My quondam friends, Flail, Trask, and Bisland, are no more; they are
dead, and with them has gone out of existence as gross an imposition as
the moral cowardice of man were capable of inventing, constructing, and
practising.
When Alice became my wife she knew that I was a lover and collector of
books, but, being a young thing, she had no idea of the monstrous
proportions which bibliomania, unchecked, is almost certain to acquire.
Indeed, the dear girl innocently and rapturously encouraged this
insidious vice. "Some time," she used to say, "we shall have a house
of our own, and then your library shall cover the whole top-floor, and
the book-cases shall be built in the walls, and there shall be a lovely
blue-glass sky-light," etc. Moreover, although she could not tell the
difference between an Elzevir and a Pickering, or between a folio and
an octavo, Alice was very proud of our little library, and I recall now
with real delight the times I used to hear her showing off those
precious books to her lady callers. Alice made up for certain
inaccuracies of information with a distinct enthusiasm and garrulity
that never failed to impress her callers deeply. I was mighty proud of
Alice; I was prepared to say, paraphrasing Sam Johnson's remark about
the Scotchman, "A wife can be made much of, if caught young."
It was not until after little Grolier and little Richard de Bury were
born to us that Alice's regard for my pretty library seemed to abate.
I then began to realize the truth of what my bachelor friend Kinzie had
often declared,--namely, that the chief objection to children was that
they weaned the collector from his love of books. Grolier was a
mischievous boy, and I had hard work trying to convince his mother that
he should by no means be allowed to have his sweet but destructive will
with my Bewicks and Bedfords. Thumb and finger marks look well enough
in certain places, but I protested that they did not enhance the quaint
beauty of an old wood-cut, a delicate binding, or a wide margin. And
Richard de Bury--a lovely little 16mo of a child--was almost as
destructive as his older brother. The most painful feature of it all
to me then was that their mother actually protected the toddling knaves
in their vandalism. I never saw another woman change so as Alice did
after those two boys came to us. Why, she even suggested to me one day
that when we did build our new house we should devote the upper story
thereof not to library but to nursery purposes!
Things gradually got to the pass that I began to be afraid to bring
books into the house. At first Alice used to reproach me indirectly by
eying the new book jealously, and hinting in a subtle, womanly way that
Grolier needed new shoes, or that Richard was sadly in need of a new
cap. Presently, encouraged by my lamb-like reticence, Alice began to
complain gently of what she termed my extravagance, and finally she
fell into the pernicious practice of berating me roundly for neglecting
my family for the selfish--yes, the cruel--gratification of a foolish
fad, and then she would weep and gather up the two boys and wonder how
soon we should all be in the poorhouse.
I have spoken of my bachelor friend, Kinzie; there was a philosopher
for you, and his philosophy was all the sweeter because it had never
been embittered by marital experience. I had confidence in Kinzie, and
I told him all about the dilemma I was in. He pitied me and condoled
with me, for he was a sympathetic man, and he was, too, as consistent a
bibliomaniac as I ever met with. "Be of good cheer," said he, "we
shall find a way out of all this trouble." And he suggested a way. I
seized upon it as the proverbial drowning man is supposed to clutch at
the proverbial straw.
The next time I took a bundle of books home I marched into the house
boldly with them. Alice fetched a deep sigh. "Ah, been buying more
books, have you?" she asked in a despairing tone.
"No, indeed," I answered triumphantly, "they were given to me,--a
present from judge Trask. I'm in great luck, ain't I?"
Alice was almost as pleased as I was. The interest with which she
inspected the lovely volumes was not feigned. "But who is Judge
Trask?" she asked, as she read the autographic lines upon a flyleaf in
each book. I explained glibly that the judge was a wealthy and
cultured citizen who felt somewhat under obligation to me for certain
little services I had rendered him one time and another. I was not to
be trapped or cornered. I had learned my sinful lesson perfectly.
Alice never so much as suspected me of evil.
The scheme worked so well that I pursued it with more or less
diligence. I should say that about twice a week on an average a bundle
of books came to the house "with the compliments" of either Judge Trask
or Colonel Flail or Mr. Bisland. You can understand that I could not
hope to play the Trask deception exclusively and successfully. I
invented Colonel Flail and Mr. Bisland, and I contrived to render them
quite as liberal in their patronage as the mythical Judge Trask
himself. Occasionally a donation came in, by way of variety, from
Smeaton and Holbrook and Caswell and other solitary creations of my
mendacious imagination, when I used to blind poor dear Alice to the
hideous truth. Touching myself, I gave it out that I had abandoned
book-buying, was convinced of the folly of the mania, had reformed, and
was repentant. Alice loved me all the better for that, and she became
once more the sweetest, most amiable little woman in all the world.
She was inexpressibly happy in the fond delusion that I had become
prudent and thrifty, and was putting money in bank for that home we
were going to buy--sometime.
Meanwhile the names of Flail, Trask, and Bisland became household words
with us. Occasionally Smeaton and Holbrook and Caswell were mentioned
gratefully as some fair volume bearing their autograph was inspected;
but, after all, Flail, Trask, and Bisland were the favorites, for it
was from them that most of my beloved books came. Yes, Alice gradually
grew to love those three myths; she loved them because they were good
to me.
Alice had, like most others of her sex, a strong sense of duty. She
determined to do something for my noble friends, and finally she
planned a lovely little dinner whereat Judge Trask and Colonel Flail
and Mr. Bisland were to be regaled with choicest viands of Alice's
choice larder and with the sweetest speeches of Alice's graceful heart.
I was authorized only to convey the invitations to this delectable
banquet, and here was a pretty plight for a man to be in, surely
enough! But my bachelor friend Kinzie (ough, the Mephisto!) helped me
out. I reported back to Alice that Judge Trask was out of town, that
Colonel Flail was sick abed with grip, and that Mr. Bisland was
altogether too shy a man to think of venturing out to a dinner alone.
Alice was dreadfully disappointed. Still there was consolation in
feeling that she had done her duty in trying to do it.
Well, this system of deception and perjury went on a long time, Alice
never suspecting any evil, but perfectly happy in my supposed reform
and economy, and in the gracious liberality of those three
Maecenas-like friends, Flail, Trask, and Bisland, who kept pouring in
rare and beauteous old tomes upon me. She was joyous, too, in the
prospect of that new house which we would soon be able to build, now
that I had so long quit the old ruinous mania for book-buying! And
I--wretch that I was--I humored her in this conceit; I heaped perjury
upon perjury; lying and deception had become my second nature. Yet I
loathed myself and I hated those books; they reproached me every time I
came into their presence. So I was miserable and helpless; how hard it
is to turn about when one once gets into the downward path! The shifts
I was put to, and the desperate devices which I was forced to
employ,--I shudder to recall them! Life became a constant, terrifying
lie.
Thank Heaven, it is over now, and my face is turned the right way. A
third little son was born to us. Alice was, oh! so very ill. When she
was convalescing she said to me one day: "Hiram, I have been thinking
it all over, and I've made up my mind that we must name the baby Trask
Flail Bisland, after our three good friends."
I did n't make any answer, went out into the hall, and communed awhile
with my own hideous, tormented self. How my soul revolted against the
prospect of giving to that innocent babe a name that would serve simply
to scourge me through the rest of my wicked life! No, I could not
consent to that. I would be a coward no longer!
I went back into Alice's room, and sat upon the bed beside her, and
took one of Alice's dear little white hands in mine, and told her
everything, told Alice the whole truth,--all about my wickedness and
perjuries and deceptions; told her what a selfish, cruel monster I had
been; dispelled all the sinful delusion about Flail, Trask, and
Bisland; threw myself, penitent and hopeless, upon my deceived,
outraged little wife's mercy. Was it a mean advantage to take of a
sick woman?
I fancied she would reproach me, for I knew that her heart was set upon
that new house she had talked of so often; I told her that the savings
she had supposed were in bank, were in reality represented only by and
in those stately folios and sumptuous quartos which the mythical Flail,
Trask, and Bisland had presumably donated. "But," I added, "I shall
sell them now, and with the money I shall build the home in which we
may be happy again,--a lovely home, sweetheart, with no library at all,
but all nursery if you wish it so!"
"No," said Alice, when I had ended my blubbering confession, "we shall
not part with the books; they have caused you more suffering than they
have me, and, moreover, their presence will have a beneficial effect
upon you. Furthermore, I myself have become attached to them,--you
know I thought they were given to you, and so I have learned to care
for them. Poor Judge Trask and Colonel Flail and Mr. Bisland,--so they
are only myths? Dear Hiram," she added with a sigh, "I can forgive you
for everything except for taking those three good men out of our lives!"
After all this I have indeed reformed. I have actually become prudent,
and I have a bank-account that is constantly increasing. I do not hate
books; I simply do not buy them. And I eschew that old sinner, Kinzie,
and all the sinister influences he represents. As for our third little
boy, we have named him Reform Meigs, after Alice's mother's
grandfather, who built the first saw-mill in what is now the State of
Ohio, and was killed by the Indians in 1796.