[Illustration: "LIGHTING HIS PIPE."]
Said Brown one evening, "There is but one vice, and that is selfishness.
Selfishness is the seed of all sin."
Jephson was standing before the fire lighting his pipe. He puffed the
tobacco into a glow, threw the match into the embers, and then said:
"And the seed of all virtue, also. Don't let us forget that."
"Sit down and get on with your work," said MacShaugnassy from the sofa
where he lay at full length with his heels on a chair; "we're discussing
the novel, Paradoxes not admitted during business hours."
Jephson, however, was in an argumentative mood. "Selfishness," he
continued, "is merely another name for Will. Every deed, good or bad,
that we do is prompted by selfishness. We are charitable to secure
ourselves a good place in the next world, to make ourselves respected in
this, to ease our own distress at the knowledge of suffering. One man is
kind because it gives him pleasure to be kind, just as another is cruel
because cruelty pleases him. A great man does his duty because to him
the sense of duty done is a deeper delight than would be the ease
resulting from avoidance of duty. The religious man is religious because
he finds a joy in religion; the moral man moral because with his strong
self-respect, viciousness would mean wretchedness. Self-sacrifice itself
is only a subtle selfishness: we prefer the mental exaltation gained
thereby to the sensual gratification which is the alternative reward.
Man cannot be anything else but selfish. Selfishness is the law of all
life. Each thing, from the farthest fixed star to the smallest insect
crawling on the earth, fighting for itself according to its strength;
and brooding over all, the Eternal, working for _Himself_: that is the
universe."
(Copyrighted 1892 in the United States of America, by Jerome K. Jerome.)
"Have some whiskey," said MacShaugnassy; "and don't be so complicatedly
metaphysical. You make my head ache."
"If all action, good and bad, spring from selfishness," replied Brown;
"then there must be good selfishness and bad selfishness; and your bad
selfishness is my plain selfishness, without any adjective, so we are
back where we started. I say selfishness--bad selfishness--is the root
of all evil, and there you are bound to agree with me."
"Not always," persisted Jephson; "I've known selfishness--selfishness
according to the ordinarily accepted meaning of the term--to be
productive of good actions. I can give you an instance, if you like."
"Has it got a moral?" asked MacShaugnassy, drowsily.
Jephson mused a moment. "Yes," he at length said; "a very practical
moral--and one very useful to young men."
"That's the sort of story we want," said MacShaugnassy, raising himself
into a sitting position. "You listen to this, Brown."
Jephson seated himself upon a chair, in his favourite attitude, with his
elbows resting upon the back, and smoked for awhile in silence.
"There are three people in this story," he began; "the wife, the wife's
husband, and the other man. In most dramas of this type, it is the wife
who is the chief character. In this case, the interesting person is the
other man.
"The wife--I saw her once: she was the most beautiful woman I have ever
seen, and the most wicked-looking; which is saying a good deal for both
statements. I remember, during a walking tour one year, coming across a
lovely little cottage. It was the sweetest place imaginable. I need not
describe it. It was the cottage one sees in pictures, and reads of in
sentimental poetry. I was leaning over the neatly-cropped hedge,
drinking in its beauty, when at one of the tiny casements I saw, looking
out at me, a face. It stayed there only for a moment, but in that moment
the cottage had become ugly, and I hurried away with a shudder.
"That woman's face reminded me of the incident. It was an angel's face,
until the woman herself looked out of it: then you were struck by the
strange incongruity between tenement and tenant.
"That at one time she had loved her husband, I have little doubt.
Vicious women have few vices, and sordidness is not usually one of them.
She had probably married him, borne towards him by one of those waves of
passion upon which the souls of animal natures are continually rising
and falling. On possession, however, had quickly followed satiety, and
from satiety had grown the desire for a new sensation.
"They were living at Cairo at the period; her husband held an important
official position there, and by virtue of this, and of her own beauty
and tact, her house soon became the centre of the Anglo-Saxon society
ever drifting in and out of the city. The women disliked her, and copied
her. The men spoke slightingly of her to their wives, lightly of her to
each other, and made idiots of themselves when they were alone with her.
She laughed at them to their faces, and mimicked them behind their
backs. Their friends said it was cleverly.
[Illustration: "SHE LAUGHED AT THEM."]
"One year there arrived a young English engineer, who had come out to
superintend some canal works. He brought with him satisfactory letters
of recommendation, and was at once received by the European residents as
a welcome addition to their social circle. He was not particularly
good-looking, he was not remarkably charming, but he possessed the one
thing that few women can resist in a man, and that is strength. The
woman looked at the man, and the man looked back at the woman; and the
drama began.
"Scandal flies swiftly through small communities. Before a month, their
relationship was the chief topic of conversation throughout the quarter.
In less than two, it reached the ears of the woman's husband.
"He was either an exceptionally mean or an exceptionally noble
character, according to how one views the matter. He worshipped his
wife--as men with big hearts and weak brains often do worship such
women--with dog-like devotion. His only dread was lest the scandal
should reach proportions that would compel him to take notice of it, and
thus bring shame and suffering upon the woman he would have given his
life to. That a man who saw her should love her seemed natural to him;
that she should have grown tired of himself, a thing not to be wondered
at. He was grateful to her for having once loved him, for a little
while.
"As for 'the other man,' he proved somewhat of an enigma to the
gossips. He attempted no secrecy; if anything, he rather paraded his
subjugation--or his conquest, it was difficult to decide which term to
apply. He rode and drove with her; visited her in public and in private
(in such privacy as can be hoped for in a house filled with chattering
servants, and watched by spying eyes); loaded her with expensive
presents, which she wore openly, and papered his smoking den with her
photographs. Yet he never allowed himself to appear in the least degree
ridiculous; never allowed her to come between him and his work. A letter
from her, he would lay aside unopened until he had finished what he
evidently regarded as more important business. When boudoir and
engine-shed became rivals, it was the boudoir that had to wait.
"The woman chafed under his self-control, which stung her like a lash,
but clung to him the more abjectly.
"'Tell me you love me!' she would cry fiercely, stretching her white
arms towards him.
"'I have told you so,' he would reply calmly, without moving.
"'I want to hear you tell it me again,' she would plead with a voice
that trembled on a sob. 'Come close to me and tell it me again, again,
again!'
"Then, as she lay with half-closed eyes, he would pour forth a flood
of passionate words sufficient to satisfy even her thirsty ears, and
afterwards, as the gates clanged behind him, would take up an
engineering problem at the exact point at which half-an-hour before, on
her entrance into the room, he had temporarily dismissed it.
"One day, a privileged friend put bluntly to him this question: 'Are you
playing for love or vanity?'
"To which the man, after long pondering, gave this reply: ''Pon my soul,
Jack, I couldn't tell you.'
"Now, when a man is in love with a woman who cannot make up her mind
whether she loves him or not, we call the complication comedy; where it
is the woman who is in earnest the result is generally tragedy.
"They continued to meet and to make love. They talked--as people in
their position are prone to talk--of the beautiful life they would lead
if it only were not for the thing that was; of the earthly paradise--or,
maybe, 'earthy' would be the more suitable adjective--they would each
create for the other, if only they had the right which they hadn't.
[Illustration: "SHE LAY WITH HALF-CLOSED EYES."]
"In this work of imagination the man trusted chiefly to his literary
faculties, which were considerable; the woman to her desires. Thus, his
scenes possessed a grace and finish which hers lacked, but her pictures
were the more vivid. Indeed, so realistic did she paint them, that to
herself they seemed realities, waiting for her. Then she would rise to
go towards them only to strike herself against the thought of the thing
that stood between herself and them. At first the woman only hated the
thing, but after a while there came an ugly look of hope into her eyes.
"The time drew near for the man to return to England. The canal was
completed, and a day appointed for the letting in of the water. The man
determined to make the event the occasion of a social gathering. He
invited a large number of guests, among whom were the woman and her
husband, to assist at the function. Afterwards the party were to picnic
at a pleasant wooded spot some three-quarters of a mile from the first
lock.
"The ceremony of flooding was to be performed by the woman, her
husband's position entitling her to this distinction. Between the river
and the head of the cutting had been left a strong bank of earth,
pierced some distance down by a hole, which hole was kept closed by
means of a closely-fitting steel plate. The woman drew the lever
releasing this plate, and the water rushed through and began to press
against the lock gates. When it had attained a certain depth, the
sluices were raised and the water poured down into the deep basin of the
lock.
"It was an exceptionally deep lock. The party gathered round and watched
the water slowly rising. The woman looked down, and shuddered; the man
was standing by her side.
"'How deep it is,' she said.
"'Yes,' he replied, 'it holds thirty feet of water, when full.'
"The water crept up inch by inch.
"'Why don't you open the gates, and let it in quickly?' she asked.
"'It would not do for it to come in too quickly,' he explained to her;
'we shall half fill this lock, and then open the sluices at the other
end, and so let the water pass through.'
"The woman looked at the smooth stone walls and at the iron-plated
gates.
"'I wonder what a man would do,' she said, 'if he fell in, and there was
no one near to help him.'
"The man laughed. 'I think he would stop there,' he answered. 'Come, the
others are waiting for us.'
"He lingered a moment to give some final instructions to the workmen.
'You can follow on when you've made all right,' he said, 'and get
something to eat. There's no need for more than one to stop.' Then they
joined the rest of the party, and sauntered on, laughing and talking, to
the picnic ground.
"After lunch the party broke up, as is the custom of picnic parties, and
wandered away in groups and pairs. The man, whose duty as host had
hitherto occupied all his attention, looked for the woman, but she was
gone.
"A friend strolled by, the same that had put the question to him about
love and vanity.
"'Have you quarrelled?' asked the friend.
"'No,' replied the man.
"'I fancied you had,' said the other. 'I met her just now walking with
her husband, of all men in the world, and making herself quite agreeable
to him.'
"The friend strolled on, and the man sat down on a fallen tree, and
lighted a cigar. He smoked and thought, and the cigar burnt out, but he
still sat thinking.
"After a while he heard a faint rustling of the branches behind him and
peering between the interlacing leaves that hid him, saw the crouching
figure of the woman creeping through the wood.
"His lips were parted to call her name, when she turned her listening
head in his direction, and his eyes fell full upon her face. Something
about it, he could not have told what, struck him dumb, and the woman
crept on.
[Illustration: "'IF A MAN FELL IN, AND THERE WAS NO ONE NEAR TO HELP
HIM?'"]
"Gradually the nebulous thoughts floating through his brain began to
solidify into a tangible idea, and the man unconsciously started
forward. After walking a few steps he broke into a run, for the idea had
grown clearer. It continued to grow still clearer and clearer, and the
man ran faster and faster, until at last he found himself racing madly
towards the lock. As he approached it he looked round for the watchman
who ought to have been there, but the man was gone from his post. He
shouted, but if any answer was returned, it was drowned by the roar of
the rushing water.
[Illustration: "HE BROKE INTO A RUN."]
"He reached the edge and looked down. Fifteen feet below him was the
reality of the dim vision that had come to him a mile back in the woods:
the woman's husband swimming round and round like a rat in a pail.
"The river was flowing in and out of the lock at the same rate, so that
the level of the water remained constant. The first thing the man did
was to close the lower sluices and then open those in the upper gate to
their fullest extent. The water inch by inch began to rise.
"'Can you hold out?' he cried.
"The drowning man turned to him a face already contorted by the agony of
exhaustion, and answered with a feeble 'No.'
"He looked around for something to throw to the man. A plank had lain
there in the morning, he remembered stumbling over it, and complaining
of its having been left there; he cursed himself now for his care.
"A hut used by the navvies to keep their tools in stood about two
hundred yards away; perhaps it had been taken there, perhaps there he
might even find a rope.
"'Just one minute, old fellow!' he shouted down, 'and I'll be back.'
"But the old fellow did not hear him. The feeble struggles ceased. The
face fell back upon the water, the eyes half closed as if with weary
indifference. There was no time for him to do more than kick off his
riding boots and jump in and clutch the unconscious figure as it sank.
"Down there, in that walled-in trap, he fought a long fight with Death
for the life that stood between him and the woman. He was not an expert
swimmer, his clothes hampered him, he was already blown with his long
race, the burden in his arms dragged him down, the water rose slowly
enough to make his torture fit for Dante's hell.
[Illustration: "HE FOUGHT A LONG FIGHT WITH DEATH."]
"At first he could not understand why this was so, but in glancing down
he saw to his horror that he had not properly closed the lower sluices;
in each some eight or ten inches remained open, so that the stream was
passing out nearly half as fast as it came in. It would be another five
and twenty minutes before the water would be high enough for him to
grasp the top.
"He noted where the line of wet had reached to on the smooth stone wall,
then looked again after what he thought must be a lapse of ten minutes,
and found it had risen half an inch, if that. Once or twice he shouted
for help, but the effort taxed severely his already failing breath, and
his voice only came back to him in a hundred echoes from his prison
walls.
"Inch by inch the line of wet crept up, but the spending of his strength
went on more swiftly. It seemed to him as if his inside were being
gripped and torn slowly out: his whole body cried out to him to let it
sink and lie in rest at the bottom.
"At length his unconscious burden opened its eyes and stared at him
stupidly, then closed them again with a sigh; a minute later opened them
once more and looked long and hard at him.
"'Let me go,' he said, 'we shall both drown. You can manage by
yourself.'
"He made a feeble effort to release himself, but the other held him.
"'Keep still, you fool!' he hissed; 'you're going to get out of this
with me, or I'm going down with you.'
"So the grim struggle went on in silence, till the man, looking up, saw
the stone coping just a little way above his head, made one mad leap and
caught it with his finger-tips, held on an instant, then fell back with
a 'plump,' and sank; came up and made another dash, helped by the
impetus of his rise, caught the coping firmly this time with the whole
of his fingers, hung on till his eyes saw the grass, till they were both
able to scramble out upon the bank and lie there, their breasts pressed
close against the ground, and their hands clutching the earth, while the
overflowing water swirled softly round them.
[Illustration: "CAUGHT IT WITH HIS FINGER-TIPS."]
"After a while, they raised themselves and looked at one another.
"'Tiring work, that sort of thing,' said the other man, with a nod
towards the lock.
"'Yes,' answered the husband, 'beastly awkward not being a good swimmer.
How did you know I had fallen in? You met my wife, I suppose?'
"'Yes,' said the other man.
"The husband sat staring at a point in the horizon for some minutes. 'Do
you know what I was wondering this morning?' said he.
"'No,' said the other man.
"'Whether I should kill you or not.'
"'They told me,' he continued, after a pause, 'a lot of silly gossip
which I was cad enough to believe. I know now it wasn't true,
because--well, if it had been, you would not have done what you have
done.'
"He rose and came across. 'I beg your pardon,' he said, holding out his
hand.
"'I beg yours,' said the other man, rising and taking it; 'do you mind
giving me a hand with the sluices?'
"They set to work to put the lock right.
"'How did you manage to fall in?' asked the other man, who was raising
one of the lower sluices, without looking round.
"The husband hesitated, as if he found the explanation somewhat
difficult. 'Oh,' he answered carelessly, 'the wife and I were chaffing,
and she said she'd often seen you jump it, and'--he laughed a rather
forced laugh--'she promised me a--a kiss if I cleared it. It was a
foolish thing to do.'
"'Yes, it was rather,' said the other man.
"A few days afterwards the man and woman met at a reception. He found
her in a leafy corner of the garden talking to some friends. She
advanced to meet him, holding out her hand. 'What can I say more than
thank you,' she murmured in a low voice.
"The others moved away leaving them alone. 'They tell me you risked your
life to save his?' she said.
"'Yes,' he answered.
"She raised her eyes to his, then struck him across the face with her
ungloved hand.
[Illustration: "STRUCK HIM ACROSS THE FACE."]
"'You damned fool!' she whispered.
"He seized her by her white arms, and forced her back behind the orange
trees. 'Do you know why?' he said, speaking slowly and distinctly;
'because I feared that with him dead you would want me to marry you, and
that, talked about as we have been, I might find it awkward to avoid
doing so; because I feared that without him to stand between us you
might prove an annoyance to me--perhaps come between me and the woman I
love, the woman I am going back to. Now do you understand?'
"'Yes,' whispered the woman, and he left her.
"But there are only two people," concluded Jephson, "who do not regard
his saving of the husband's life as a highly noble and unselfish action,
and they are the man himself and the woman."
We thanked Jephson for his story, and promised to profit by the moral,
when discovered. Meanwhile, MacShaugnassy said that he knew a story
dealing with the same theme, namely, the too close attachment of a woman
to a strange man, which really had a moral, which moral was: don't have
anything to do with inventions.
Brown, who had patented a safety gun, which he had never yet found a man
plucky enough to let off, said it was a bad moral. We agreed to hear the
particulars, and judge for ourselves.
"This story," commenced MacShaugnassy, "comes from Furtwangen, a small
town in the Black Forest. There lived there a very wonderful old fellow
named Nicholaus Geibel. His business was the making of mechanical toys,
at which work he had acquired an almost European reputation. He made
rabbits that would emerge from the heart of a cabbage, flop their ears,
smooth their whiskers, and disappear again; cats that would wash their
faces, and mew so naturally that dogs would mistake them for real cats,
and fly at them; dolls, with phonographs concealed within them, that
would raise their hats and say, 'Good morning; how do you do,' and some
that would even sing a song.
[Illustration: "HE HAD CONTRIVED A MECHANICAL DONKEY."]
"But he was something more than a mere mechanic; he was an artist. His
work was with him a hobby, almost a passion. His shop was filled with
all manner of strange things that never would, or could, be sold--things
he had made for the pure love of making them. He had contrived a
mechanical donkey that would trot for two hours by means of stored
electricity, and trot, too, much faster than the live article, and with
less need for exertion on the part of the driver; a bird that would
shoot up into the air, fly round and round in a circle, and drop to
earth at the exact spot from where it started; a skeleton that,
supported by an upright iron bar, would dance a hornpipe; a life-size
lady doll that could play the fiddle; and a gentleman with a hollow
inside who could smoke a pipe and drink more lager beer than any three
average German students put together, which is saying much.
"Indeed, it was the belief of the town that old Geibel could make a man
capable of doing everything that a respectable man need want to do. One
day he made a man who did too much, and it came about in this way.
"Young Doctor Follen had a baby, and the baby had a birthday. Its first
birthday put Doctor Follen's household into somewhat of a flurry, but on
the occasion of its second birthday, Mrs. Doctor Follen gave a ball in
honour of the event. Old Geibel and his daughter Olga were among the
guests.
"During the afternoon of the next day some three or four of Olga's bosom
friends, who had also been present at the ball, dropped in to have a
chat about it. They naturally fell to discussing the men, and to
criticising their dancing. Old Geibel was in the room, but he appeared
to be absorbed in his newspaper, and the girls took no notice of him.
"'There seem to be fewer men who can dance at every ball you go to,'
said one of the girls.
"'Yes, and don't the ones who can give themselves airs,' said another;
'they make quite a favour of asking you.'
"'And how stupidly they talk,' added a third. 'They always say exactly
the same things: "How charming you are looking to-night." "Do you often
go to Vienna? Oh, you should, it's delightful." "What a charming dress
you have on." "What a warm day it has been." "Do you like Wagner?" I do
wish they'd think of something new.'
"'Oh, I never mind how they talk,' said a fourth. 'If a man dances well
he may be a fool for all I care.'
"'He generally is,' slipped in a thin girl, rather spitefully.
"'I go to a ball to dance,' continued the previous speaker, not noticing
the interruption. 'All I ask of a partner is that he shall hold me
firmly, take me round steadily, and not get tired before I do.'
"'A clockwork figure would be the thing for you,' said the girl who had
interrupted.
"'Bravo!' cried one of the others, clapping her hands, 'what a capital
idea!'
"'What's a capital idea?' they asked.
"'Why, a clockwork dancer, or, better still, one that would go by
electricity and never run down.'
"The girls took up the idea with enthusiasm.
"'Oh, what a lovely partner he would make,' said one; 'he would never
kick you, or tread on your toes.'
"'Or tear your dress,' said another.
"'Or get out of step.'
"'Or get giddy and lean on you.'
"'And he would never want to mop his face with his handkerchief. I do
hate to see a man do that after every dance.'
"'And wouldn't want to spend the whole evening in the supper room.'
"'Why, with a phonograph inside him to grind out all the stock remarks,
you would not be able to tell him from a real man,' said the girl who
had first suggested the idea.
"'Oh, yes, you would,' said the thin girl, 'he would be so much nicer.'
"Old Geibel had laid down his paper, and was listening with both his
ears. On one of the girls glancing in his direction, however, he
hurriedly hid himself again behind it.
"After the girls were gone, he went into his workshop, where Olga heard
him walking up and down, and every now and then chuckling to himself;
and that night he talked to her a good deal about dancing and dancing
men--asked what they usually said and did--what dances were most
popular--what steps were gone through, with many other questions bearing
on the subject.
"Then for a couple of weeks he kept much to his factory, and was very
thoughtful and busy, though prone at unexpected moments to break into a
quiet low laugh, as if enjoying a joke that nobody else knew of.
[Illustration: OLGA SHOWING HIM WHAT STEPS WERE GONE THROUGH.]
"A month later another ball took place in Furtwangen. On this occasion
it was given by old Wenzel, the wealthy timber merchant, to celebrate
his niece's betrothal, and Geibel and his daughter were again among the
invited.
"When the hour arrived to set out, Olga sought her father. Not finding
him in the house, she tapped at the door of his workshop. He appeared in
his shirt-sleeves, looking hot but radiant.
"'Don't wait for me,' he said, 'you go on, I'll follow you. I've got
something to finish.'
"As she turned to obey he called after her, 'Tell them I'm going to
bring a young man with me--such a nice young man, and an excellent
dancer. All the girls will like him.' Then he laughed and closed the
door.
"Her father generally kept his doings secret from everybody, but she had
a pretty shrewd suspicion of what he had been planning, and so, to a
certain extent, was able to prepare the guests for what was coming.
Anticipation ran high, and the arrival of the famous mechanist was
eagerly awaited.
"At length the sound of wheels was heard outside, followed by a great
commotion in the passage, and old Wenzel himself, his jolly face red
with excitement and suppressed laughter, burst into the room and
announced in stentorian tones:
"'Herr Geibel--and a friend.'
"Herr Geibel and his 'friend' entered, greeted with shouts of laughter
and applause, and advanced to the centre of the room.
"'Allow me, ladies and gentlemen,' said Herr Geibel, 'to introduce you
to my friend, Lieutenant Fritz. Fritz, my dear fellow, bow to the ladies
and gentlemen.'
"Geibel placed his hand encouragingly on Fritz's shoulder, and the
lieutenant bowed low, accompanying the action with a harsh clicking
noise in his throat, unpleasantly suggestive of a death rattle. But that
was only a detail.
"'He walks a little stiffly' (old Geibel took his arm and walked him
forward a few steps. He certainly did walk stiffly), 'but then, walking
is not his forte. He is essentially a dancing man. I have only been able
to teach him the waltz as yet, but at that he is faultless. Come, which
of you ladies may I introduce him to as a partner. He keeps perfect
time; he never gets tired; he won't kick you or tread on your dress; he
will hold you as firmly as you like, and go as quickly or as slowly as
you please; he never gets giddy; and he is full of conversation. Come,
speak up for yourself, my boy.'
"The old gentleman twisted one of the buttons at the back of his coat,
and immediately Fritz opened his mouth, and in thin tones that appeared
to proceed from the back of his head, remarked suddenly, 'May I have the
pleasure?' and then shut his mouth again with a snap.
"That Lieutenant Fritz had made a strong impression on the company was
undoubted, yet none of the girls seemed inclined to dance with him. They
looked askance at his waxen face, with its staring eyes and fixed smile,
and shuddered. At last old Geibel came to the girl who had conceived the
idea.
"'It is your own suggestion, carried out to the letter,' said Geibel,
'an electric dancer. You owe it to the gentleman to give him a trial.'
"She was a bright, saucy little girl, fond of a frolic. Her host added
his entreaties, and she consented.
"Herr Geibel fixed the figure to her. Its right arm was screwed round
her waist, and held her firmly; its delicately-jointed left hand was
made to fasten itself upon her right. The old toymaker showed her how to
regulate its speed, and how to stop it, and release herself.
"'It will take you round in a complete circle,' he explained; 'be
careful that no one knocks against you, and alters its course.'
[Illustration: "FOR A COUPLE OF WEEKS HE KEPT TO HIS FACTORY."]
"The music struck up. Old Geibel put the current in motion, and Annette
and her strange partner began to dance.
"For a while everyone stood watching them. The figure performed its
purpose admirably. Keeping perfect time and step, and holding its little
partner tight clasped in an unyielding embrace, it revolved steadily,
pouring forth at the same time a constant flow of squeaky conversation,
broken by brief intervals of grinding silence.
"'How charming you are looking to-night,' it remarked in its thin,
far-away voice. 'What a lovely day it has been. Do you like dancing?
How well our steps agree. You will give me another, won't you? Oh, don't
be so cruel. What a charming gown you have on. Isn't waltzing
delightful? I could go on dancing for ever--with you. Have you had
supper?'
"As she grew more familiar with the uncanny creature, the girl's
nervousness wore off, and she entered into the fun of the thing.
"'Oh, he's just lovely,' she cried, laughing, 'I could go on dancing
with him all my life.'
"Couple after couple now joined them, and soon all the dancers in the
room were whirling round behind them. Nicholaus Geibel stood looking on,
beaming with childish delight at his success.
[Illustration: "MY FRIEND, LIEUTENANT FRITZ."]
"Old Wenzel approached him, and whispered something in his ear. Geibel
laughed, and nodded, and the two worked their way quietly towards the
door.
"'This is the young people's house to-night,' said Wenzel, so soon as
they were outside; 'you and I will have a quiet pipe and a glass of
hock, over in the counting-house.'
"Meanwhile the dancing grew more fast and furious. Little Annette
loosened the screw regulating her partner's rate of progress, and the
figure flew round with her swifter and swifter. Couple after couple
dropped out exhausted, but they only went the faster, till at length
they remained dancing alone.
"Madder and madder became the waltz. The music lagged behind: the
musicians, unable to keep pace, ceased, and sat staring. The younger
guests applauded, but the older faces began to grow anxious.
"'Hadn't you better stop, dear,' said one of the women, 'you'll make
yourself so tired.'
"But Annette did not answer.
"'I believe she's fainted,' cried out a girl who had caught sight of her
face as it was swept by.
"One of the men sprang forward and clutched at the figure, but its
impetus threw him down on to the floor, where its steel-cased feet laid
bare his cheek. The thing evidently did not intend to part with its
prize easily.
"Had anyone retained a cool head, the figure, one cannot help thinking,
might easily have been stopped. Two or three men acting in concert might
have lifted it bodily off the floor, or have jammed it into a corner.
But few human heads are capable of remaining cool under excitement.
Those who are not present think how stupid must have been those who
were; those who are reflect afterwards how simple it would have been to
do this, that, or the other, if only they had thought of it at the time.
"The women grew hysterical. The men shouted contradictory directions to
one another. Two of them made a bungling rush at the figure, which had
the result of forcing it out of its orbit in the centre of the room, and
sending it crashing against the walls and furniture. A stream of blood
showed itself down the girl's white frock, and followed her along the
floor. The affair was becoming horrible. The women rushed screaming from
the room. The men followed them.
"One sensible suggestion was made: 'Find Geibel--fetch Geibel.'
"No one had noticed him leave the room, no one knew where he was. A
party went in search of him. The others, too unnerved to go back into
the ball-room, crowded outside the door and listened. They could hear
the steady whir of the wheels upon the polished floor as the thing spun
round and round; the dull thud as every now and again it dashed itself
and its burden against some opposing object and ricocheted off in a new
direction.
"And everlastingly it talked in that thin ghostly voice, repeating over
and over the same formula: 'How charming you are looking to-night. What
a lovely day it has been. Oh, don't be so cruel. I could go on dancing
for ever--with you. Have you had supper?'
"Of course they sought for Geibel everywhere but where he was. They
looked in every room in the house, then they rushed off in a body to his
own place, and spent precious minutes in waking up his deaf old
housekeeper. At last it occurred to one of the party that Wenzel was
missing also, and then the idea of the counting-house across the yard
presented itself to them, and there they found him.
"He rose up, very pale, and followed them; and he and old Wenzel forced
their way through the crowd of guests gathered outside, and entered the
room, and locked the door behind them.
"From within there came the muffled sound of low voices and quick steps,
followed by a confused scuffling noise, then silence, then the low
voices again.
"After a time the door opened, and those near it pressed forward to
enter, but old Wenzel's broad shoulders barred the way.
"'I want you--and you, Bekler,' he said, addressing a couple of the
elder men. His voice was calm, but his face was deadly white. 'The rest
of you, please go--get the women away as quickly as you can.'
"From that day old Nicholaus Geibel confined himself to the making of
mechanical rabbits and cats that mewed and washed their faces."
* * *
We agreed that the moral of MacShaugnassy's story was a good one.
(_To be continued._)