I
The most high gods have decided that too much power over the hearts of
men shall not be given to other men, for then the givers are forgotten
in the gift and the smoke dies away from the altars. So they kill the
men who play with souls. According to an ancient saying, before they
destroy the victim they make him mad. There are, however, modifications
of the process. Occasionally they make him drunk.
As I came down the board-walk that leads to the ocean, I saw by his
staggering and swaying gait that the man was not only very drunk
indeed, but that he gloried in the fact. This was shown by his
brandishing arms and tossing head and the defiant air with which he
regarded the cottages, before one of which he paused, leaned forward,
placing one hand dramatically at his ear, and presently executed a
wild dance of what was apparently derision. A timid woman would have
retreated, but I am not timid, except when I am alone in the dark. Also
I have what my brother-in-law calls Bohemian tastes. As nearly as I
have been able to understand that phrase, it signifies a great interest
in people, especially when they are at all odd. And this solitary,
scornful dance of a ragged man before the Averys' cottage was odd in
the extreme.
So I walked quietly along. When I reached the man I heard him muttering
rapidly to himself, while he rested from the exertion of his late
performance. What did dancing drunken men talk about? I walked
slower. My brother-in-law says that a woman with any respect for the
proprieties, to say nothing of the conventions, would never have done
this. I have observed, however, that his feelings for the proprieties
and the conventions, both of them, have on occasion suffered relapse,
more especially at those times, prior to his marriage to my sister,
when I, although supposed to be walking and riding and rowing and
naphtha-launching with them, was frequently and inexcusably absent. So
I gather that the proprieties and the conventions, like many other
things, are relative.
As I passed the man he turned and looked crossly at me and spoke
apparently to some one far away behind me, for he spoke with much force.
"Did you ever hear such damn foolishness?" he demanded. Now there was
nothing to hear but Miss Kitty Avery playing Chopin's Fourth Ballade
in F minor. She played it badly, of course, but nobody who knew Kitty
Avery would have imagined that she would play otherwise than badly,
and I have heard so much bad playing that I didn't notice it very much
anyway. I thought it hardly probable that the man should know how
unfortunate Kitty's method and selection were, so I passed directly by.
Soon I heard his steps, and I knew he was coming after me. While he was
yet some distance behind me he spoke again.
"I suppose that fool of a woman thinks she can play," he growled as he
lurched against a lamp-post. Then I did the unpardonable deed. I turned
and answered him.
"How do you know it's a woman?" I asked.
"Huh! Take me for a fool, don't you?" he said scornfully, scuffling
along unsteadily. "I'm drunk as an owl, but I'm no fool! No. I know
it's a woman from the pawin' 'round she does. Bah! Thinks she's
playin'. Damn nonsense!" He sat down carefully on the sand by the side
of the walk and wagged his head knowingly. I looked cautiously about.
No one was in sight. I bent down and untied my shoe.
"Perhaps you could play it better?" I suggested sweetly. His jaw
dropped with consternation.
"Play it better! Oh, Lord! She says can I play it better!
Can-I-play-it-better? Well, I'll tell you one thing. If I couldn't play
it better, d'ye know what I'd do? Do you?"
"No," said I, and tied my shoe. He didn't talk thickly as they do in
books. On the contrary, he brought out each word with a particularly
clear and final utterance.
"Well, I'll tell you what I'd do. I'd go off and drown my sorrers in
drink! Yes, I would. Although I'm so drunk that I wouldn't know when I
was getting drunk on principle and when I was just plain drunk. Le'
me tell you somethin': _I'm drunk now!_" He announced the fact with
a gravity so colossal as to render laughter impossible. I untied the
other shoe.
"Can you really play Chopin?" I said. He shook his fist at the Avery
cottage.
"What I can't play of Chopin you never heard played! So that's the end
o' that," he said. The folly of the situation suddenly became clear
to me. I hastily tied my shoe and turned to go. He half rose from the
sand, but sank helplessly back.
"Look here," he said confidentially, "I'm tired, and I need m' rest. I
got to have rest. We all need rest. If you want to hear me play, you
come to the old hulk of a barn that's got the piano in it. They call
it the auditorium--au-di-to-ri-um." He pronounced the syllables as if
to a child of three. "I'll be there. You come before supper. I'll be
rested then. I'd like to shoot that woman--thinks she can play--damn
nonsense--" I went on to the beach.