I
declare, I believe you've been crazy! I told Billy--Billy and I are
engaged, now, and are really going to be married--I told Billy how,
when we were at the watering-place, I insisted that it seemed a shame
not to be engaged, and how we fixed it to be engaged for a week, and it
made him furious! But as good a fellow as I've been, the way you took
our joke was shabby. You people may know some good excuse, but----"
Madame le Claire was not only a diplomat: she was a strategist. Now,
she saw, was the supreme moment in which to complete for Florian the
good work she had begun.
"Please excuse Mr. Brassfield," said sha. "He is wanted in the back
parlor; come, Mr. Brassfield, give me your arm!"
Through the portiere she swept, bearing Amidon as on wings. There sat
Elizabeth, her face bowed down upon her arms, on the back of a sofa.
She rose as they entered.
"Elizabeth!" cried Florian. "My darling!"
He stretched out his hands pleadingly, and walked toward her. She
shrank back; and Madame le Claire retreated, knowing that the struggle
of Amidon's life was before him.
Yet, gentle reader, why should not Amidon win? To us, a thousand
things might seem to need explanation; but to Elizabeth, all this
separation of Amidon from Brassfield was so new, so little realized,
that her love bridged the chasm, and nothing was required except the
clearing up of a week or two of curious happenings, most of which had
already been so glozed over by Madame le Claire's generous plea, that
what girl in love would require any greater price in humble wooing than
Florian yearned to pay? Why, mesmerism alone covers all sorts of odd
and suspicious doings. The case, for instance, of---- But that is
beside the point. The point is, that with half of Brassfield's skill,
Amidon will win handsomely. Some scenes ought not to be painted--in
this plain and flippant prose. Let us wait, therefore, until the
arrival of the voices of Florian and Elizabeth at the pitch of ordinary
conversation admonishes us that the prose writer's psychological moment
has arrived. Then we may take and transcribe some notes.
"Of course," Florian said, "he must have had some redeeming
traits--superficially, or you would never have cared for him----"
"Oh, don't say such things!" she protested. "Your real, real self came
uppermost, I am sure, in your behavior to me. You were perfectly
lovely, even if you didn't understand me as I wanted you to do--as you
do now."
"Dearest!" he whispered. "You never loved him as you do me, did you?"
That little laugh that first charmed him filled the pause.
"Don't say 'him!'" she commanded. "Think of the original absurdity of
being jealous of a rival, and that rival yourself! And remember that
'he' was my sweetheart, and for my own sake, don't abuse him. Why, it
was you all the time; and I always felt, even at the worst, that hidden
in the Brassfield personality was the one man for me in all the world.
It was this woman's instinct, that men never believe in, and the girl's
eyesight. I look at you, and I know you are the same. Don't slander
yourself as you appeared in your other mental clothes. I won't have
it--but don't change back, dear!"
"But really," said Elizabeth, "is it necessary for us to live in
Bellevale?"
"Would you go away--with me?"
There was a silence here, during which something seemed to take place
which removed the necessity of answer; for surely, Elizabeth would not
have allowed this question to go unanswered otherwise.
"Oh," said she, "there are more places I want to go, and more things I
want to see and study--you never would believe it! It will take years
and years."
"Well, why not?" answered Florian. "'Whether in Naishapur or Babylon',
I want to go to every one of those places myself--and always have. We
won't build that house. We'll have Blodgett stay and look after the
closing up of the business here by Stevens. We'll run out home so I
can say hail and farewell to Jennie and greet my new nephews and nieces
there, and then, ho! for Japan and India and the East, on our way to
those high places where you want to erect your idolatrous altars.
Elizabeth! Do you realize what a Paradise we're planning?"
"There!" she said quaveringly. "I knew it was too perfect to be true,
and that we'd find some obstacle, and I've found it! That miserable
office you'll have to fill!"
Chillingly the wet blanket descended on their fervid joy, and they
looked at each other in consternation. This public call on Mr.
Brassfield now became an incubus to Mr. Amidon, pinning him to earth as
he essayed to rise and fly. Gradually, as he looked fondly in his
lady-love's face, the hope dawned in his heart that perhaps her desire
that he should have a "career" might not be much greater than his.
"Dear," said he at last, "would you feel very sorely disappointed if we
were to give it up--the state and national capital life, and all that?"
"I disappointed!" exclaimed she. "Why, could you bring yourself to
give them up? I hate to say it--but--I just detest the whole thing!"
"So do I!" said Amidon.
They wondered in the next room what could have excited so much hilarity.
"What a beginning!" said Elizabeth. "To start out in our life with
such a mutual deception! But I wanted to have a part in your life,
whatever it might be; and I could organize Primrose Leagues, and
succeed in them, if it were necessary to help in any ambition of yours.
So there! Oh, it was silly to write in that way--but you really seemed
at that time----"
"I never did, my dear! It was that Brassfield; and when I was caught
and restored by Madame le Claire, I should have declined if it hadn't
been for the--the Washington career, you know----"
"Oh, please don't say any more----"
"And I had Blodgett get up a letter of withdrawal----"
"Do you suppose he has it yet?" she cried.
"'Letter of withdrawal!' It sounds so sort of parliamentary and
correct and comforting!"
"It does," agreed Amidon, "especially in view of the fact that I
believe I'm beaten anyhow. Judge Blodgett thinks I am, and Mr.
Alvord----"
"Poor Jim Alvord!" interposed Elizabeth. "His wife says he would
desert his family for you."
"For Brassfield, she means," said Amidon. "It is really not the same
thing, dear. But I was saying that even he half confesses defeat.
I've made an awful mess of this thing, Elizabeth, on account of not
really knowing anything of the people or their opinions or desires.
Even that platform of ours couldn't pull us through. No wisdom--and I
haven't much--could keep a man from making blunders when he went out to
do things for himself, knowing nothing of the situation except what he
got from his inner consciousness, and from what he was told. A
political situation is too delicately balanced for that. If I had done
nothing, I should have remained undeservedly popular and reaped the
reward of Brassfield's cunning and hypocrisy--don't stop me, please!
But you and I tried to impose righteousness on the people from the
outside and above. It never comes in that way, but always from the
inside and below, like lilies from the mud. I'm really a most
unpopular man, opposed by most of the 'good citizens' and all of the
bad except a few who still believe me dishonest, and will desert me as
soon as their fellows can convince them that I'm sincere--isn't it a
pretty plot! Facing defeat because of my advocacy of principles
everybody concedes to be right, because I'm suspected of an actual
intention to act according to my platform pledge; when that man
Brassfield, who was preparing to carry out a policy of selfish
spoliation, could have carried every precinct!"
"It does me so much good," she said, "to see you in such a glow of
indignation, that I allowed you to go on with that unjust condemnation
of my Eugene. Well, then, it seems my noble platform actually ruined
you. How nasty of the people! Can't we elope--run away--and never
come back, or look at a paper or think of it again? Or shall we use
Judge Blodgett's letter of withdrawal--bless him!"
Something--perhaps it was the elopement proposal--induced eventualities
which delayed the conversation again for some minutes.
"Let's go out," said she, "and ask him to--to do whatever they do with
letters of withdrawal--at once!"
The room into which Amidon led the shy Elizabeth had been a
clearing-house of confused ideas during their long tete-a-tete. Madame
le Claire had explained the mystery of dual personality as well as it
can be explained, with some comment on the fact that such things happen
to people occasionally, no one knows why. Alvord and Judge Blodgett
agreed that the candidate for mayor should be withdrawn. Alvord even
raised the question as to whether, the nomination papers being issued
to Brassfield, Amidon could be legally elected. Judge Blodgett said it
raised the finest legal question he ever had encountered, and if
carried up would be a case of first impression in the world's
jurisprudence. Alvord assented to this without argument.
Then Le Claire told them of Amidon's life in his old home as she had
learned of it, of his bewildered application to her in New York, and
how he had been helped. She was a long time telling it, and all the
while she was thinking of the tender things happening in the next room.
She heard the murmuring of their voices, as full of meaning as the
flutings of mating birds. And she faltered and stopped.
"Papa, papa!" she cried, "help me out! Tell them the rest."
"You vill vonder, berhaps," said the professor, "at sairtain
egsentricities of gonduct of our friendt, in his later Brassfield
phace, in vitch he has shown de kvality of sportiness--or sportif--vat
iss de vort?"
"Sportiness," said Miss Scarlett, "is the word."
"T'anks!" said the professor. "Vell, de egsblanation is dus: te
Brassfield state vas vun of gontinuous self-hypnotismus. It iss
apnormal. Its shief garacteristic is suchestibility. Now, if ve find
dat te supchect hass been frown into de society of people of--vat you
gall?--sporty tendencies, he vould gradually yield to te suchestion of
dese tendencies. He vould----"
"I am glad I heard that," said Elizabeth. "We must not allow you to
return to this abnormal state!"
"Mr. Cox," said Judge Blodgett, "do we need a detective to run this
sporty influence down? or shall we look among the Christian Martyrs?"
"It will relieve me," said Miss Scarlett, hugging Mr. Cox's arm, "if
you won't look. I'm afraid to be searched!"
Elizabeth and Florian appeared in the archway. Her eyes were shining
with the soft radiance which, like the flush of dawn, comes only once
in the day's journey, and never returns. His sought her face in a
worship that she would never have seen had Eugene Brassfield looked out
from them.
"I am taking Miss Waldron home," said Mr. Amidon. "Matters have just
taken such a turn that I shall leave soon for my former home in
Wisconsin, where I have large interests, and I may not be able to
return. Such being the case, we do not feel that it would be just to
the people of this city to continue in the position of a candidate for
public office, and--pshaw! why not be honest? We're beaten, and we
don't want the office, anyhow. Judge, have you that letter of
withdrawal convenient?"
[Illustration: "I am taking Miss Waldron home," said Mr. Amidon.]
"I have," said the judge. "I figured all the time that you'd need it."
"Thanks!" said Amidon. "Take it, Mr. Alvord, and give it to the world
at large. You understand, do you not, the peculiar change of
personality which makes it improper----?"
"Sure," said Alvord. "The man who put out that platform of ours can't
afford to be caught short-changing the public by switching candidates
on them on the eve of election. And right here let me say, that be it
Amidon or Brassfield, the ties of brotherhood still hold with Jim
Alvord, in F. D. and B., and I hate to use this letter. I believe
still we could pull through, with proper management from now on, and,
confound it! I'd rather be licked with you than to win with any other
man on earth!"
"In all phases of my life," said Amidon, grasping the little man's hand
warmly, "I'm going to take the liberty of holding you as my friend. I
know faithfulness and unselfishness when I see it, no matter if I don't
quite fall in with its methods."
Alvord's eyes filled, as his emotions rose with the parting. Yet he
could not allow his methods to be questioned even by implication.
"Well, now, as to methods," he began, "theoretically you may be right
about publicity and that platform, but practically--well, let's forget
it! But, 'Gene--or whatever your damned name is!--don't forget me!
Good-by!"
The judge, the professor, Miss Scarlett, and all the rest had gone on
their various ways, and Madame le Claire was in one of the inner rooms
attended by Aaron, whom she had summoned.
"I'm not going to adopt poor Jim's language yet," said Elizabeth, when
she and Florian were again left alone. "'Florian, Florian!'--I like
that name. But think how hard it was to learn to call you 'Eugene.'
Do you remember where we were when I first called you that?"
"Don't you realize, dearie," said he, "that I know nothing of all that?
And except for your sweet letter, I knew nothing of you before that day
when I came from New York?"
"O----h!" she cried. "And all the lovely things you did to win me----
Oh, dear, I never thought of that. And you remember nothing--nothing
at all? Oh, it is dreadful, dreadful! No wonder I almost hated you
that night!"
He put his arm about her and kissed her lingeringly.
"Dearest! Sweetheart!" he said. "The loss is all mine! And to make
up for it, you must let me do them all over again--every one, a
thousand times. Come, let us go!"
At the door, she stopped and turned back.
"I must see Madame le Claire," said she.
Already the rooms were filled with the disorder of packing, and Aaron
was busy preparing for one of their Arab-like flittings. Madame le
Claire stood looking down into the street.
"Are you leaving Bellevale?" said Miss Waldron.
"On the next train," answered the hypnotist. "Our tour has been a long
time delayed."
"I hope," said Elizabeth, "that we shall see you again some time."
"It is quite probable," said Clara. "We are wanderers, and public
characters. Almost everybody sees us from time to time--if they
desire."
"I'm not going to leave you this way," said Elizabeth, with hurried
obscurity of expression. "You have done for me more--much
more--than--than I can say; but you know, you know!"
"I know you would do as much for me!"
"No, no!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "I never would. I'm not good enough.
I'm going away now, to be very, very happy, and I want you to see--to
know--how I feel toward you--oh, oh, I can't say what I mean! But some
time, when you get settled down from the agitations we've had, after a
long time, write and tell me that you're happy, won't you?"
She had put her arm around the slender waist, and faced Madame le
Claire, gazing at her intently. Le Claire kissed her forehead, and
looked long, with the varicolored eyes, into those of Elizabeth. She
seemed to speak in that way, as an easier mode of communication at this
time than by the words which would not come in any adequate form. So
the two girls stood as Professor Blatherwick came in and noticed the
labors of Aaron.
"Packing, Clara?" said he. "Vell, vere shall ve vork te hypot'esis ant
te bublic next? I shall pe glad vunce more to hit te pike. Dis gase,
vile supliminally great stuff, is pretty vell vorked out: not?"
"Quite worked out," said Clara, "to the end; indeed, indeed, it is
completely worked out!"
Elizabeth's arm tightened about her waist, and Elizabeth's breath was
caught in a quick little sigh. Madame le Claire replied to these
inarticulate expressions of sympathy as if they had been words.
"Don't think that!" said she, looking Elizabeth again steadily in the
face. "Don't let that haunt your mind in this new life of yours; for
it will not be so. Let us be friends though we never meet. Yes, I
will write to you; but it will not be necessary. Whenever you think of
me, this is what you will think, because I command it: 'She is busy
with her wandering life. New things are dimming the memory of me--and
mine. She has found the love her soul covets. She is happy!'"