Claudius told his old landlord--his _philister_, as he would have called
him--that he was going away on his customary foot tour for a month or
so. He packed a book and a few things in his knapsack and joined Mr.
Barker. To Claudius in his simplicity there was nothing incongruous in
his travelling as a plain student in the company of the
exquisitely-arrayed New Yorker, and the latter was far too much a man of
the world to care what his companion wore. He intended that the Doctor
should be introduced to the affectionate skill of a London tailor before
he was much older, and he registered a vow that the long yellow hair
should be cut. But these details were the result of his showman's
intuition; personally, he would as readily have travelled with Claudius
had he affected the costume of a shoeblack. He knew that the man was
very rich, and he respected his eccentricity for the present. To
accomplish the transformation of exterior which he contemplated, from
the professional and semi-cynic garb to the splendour of a swell of the
period, Mr. Barker counted on some more potent influence than his own.
The only point on which his mind was made up was that Claudius must
accompany him to America and create a great sensation.
"I wonder if we shall meet her," remarked Mr. Barker reflectively, when
they were seated in the train.
"Whom?" asked Claudius, who did not intend to understand his companion's
chaff.
But Mr. Barker had shot his arrow, and started cleverly as he answered--
"Did I say anything? I must have been talking to myself."
Claudius was not so sure. However, the hint had produced its effect,
falling, as it did, into the vague current of his thoughts and giving
them direction. He began to wonder whether there was any likelihood of
his meeting the woman of whom he had thought so much, and before long he
found himself constructing a conversation, supposed to take place on
their first encounter, overleaping such trifles as probability, the
question of an introduction, and other formalities with the ready
agility of a mind accustomed to speculation.
"The scenery is fine, is it not?" remarked Claudius tritely as they
neared Baden.
"Oh yes, for Europe. We manage our landscapes better in America."
"How so?"
"Swivels. You can turn the rocks around and see the other side."
Claudius laughed a little, but Barker did not smile. He was apparently
occupied in inventing a patent transformation landscape on wheels. In
reality, he was thinking out a _menu_ for dinner whereby he might feed
his friend without starving himself. For Mr. Barker was particular about
his meals, and accustomed to fare sumptuously every day, whereas he had
observed that the Doctor was fond of sausages and decayed cabbage. But
he knew such depraved tastes could not long withstand the blandishments
and caressing hypersensualism of Delmonico, if he ever got the Doctor so
far.
Having successfully accomplished the business of dining, Mr. Barker
promised to return in an hour, and sallied out to find the British
aristocracy, whom he knew. The British aristocracy was taking his coffee
in solitude at the principal _café_, and hailed Mr. Barker's advent with
considerable interest, for they had tastes in common.
"How are you, Duke?"
"Pretty fit, thanks. Where have you been?"
"Oh, all over. I was just looking for you."
"Yes?" said the aristocracy interrogatively.
"Yes. I want you to introduce me to somebody you know."
"Pleasure. Who?"
"She has black eyes and dark hair, very dark complexion, middling
height, fine figure; carries an ivory-handled parasol with a big M and a
crown." Mr. Barker paused for a look of intelligence on the Englishman's
face.
"Sure she's here?" inquired the latter.
"I won't swear. She was seen in Heidelberg, admiring views and dropping
her parasol about, something like three weeks ago."
"Oh! ah, yes. Come on." And the British aristocracy settled the rose in
his button-hole and led the way. He moved strongly with long steps, but
Mr. Barker walked delicately like Agag.
"By the by, Barker, she is a countrywoman of yours. She married a
Russian, and her name is Margaret."
"Was it a happy marriage?" asked the American, taking his cigar from his
mouth.
"Exceedingly. Husband killed at Plevna. Left her lots of tin."
They reached their destination. The Countess was at home. The Countess
was enchanted to make the acquaintance of Monsieur, and on learning that
he was an American and a compatriot, was delighted to see him. They
conversed pleasantly. In the course of twenty minutes the aristocracy
discovered he had an engagement and departed, but Mr. Barker remained.
It was rather stretching his advantage, but he did not lack confidence.
"So you, too, Countess, have been in Heidelberg this summer?"
"About three weeks ago. I am very fond of the old place."
"Lovely, indeed," said Barker. "The castle, the old tower half blown
away in that slovenly war--"
"Oh, such a funny thing happened to me there," exclaimed the Countess
Margaret, innocently falling into the trap. "I was standing just at the
edge with Miss Skeat--she is my companion, you know--and I dropped my
parasol, and it fell rattling to the bottom, and suddenly there started,
apparently out of space--"
"A German professor, seven or eight feet high, who bounded after the
sunshade, and bounded back and bowed and left you to your astonishment.
Is not that what you were going to say, Countess?"
"I believe you are a medium," said the Countess, looking at Barker in
astonishment. "But perhaps you only guessed it. Can you tell me what he
was like, this German professor?"
"Certainly. He had long yellow hair, and a beard like Rip van Winkle's,
and large white hands; and he was altogether one of the most striking
individuals you ever saw."
"It is evident that you know him, Mr. Barker, and that he has told you
the story. Though how you should have known it was I--"
"Guess-work and my friend's description."
"But how do you come to be intimate with German professors, Mr. Barker?
Are you learned, and that sort of thing?"
"He was a German professor once. He is now an eccentricity without a
purpose. Worth millions, and living in a Heidelberg garret, wishing he
were poor again."
"What an interesting creature! Tell me more, please."
Barker told as much of Claudius's history as he knew.
"Too delightful!" ejaculated the Countess Margaret, looking out of the
window rather pensively.
"Countess," said the American, "if I had enjoyed the advantage of your
acquaintance even twenty-four hours I would venture to ask leave to
present my friend to you. As it is--" Mr. Barker paused.
"As it is I will grant you the permission unasked," said the Countess
quietly, still looking out of the window. "I am enough of an American
still to know that your name is a guarantee for any one you introduce."
"You are very kind," said Mr. Barker modestly. Indeed the name of Barker
had long been honourably known in connection with New York enterprise.
The Barkers were not Dutch, it is true, but they had the next highest
title to consideration in that their progenitor had dwelt in Salem,
Massachusetts.
"Bring him in the morning," said the Countess, after a moment's thought.
"About two?"
"Oh no! At eleven or so. I am a very early person. I get up at the
screech of dawn."
"Permit me to thank you on behalf of my friend as well as for myself,"
said Mr. Barker, bending low over the dark lady's hand as he took his
departure.
"So glad to have seen you. It is pleasant to meet a civilised countryman
in these days."
"It can be nothing to the pleasure of meeting a charming countrywoman,"
replied Mr. Barker, and he glided from the room.
The dark lady stood for a moment looking at the door through which her
visitor had departed. It was almost nine o'clock by this time, and she
rang for lights, subsiding into a low chair while the servant brought
them. The candles flickered in the light breeze that fanned fitfully
through the room, and, finding it difficult to read, the Countess sent
for Miss Skeat.
"What a tiny little world it is!" said Margaret, by way of opening the
conversation.
Miss Skeat sat down by the table. She was thin and yellow, and her bones
were on the outside. She wore gold-rimmed eyeglasses, and was well
dressed, in plain black, with a single white ruffle about her long and
sinewy neck. She was hideous, but she had a certain touch of dignified
elegance, and her face looked trustworthy and not unkind.
"Apropos of anything especial?" asked she, seeing that the Countess
expected her to say something.
"Do you remember when I dropped my parasol at Heidelberg?"
"Perfectly," replied Miss Skeat.
"And the man who picked it up, and who looked like Niemann in
_Lohengrin_?"
"Yes, and who must have been a professor. I remember very well."
"A friend of mine brought a friend of his to see me this afternoon, and
the man himself is coming to-morrow."
"What is his name?" asked the lady-companion.
"I am sure I don't know, but Mr. Barker says he is very eccentric. He is
very rich, and yet he lives in a garret in Heidelberg and wishes he were
poor."
"Are you quite sure he is in his right mind, dear Countess?"
Margaret looked kindly at Miss Skeat. Poor lady! she had been rich once,
and had not lived in a garret. Money to her meant freedom and
independence. Not that she was unhappy with Margaret, who was always
thoughtful and considerate, and valued her companion as a friend; but
she would rather have lived with Margaret feeling it was a matter of
choice and not of necessity, for she came of good Scottish blood, and
was very proud.
"Oh yes!" answered the younger lady; "he is very learned and
philosophical, and I am sure you will like him. If he is at all
civilised we will have him to dinner."
"By all means," said Miss Skeat with alacrity. She liked intelligent
society, and the Countess had of late indulged in a rather prolonged fit
of solitude. Miss Skeat took the last novel--one of Tourguéneff's--from
the table and, armed with a paper-cutter, began to read to her
ladyship.
It was late when Mr. Barker found Claudius scribbling equations on a
sheet of the hotel letter-paper. The Doctor looked up pleasantly at his
friend. He could almost fancy he had missed his society a little; but
the sensation was too novel a one to be believed genuine.
"Did you find your friends?" he inquired.
"Yes, by some good luck. It is apt to be the other people one finds, as
a rule."
"Cynicism is not appropriate to your character, Mr. Barker."
"No. I hate cynical men. It is generally affectation, and it is always
nonsense. But I think the wrong people have a way of turning up at the
wrong moment." After a pause, during which Mr. Barker lighted a cigar
and extended his thin legs and trim little feet on a chair in front of
him, he continued:
"Professor, have you a very strong and rooted dislike to the society of
women?"
Assailed by this point-blank question, the Doctor put his bit of paper
inside his book, and drumming on the table with his pencil, considered a
moment. Mr. Barker puffed at his cigar with great regularity.
"No," said Claudius at last, "certainly not. To woman man owes his life,
and to woman he ought to owe his happiness. Without woman civilisation
would be impossible, and society would fall to pieces."
"Oh!" ejaculated Mr. Barker.
"I worship woman in the abstract and in the concrete. I reverence her
mission, and I honour the gifts of Heaven which fit her to fulfil it."
"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Barker.
"I think there is nothing made in creation that can be compared with
woman, not even man. I am enthusiastic, of course, you will say, but I
believe that homage and devotion to woman is the first duty of man,
after homage and devotion to the Supreme Being whom all different races
unite in describing as God."
"That will do, thank you," said Mr. Barker, "I am quite satisfied of
your adoration, and I will not ask her name."
"She has no name, and she has all names," continued Claudius seriously.
"She is an ideal."
"Yes, my feeble intelligence grasps that she cannot be anything else.
But I did not want a confession of faith. I only asked if you disliked
ladies' society, because I was going to propose to introduce you to some
friends of mine here."
"Oh!" said Claudius, and he leaned back in his chair and stared at the
lamp. Barker was silent.
The Doctor was puzzled. He thought it would be very rude of him to
refuse Mr. Barker's offer. On the other hand, in spite of his
protestations of devotion to the sex, he knew that the exalted opinion
he held of woman in general had gained upon him of late years, since he
had associated less with them. It was with him a beautiful theory, the
outcome of a knightly nature thrown back on itself, but as yet not fixed
or clearly defined by any intimate knowledge of woman's character, still
less by any profound personal experience of love. Courtesy was uppermost
as he answered.
"Really," he said at last, "if you are very desirous of presenting me to
your friends, of course I--"
"Oh, only if it is agreeable to you, of course. If it is in any way
the reverse--" protested the polite Mr. Barker.
"Not that--not exactly disagreeable. Only it is some time since I have
enjoyed the advantage of an hour's conversation with ladies; and
besides, since it comes to that, I am here as a pedestrian, and I do not
present a very civilised appearance."
"Don't let that disturb you. Since you consent," went on Mr. Barker,
briskly taking everything for granted, "I may tell you that the lady in
question has expressed a wish to have you presented, and that I could
not do less than promise to bring you if possible. As for your personal
appearance, it is not of the least consequence. Perhaps, if you don't
mind a great deal, you might have your hair cut. Don't be offended,
Professor, but nothing produces an appearance of being dressed so
infallibly as a neatly-trimmed head."
"Oh, certainly, if you think it best, I will have my hair cut. It will
soon grow again."
Mr. Barker smiled under the lambrikin of his moustache. "Yes," thought
he, "but it sha'n't."
"Then," he said aloud, "we will go about eleven."
Claudius sat wondering who the lady could be who wanted to have him
presented. But he was afraid to ask; Barker would immediately suppose he
imagined it to be the dark lady. However, his thoughts took it as a
certainty that it must be she, and went on building castles in the air
and conversations in the clouds. Barker watched him and probably guessed
what he was thinking of; but he did not want to spoil the surprise he
had arranged, and fearing lest Claudius might ask some awkward question,
he went to bed, leaving the Doctor to his cogitations.
In the morning he lay in wait for his friend, who had gone off for an
early walk in the woods. He expected that a renewal of the attack would
be necessary before the sacrifice of the yellow locks could be
accomplished, and he stood on the steps of the hotel, clad in the most
exquisite of grays, tapering down to the most brilliant of boots. He had
a white rose in his buttonhole, and his great black dog was lying at his
feet, having for a wonder found his master, for the beast was given to
roaming, or to the plebeian society of Barker's servant. The American's
careful attire contrasted rather oddly with his sallow face, and with
the bony hand that rested against the column. He was a young man, but he
looked any age that morning. Before long his eye twinkled and he changed
his position expectantly, for he saw the tall figure of Claudius
striding up the street, a head and shoulders above the strolling crowd;
and, wonderful to relate, the hair was gone, the long beard was
carefully clipped and trimmed, and the Doctor wore a new gray hat!
"If he will black his boots and put a rose in his coat, he will do. What
a tearing swell he will be when he is dressed," thought Mr. Barker, as
he looked at his friend.
"You see I have followed your advice," said Claudius, holding out his
hand.
"Always do that, and you will yet taste greatness," said the other
cheerfully. "You look like a crown prince like that. Perfectly immense."
"I suppose I am rather big," said Claudius apologetically, not catching
the American idiom. Mr. Barker, however, did not explain himself, for he
was thinking of other things.
"We will go very soon. Excuse the liberty, Professor, but you might have
your boots blacked. There is a little cad down the backstairs who does
it."
"Of course," answered Claudius, and disappeared within. A small man who
was coming out paused and turned to look after him, putting up his
eyeglass. Then he took off his hat to Mr. Barker.
"Pardon, Monsieur," he began, "if I take the liberty of making an
inquiry, but could you inform me of the name of that gentleman, whose
appearance fills me with astonishment, and whose vast dimensions obscure
the landscape of Baden?"
Mr. Barker looked at the small man for a moment very gravely.
"Yes," said he pensively, "his royal highness _is_ a large man
certainly." And while his interlocutor was recovering enough to
formulate another question, Mr. Barker moved gently away to a
flowerstand.
When Claudius returned his friend was waiting for him, and himself
pinned a large and expensive rose in the Doctor's buttonhole. Mr. Barker
surveyed his work--the clipped head, the new hat, the shiny boots and
the rose--with a satisfied air, such as Mr. Barnum may have worn when he
landed Jumbo on the New York pier. Then he called a cab, and they drove
away.