in the cloth. Two of the worst of these had been perpetrated nearly ten
years' previously, and, although the perpetrators were still constant
frequenters of the room, Isaac had never from the dates of their
respective delinquencies spoken a word to either of them. When one of
these persons lost a game and thus had to pay for the use of the table,
Isaac would silently hold out a claw-like hand for the money, and no
matter how brutal the chaff to which he might be subjected, he could
never be provoked to retort.
One morning, after I had been for about two months a resident at the
hotel, I entered the billiard-room, and there found Isaac sitting on the
bench and weeping bitterly. His head was bowed upon his hands, and his
poor twisted frame shook to the violence of his sobs. A large parcel
lay next to him; one end of this had been opened and a new cloth thus
revealed. It was quite clear what had happened: the evil and
much-dreaded day had arrived; the old cloth was about to be discarded
and another substituted. As a matter of fact the proprietor of the
rival table up the street had invested in a new cloth and cushions, and
consequently was drawing away custom in an alarming manner. Isaac's
master had at length put his foot down, and Isaac's darling was to be
re-clothed and re-cushioned. This Isaac regarded more or less as Mr
Ruskin would regard draping the "Venus de Medicis" in a velveteen
polonaise.
"I'd rather they took off my skin and put new calves to my legs," he
said between his sobs. "If I only knowed where to get gunpowder I'd
blow the two of us up."
I tried to reason with him, but he turned and withered me, in company
with the proprietor and everyone else he could think of, in a blast of
anathema that would have made a pope of the Middle Ages weep with envy,
so I beat a hasty retreat.
Later in the day Isaac was reported to be very ill. Next morning I
found him crouched on his face among pillows in a comfortable little
room which formed a lean-to at the side of the stable. He was breathing
stertorously and evidently had not long to live. When I addressed him
he looked up at me with pain-shot eyes, but appeared to be unable to
reply. Sounds of tacking could be heard coming from the direction of
the billiard-room; the old cloth was being removed and the new one fixed
in its place. A man named Scarren was sitting at the bedside; every now
and then he puffed strong tobacco-smoke into the sick man's face. This,
Scarren explained in a whisper, was done at Isaac's request. I noticed
that when Scarren, during the conversation with me, allowed a longer
interval than usual to elapse without puffing, Isaac became very uneasy.
Isaac died during the night. I forget exactly how the doctor who
attended him described his malady, but judging from the length of the
name it must have been something as uncommon as deadly. My private,
unprofessional opinion was that the poor old man had died of a broken
heart. Strange, that for the commonest of all diseases there should be
no medical name--to say nothing of a cure.
Next day old Isaac's body was carried to its resting-place in the pretty
little cemetery, in the beautifying of which the inhabitants of Hilston
spent a lot of money, which would have been far better devoted to
sanitation, the same being very badly needed. Scarren, two of the
regular votaries at the billiard-room and myself were the only mourners.
Before the body was placed in the coffin I had, with the consent of the
proprietor, laid the old cloth, neatly folded, where the worn-out body
would rest upon it. The editor of the local paper heard of this
circumstance and took me roundly to task for what he called my
"heartless practical joke at the expense of a dead man." I had, just
previously, been the means of having a heavy reduction effected in his
bill for some Government printing, the details of which proved, upon
examination, to be as untrustworthy as his leading articles.
Scarren was installed as marker in old Isaac's place. He was an old,
shrivelled-up man of few words but many pipes, of the worst tobacco I
have ever inhaled the smoke of. Scarren and Isaac had been great
cronies, although the one had been as loquacious as the other was
silent. However, in spite of his reserve there was a twinkle in
Scarren's eye which suggested latent humorous possibilities. He had
been a hanger-on at the hotel for several years, making a precarious
living by doing odd jobs. The occupation he loved most was fishing,
especially for eels. As a rule, before you had conversed with him for
five minutes upon any subject whatever, he would produce from his pocket
what had once been a fish-hook, which ought to have been capable of
holding a moderately-sized shark, but which was now a straight bar of
iron with a barb at one end. The straightening-out had, he said, been
effected in the following manner: One night he had hooked an enormous
eel. Finding his strength unequal to landing the prey he tied the line
to an adjacent thorn-tree, which swayed violently to the monster's
frantic tugs. All at once the stress on the line ceased and Scarren
thought it had broken; but no, it was the hook that had given way, for
when he drew it out of the water it was no longer a hook but a straight
bar. The date of this episode was long before I made Scarren's
acquaintance. I was informed upon unimpeachable authority that the
original, actual hook of the adventure had been stolen many years
previously by some practical joker. Scarren, however, said not a word
of his loss, but next day he was seen, when telling the story to a
stranger, to produce another and a larger straightened hook from his
pocket for the purpose of illustrating his narrative. Shortly
afterwards the second hook was stolen, but was replaced by yet a larger
one. This process had been several times repeated, with the result that
the alleged hook of the adventure grew until quite a startling size was
reached. The size to which Scarren's hook will have attained in, say,
ten years, if Scarren lives so long, might be an interesting subject for
speculation.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_Two_.
About a month before old Isaac's death a certain man whom I will call
Chimer came to stay at the hotel. He had been sent as the
representative of a firm of Port Elizabeth merchants to assist in
winding up the affairs of a local trader who had come to financial
grief. Chimer's room was next to mine; thus we got into the habit of
finishing our evenings together.
Nearly every man has a fad, and this man's fad was spiritualism. He was
a firm believer in ghosts and astral bodies, and the prophets of his
cult were A.P. Sinnett and Madame Blavatski. He did his best to make a
convert of me, but in spite of a close perusal of some very striking
literature on the subject from the pens of men of splendid ability and
great scientific attainments, I remained conscientiously unconvinced.
Like the late George Augustus Sala, although I could conceive the
possibility of the ghost of a man revisiting the scenes of his lifetime,
I found it impossible to believe in the ghost of his garments, and who
ever heard of an undraped apparition? The detailed account given by one
eminent scientist as to how he was in the habit of materialising an
attractive young female spirit named "Katie King," with whom he was on
terms of striking intimacy, seemed not alone an insult to the human
understanding but a melancholy instance of the weaknesses of the strong,
of which history is full. Chimer was said to be a most successful
medium, but he failed signally to produce any "manifestations" on the
occasions when he attempted to convince me by means of demonstration.
In discussing spiritualism he never used the first person singular, but
always spoke of what "we" believe, what "we" have done, etc.
On the second evening after old Isaac's death I dined at the house of a
friend; it was about half-past ten o'clock when I returned to the hotel.
I was surprised to find the usual habitues of the billiard-room sitting
in the dining-room. The only one who looked cheerful was Chimer; all
the others appeared to be absolutely terror-stricken, their faces
gleaming pallid under the sickly rays of a debilitated paraffin lamp.
From time to time they glanced uneasily over their shuddering shoulders,
and they all puffed with nervous fury at their respective pipes.
It was a queer collection of specimens of the genus Homo that I saw.
There was Woods, who had not missed an evening in the billiard-room
(excepting Sundays, when he invariably went to church) for many years.
He was in the habit of beating his wife and starving his children; no
one had the least idea as to what the source of his income was, but he
always had money for liquor, for billiards and for putting in the plate.
There was Shawe, champion liar of the town; he apparently lived on Cape
and tobacco-smoke, and he played a fair game of billiards except when
sober. There was Loots, the Dutchman, who never drank at his own
expense or played a game of billiards that there was the slightest
chance of his losing. Dan Menzies, the Scotch tailor, who had all the
instincts of a gentleman, as well as many of the potential elements of
greatness, in spite of the fact of his being an almost hopeless sot.
Brooke Crofton, who had been dismissed from his regiment during the
Soudan campaign for disobedience of orders given during an action, or,
as others put it, for cowardice. He was now, and had been for several
years, trying to drink himself to death on an allowance made him for
that purpose by his wife, who lived in England and had money of her own.
Most of the others were young clerks and assistants in stores. Chimer
looked up and caught my eye. In his there was a triumphant gleam.
The proprietor, whose face was the palest of the lot, soon revealed the
gruesome cause of the terror which brooded over the gathering. A few
hours previously they had all been sitting in the billiard-room,
watching the course of a game, the first played on the table since the
fixing of the new cloth and cushions, which had only been completed
during the afternoon. On the top of a little cupboard which stood in
the corner, and in which spare balls, chalk, sandpaper and other
billiard requisites were kept, had been placed the mahogany
triangle-frame which is used for fixing the balls in position in the
game of pyramid pool. Lying in the triangle were the fifteen pyramid
balls. Woods and Crofton were the players. It was noticed that the
lamps were in very bad trim and gave a most wretched light. (Shawe
declared fervently that he had noticed a distinctly blue tinge in the
flame; two of the clerks present corroborated this when appealed to).
All at once the triangle was seen to fly violently from the top of the
cupboard, whilst the fifteen ivory balls crashed down on the floor and
rolled with loud clatterings in different directions. The
triangle-frame, out of which the balls had dropped, seemed as if
propelled by an unseen power almost out of the window, close to which
it, too, fell to the floor with an appalling noise. The effect on the
spectators was terrific; Woods, Crofton and one of the clerks fainted
dead away, and the others rushed from the room with wild yells.
As the moving incident was being related to me, Scarren, who happened
not to have witnessed it, was engaged in quenching the lights and
generally putting the room in order. The Fingo waiter was in unwilling
attendance; for Scarren had, naturally enough, demurred at entering the
room alone, and none of those who had been present when the fearsome
occurrence took place would consent to accompany him.
After some very straight hints from the proprietor the haggard band
departed in a body to see each other home. The last man was not to be
envied.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_Three_.
Whilst on the way to my room for the purpose of retiring I noticed
Chimer sitting on his bed. I entered his room. He was smoking his
pipe, and his face wore a look of exultant satisfaction. I could hardly
be surprised.
"Well?" said he.
"Well?" replied I.
"I should like to know how you account for what occurred to-night."
"At present I cannot account for it. Can you?"
"Yes, but I fear your prejudices would not allow of your admitting my
explanation."
"You think, of course, that the spirit of old Isaac sent these balls
rolling about the room."
"Certainly, I do."
"But if," said I, with the vain rashness of superior knowledge, "as you
admit, a spirit gives neither chemical or dynamic evidence of its
presence, how can it act physically upon inert bodies?"
"My dear fellow, as I have often told you, we do not for a moment
pretend to be able to give an exhaustive explanation of phenomena of
this class. We simply say that in incidents such as this, where what
are called `natural' causes are eliminated from the field of
consideration by the fact of their absence, it is reasonable to fall
back on what is called the `supernatural.' As I have been careful to
explain to you more than once, this may be a branch of the natural, and
may be recognised some day as a legitimate subject for scientific
research by those who now treat us with derision."
"But are you justified in eliminating all possible natural causes in the
present instance?"
"Certainly--you heard the account given; this was corroborated by all
who were present. There was no one near the cupboard, the triangle was
seen, in direct opposition to the law of gravitation, to fly through the
air impelled by some force which could not, according to any scientific
hypothesis, have had a natural origin."
"But, assuming the elimination of all natural possibilities--which is
rather a large order--does it not seem shockingly inconsistent with all
our ideas on the subject of death, which lends a certain dignity that we
instinctively recognise even to the passing away of the life of a puppy,
to believe that the spirits of a large number of men who, in essentials
were very much the same in their lifetime as we are, have found nothing
better to do in `the vasty halls of death,' than to remain at the beck
and call of a lot of (very often) silly persons and, when so bidden, to
make tables dance, rap out unmeaning nonsense, or else to scare tipplers
from a billiard-room by rolling balls about the floor."
"The world of the flesh is full of inconsistencies," my philosopher
explained; "why not, therefore, the world of the spirits? What we think
of that phase of the question is this, namely: that spirits on the lower
planes--which are those concerned in so-called manifestations--are the
ones which cannot sever themselves from the environment their bodies
were accustomed to. As there are different degrees of development among
animals, of which man is the head, so there are among spirits. Thus
some of the latter may be as the lower animals of the spirit-kingdom,
and may indulge, as there is good reason for believing that they do, in
spiritual monkey-tricks."
Knowing that Chimer and old Isaac had detested each other, I felt it
would have been of no use my attempting the rehabilitation of the old
man's ghost from the suspicion of being a spiritual monkey in the gloomy
groves of Hades.
"Good-night, Chimer; I can only repeat the argument which Hume used
against miracles. I do not think that Isaac had anything to do with
to-night's scare."
And so, with the complacent dogmatism of the sceptic, I turned on my
heel. The reader, no doubt, is of the opinion I expressed, but let him
await the sequel.
Chimer nodded to me with an expression of pitying superiority. I went
to bed and fell asleep almost immediately, for me a very unusual
circumstance. I had a strange and vivid dream. I seemed to be
wandering through a shadowy grove; all at once I saw a dejected-looking
monkey which took great pains to conceal its face. It was sitting under
a tree, to which its tail was tied. Moved by a sympathetic impulse, I
approached and untied the knot; then I gently removed the paws from the
downcast visage, with the view of offering consolation. The poor
creature looked up diffidently and I recognised the features of Chimer.
After this I wandered on and on, until I found myself on the verge of
the smiling Elysian fields, which seemed to stretch away to infinity in
fertile beauty. Under a tree which was laden with many-hued spherical
fruit of about the size of billiard-balls, lay old Isaac, fast asleep,
and with a smile of supreme peace upon his worn face. He was wrapped in
the old billiard-cloth which I had caused to be placed in his coffin.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_Four_.
Another month went past. In a few days my somewhat wearying stay at
Hilston would draw to a close. Chimer had returned to Port Elizabeth,
whence he had written to tell me of a remarkable manifestation which had
taken place under his mediumship, in the course of which he had actually
communicated with Isaac's spirit. Isaac said that he had caused the
manifestation in the billiard-room, but that he did not mean to do the
like again. After this, he had obstinately refused to answer any more
questions. This, Chimer considered, proved that Isaac dead was more or
less of the same disobliging nature as Isaac had been living--a strong
collateral evidence of the genuineness of both his messages from the
unseen. However, so far as manifestations were concerned, Isaac had
hitherto kept his word, for the harmony of the billiard-room had not
again been disturbed. The episode of the triangle and the scattered
balls was almost forgotten, and the muddy trickle of belated life around
the renovated table had long since resumed its normal course.
I had, all along, been keenly anxious to unravel the mystery of the
locomotive triangle and the crashing balls, but hitherto all my efforts
had been vain. I had from the beginning suspected Scarren of having had
a hand in the business, and had over and over again attempted to draw
him out on the subject. He, however, with much adroitness, had
invariably turned the conversation to the topic of eel-fishing.
However, the suspicion that Scarren could explain the matter if he only
would, grew on me day by day, and I determined to make a desperate
assault upon the citadel of his reserve before leaving Hilston. I had
accidentally found out that whenever I fixed him with my eye, Scarren
became very uneasy and endeavoured to escape. After this discovery I
ceased to question him, but whenever I could manage to do so, I fixed
him with a steady stare. Each successive time this happened he squirmed
more and more until, at length, he got to avoiding me by means of the
most obvious and awkward shifts.
At length--it was two days before my intended departure--I caught him
alone in the billiard-room, where I had seen him enter with a paraffin
can for the purpose of replenishing the lamps. I followed him, shut the
door behind me, walked slowly to where he stood in the corner fumbling
at a lamp with feverish and ostentatious activity, and stood behind him,
relentless as Fate. First of all he pretended to be unaware of my
presence, then he gave a hurried and startled glance over his shoulder.
"Scarren," said I, "you might as well own up. How did you manage it?"
He tried to bolt incontinently, but I got between him and the door.
"Don't be a fool," I said reassuringly. "I don't want to get you into a
row; if you own up freely, I won't say a word to anyone."
"Well, sir, I'll have to tell you, but for God's sake don't give me
away. It isn't that I am afraid of getting the sack--although that, of
course, would follow; but I've a reason for keeping it dark which you'd
never guess, and which I can't tell you."
"Scarren," I rejoined with solemn severity, "you'll have to tell me
_all_ about it, mind that. I shall not stick to my promise if you keep
a single word back. Speak up at once, or else look out."
He went quietly to the doorway and looked out to see that no one was
listening. Then he carefully closed the door, after which he returned
on tiptoe to the corner where I was standing with a stern visage but a
triumphant heart.
"It was old Isaac, right enough--"
"Scarren," I exclaimed with indignation, "don't try that on with me."
"Wait a bit, sir, don't speak so loud. Let me tell you from the
beginning, and then you'll understand. About half an hour before you
came, on the day that Isaac died, I was sitting smoking at him, and all
at once he seemed to get much better.
"`Scarren,' says he in quite a strong voice, `I'll never hear the cock
crow no more; I'll die before lock-up time.'
"`Why, Isaac,' says I, `you look as if you was quite your own self
again. I believe you'll be singin' out the game again the day after
to-morrow.'
"While we was talking we could hear the noise of the new cloth being
nailed down. Isaac knew well enough what was going on and it made him
angry.
"`No,' says he, quite raspy, `I'll sing out no more games. Twenty years
I've brushed her down, and they won't let me die before rippin' of her
up.'
"Then he lay a long time silent, and I could see he was thinking hard
about something. All at once he grips my hand--
"`Scarren,' says he, `do you believe in ghosts?'
"First of all I was going to say no; then I thought that if I said so it
might annoy him after he was dead, and he might come and show me I was
mistaken.
"`Yes, Isaac,' says I; `I've not seen any myself, but still I believes
in them.'
"`All right,' says he; `I'm going to give you my last dying will and
testament by word of mouth, which you've got to carry out or be haunted
by me whenever the Devil leaves the gate ajar for as much as five
minutes.'
"`Well, Isaac,' says I, `what is it that you want me to do?'
"`On the first night,' says he, `when they plays on the new cloth and
with them new cushions, which I know will be twice too strong for a
table of her age, I want you to give them a fright and make them think
that I've come back.'
"`Yes, Isaac,' says I, `I'm quite willing to oblige, but how do you want
me to do it?'
"`That I leave to you,' says he; `there's lots of ways. You can let the
rack fall down, or set the balls rolling about, or put gun-caps atop of
the lamps. Only, mind this--you've got to make them jump, and think
it's me that's done it; if you don't, I'll make you do the jumping.'
"Well, after Isaac was underground I set to thinking how I was to carry
out his last will and testament, and I got fairly puzzled. There was
lots of ways of making them jump, but I would be dead sure to be found
out, and then, not only would I lose my billet, but I'd always think
that Isaac was not satisfied, and might come to tell me so, for Isaac
was always a man of his word. Then I went to rummage in an old box of
his, which he'd said I might have as a keepsake. I came across in it
some fine brass wire, like what he'd used for mending cues that got
their butts split. All at once an idea came, and I'm quite sure that
Isaac put it into my head. So that evening, before I lit the lamps, I
tied the one end of the wire, which was that fine you couldn't hardly
see it, to the triangle which lay, full of balls, on the cupboard. The
other end I passed along the wall and out through the window where the
sash gapes; there I just whipped it round a nail. Then I lit the lamps
and sat waiting for the room to fill up. When I thought there were
enough in, I sneaked out, pretending that I was going to get my supper.
After a bit I just gave the wire a tug, and then bolted round the
corner."
Scarren's excitement had waxed during the narrative. From force of
habit he had taken the straightened-out fish-hook from his pocket, and
with it he had punctuated his sentences. I remained silent and lost in
thought--marvelling at the fortitude of old Isaac and wishing I knew how
to attain to a philosophy such as enabled its possessor to enjoy a
prospective and post-mortem practical joke upon his death-bed.
"It was a regular three-star, double-barrelled eighteen-carat scare,"
said Scarren, after a pause--"and I know for as good a fact that old
Isaac enjoyed it well."
"What makes you think that?"
"Well, on the same night I had such a curious dream. I saw Isaac, as
plain as ever you like, sitting under a tree full of red and yeller
apples. He was wrapped in the cloth we put in his coffin, and was
laughing fit to split hisself."
I gave an involuntary start, for my dream of the same night flashed
across my mind. After making the most solemn promises not to reveal the
tale--except under certain improbable eventualities which, strangely
enough, have since become actual--I bade farewell to old Scarren and
walked away thinking, for the first time, that there might, after all,
be something true in Chimer's creed.
CHAPTER NINE.
CHICKEN WINGS.