The following morning, I gave to Arthur, in my own way, an account of
the storm in Hili-li, meanwhile leisurely dressing--a performance which,
except under pressure, I have never in the morning been able unaided to
accomplish in less than an hour. I had completed my toilet, but not my
story, when in rushed Castleton.
After a little general conversation, I seemed naturally to return to the
Peters story; and now, in a five-minute talk, I so closed it to the
point reached by Bainbridge as to satisfy Arthur, and not weary the
restless doctor. As I ended, Castleton said:
"I didn't get in to see you yesterday. The last time I was in we were
talking of names; and to tell you the truth, it was a matter of names
that held me back yesterday at the very time I was going to come up. You
see, I have an old friend here in town, ----; you've no doubt heard of
him--ex-member of Congress, and as good as appointed Minister to
Venezuela right now. A scholar of the deepest erudition; a speaker and
writer of great force and nicety, and of exquisite literary taste.
Yesterday we met, and during our talk he told me that his book, the
result of many years of thought, was completed. Now, for my part, I
never believed that a rose would smell as sweet as it does if we called
it a turnip. If Poe had, instead of 'Narrative of A. Gordon Pym,' named
his story, 'Adventures of Dirk Peters, the Half-Breed,' he would have
sold twice as many books. My friend is about to publish his book. 'Its
name?' I asked him. 'There can be little choice of names for a
translation of Montesquieu's "Grandeur and Decadence of the Romans,"
with notes by myself,' he replied. 'There can't?' said I; 'well, my
friend, let me tell you there can. Now compare this name: "Montesquieu's
Considerations on the Causes of the Grandeur and Decadence of the
Romans, with illustrative notes," etc., with a name like this: "The
Roman Aristocrats Ripped, Rooted, and Routed"; or, "How the Roman
Plutocrats were Peppered and Pounded." Heavens and Earth! what do the
masses know about decadence? Why not name his book (and so I said to
him), "How the Rich Romans Rotted"? Half the people would think from
such a title that the Romans were enemies of the United States, and that
Montesquieu and my friend were after them hot and fast; and then the
story would go out that the French were helping us again. "General
Montesquieu" would be heard on all sides, associated with endless
repetitions of Lafayette memories. Lord, Lord! I sometimes think a man
is better under-educated than over-educated."
Then after a pause he continued:
"Pretty good, that talk of Masusælili's through the faucet--pretty good,
pretty good! But, pshaw! for me there's nothing new on earth. Why, sir,
I've always drawn my best philosophy out of a spigot-hole. The very
sight of a spigot inspires me, and drives away my troubles. But, man
alive! We must keep this thing secret. The fellow with an exhaustless
stock of _elixir vitæ_ isn't half worked out in fiction yet--and
besides, how can a person reread his 'Wandering Jew,' and his 'Last Days
of Pompeii,' and his 'Zanoni,' with such an outlandish picture as a
mystic under a lamp-warmed vase in mind? Why didn't Bainbridge take a
not unusual historical license, and say that the aged philosopher was
found warming himself before a crystal vase filled with magically
glowing rubies?"
After we had laughed a little over this, he said:
"And I suppose Bainbridge tried--in fact I know by what you say that he
did try--to air his knowledge on the subject of animal heat? No doubt
talked for half an hour about the effects of cold on the animal economy?
Oh, he's a rapid man! You heard, sir, how idiotically he talked that
day, just before I cured old man Peters? If Bainbridge had had his way,
Peters' story would have been a short one. I suppose his remedy for a
frozen Hili-lite would be to send him to the North Pole! Now, sir, I
instantly grasped the whole idea of the necessary effect of that cold
wave on those Hili-lites, for I now have data in abundance for reading
those people through and through. In a word, sir--and observe my
sententious brevity--their thermogenistic organization being adynamic,
and their thermolysic functions being over-active owing to their thermic
environment, and the thermotaxic balance being habitually anomalous, the
emergency was not successfully encountered; and this was more
particularly the case because the nerve-centres of vital resistance to
sudden and extreme thermal abstraction were atrophied."
This was the last remark, except a few words of farewell at the time of
my departure for home, that I ever heard from Doctor Castleton. It was
his habit, as he was about to leave the presence of an auditor or
interlocutor, to fire off, so to speak, a set speech, or a piece of
surprising information, and then hastily to retreat--a habit displaying
considerable sagacity, and one engendered by street-corner discussion,
in which a return fire--or perhaps a troublesome question--was often to
be avoided if a dramatic climax was not to be sacrificed. On this
occasion, as the last words left his lips he vanished through the
doorway, and we were alone.
"Well," said Arthur, "am I allowed to speak?"
"You are," I replied.
"Then tell me," said he, "what it was he said? Why doesn't he, some day
when he has time, dictate a dictionary? And isn't there any way to stop
such talk by law? That man gets worse instead of better. He forgets
everything except words. Says he, the other day, 'Well, Arthur, my boy,
when are you coming in to pay your doctor bill?' Now mind, I paid him
a'ready, and just think of my teeth! But I told him, nice and easy, how
I paid him the two dollars. Then I told him about my teeth rattlin'
whenever I go down the stairs, and asked him what to do for them. He
just laughed and gave me a half-dollar, and said, 'Bone-set tea, my
boy--drink bone-set tea, and plenty of it;' and so I do."