BOOK VII

But he did not remain there long. Once back in that epistolary island,

he wrote interminable letters to Golly. When they began to bore each

other, he returned to London and entered the Salvation Army. Crowds

flocked to hear him preach. He inveighed against Society and

Wickedness as represented in his mind by Golly and her friends, and

praised a perfect Christianity represented by himself and HIS friends.

A panic of the same remarkable character as the Bishopsgate Street

winter took possession of London. Old Moore's, Zadkiel's, and Mother

Shipton's prophecies were to be fulfilled at an early and fixed date,

with no postponement on account of weather. Suddenly Society, John

Drake, and Antichrist generally combined by ousting him from his

church, and turning it into a music-hall for Golly! Then John Gale

took his last and sublime resolve. His duty as a perfect Christian was

to kill Golly! His logic was at once inscrutable, perfect, and--John

Galish!

With this sublime and lofty purpose, he called upon Golly. The heroic

girl saw his purpose in his eye--an eye at once black, murderous, and

Christian-like. For an instant she thought it was better to succumb at

once and thus end this remarkable attachment. Suddenly through this

chaos of Spiritual, Religious, Ecstatic, Super-Egotistic whirl of

confused thought, darted a gleam of Common, Ordinary Horse Sense! John

Gale saw it illumine her blue eyes, and trembled. God in Mercy! If it

came to THAT!

"Sit down, John," she said calmly. Then, in her sweet, clear voice,

she said: "Did it ever occur to you, dearest, that a more ridiculous,

unconvincing, purposeless, insane, God-forsaken idiot than you never

existed? That you eclipse the wildest dreams of insanity? That you

are a mental and moral 'What-is-it?'"

"It has occurred to me," he replied simply. "I began life with vast

asinine possibilities which fall to the lot of few men; yet I cannot

say that I have carried even THEM to a logical conclusion! But YOU,

love! YOU, darling! conceived in extravagance, born to impossibility, a

challenge to credulity, a problem to the intellect, a 'missing word'

for all ages,--are you aware of any one as utterly unsympathetic,

unreal, and untrue to nature as you are, existing on the face of the

earth, or in the waters under the earth?"

"You are right, dearest; there are none," she returned with the same

calm, level voice. "It is true that I have at times tried to do

something real and womanly, and not, you know, merely to complicate

a--a"--her voice faltered--"theatrical situation--but I couldn't!

Something impelled me otherwise. Now you know why I became an actress!

But even there I fail! THEY are allowed reasoning power off the

stage--I have none at any time! I laugh in the wrong place--I do the

unnecessary, extravagant thing. Endowed by some strange power with

extraordinary attributes, I am supposed to make everybody love me, but

I don't--I satisfy nobody; I convince none! I have no idea what will

happen to me next. I am doomed to--I know not what."

"And I," he groaned bitterly, "I, in some rare and lucid moments, have

had a glimpse of this too. We are in the hands of some inscrutable but

awful power. Tell me, Golly, tell me, darling, who is it?"

Again that gleam of Common or Ordinary Horse Sense came in her eye.

"I have found out who," she whispered. "I have found out who has

created us, and made us as puppets in his hands."

"Is it the Almighty?" he asked.

"No; it is"--she said, with a burst of real laughter--"it is--The 'All

Caine!"

"What! our countryman the Manxman? The only great Novelist? The

beloved of Gladstone?" he gasped.

"Yes--and he intends to kill YOU--and we're only to be married at your

deathbed!"

John Gale arose with a look of stern determination. "I have suffered

much and idiotically--but I draw a line at this. I shall kick!"

Golly clapped her hands joyfully. "We will!"

"And we'll chuck him."

"We will."

They were choking with laughter.

"And go and get married in a natural, simple way like anybody else--and

try--to do our duty--to God--to each other--and to our

fellow-beings--and quit this--damned--nonsense--and in-fer-nal idiocy

forever!"

"Amen!"

PUBLISHER'S NOTE.--"In that supreme work of my life, 'The Christian,'"

said the gifted novelist to a reporter in speaking of his methods, "I

had endowed the characters of Golly and John Gale with such superhuman

vitality and absolute reality that--as is well known in the experience

of great writers--they became thinking beings, and actually criticised

my work, and even INTERFERED and REBELLED to the point of altering my

climax and the end!" The present edition gives that ending, which of

course is the only real one.

THE ADVENTURES OF JOHN LONGBOWE, YEOMAN

BEING A MODERN-ANTIQUE REALISTIC ROMANCE

(COMPILED FROM SEVERAL EMINENT SOURCES)

It seemeth but fair that I, John Longbowe, should set down this account

of such hap and adventure as hath befallen me, without flourish,

vaporing, or cozening of speech, but as becometh one who, not being a

ready writer, goeth straight to the matter in hand in few words. So,

though I offend some, I shall yet convince all, the which lieth closer

to my purpose. Thus, it was in the year 1560, or 1650, or mayhap

1710--for my memory is not what it hath been and I ever cared little

for monkish calendars or such dry-as-dust matter, being active as

becometh one who hath to make his way in the world--yet I wot well it

was after the Great Plague, which I have great cause to remember, lying

at my cozen's in Wardour Street, London, in that lamentable year,

eating of gilly flowers, sulphur, hartes tongue and many stynking

herbes; touching neither man nor mayd, save with a great tongs steept

in pitch; wearing a fine maske of silk with a mouth piece of aromatic

stuff--by reason of which acts of hardihood and courage I was

miraculously preserved. This much I shall say as to the time of these

happenings, and no more. I am a plain, blunt man--mayhap rude of

speech should occasion warrant---so let them who require the exactness

of a scrivener or a pedagogue go elsewhere for their entertainment and

be hanged to them!

Howbeit, though no scholar, I am not one of those who misuse the

English speech, and, being foolishly led by the hasty custom of

scriveners and printers to write the letters "T" and "H" joined

together, which resembleth a "Y," do incontinently jump to the

conclusion the THE is pronounced "Ye,"--the like of which I never heard

in all England. And though this be little toward those great

enterprises and happenings I shall presently shew, I set it down for

the behoof of such malapert wights as must needs gird at a man of

spirit and action--and yet, in sooth, know not their own letters.

So to my tale. There was a great frost when my Lord bade me follow him

to the water gate near our lodgings in the Strand. When we reached it

we were amazed to see that the Thames was frozen over and many citizens

disporting themselves on the ice--the like of which no man had seen

before. There were fires built thereon, and many ships and barges were

stuck hard and fast, and my Lord thought it vastly pretty that the

people were walking under their bows and cabbin windows and climbing of

their sides like mermen, but I, being a plain, blunt man, had no joy in

such idlenesse, deeming it better that in these times of pith and

enterprise they should be more seemly employed. My Lord, because of

one or two misadventures by reason of the slipperiness of the ice, was

fain to go by London Bridge, which we did; my Lord as suited his humor

ruffling the staid citizens as he passed or peering under the hoods of

their wives and daughters--as became a young gallant of the time. I,

being a plain, blunt man, assisted in no such folly, but contented

myself, when they complayned to me, with damning their souls for greasy

interfering varlets. For I shall now make no scruple in declaring that

my Lord was the most noble Earl of Southampton, being withheld from so

saying before through very plainness and bluntness, desiring as a

simple yeoman to make no boast of serving a man of so high quality.

We fared on over Bankside to the Globe playhouse, where my Lord bade me

dismount and deliver a secret message to the chief player--which

message was, "had he diligently perused and examined that he wot of,

and what said he thereof?" Which I did. Thereupon he that was called

the chief player did incontinently proceed to load mine arms and wallet

with many and divers rolls of manuscripts in my Lord's own hand, and

bade me say unto him that there was a great frost over London, but that

if he were to perform those plays and masques publickly, there would be

a greater frost there--to wit, in the Globe playhouse. This I did

deliver with the Manuscripts to my Lord, who changed countenance

mightily at the sight of them, but could make nought of the message.

At which the lad who held the horses before the playhouse--one Will

Shakespeare--split with laughter. Whereat my Lord cursed him for a

deer-stealing, coney-catching Warwickshire lout, and cuffed him

soundly. I wot there will be those who remember that this Will

Shakespeare afterwards became a player and did write plays--which were

acceptable even to the Queen's Majesty's self--and I set this down not

from vanity to shew I have held converse with such, nor to give a

seemingness and colour to my story, but to shew what ill-judged,

misinformed knaves were they who did afterwards attribute friendship

between my Lord and this Will Shakespeare, even to the saying that he

made sonnets to my Lord. Howbeit, my Lord was exceeding wroth, and I,

to beguile him, did propose that we should leave our horses and cargoes

of manuscript behind and cross on the ice afoot, which conceit pleased

him mightily. In sooth it chanced well with what followed, for hardly

were we on the river when we saw a great crowd coming from Westminster,

before a caravan of strange animals and savages in masks, capering and

capricolling, dragging after them divers sledges quaintly fashioned

like swannes, in which were ladies attired as fairies and goddesses and

such like heathen and wanton trumpery, which I, as a plain, blunt man,

would have fallen to cursing, had not my Lord himself damned me under

his breath to hold my peace, for that he had recognized my Lord of

Leicester's colours and that he made no doubt they were of the Court.

As forsooth this did presently appear; also that one of the ladies was

her Gracious Majesty's self--masked to the general eye, the better to

enjoy these miscalled festivities. I say miscalled, for, though a

loyal subject of her Majesty, and one who hath borne arms at Tilbury

Fort in defence of her Majesty, it inflamed my choler, as a plain and

blunt man, that her Mightiness should so degrade her dignity. Howbeit,

as a man who hath his way to make in the world, I kept mine eyes well

upon the anticks of the Great, while my Lord joined the group of

maskers and their follies. I recognized her Majesty's presence by her

discourse in three languages to as many Ambassadors that were

present--though I marked well that she had not forgotten her own

tongue, calling one of her ladies "a sluttish wench," nor her English

spirit in cuffing my Lord of Essex's ears for some indecorum--which, as

a plain man myself, curt in speech and action, did rejoice me greatly.

But I must relate one feat, the like of which I never saw in England

before or since. There was a dance of the maskers, and in the midst of

it her Majesty asked the Ambassador from Spayne if he had seen the

latest French dance. He replied that he had not. Whereupon Her Most

Excellent Majesty skipt back a pace and forward a pace, and lifting her

hoop, delivered a kick at his Excellency's hat which sent it flying the

space of a good English ell above his head! Howbeit so great was the

acclamation that her Majesty was graciously moved to repeat it to my

Lord of Leicester, but, tripping back, her high heels caught in her

farthingale, and she would have fallen on the ice, but for that my

Lord, with exceeding swiftness and dexterity, whisked his cloak from

his shoulder, spreading it under her, and so received her body in its

folds on the ice, without himself touching her Majesty's person. Her

Majesty was greatly pleased at this, and bade my Lord buy another cloak

at her cost, though it swallowed an estate; but my Lord replyed, after

the lying fashion of the time, that it was honour enough for him to be

permitted to keep it after "it had received her Royal person." I know

that this hap hath been partly related of another person--the shipman

Raleigh--but I tell such as deny me that they lie in their teeth, for

I, John Longbowe, have cause--miserable cause enough, I warrant--to

remember it, and my Lord can bear me out! For, spite of his fair

speeches, when he was quit of the Royal presence, he threw me his wet

and bedraggled cloak and bade me change it with him for mine own, which

was dry and warm. And it was this simple act which wrought the

lamentable and cruel deed of which I was the victim, for, as I followed

my Lord, thus apparelled, across the ice, I was suddenly set upon and

seized, a choke-pear clapt into my mouth so that I could not cry aloud,

mine eyes bandaged, mine elbows pinioned at my side in that fatall

cloak like to a trussed fowl, and so I was carried to where the ice was

broken, and thrust into a boat. Thence I was conveyed in the same rude

sort to a ship, dragged up her smooth, wet side, and clapt under

hatches. Here I lay helpless as in a swoon. When I came to, it was

with a great trampling on the decks above and the washing of waves

below, and I made that the ship was moving--but where I knew not.

After a little space the hatch was lifted from where I lay, the

choke-pear taken from my mouth; but not the bandage from mine eyes, so

I could see nought around me. But I heard a strange voice say: "What

coil is this? This is my Lord's cloak in sooth, but not my Lord that

lieth in it! Who is this fellow?" At which I did naturally discover

the great misprise of those varlets who had taken me for my dear Lord,

whom I now damned in my heart for changing of the cloaks! Howbeit,

when I had fetched my breath with difficulty, being well nigh spent by

reason of the gag, I replyed that I was John Longbowe, my Lord's true

yeoman, as good a man as any, as they should presently discover when

they set me ashore. That I knew-- "Softly, friend," said the Voice,

"thou knowest too much for the good of England and too little for thine

own needs. Thou shalt be sent where thou mayest forget the one and

improve thy knowledge of the other." Then as if turning to those about

him, for I could not see by reason of the blindfold, he next said:

"Take him on your voyage, and see that he escape not till ye are quit

of England." And with that they clapt to the hatch again, and I heard

him cast off from the ship's side. There was I, John Longbowe, an

English yeoman,--I, who but that day had held converse with Will

Shakespeare and been cognizant of the revels of Her Most Christian

Majesty even to the spying of her garter!--I was kidnapped at the age

of forty-five or thereabout--for I will not be certain of the year--and

forced to sea for that my Lord of Southampton had provoked the

jealousie and envy of divers other great nobles.

CHAPTERS I TO XX

I AM FORCED TO SEA AND TO BECOME A PIRATE! I SUFFER LAMENTABLY FROM

SICKNESS BY REASON OF THE BIGNESSE OF THE WAVES. I COMMIT MANY

CRUELTIES AND BLOODSHED. BUT BY THE DIVINE INTERCESSION I EVENTUALLY

THROW THE WICKED CAPTAIN OVERBOARD AND AM ELECTED IN HIS STEAD. I

DISCOVER AN ISLAND OF TREASURE, OBTAIN POSSESSION THEREOF BY A TRICKE,

AND PUT THE NATIVES TO THE SWORD.

I marvel much at those who deem it necessary in the setting down of

their adventures to gloze over the whiles between with much matter of

the country, the peoples, and even their own foolish reflections

thereon, hoping in this way to cozen the reader with a belief in their

own truthfulness, and encrease the extravagance of their deeds. I,

being a plain, blunt man, shall simply say for myself that for many

days after being taken from the bilboes and made free of the deck, I

was grievously distempered by reason of the waves, and so collapsed in

the bowels that I could neither eat, stand, nor lie. Being thus in

great fear of death, from which I was miraculously preserved, I, out of

sheer gratitude to my Maker, did incontinently make oath and sign

articles to be one of the crew--which were buccaneers. I did this the

more readily as we were to attack the ships of Spayne only, and through

there being no state of Warre at that time between England and that

country, it was wisely conceived that this conduct would provoke it,

and we should thus be forearmed, as became a juste man in his quarrel.

For this we had the precious example of many great Captains. We did

therefore heave to and burn many ships--the quality of those

engagements I do not set forth, not having a seaman's use of ship

speech, and despising, as a plain, blunt man, those who misuse it,

having it not.

But this I do know, that, having some conceit of a shipman's ways and

of pirates, I did conceive at this time a pretty song for my comradoes,

whereof the words ran thus:--

Yo ho! when the Dog Watch bayeth loud

In the light of a mid-sea moon!

And the Dead Eyes glare in the stiffening Shroud,

For that is the Pirate's noon!

When the Night Mayres sit on the Dead Man's Chest

Where no manne's breath may come--

Then hey for a bottle of Rum! Rum! Rum!

And a passage to Kingdom come!

I take no credit to myself for the same, except so far as it may shew a

touch of my Lord of Southampton's manner--we being intimate--but this I

know, that it was much acclaimed by the crew. Indeed they, observing

that the Captain was of a cruel nature, would fain kill him and put me

in his stead, but I, objecting to the shedding of precious blood in

such behoof, did prevent such a lamentable and inhuman action by

stealthily throwing him by night from his cabbin window into the

sea--where, owing to the inconceivable distance of the ship from shore,

he was presently drowned. Which untoward fate had a great effect upon

my fortunes, since, burthening myself with his goods and effects, I

found in his chest a printed proclamation from an aged and infirm

clergyman in the West of England covenanting that, for the sum of two

crowns, he would send to whoso offered, the chart of an island of great

treasure in the Spanish Main, whereof he had had confession from the

lips of a dying parishioner, and the amount gained thereby he would use

for the restoration of his parish church. Now I, reading this, was

struck by a great remorse and admiration for our late Captain, for that

it would seem that he was, like myself, a staunch upholder of the

Protestant Faith and the Church thereof, as did appear by his

possession of the chart, for which he had no doubt paid the two good

crowns. As an act of penance I resolved upon finding the same island

by the aid of the chart, and to that purpose sailed East many days, and

South, and North, and West as many other days--the manner whereof and

the latitude and longitude of which I shall not burden the reader with,

holding it, as a plain, blunt man, mere padding and impertinence to

fill out my narrative, which helpeth not the general reader. So, I

say, when we sighted the Island, which seemed to be swarming with

savages, I ordered the masts to be stripped, save but for a single sail

which hung sadly and distractedly, and otherwise put the ship into the

likeness of a forlorn wreck, clapping the men, save one or two, under

hatches. This I did to prevent the shedding of precious blood, knowing

full well that the ignorant savages, believing the ship in sore

distress, would swim off to her with provisions and fruit, bearing no

arms. Which they did, while we, as fast as they clomb the sides,

despatched them at leisure, without unseemly outcry or alarms. Having

thus disposed of the most adventurous, we landed and took possession of

the island, finding thereon many kegs of carbuncles and rubies and

pieces of eight--the treasure store of those lawless pirates who infest

the seas, having no colour of war or teaching of civilisation to atone

for their horrid deeds.

I discovered also, by an omission in the chart, that this was not the

Island wot of by the good and aged Devonshire divine--and so we eased

our consciences of accounting for the treasure to him. We then sailed

away, arriving after many years' absence at the Port of Bristol in

Merrie England, where I took leave of the "Jolly Roger," that being the

name of my ship; it was a strange conceit of seamen in after years ever

to call the device of my FLAG--to wit, a skull and bones made in the

sign of a Cross--by the NAME my ship bore, and if I have only corrected

the misuse of history by lying knaves, I shall be content with this

writing. But alas! such are the uncertainties of time; I found my good

Lord of Southampton dead and most of his friends beheaded, and the

blessed King James of Scotland--if I mistake not, for these also be the

uncertainties of time--on the throne. In due time I married Mistress

Marian Straitways. I might have told more of trifling, and how she

fared, poor wench! in mine absence, even to the following of me in

another ship, in a shipboy's disguise, and how I rescued her from a

scheming Pagan villain; but, as a plain, blunt man, I am no hand at the

weaving of puling love tales and such trifling diversions for lovesick

mayds and their puny gallants--having only consideration for men and

their deeds, which I have here set down bluntly and even at mine

advanced years am ready to maintain with the hand that set it down.

DAN'L BOREM

BY E. N---S W--T---T

I

Dan'l Borem poured half of his second cup of tea abstractedly into his

lap.

"Guess you've got suthin' on yer mind, Dan'l," said his sister.

"Mor'n likely I've got suthin' on my pants," returned Dan'l with that

exquisitely dry, though somewhat protracted humor which at once

thrilled and bored his acquaintances. "But--speakin' o' that hoss

trade"--

"For goodness' sake, don't!" interrupted his sister wearily; "yer allus

doin' it. Jest tell me about that young man--the new clerk ye think o'

gettin'."

"Well, I telegraphed him to come over, arter I got this letter from

him," he returned, handing her a letter. "Read it out loud."

But his sister, having an experienced horror of prolixity, glanced over

it. "Far as I kin see he takes mor'n two hundred words to say you've

got to take him on trust, and sez it suthin' in a style betwixt a

business circular and them Polite Letter Writers. I thought you

allowed he was a tony feller."

"Ef he does not brag much, ye see, I kin offer him small wages," said

Dan'l, with a wink. "It's kinder takin' him at his own figger."

"And THAT mightn't pay! But ye don't think o' bringin' him HERE in

this house? 'Cept you're thinkin' o' tellin' him that yarn o' yours

about the hoss trade to beguile the winter evenings. I told ye ye'd

hev to pay yet to get folks to listen to it."

"Wrong agin--ez you'll see! Wot ef I get a hundred thousand folks to

pay me for tellin' it? But, speakin' o' this young feller, I

calkilated to send him to the Turkey Buzzard Hotel;" and he looked at

his sister with a shrewd yet humorous smile.

"What!" said his sister in alarm. "The Turkey Buzzard! Why, he'll be

starved or pizoned! He won't stay there a week."

"Ef he's pizoned to death he won't be able to demand any wages; ef he

leaves because he can't stand it--it's proof positive he couldn't stand

me. Ef he's only starved and made weak and miserable he'll be easy to

make terms with. It may seem hard what I'm sayin', but what seems hard

on the other feller always comes mighty easy to you. The thing is NOT

to be the 'other feller.' Ye ain't listenin'. Yet these remarks is

shrewd and humorous, and hez bin thought so by literary fellers."

"H'm!" said his sister. "What's that ye was jest sayin' about folks

bein' willin' to pay ye for tellin' that hoss trade yarn o' yours?"

"Thet's only what one o' them smart New York publishers allowed it was

worth arter hearin' me tell it," said Dan'l dryly.

"Go way! You or him must be crazy. Why, it ain't ez good as that

story 'bout a man who had a balky hoss that could be made to go only by

buildin' a fire under him, and arter the man sells that hoss and the

secret, and the man wot bought him tries it on, the blamed hoss lies

down over the fire, and puts it out."

"I've allus allowed that the story ye hev to tell yourself is a blamed

sight funnier than the one ye're listenin' to," said Dan'l. "Put that

down among my sayin's, will ye?"

"But your story was never anythin' more than one o' them snippy things

ye see in the papers, drored out to no end by you. It's only one o'

them funny paragraphs ye kin read in a minit in the papers that takes

YOU an hour to tell."

To her surprise Dan'l only looked at his sister with complacency.

"That," he said, "is jest what the New York publisher sez. 'The

'Merrikan people,' sez he, 'is ashamed o' bein' short and peart and

funny; it lacks dignity,' sez he; 'it looks funny,' sez he, 'but it

ain't deep-seated nash'nul literature,' sez he. 'Them snips o' funny

stories and short dialogues in the comic papers--they make ye laff,'

sez he, 'but laffin' isn't no sign o' deep morril purpose,' sez he,

'and it ain't genteel and refined. Abraham Linkin with his pat

anecdotes ruined our standin' with dignified nashuns,' sez he. 'We

cultivated publishers is sick o' hearin' furrin' nashuns roarin' over

funny 'Merrikan stories; we're goin' to show 'em that, even ef we

haven't classes and titles and sich, we kin be dull. We're workin' the

historical racket for all that it's worth,--ef we can't go back mor'n a

hundred years or so, we kin rake in a Lord and a Lady when we do, and

we're gettin' in some ole-fashioned spellin' and "methinkses" and

"peradventures." We're doin' the religious bizness ez slick ez Robert

Elsmere, and we find lots o' soul in folks--and heaps o quaint morril

characters,' sez he."

"Sakes alive, Dan'l!" broke in his sister; "what's all that got to do

with your yarn 'bout the hoss trade?"

"Everythin'," returned Dan'l. "'For,' sez he, 'Mr. Borem,' sez he,

'you're a quaint morril character. You've got protracted humor,' sez

he. 'You've bin an hour tellin' that yarn o' yours! Ef ye could spin

it out to fill two chapters of a book--yer fortune's made! For you'll

show that a successful hoss trade involves the highest nash'nul

characteristics. That what common folk calls "selfishness," "revenge,"

"mean lyin'," and "low-down money-grubbin' ambishun" is really

"quaintness," and will go in double harness with the bizness of a

Christian banker,' sez he."

"Created goodness, Dan'l! You're designin' ter"--

Dan'l Borem rose, coughed, expectorated carefully at the usual spot in

the fender, his general custom of indicating the conclusion of a

subject or an interview, and said dryly: "I'm thar!"

II

To return to the writer of the letter, whose career was momentarily cut

off by the episode of the horse trade (who, if he had previously

received a letter written by somebody else would have been an entirely

different person and not in this novel at all): John Lummox--known to

his family as "the perfect Lummox"--had been two years in college, but

thought it rather fine of himself--a habit of thought in which he

frequently indulged--to become a clerk, but finally got tired of it,

and to his father's relief went to Europe for a couple of years,

returning with some knowledge of French and German, and the cutting end

of a German student's blunted dueling sword. Having, as he felt, thus

equipped himself for the hero of an American "Good Society" novel, he

went on board a "liner," where there would naturally be susceptible

young ladies. One he thought he recognized as a girl with whom he used

to play "forfeits" in the vulgar past of his boyhood. She sat at his

table, accompanied by another lady whose husband seemed to be a

confirmed dyspeptic. His remarks struck Lummox as peculiar.

"Shall I begin dinner with pudding and cheese or take the ordinary soup

first? I quite forget which I did last night," he said anxiously to

his wife.

But Mrs. Starling hesitated.

"Tell me, Mary," he said, appealing to Miss Bike, the young lady.

"I should begin with the pudding," said Miss Bike decisively, "and

between that and the arrival of the cheese you can make up your mind,

and then, if you think better, go back to the soup."

"Thank you so much. Now, as to drink? Shall I take the

Friedrichshalle first or the Benedictine? You know the doctor insists

upon the Friedrichshalle, but I don't think I did well to mix them as I

did yesterday. Or shall I take simply milk and beer?"

"I should say simplicity was best. Besides, you can always fill up

with champagne later."

How splendidly this clear-headed, clear-eyed girl dominated the man!

Lummox felt that REALLY he might renew her acquaintance! He did so.

"I remembered you," she said. "You've not changed a bit since you were

eight years old."

John, wishing to change the subject, said that he thought Mr. Starling

seemed an uncertain man.

"Very! He's even now in his stateroom sitting in his pyjamas with a

rubber shoe on one foot and a pump on the other, wondering whether he

ought to put on golf knickerbockers with a dressing-gown and straw hat

before he comes on deck. He has already put on and taken off about

twenty suits."

"He certainly is very trying," returned Lummox. He paused and colored

deeply. "I beg," he stammered, "I hope--you don't think me guilty of a

pun! When I said 'trying' I referred entirely to the effect on your

sensitiveness of these tentative attempts toward clothing himself."

"I should never accuse YOU of levity, Mr. Lummox," said the young lady,

gazing thoughtfully upon his calm but somewhat heavy features,--"never."

Yet he would have liked to reclaim himself by a show of lightness. He

was leaning on the rail looking at the sea. The scene was beautiful.

"I suppose," he said, rolling with the sea and his early studies of

Doctor Johnson, "that one would in the more superior manner show his

appreciation of all this by refraining from the obvious comment which

must needs be recognized as comparatively commonplace and vulgar; but

really this is so superb that I must express some of my emotion, even

at the risk of lowering your opinion of my good taste, provided, of

course, that you have any opinion on the one hand or any good taste on

the other."

"Without that undue depreciation of one's self which must ever be a

sign of self-conscious demerit," said the young girl lightly, "I may

say that I am not generally good at Johnsonese; but it may relieve your

mind to know that had you kept silence one instant longer, I should

have taken the risk of lowering your opinion of my taste, provided, of

course, that you have one to lower and are capable of that exertion--if

such indeed it may be termed--by remarking that this is perfectly

magnificent."

"Do you think," he said gloomily, still leaning on the rail, "that we

can keep this kind of thing up--perhaps I should say down--much longer?

For myself, I am feeling far from well; it may have been the

lobster--or that last sentence--but"--

They were both silent. "Yet," she said, after a pause, "you can at

least take Mr. Starling and his dyspepsia off my hands. You might be

equal to that exertion."

"I suppose that by this time I ought to be doing something for

somebody," he said thoughtfully. "Yes, I will."

That evening after dinner he took Mr. Starling into the smoking-room

and card-room. They had something hot. At 4 A. M., with the

assistance of the steward, he projected Mr. Starling into Mrs.

Starling's stateroom, delicately withdrawing to evade the lady's

thanks. At breakfast he saw Miss Bike. "Thank you so much," she said;

"Mrs. Starling found Starling greatly improved. He himself admitted he

was 'never berrer' and, far from worrying about what night-clothes he

should wear, went to bed AS HE WAS--even to his hat. Mrs. Starling

calls you 'her preserver,' and Mr. Starling distinctly stated that you

were a 'jolly-good-fler.'"

"And you?" asked John Lummox.

"In your present condition of abnormal self-consciousness and

apperceptive egotism, I really shouldn't like to say."

When the voyage was ended Mr. Lummox went to see Mary Bike at her

house, and his father--whom he had not seen for ten years--at HIS

house. With a refined absence of natural affection he contented

himself with inquiring of the servants as to his father's habits, and

if he still wore dress clothes at dinner. The information thus

elicited forced him to the conclusion that the old gentleman's

circumstances were reduced, and that it was possible that he, John

Lummox, might be actually compelled to earn his own living. He

communicated that suspicion to his father at dinner, and over the last

bottle of "Mouton," a circumstance which also had determined him in his

resolution. "You might," said his father thoughtfully, "offer yourself

to some rising American novelist as a study for the new hero,--one

absolutely without ambition, capacity, or energy; willing, however, to

be whatever the novelist chooses to make him, so long as he hasn't to

choose for himself. If your inordinate self-consciousness is still in

your way, I could give him a few points about you, myself."

"I had thought," said John, hesitatingly, "of going into your office

and becoming your partner in the business. You could always look after

me, you know."

A shudder passed over the old man. Then he tremblingly muttered to

himself:

"Thank heaven! There is one way it may still be averted!" Retiring to

his room he calmly committed suicide, thoughtfully leaving the empty

poison bottle in the fender.

And this is how John Lummox came to offer himself as a clerk to Dan'l

Borem. The ways of Providence are indeed strange, yet those of the

novelist are only occasionally novel.

III

John K. Lummox lived for a week at the Turkey Buzzard Hotel exclusively

on doughnuts and innuendoes. He was informed by Mr. Borem's

clerk--whose place he was to fill--that he wouldn't be able to stand

it, and thus received the character of his employer from his last

employee.

"I suppose," said Dan'l Borem, chuckling, "that he said I was a old

skinflint, good only at a hoss trade, uneddicated, ignorant, and unable

to keep accounts, and an oppressor o' the widder and orphan. Allowed

that my cute sayin's was a kind o' ten-cent parody o' them proverbs in

Poor Richard's Almanack!"

"Omitting a few expletives, he certainly did," returned Lummox with

great delicacy.

"He allowed to me," said Dan'l thoughtfully, "that YOU was a poor

critter that hadn't a single reason to show for livin': that the

fool-killer had bin shadderin' you from your birth, and that you hadn't

paid a cent profit on your father's original investment in ye, nor on

the assessments he'd paid on ye ever since. He seems to be a cute

feller arter all, and I'm rather sorry he's leavin'."

"I am quite willing to abandon my position in his favor, now," said

Lummox with alacrity.

"No," said Dan'l, rubbing his chin argumentatively; "the only way for

us to do is to circumvent him like in a hoss trade--with suthin'

unexpected. When he thinks you're goin' to sleep in the shafts you'll

run away; and when he think's I'm vicious I'll let a woman or a child

drive me."

IV

"Well, Dan'l, how's that new clerk o' yours gettin' on?" said Mrs.

Bigby a week later.

"Purty fine! He's good at accounts and hez got to know the Bank's

customers by this time. But I allus reckoned he'd get stuck with some

o' them counterfeit notes--and he hez! Ye see he ain't accustomed to

look at a five or a ten dollar note as sharp as some men, and he's

already taken in two tens and a five counterfeits."

"Gracious!" said Mrs. Bigsby. "What did the poor feller do?"

"Oh, he ups and tells me, all right, after he discovered it. And sez

he: 'I've charged my account with 'em,' sez he, 'so the Bank won't lose

it.'"

"Why, Dan'l," said Mrs. Bigsby, "ye didn't let that poor feller"--

"You hol' on!" said her brother; "business is business; but I sez to

him: 'Ye oughter put it down to Profit and Loss account. Or perhaps

we'll have a chance o' gettin' rid o' them,--not in Noo York, where

folks is sharp, but here in the country, and then ye kin credit

yourself with the amount arter you've got rid o' them.'"

"Laws! I'm sorry ye did that, Dan'l," said Mrs. Bigsby.

"With that he riz up," continued Dan'l, ignoring his sister, "and,

takin' them counterfeit notes from my hand, sez he: 'Them notes belong

to ME now,' sez he, 'and I'm goin' to destroy 'em.' And with that he

walks over to the fire as stiff as a poker, and held them notes in it

until they were burnt clean up."

"Well, but that was honest and straightforward in him!" said Mrs.

Bigsby.

"Um! but it wasn't business--and ye see"-- Dan'l paused and rubbed his

chin.

"Well, go on!" said Mrs. Bigsby impatiently.

"Well, ye see, neither him nor me was very smart in detectin'

counterfeits, or even knowin' 'em, and"--

"Well! For goodness' sake, Dan'l, speak out!"

"Well--THE DUM FOOL BURNT UP THREE GOOD BILLS, and we neither of us

knew it!"

V

The "unexpected" which Dan'l Borem had hinted might characterize his

future conduct was first intimated by his treatment of the "Widow

Cully," an aged and impoverished woman whose property was heavily

mortgaged to him. He had curtly summoned her to come to his office on

Christmas Day and settle up. Frightened, hopeless, and in the face of

a snowstorm, the old woman attended, but was surprised by receiving a

"satisfaction piece" in full from the banker, and a gorgeous Christmas

dinner. "All the same," said Mrs. Bigsby to Lummox, "Dan'l might hev

done all this without frightenin' the poor old critter into a nervous

fever, chillin' her through by makin' her walk two miles through the

snow, and keepin' her on the ragged edge o' despair for two mortal

hours! But it's his humorous way."

"Did he give any reason for being so lenient to the widow?" asked

Lummox.

"He said that her son had given him a core of his apple when they were

boys together. Dan'l ez mighty thoughtful o' folks that was kind to

him in them days."

"Is that all?" said Lummox, astonished.

"Well--I've kinder thought suthin' else," said Mrs. Bigsby hesitatingly.

"What?"

"That its bein' Christmas Day--and as I've heard tell that's NO DAY IN

LAW, but just like Sunday--Dan'l mebbe thought that he might crawl

outer that satisfaction piece, ef he ever wanted ter! Dan'l is mighty

cute."

VI

Mr. John Lummox was not behind his employer in developing unexpected

traits of character. Hitherto holding aloof from his neighbors in Old

Folksville, he suddenly went to a social gathering, and distinguished

himself as the principal and popular guest of the evening. As Dan'l

Borem afterward told his sister: "He was one o' them Combination

Minstrels and Variety Shows in one. He sang through a whole opery, made

the pianner jest howl, gave some recitations, Casabianker and Betsy and

I are Out; imitated all them tragedians; did tricks with cards and

fetched rabbits outer hats, besides liftin' the pianner with two men

sittin' on it, jest by his teeth. Created snakes!" said Borem,

concluding his account, which here is necessarily abbreviated, "ef he

learnt all that in his two years in Europe I ain't sayin' anythin' more

agin' eddication and furrin' travel after this! Why, the next day

there was quite a run on the Bank jest to see HIM. He is makin' the

bizness pop'lar."

"Then ye think ye'll get along together?"

"I reckon we'll hitch hosses," said Dan'l, with a smile.

A few weeks later, one evening, Dan'l Borem sat with his sister alone.

John Lummox, who was now residing with them, was attending a social

engagement. Mrs. Bigsby knew that Dan'l had something to communicate,

but knew that he would do so in his own way.

"Speakin' o' hoss trades," he began.

"We WASN'T and we ain't goin' to," said Mrs. Bigsby with great

promptness. "I've heard enough of 'em."

"But this here one hez suthin' to do with your fr'en', John Lummox,"

said Dan'l, with a chuckle.

Mrs. Bigsby stared. "Go on, then," she said, "but, for goodness' sake,

cut it short."

Dan'l threw away his quid and replenished it from his silver tobacco

box. Mrs. Bigsby shuddered slightly as she recognized the usual

preliminary to prolixity, but determined, as far as possible, to make

her brother brief.

"It mout be two weeks ago," began Dan'l, "that I see John Lummox over

at Palmyra, where he'd bin visitin'. He was drivin' a hoss, the

beautifulest critter--for color--I ever saw. It was yaller, with mane

and tail a kinder golden, like the hair o' them British Blondes that

was here in the Variety Show."

"Dan'l!" exclaimed Mrs. Bigsby, horrified. "And you allowed you never

went thar!"

"Saw 'em on the posters--and mebbe the color was a little brighter

thar," said Dan'l carelessly--"but who's interruptin' now?"

"Go on," said Mrs. Bigsby.

"'Got a fine hoss thar,' sez I; 'reckon I never see such a purty

color,' sez I. 'He is purty,' sez he, 'per'aps too purty for ME to be

a-drivin', but he isn't fast.' 'I ain't speakin' o' that,' sez I;

'it's his looks that I'm talkin' of; whar might ye hev got him?' 'He

was offered to me by a fr'en' o' me boyhood,' sez he; 'he's a pinto

mustang,' sez he, 'from Californy, whar they breed 'em.' 'What's a

pinto hoss?' sez I. 'The same ez a calico hoss,' sez he; 'what they

have in cirkises, but ye never see 'em that color.' En he was right,

for when I looked him over I never DID see such a soft and silky coat,

and his mane and tail jest glistened. 'It IS a little too showy for

ye,' sez I, 'but I might take him at a fair price. What's your fr'en'

askin'?' 'He won't sell him to anybody but me,' sez Lummox; 'he's a

horror o' hoss traders, anyway, and his price is more like a gift to a

fr'en'.' 'What might that price be, ef it's a fair question?' sez I,

for the more I looked at the hoss the more I liked him. 'A hundred and

fifty dollars,' sez he; 'but my fr'en' would ask YOU double that.'

'Couldn't YOU and ME make a trade?' sez I; 'I'll exchange ye that roan

mare, that's worth two hundred, for this hoss and fifty dollars.' With

that he drew himself up, and sez he: 'Mr. Borem,' sez he, 'I share my

fr'en's opinion about hoss tradin', and I promised my mother I'd never

swap hosses. You ought to know me by this time.'"

"That's so!" said Mrs. Bigsby; "I'm wonderin' ye dared to ax him."

Dan'l passed his hand over his mouth, and continued: "'I dunno but

you're right, Lummox,' sez I; 'per'aps it's jest as well as thar wasn't

TWO in the Bank in that bizness.' But the more I looked at the hoss

the more I hankered arter him. 'Look here,' sez I, 'I tell ye what

I'll do! I'll LEND you my hoss and you'll LEND me yourn. I'll draw up

a paper to that effect, and provide that in case o' accidents, ef I

don't return you your hoss, I'll agree to pay you a hundred and fifty

dollars. You'll give me the same kind o' paper about my hoss--with the

proviso that you pay me two hundred for him!' 'Excuse me, Mr. Borem,'

sez he, 'but that difference of fifty makes a hoss trade accordin' to

my mind. It's agin' my principles to make such an agreement.'"

"An' he was right, Dan'l," said Mrs. Bigsby approvingly.

But Dan'l wiped his mouth again, leaving, however, a singular smile on

it. "Well, ez I wanted that hoss, I jest thought and thought! I knew I

could get two hundred and fifty for him easy, and that Lummox didn't

know anythin' of his valoo, and I finally agreed to make the swap even.

'What do you call him?' sez I. 'Pegasus,' sez he,--'the poet's hoss,

on account o' his golden mane,' sez he. That made me laff, for I never

knew a poet ez could afford to hev a hoss,--much less one like that!

But I said: 'I'll borry Pegasus o' you on those terms.' The next day I

took the hoss to Jonesville; Lummox was right: he wasn't FAST, but,

jest as I expected, he made a sensation! Folks crowded round him

whenever I stopped; wimmin followed him and children cried for him. I

could hev sold him for three hundred without leavin' town! 'So ye call

him Pegasus,' sez Doc Smith, grinnin'; 'I didn't known ye was subject

to the divine afflatus, Dan'l.' 'I don' offen hev it,' sez I, 'but

when I do I find a little straight gin does me good.' 'So did Byron,'

sez he, chucklin'. But even if I had called him 'Beelzebub' the hull

town would hev bin jest as crazy over him. Well, as it was comin' on

to rain I started jest after sundown for home. But it came ter blow,

an' ter pour cats and dogs, an' I was nigh washed out o' the buggy,

besides losin' my way and gettin' inter ditches and puddles, and I hed

to stop at Staples' Half-Way House and put up for the night. In the

mornin' I riz up early and goes into the stable yard, and the first

thing I sees was the 'ostler. 'I hope ye giv' my hoss a good scrub

down,' I sez, 'as I told ye, for his color is that delicate the

smallest spot shows. It's a very rare color for a hoss.' 'I was

hopin' it might be,' sez he. I was a little huffed at that, and I sez:

'It's considered a very beautiful color.' 'Mebbe it is,' sez he, 'but I

never cared much for fireworks.' 'What yer mean?' sez I. 'Look here,

Squire!' sez he; 'I don't mind scourin' and rubbin' down a hoss that

will stay the same color TWICE, but when he gets to playin' a

kaladeoskope on me, I kick!' 'Trot him out,' sez I, beginnin' to feel

queer. With that he fetched out the hoss! For a minit I hed to ketch

on to the fence to keep myself from fallin'. I swonny! ef he didn't

look like a case of measles on top o' yaller fever--'cept where the

harness had touched him, and that was kinder stenciled out all over

him. Thar was places whar the 'ostler had washed down to the

foundation color, a kind o' chewed licorice! Then I knew that somebody

had bin sold terrible, and I reckoned it might be me! But I said

nothin' to the 'ostler, and waited until dark, when I drove him over

here, and put him in the stables, lettin' no one see him. In the

mornin' Lummox comes to me, and sez he: 'I'm glad to see you back,' sez

he, 'for my conscience is troublin' me about that hoss agreement; it

looks too much like a hoss trade,' sez he, 'and I'm goin' to send the

hoss back.' 'Mebbe your conscience,' sez I, 'may trouble you a little

more ef you'll step this way;' and with that I takes his arm and leads

him round to the stable and brings out the hoss.

"Well, Lummox never changes ez much as a hair, ez he puts up his

eyeglasses. 'I'm not good at what's called "Pop'lar Art,"' sez he. 'Is

it a chromo, or your own work?' sez he, critical like.

"'It's YOUR HOSS,' sez I.

"He looks at me a minit and then drors a paper from his pocket. 'This

paper,' sez he in his quiet way, 'was drored up by you and is a

covenant to return to me a yaller hoss with golden mane and tail--or a

hundred and fifty dollars. Ez I don't see the hoss anywhere--mebbe

you've got the hundred and fifty dollars handy?' sez he. 'Suppose I

hadn't the money?' sez I. 'I should be obliged,' sez he in a kind o'

pained Christian-martyr way, 'ter sell YOUR hoss for two hundred, and

send the money to my fr'en'.' We looked at each other steddy for a

minit and then I counts him out a hundred and fifty. He took the money

sad-like and then sez: 'Mr. Borem,' sez he, 'this is a great morril

lesson to us,' and went back to the office. In the arternoon I called

in an old hoss dealer that I knew and shows him Pegasus.

"'He wants renewin',' sez he.

"'Wot's that?' sez I.

"'A few more bottles o' that British Blonde Hair Dye to set him up

ag'in. That's wot they allus do in the cirkis, whar he kem from.'

"Then I went back to the office and I took down my sign. 'What's that

you re doin'?' sez Lummox, with a sickly kind o' smile. 'Are you goin'

out o' the bizness?'

"'No, I'm only goin' to change that sign from "Dan'l Borem" to "Borem

and Lummox,"' sez I. 'I've concluded it's cheaper for me to take you

inter partnership now than to continue in this way, which would only

end in your hevin' to take me in later. I preferred to DO IT FUST.'"

VII

A rich man, and settled in business, John Lummox concluded that he

would marry Mary Bike. With that far-sighted logic which had always

characterized him he reasoned that, having first met her on a liner, he

would find her again on one if he took passage to Europe. He did--but

she was down on the passenger list as Mrs. Edwin Wraggles. The result

of their interview was given to Mrs. Bigsby by Dan'l Borem in his own

dialect.

"Ez far as I kin see, it was like the Deacon's Sunday hoss trade, bein'

all 'Ef it wassent.' 'Ef ye wasn't Mrs. Wraggles,' sez Lummox, sez he,

'I'd be tellin' ye how I've loved ye ever sence I first seed ye. Ef ye

wasn't Mrs. Wraggles, I'd be squeezin' yer hand,' sez he; 'ef ye wasn't

Mrs. Wraggles, I'd be askin' ye to marry me.' Then the gal ups and

sez, sez she: 'But I AIN'T Mrs. Wraggles,' sez she; 'Mrs. Wraggles is

my sister, and couldn't come, so I'm travelin' on her ticket, and

that's how my name is Wraggles on the passenger list.' 'But why didn't

ye tell me so at once?' sez Lummox. 'This is an episoode o' protracted

humor,' sez she, 'and I'M bound to have a show in it somehow!'"

"Well!" said Mrs. Bigsby breathlessly; "then he DID marry her?"

"Darned ef I know. He never said so straight out--but that's like

Lummox."

STORIES THREE

BY R-DY--D K-PL--G

I

FOR SIMLA REASONS

Some people say that improbable things don't necessarily happen in

India--but these people never find improbabilities anywhere. This

sounds clever, but you will at once perceive that it really means the

opposite of what I intended to say. So we'll drop it. What I am

trying to tell you is that after Sparkley had that affair with Miss

Millikens a singular change came over him. He grew abstracted and

solitary,--holding dark seances with himself,--which was odd, as

everybody knew he never cared a rap for the Millikens girl. It was

even said that he was off his head--which is rhyme. But his reason was

undoubtedly affected, for he had been heard to mutter incoherently at

the Club, and, strangest of all, to answer questions THAT WERE NEVER

ASKED! This was so awkward in that Branch of the Civil Department of

which he was a high official--where the rule was exactly the

reverse--that he was presently invalided on full pay! Then he

disappeared. Clever people said it was because the Department was

afraid he had still much to answer for; stupid people simply envied him.

Mrs. Awksby, whom everybody knew had been the cause of breaking off the

match, was now wild to know the reason of Sparkley's retirement. She

attacked heaven and earth, and even went a step higher--to the Viceroy.

At the vice-regal ball I saw, behind the curtains of a window, her

rolling violet-blue eyes with a singular glitter in them. It was the

reflection of the Viceroy's star, although the rest of his Excellency

was hidden in the curtain. I heard him saying, "Come now! really, now,

you are--you know you are!" in reply to her cooing questioning. Then

she made a dash at me and captured me.

"What did you hear?"

"Nothing I should not have heard."

"Don't be like all the other men--you silly boy!" she answered. "I was

only trying to find out something about Sparkley. And I will find it

out too," she said, clinching her thin little hand. "And what's more,"

she added, turning on me suddenly, "YOU shall help me!"

"I?" I said in surprise.

"Don't pretend!" she said poutingly. "You're too clever to believe

he's cut up over the Millikens. No--it's something awful or--another

woman! Now, if I knew as much of India as you do--and wasn't a woman,

and could go where I liked--I'd go to Bungloore and find him."

"Oh! You have his address?" I said.

"Certainly! What did you expect I was behind the curtain with the

Viceroy for?" she said, opening her violet eyes innocently. "It's

Bungloore--First Turning to the Right--At the End of the passage."

Bungloore--near Ghouli Pass--in the Jungle! I knew the place, a spot

of dank pestilence and mystery. "You never could have gone there," I

said.

"You do not know WHAT I could do for a FRIEND," she said sweetly,

veiling her eyes in demure significance.

"Oh, come off the roof!" I said bluntly.

She could be obedient when it was necessary. She came off. Not

without her revenge. "Try to remember you are not at school with the

Stalkies," she said, and turned away.

I went to Bungloore,--not on her account, but my own. If you don't

know India, you won't know Bungloore. It's all that and more. An egg

dropped by a vulture, sat upon and addled by the Department. But I knew

the house and walked boldly in. A lion walked out of one door as I

came in at another. We did this two or three times--and found it

amusing. A large cobra in the hall rose up, bowed as I passed, and

respectfully removed his hood.

I found the poor old boy at the end of the passage. It might have been

the passage between Calais and Dover,--he looked so green, so limp and

dejected. I affected not to notice it, and threw myself in a chair.

He gazed at me for a moment and then said, "Did you hear what the chair

was saying?"

It was an ordinary bamboo armchair, and had creaked after the usual

fashion of bamboo chairs. I said so.

He cast his eyes to the ceiling. "He calls it 'creaking,'" he

murmured. "No matter," he continued aloud, "its remark was not of a

complimentary nature. It's very difficult to get really polite

furniture."

The man was evidently stark, staring mad. I still affected not to

observe it, and asked him if that was why he left Simla.

"There were Simla reasons, certainly," he replied. "But you think I

came here for solitude! SOLITUDE!" he repeated, with a laugh. "Why, I

hold daily conversations with any blessed thing in this house, from the

veranda to the chimney-stack, with any stick of furniture, from the

footstool to the towel-horse. I get more out of it than the gabble at

the Club. You look surprised. Listen! I took this thing up in my

leisure hours in the Department. I had read much about the

conversation of animals. I argued that if animals conversed, why

shouldn't inanimate things communicate with each other? You cannot

prove that animals don't converse--neither can you prove that inanimate

objects DO NOT. See?"

I was thunderstruck with the force of his logic.

"Of course," he continued, "there are degrees of intelligence, and that

makes it difficult. For instance, a mahogany table would not talk like

a rush-bottomed kitchen chair." He stopped suddenly, listened, and

replied, "I really couldn't say."

"I didn't speak," I said.

"I know YOU didn't. But your chair asked me 'how long that fool was

going to stay.' I replied as you heard. Pray don't move--I intend to

change that chair for one more accustomed to polite society. To

continue: I perfected myself in the language, and it was awfully jolly

at first. Whenever I went by train, I heard not only all the engines

said, but what every blessed carriage thought, that joined in the

conversation. If you chaps only knew what rot those whistles can get

off! And as for the brakes, they can beat any mule driver in cursing.

Then, after a time, it got rather monotonous, and I took a short sea

trip for my health. But, by Jove, every blessed inch of the whole

ship--from the screw to the bowsprit--had something to say, and the bad

language used by the garboard strake when the ship rolled was something

too awful! You don't happen to know what the garboard strake is, do

you?"

"No," I replied.

"No more do I. That's the dreadful thing about it. You've got to

listen to chaps that you don't know. Why, coming home on my bicycle

the other day there was an awful row between some infernal 'sprocket'

and the 'ball bearings' of the machine, and I never knew before there

were such things in the whole concern."

I thought I had got at his secret, and said carelessly: "Then I suppose

this was the reason why you broke off your engagement with Miss

Millikens?"

"Not at all," he said coolly. "Nothing to do with it. That is quite

another affair. It's a very queer story; would you like to hear it?"

"By all means." I took out my notebook.

"You remember that night of the Amateur Theatricals, got up by the

White Hussars, when the lights suddenly went out all over the house?"

"Yes," I replied, "I heard about it."

"Well, I had gone down there that evening with the determination of

proposing to Mary Millikens the first chance that offered. She sat

just in front of me, her sister Jane next, and her mother, smart Widow

Millikens,--who was a bit larky on her own account, you remember,--the

next on the bench. When the lights went out and the panic and

tittering began, I saw my chance! I leaned forward, and in a voice

that would just reach Mary's ear I said, 'I have long wished to tell

you how my life is bound up with you, dear, and I never, never can be

happy without you'--when just then there was a mighty big shove down my

bench from the fellows beyond me, who were trying to get out. But I

held on like grim death, and struggled back again into position, and

went on: 'You'll forgive my taking a chance like this, but I felt I

could no longer conceal my love for you,' when I'm blest if there

wasn't another shove, and though I'd got hold of her little hand and

had a kind of squeeze in return, I was drifted away again and had to

fight my way back. But I managed to finish, and said, 'If the devotion

of a lifetime will atone for this hurried avowal of my love for you,

let me hope for a response,' and just then the infernal lights were

turned on, and there I was holding the widow's hand and she nestling on

my shoulder, and the two girls in hysterics on the other side. You

see, I never knew that they were shoved down on their bench every time,

just as I was, and of course when I got back to where I was I'd just

skipped one of them each time! Yes, sir! I had made that proposal in

THREE sections--a part to each girl, winding up with the mother! No

explanation was possible, and I left Simla next day. Naturally, it

wasn't a thing they could talk about, either!"

"Then you think Mrs. Awksby had nothing to do with it?" I said.

"Nothing--absolutely nothing. By the way, if you see that lady, you

might tell her that I have possession of that brocade easy-chair which

used to stand in the corner of her boudoir. You remember it,--faded

white and yellow, with one of the casters off and a little frayed at

the back, but rather soft-spoken and amiable? But of course you don't

understand THAT. I bought it after she moved into her new bungalow."

"But why should I tell her that?" I asked in wonder.

"Nothing--except that I find it very amusing with its reminiscences of

the company she used to entertain, and her confidences generally.

Good-by--take care of the lion in the hall. He always couches on the

left for a spring. Ta-ta!"

I hurried away. When I returned to Simla I told Mrs. Awksby of my

discoveries, and spoke of the armchair.

I fancied she colored slightly, but quickly recovered.

"Dear old Sparkley," she said sweetly; "he WAS a champion liar!"

II.

A PRIVATE'S HONOR

I had not seen Mulledwiney for several days. Knowing the man--this

looked bad. So I dropped in on the Colonel. I found him in deep

thought. This looked bad, too, for old Cockey Wax--as he was known to

everybody in the Hill districts but himself--wasn't given to thinking.

I guessed the cause and told him so.

"Yes," he said wearily, "you are right! It's the old story.

Mulledwiney, Bleareyed, and Otherwise are at it again,--drink followed

by Clink. Even now two corporals and a private are sitting on

Mulledwiney's head to keep him quiet, and Bleareyed is chained to an

elephant."

"Perhaps," I suggested, "you are unnecessarily severe."

"Do you really think so? Thank you so much! I am always glad to have

a civilian's opinion on military matters--and vice versa--it broadens

one so! And yet--am I severe? I am willing, for instance, to overlook

their raid upon a native village, and the ransom they demanded for a

native inspector! I have overlooked their taking the horses out of my

carriage for their own use. I am content also to believe that my fowls

meekly succumb to jungle fever and cholera. But there are some things

I cannot ignore. The carrying off of the great god Vishnu from the

Sacred Shrine at Ducidbad by The Three for the sake of the priceless

opals in its eyes"--

"But I never heard of THAT," I interrupted eagerly. "Tell me."

"Ah!" said the Colonel playfully, "that--as you so often and so

amusingly say--is 'Another Story'! Yet I would have overlooked the

theft of the opals if they had not substituted two of the Queen's

regimental buttons for the eyes of the god. This, while it did not

deceive the ignorant priests, had a deep political and racial

significance. You are aware, of course, that the great mutiny was

occasioned by the issue of cartridges to the native troops greased with

hog's fat--forbidden by their religion."

"But these three men could themselves alone quell a mutiny," I replied.

The Colonel grasped my hand warmly. "Thank you. So they could. I

never thought of that." He looked relieved. For all that, he

presently passed his hand over his forehead and nervously chewed his

cheroot.

"There is something else," I said.

"You are right. There is. It is a secret. Promise me it shall go no

further--than the Press? Nay, swear that you will KEEP it for the

Press!"

"I promise."

"Thank you SO much. It is a matter of my own and Mulledwiney's. The

fact is, we have had a PERSONAL difficulty." He paused, glanced around

him, and continued in a low, agitated voice: "Yesterday I came upon him

as he was sitting leaning against the barrack wall. In a spirit of

playfulness--mere playfulness, I assure you, sir--I poked him lightly

in the shoulder with my stick, saying 'Boo!' He turned--and I shall

never forget the look he gave me."

"Good heavens!" I gasped, "you touched--absolutely

TOUCHED--Mulledwiney?"

"Yes," he said hurriedly, "I knew what you would say; it was against

the Queen's Regulations--and--there was his sensitive nature which

shrinks from even a harsh word; but I did it, and of course he has me

in his power."

"And you have touched him?" I repeated,--"touched his private honor!"

"Yes! But I shall atone for it! I have already arranged with him that

we shall have it out between ourselves alone, in the jungle, stripped

to the buff, with our fists--Queensberry rules! I haven't fought since

I stood up against Spinks Major--you remember old Spinks, now of the

Bombay Offensibles?--at Eton." And the old boy pluckily bared his

skinny arm.

"It may be serious," I said.

"I have thought of that. I have a wife, several children, and an aged

parent in England. If I fall, they must never know. You must invent a

story for them. I have thought of cholera, but that is played out; you

know we have already tried it on The Boy who was Thrown Away. Invent

something quiet, peaceable and respectable--as far removed from

fighting as possible. What do you say to measles?"

"Not half bad," I returned.

"Measles let it be, then! Say I caught it from Wee Willie Winkie. You

do not think it too incredible?" he added timidly.

"Not more than YOUR story," I said.

He grasped my hand, struggling violently with his emotion. Then he

struggled with me--and I left hurriedly. Poor old boy! The funeral

was well attended, however, and no one knew the truth, not even myself.

III

JUNGLE FOLK

It was high noon of a warm summer's day when Moo Kow came down to the

watering-place. Miaow, otherwise known as "Puskat"--the warmth-loving

one--was crouching on a limb that overhung the pool, sunning herself.

Brer Rabbit--but that is Another Story by Another Person.

Three or four Gee Gees, already at the pool, moved away on the approach

of Moo Kow.

"Why do ye stand aside?" said the Moo Kow.

"Why do you say 'ye'?" said the Gee Gees together.

"Because it's more impressive than 'you.' Don't you know that all

animals talk that way in English?" said the Moo Kow.

"And they also say 'thou,' and don't you forget it!" interrupted Miaow

from the tree. "I learnt that from a Man Cub."

The animals were silent. They did not like Miaow's slang, and were

jealous of her occasionally sitting on a Man Cub's lap. Once Dunkee, a

poor relation of the Gee Gees, had tried it on, disastrously--but that

is also Another and a more Aged Story.

"We are ridden by The English--please to observe the Capital letters,"

said Pi Bol, the leader of the Gee Gees, proudly. "They are a mighty

race who ride anything and everybody. D'ye mind that--I mean, look ye

well to it!"

"What should they know of England who only England know?" said Miaow.

"Is that a conundrum?" asked the Moo Kow.

"No; it's poetry," said the Miaow.

"I know England," said Pi Bol prancingly. "I used to go from the Bank

to Islington three times a day--I mean," he added hurriedly, "before I

became a screw--I should say, a screw-gun horse."

"And I," said the Moo Kow, "am terrible. When the young women and

children in the village see me approach they fly shriekingly. My

presence alone has scattered their sacred festival--The Sundes Kool

Piknik. I strike terror to their inmost souls, and am more feared by

them than even Kreep-mows, the insidious! And yet, behold! I have

taken the place of the mothers of men, and I have nourished the mighty

ones of the earth! But that," said the Moo Kow, turning her head aside

bashfully, "that is Anudder Story."

A dead silence fell on the pool.

"And I," said Miaow, lifting up her voice, "I am the horror and haunter

of the night season. When I pass like the night wind over the roofs of

the houses men shudder in their beds and tremble. When they hear my

voice as I creep stealthily along their balconies they cry to their

gods for succor. They arise, and from their windows they offer me

their priceless household treasures--the sacred vessels dedicated to

their great god Shiv--which they call 'Shivin Mugs'--the Kloes Brosh,

the Boo-jak, urging me to fly them! And yet," said Miaow mournfully,

"it is but my love-song! Think ye what they would do if I were on the

war-path."

Another dead silence fell on the pool. Then arose that strange,

mysterious, indefinable Thing, known as "The Scent." The animals

sniffed.

"It heralds the approach of the Stalkies--the most famous of British

Skool Boaz," said the Moo Kow. "They have just placed a decaying

guinea-pig, two white mice in an advanced state of decomposition, and a

single slice of Limburger cheese in the bed of their tutor. They had

previously skillfully diverted the drains so that they emptied into the

drawing-room of the head-master. They have just burned down his house

in an access of noble zeal, and are fighting among themselves for the

spoil. Hark! do ye hear them?"

A wild medley of shrieks and howls had arisen, and an irregular mob of

strange creatures swept out of the distance toward the pool. Some were

like pygmies, some had bloody noses. Their talk consisted of feverish,

breathless ejaculations,--a gibberish in which the words "rot," "oach,"

and "giddy" were preeminent. Some were exciting themselves by chewing

a kind of "bhang" made from the plant called pappahmint; others had

their faces streaked with djam.

"But who is this they are ducking in the pool?" asked Pi Bol.

"It is one who has foolishly and wantonly conceived that his parents

have sent him here to study," said the Moo Kow; "but that is against

the rules of the Stalkies, who accept study only as a punishment."

"Then these be surely the 'Bander Log'--the monkey folk--of whom the

good Rhuddyidd has told us," said a Gee Gee--"the ones who have no

purpose--and forget everything."

"Fool!" said the Moo Kow. "Know ye not that the great Rhuddyidd has

said that the Stalkies become Major-Generals, V. C.'s, and C. B's of

the English? Truly, they are great. Look now; ye shall see one of the

greatest traits of the English Stalky."

One of the pygmy Stalkies was offering a bun to a larger one, who

hesitated, but took it coldly.

"Behold! it is one of the greatest traits of this mighty race not to

show any emotion. He WOULD take the bun--he HAS taken it! He is

pleased--but he may not show it. Observe him eat."

The taller Stalky, after eating the bun, quietly kicked the giver,

knocked off his hat, and turned away with a calm, immovable face.

"Good!" said the Moo Kow. "Ye would not dream that he was absolutely

choking with grateful emotion?"

"We would not," said the animals.

"But why are they all running back the way they came?" asked Pi Bol.

"They are going back to punishment. Great is its power. Have ye not

heard the gospel of Rhuddyidd the mighty? 'Force is everything!

Gentleness won't wash, courtesy is deceitful. Politeness is foreign.

Be ye beaten that ye may beat. Pass the kick on.'"

But here he was interrupted by the appearance of three soldiers who

were approaching the watering-place.

"Ye are now," said the Moo Kow, "with the main guard. The first is

Bleareyed, who carries a raven in a cage, which he has stolen from the

wife of a deputy commissioner. He will paint the bird snow white and

sell it as a dove to the same lady. The second is Otherwise, who is

dragging a small garden engine, of which he has despoiled a native

gardener, whom he has felled with a single blow. The third is

Mulledwiney, swinging a cut-glass decanter of sherry which he has just

snatched from the table of his colonel. Mulledwiney and Otherwise will

play the engine upon Bleareyed, who is suffering from heat apoplexy and

djim-djams."

The three soldiers seated themselves in the pool.

"They are going to tell awful war stories now," said the Moo Kow,

"stories that are large and strong! Some people are shocked--others

like 'em."

Then he that was called Mulledwiney told a story. In the middle of it

Miaow got up from the limb of the tree, coughed slightly, and put her

paw delicately over her mouth. "You must excuse me," she said faintly.

"I am taken this way sometimes--and I have left my salts at home.

Thanks! I can get down myself!" The next moment she had disappeared,

but was heard coughing in the distance.

Mulledwiney winked at his companions and continued his story:--

"Wid that we wor in the thick av the foight. Whin I say 'thick' I mane

it, sorr! We wor that jammed together, divil a bit cud we shoot or

cut! At fur-rest, I had lashed two mushkits together wid the baynits

out so, like a hay fork, and getting the haymaker's lift on thim, I

just lifted two Paythians out--one an aych baynit--and passed 'em,

aisy-like, over me head to the rear rank for them to finish. But what

wid the blud gettin' into me ois, I was blinded, and the pressure kept

incraysin' until me arrums was thrussed like a fowl to me sides, and

sorra a bit cud I move but me jaws!"

"And bloomin' well you knew how to use them," said Otherwise.

"Thrue for you--though ye don't mane it!" said Mulledwiney, playfully

tapping Otherwise on the head with a decanter till the cut glass slowly

shivered. "So, begorra! there wor nothing left for me to do but to ATE

thim! Wirra! but it was the crooel worruk."

"Excuse me, my lord," interrupted the gasping voice of Pi Bol as he

began to back from the pool, "I am but a horse, I know, and being built

in that way--naturally have the stomach of one--yet, really, my lord,

this--er"-- And his voice was gone.

The next moment he had disappeared. Mulledwiney looked around with

affected concern.

"Save us! But we've cleaned out the Jungle! Sure, there's not a baste

left but ourselves!"

It was true. The watering-place was empty. Moo Kow, Miaow, and the

Gee Gees had disappeared. Presently there was a booming crash and a

long, deep rumbling among the distant hills. Then they knew they were

near the old Moulmein Pagoda, and the dawn had come up like thunder out

of China 'cross the bay. It always came up that way there. The strain

was too great, and day was actually breaking.

"ZUT-SKI"

THE PROBLEM OF A WICKED FEME SOLE

BY M-R-E C-R-LLI

I

The great pyramid towered up from the desert with its apex toward the

moon which hung in the sky. For centuries it had stood thus,

disdaining the aid of gods or man, being, as the Sphinx herself

observed, able to stand up for itself. And this was no small praise

from that sublime yet mysterious female who had seen the ages come and

go, empires rise and fall, novelist succeed novelist, and who, for eons

and cycles the cynosure and centre of admiration and men's idolatrous

worship, had yet--wonderful for a woman--through it all kept her head,

which now alone remained to survey calmly the present. Indeed, at that

moment that magnificent and peaceful face seemed to have lost--with a

few unimportant features--its usual expression of speculative wisdom

and intense disdain; its mouth smiled, its left eyelid seemed to droop.

As the opal tints of dawn deepened upon it, the eyelid seemed to droop

lower, closed, and quickly recovered itself twice. You would have

thought the Sphinx had winked.

Then arose a voice like a wind on the desert,--but really from the

direction of the Nile, where a hired dahabiyeh lay moored to the

bank,--"'Arry Axes! 'Arry Axes!" With it came also a flapping,

trailing vision from the water--the sacred Ibis itself--and with wings

aslant drifted mournfully away to its own creaking echo: "K'raksis!

K'raksis!" Again arose the weird voice: "'Arry Axes! Wotcher doin'

of?" And again the Ibis croaked its wild refrain: "K'raksis!

K'raksis!" Moonlight and the hour wove their own mystery (for which

the author is not responsible), and the voice was heard no more. But

when the full day sprang in glory over the desert, it illuminated the

few remaining but sufficiently large features of the Sphinx with a

burning saffron radiance! The Sphinx had indeed blushed!

II

It was the full season at Cairo. The wealth and fashion of Bayswater,

South Kensington, and even the bosky Wood of the Evangelist had sent

their latest luxury and style to flout the tombs of the past with the

ghastly flippancy of to-day. The cheap tripper was there--the latest

example of the Darwinian theory--apelike, flea and curio hunting!

Shamelessly inquisitive and always hungry, what did he know of the

Sphinx or the pyramids or the voice--and, for the matter of that, what

did they know of him? And yet he was not half bad in comparison with

the "swagger people,"--these people who pretend to have lungs and what

not, and instead of galloping on merry hunters through the frost and

snow of Piccadilly and Park, instead of enjoying the roaring fires of

piled logs in the evening, at the first approach of winter steal away

to the Land of the Sun, and decline to die, like honest Britons, on

British soil. And then they know nothing of the Egyptians and are

horrified at "bakshish," which they really ought to pay for the

privilege of shocking the straight-limbed, naked-footed Arab in his

single rough garment with their baggy elephant-legged trousers! And

they know nothing of the mystic land of the old gods, filled with

profound enigmas of the supernatural, dark secrets yet unexplored

except in this book. Well might the great Memnon murmur after this

lapse of these thousand years, "They're making me tired!"

Such was the blissful, self-satisfied ignorance of Sir Midas Pyle, or

as Lord Fitz-Fulke, with his delightful imitation of the East London

accent, called him, Sir "Myde His Pyle," as he leaned back on his divan

in the Grand Cairo Hotel. He was the vulgar editor and proprietor of a

vulgar London newspaper, and had brought his wife with him, who was

vainly trying to marry off his faded daughters. There was to be a

fancy-dress ball at the hotel that night, and Lady Pyle hoped that her

girls, if properly disguised, might have a better chance. Here, too,

was Lady Fitz-Fulke, whose mother was immortalized by Byron--sixty if a

day, yet still dressing youthfully--who had sought the land of the

Sphinx in the faint hope that in the contiguity of that lady she might

pass for being young. Alaster McFeckless, a splendid young

Scotchman,--already dressed as a Florentine sailor of the fifteenth

century, which enabled him to show his magnificent calves quite as well

as in his native highland dress, and who had added with characteristic

noble pride a sporran to his costume, was lolling on another divan.

"Oh, those exquisite, those magnificent eyes of hers! Eh, sirs!" he

murmured suddenly, as waking from a dream.

"Oh, damn her eyes!" said Lord Fitz-Fulke languidly. "Tell you what,

old man, you're just gone on that girl!"

"Ha!" roared McFeckless, springing to his feet, "ye will be using such

language of the bonniest"--

"You will excuse me, gentlemen," said Sir Midas,--who hated scenes

unless he had a trusted reporter with him,--"but I think it is time for

me to go upstairs and put on my Windsor uniform, which I find

exceedingly convenient for these mixed assemblies." He withdrew,

caressing his protuberant paunch with some dignity, as the two men

glanced fiercely at each other.

In another moment they might have sprung at each other's throats. But

luckily at this instant a curtain was pushed aside as if by some

waiting listener, and a thin man entered, dressed in cap and

gown,--which would have been simply academic but for his carrying in

one hand behind him a bundle of birch twigs. It was Dr. Haustus

Pilgrim, a noted London practitioner and specialist, dressed as "Ye

Olde-fashioned Pedagogue." He was presumably spending his holiday on

the Nile in a large dahabiyeh with a number of friends, among whom he

counted the two momentary antagonists he had just interrupted; but

those who knew the doctor's far-reaching knowledge and cryptic

researches believed he had his own scientific motives.

The two men turned quickly as he entered; the angry light faded from

their eyes, and an awed and respectful submission to the intruder took

its place. He walked quietly toward them, put a lozenge in the mouth

of one and felt the pulse of the other, gazing critically at both.

"We will be all right in a moment," he said with professional

confidence.

"I say!" said Fitz-Fulke, gazing at the doctor's costume, "you look

dooced smart in those togs, don'tcherknow."

"They suit me," said the doctor, with a playful swish of his birch

twigs, at which the two grave men shuddered. "But you were speaking of

somebody's beautiful eyes."

"The Princess Zut-Ski's," returned McFeckless eagerly; "and this daft

callant said"--

"He didn't like them," put in Fitz-Fulke promptly.

"Ha!" said the doctor sharply, "and why not, sir?" As Fitz-Fulke

hesitated, he added brusquely: "There! Run away and play! I've

business with this young man," pointing to McFeckless.

As Fitz-Fulke escaped gladly from the room, the doctor turned to

McFeckless. "It won't do, my boy. The Princess is not for you--you'll

only break your heart and ruin your family over her! That's my advice.

Chuck her!"

"But I cannot," said McFeckless humbly. "Think of her weirdly

beautiful eyes."

"I see," said the doctor meditatively; "sort of makes you feel creepy?

Kind of all-overishness, eh? That's like her. But whom have we here?"

He was staring at a striking figure that had just entered, closely

followed by a crowd of admiring spectators. And, indeed, he seemed

worthy of the homage. His magnificent form was closely attired in a

velveteen jacket and trousers, with a singular display of pearl buttons

along the seams, that were absolutely lavish in their quantity; a hat

adorned with feathers and roses completed his singularly picturesque

equipment.

"Chevalier!" burst out McFeckless in breathless greeting.

"Ah, mon ami! What good chance?" returned the newcomer, rushing to him

and kissing him on both cheeks, to the British horror of Sir Midas, who

had followed. "Ah, but you are perfect!" he added, kissing his fingers

in admiration of McFeckless's Florentine dress.

"But you?--what is this ravishing costume?" asked McFeckless, with a

pang of jealousy. "You are god-like."

"It is the dress of what you call the Koster, a transplanted Phenician

tribe," answered the other. "They who knocked 'em in the road of Old

Kent--know you not the legend?" As he spoke, he lifted his superb form

to a warrior's height and gesture.

"But is this quite correct?" asked Fitz-Fulke of the doctor.

"Perfectly," said the doctor oracularly. "The renowned ''Arry Axes'--I

beg his pardon," he interrupted himself hastily, "I mean the

Chevalier--is perfect in his archaeology and ethnology. The Koster is

originally a Gypsy, which is but a corruption of the word 'Egyptian,'

and, if I mistake not, that gentleman is a lineal descendant."

"But he is called 'Chevalier,' and he speaks like a Frenchman," said

Fluffy.

"And, being a Frenchman, of course knows nothing outside of Paris,"

said Sir Midas.

"We are in the Land of Mystery," said the doctor gravely in a low

voice. "You have heard of the Egyptian Hall and the Temple of Mystery?"

A shudder passed through many that were there; but the majority were

following with wild adulation the superb Koster, who, with elbows

slightly outward and hands turned inward, was passing toward the

ballroom. McFeckless accompanied him with conflicting emotions. Would

he see the incomparable Princess, who was lovelier and even still more

a mystery than the Chevalier? Would she--terrible thought!--succumb to

his perfections?

III

The Princess was already there, surrounded by a crowd of admirers,

equal if not superior to those who were following the superb Chevalier.

Indeed, they met almost as rivals! Their eyes sought each other in

splendid competition. The Chevalier turned away, dazzled and

incoherent. "She is adorable, magnificent!" he gasped to McFeckless.

"I love her on the instant! Behold, I am transported, ravished!

Present me."

Indeed, as she stood there in a strange gauzy garment of exquisite

colors, apparently shapeless, yet now and then revealing her perfect

figure like a bather seen through undulating billows, she was lovely.

Two wands were held in her taper fingers, whose mystery only added to

the general curiosity, but whose weird and cabalistic uses were to be

seen later. Her magnificent face--strange in its beauty--was stranger

still, since, with perfect archaeological Egyptian correctness, she

presented it only in profile, at whatever angle the spectator stood.

But such a profile! The words of the great Poet-King rose to

McFeckless's lips: "Her nose is as a tower that looketh toward

Damascus."

He hesitated a moment, torn with love and jealousy, and then presented

his friend. "You will fall in love with her--and then--you will fall

also by my hand," he hissed in his rival's ear, and fled tumultuously.

"Voulez-vous danser, mademoiselle?" whispered the Chevalier in the

perfect accent of the boulevardier.

"Merci, beaucoup," she replied in the diplomatic courtesies of the

Ambassadeurs.

They danced together, not once, but many times, to the admiration, the

wonder and envy of all; to the scandalized reprobation of a proper few.

Who was she? Who was he? It was easy to answer the last question: the

world rang with the reputation of "Chevalier the Artist." But she was

still a mystery.

Perhaps they were not so to each other! He was gazing deliriously into

her eyes. She was looking at him in disdainful curiosity. "I've seen

you before somewhere, haven't I?" she said at last, with a crushing

significance.

He shuddered, he knew not why, and passed his hand over his high

forehead. "Yes, I go there very often," he replied vacantly. "But

you, mademoiselle--you--I have met before?"

"Oh, ages, ages ago!" There was something weird in her emphasis.

"Ha!" said a voice near them, "I thought so!" It was the doctor,

peering at them curiously. "And you both feel rather dazed and

creepy?" He suddenly felt their pulses, lingering, however, as the

Chevalier fancied, somewhat longer than necessary over the lady's wrist

and beautiful arm. He then put a small round box in the Chevalier's

hand, saying, "One before each meal," and turning to the lady with

caressing professional accents said, "We must wrap ourselves closely

and endeavor to induce perspiration," and hurried away, dragging the

Chevalier with him. When they reached a secluded corner, he said, "You

had just now a kind of feeling, don't you know, as if you'd sort of

been there before, didn't you?"

"Yes, what you call a--preexistence," said the Chevalier wonderingly.

"Yes; I have often observed that those who doubt a future state of

existence have no hesitation in accepting a previous one," said the

doctor dryly. "But come, I see from the way the crowd are hurrying

that your divinity's number is up--I mean," he corrected himself

hastily, "that she is probably dancing again."

"Aha! with him, the imbecile McFeckless?" gasped the Chevalier.

"No, alone."

She was indeed alone, in the centre of the ballroom--with outstretched

arms revolving in an occult, weird, dreamy, mystic, druidical,

cabalistic circle. They now for the first time perceived the meaning

of those strange wands which appeared to be attached to the many folds

of her diaphanous skirts and involved her in a fleecy, whirling cloud.

Yet in the wild convolutions of her garments and the mad gyrations of

her figure, her face was upturned with the seraphic intensity of a

devotee, and her lips parted as with the impassioned appeal for "Light!

more light!" And the appeal was answered. A flood of blue, crimson,

yellow, and green radiance was alternately poured upon her from the

black box of a mysterious Nubian slave in the gallery. The effect was

marvelous; at one moment she appeared as a martyr in a sheet of flame,

at another as an angel wrapped in white and muffled purity, and again

as a nymph of the cerulean sea, and then suddenly a cloud of darkness

seemed to descend upon her, through which for an instant her figure, as

immaculate and perfect as a marble statue, showed distinctly--then the

light went out and she vanished!

The whole assembly burst into a rapturous cry. Even the common Arab

attendants who were peeping in at the doors raised their melodious

native cry, "Alloe, Fullah! Aloe, Fullah!" again and again.

A shocked silence followed. Then the voice of Sir Midas Pyle was heard

addressing Dr. Haustus Pilgrim:

"May we not presume, sir, that what we have just seen is not unlike

that remarkable exhibition when I was pained to meet you one evening at

the Alhambra?"

The doctor coughed slightly. "The Alhambra--ah, yes!--you--er--refer,

I presume, to Granada and the Land of the Moor, where we last met. The

music and dance are both distinctly Moorish--which, after all, is akin

to the Egyptian. I am gratified indeed that your memory should be so

retentive and your archaeological comparison so accurate. But see! the

ladies are retiring. Let us follow."

IV

The intoxication produced by the performance of the Princess naturally

had its reaction. The British moral soul, startled out of its

hypocrisy the night before, demanded the bitter beer of

self-consciousness and remorse the next morning. The ladies were now

openly shocked at what they had secretly envied. Lady Pyle was,

however, propitiated by the doctor's assurance that the Princess was a

friend of Lady Fitz-Fulke, who had promised to lend her youthful age

and aristocratic prestige to the return ball which the Princess had

determined to give at her own home. "Still, I think the Princess open

to criticism," said Sir Midas oracularly.

"Damn all criticism and critics!" burst out McFeckless, with the noble

frankness of a passionate and yet unfettered soul. Sir Midas, who

employed critics in his business, as he did other base and ignoble

slaves, drew up himself and his paunch and walked away.

The Chevalier cast a superb look at McFeckless. "Voila! Regard me

well! I shall seek out this Princess when she is with herself! Alone,

comprenez? I shall seek her at her hotel in the Egyptian Hall! Ha!

ha! I shall seek Zut-Ski! Zut!" And he made that rapid yet graceful

motion of his palm against his thigh known only to the true Parisian.

"It's a rum hole where she lives, and nobody gets a sight of her," said

Flossy. "It's like a beastly family vault, don't you know, outside,

and there's a kind of nigger doorkeeper that vises you and chucks you

out if you haven't the straight tip. I'll show you the way, if you

like."

"Allons, en avant!" said the Chevalier gayly. "I precipitate myself

there on the instant."

"Remember!" hissed McFeckless, grasping his arm, "you shall account to

me!"

"Bien!" said the Chevalier, shaking him off lightly. "All

a-r-r-right." Then, in that incomparable baritone, which had so often

enthralled thousands, he moved away, trolling the first verse of the

Princess's own faint, sweet, sad song of the "Lotus Lily," that

thrilled McFeckless even through the Chevalier's marked French accent:--

"Oh, a hard zing to get is ze Lotus Lillee!

She lif in ze swamp--in ze watair chillee;

She make your foot wet--and you look so sillee,

But you buy her for sixpence in Piccadillee!"

In half an hour the two men reached the remote suburb where the

Princess lived, a gloomy, windowless building. Pausing under a low

archway over which in Egyptian characters appeared the faded legend,

"Sta Ged Oor," they found a Nubian slave blocking the dim entrance.

"I leave you here," said Flossy hurriedly, "as even I left once

before--only then I was lightly assisted by his sandaled foot," he

added, rubbing himself thoughtfully. "But better luck to you."

As his companion retreated swiftly, the Chevalier turned to the slave

and would have passed in, but the man stopped him. "Got a pass, boss?"

"No," said the Chevalier.

The man looked at him keenly. "Oh, I see! one of de profesh."

The Chevalier nodded haughtily. The man preceded him by devious,

narrow ways and dark staircases, coming abruptly upon a small apartment

where the Princess sat on a low divan. A single lamp inclosed in an

ominous wire cage flared above her. Strange things lay about the floor

and shelves, and from another door he could see hideous masks,

frightful heads, and disproportionate faces. He shuddered slightly,

but recovered himself and fell on his knees before her. "I lofe you,"

he said madly. "I have always lofed you!"

"For how long?" she asked, with a strange smile.

He covertly consulted his shirt cuff. "For tree tousand fife hundred

and sixty-two years," he said rapidly.

She looked at him disdainfully. "The doctor has been putting you up to

that! It won't wash! I don't refer to your shirt cuff," she added

with deep satire.

"Adorable one!" he broke out passionately, attempting to embrace her,

"I have come to take you." Without moving, she touched a knob in the

wall. A trap-door beyond him sank, and out of the bowels of the earth

leaped three indescribable demons. Then, rising, she took a cake of

chalk from the table and, drawing a mystic half circle on the floor,

returned to the divan, lit a cigarette, and leaning comfortably back,

said in a low, monotonous voice, "Advance one foot within that magic

line, and on that head, although it wore a crown, I launch the curse of

Rome."

"I--only wanted to take you--with a kodak," he said, with a light laugh

to conceal his confusion, as he produced the instrument from his

coat-tail pocket.

"Not with that cheap box," she said, rising with magnificent disdain.

"Come again with a decent instrument--and perhaps"-- Then, lightly

humming in a pure contralto, "I've been photographed like this--I've

been photographed like that," she summoned the slave to conduct him

back, and vanished through a canvas screen, which nevertheless seemed

to the dazed Chevalier to be the stony front of the pyramids.

V

"And you saw her?" said the doctor in French.

"Yes; but the three-thousand-year gag did not work! She spotted you,

cher ami, on the instant. And she wouldn't let me take her with my

kodak."

The doctor looked grave. "I see," he mused thoughtfully. "You must

have my camera, a larger one and more bulky perhaps to carry; but she

will not object to that,--she who has stood for full lengths. I will

give you some private instructions."

"But, cher doctor, this previous-existence idea--at what do you arrive?"

"There is much to say for it," said the doctor oracularly. "It has

survived in the belief of all ages. Who can tell? That some men in a

previous existence may have been goats or apes," continued the doctor,

looking at him curiously, "does not seem improbable! From the time of

Pythagoras we have known that; but that the individual as an individual

ego has been remanded or projected, has harked back or anticipated

himself, is, we may say, with our powers of apperception,--that is, the

perception that we are perceiving,--is"--

But the Chevalier had fled. "No matter," said the doctor, "I will see

McFeckless." He did. He found him gloomy, distraught, baleful. He

felt his pulse. "The mixture as before," he said briefly, "and a

little innocent diversion. There is an Aunt Sally on the

esplanade--two throws for a penny. It will do you good. Think no more

of this woman! Listen,--I wish you well; your family have always been

good patients of mine. Marry some good Scotch girl; I know one with

fifty thousand pounds. Let the Princess go!"

"To him--never! I will marry her! Yet," he murmured softly to

himself, "feefty thousand pun' is nae small sum. Aye! Not that I care

for siller--but feefty thousand pun'! Eh, sirs!"

VI

Dr. Haustus knew that the Chevalier had again visited the Princess,

although he had kept the visit a secret,--and indeed was himself

invisible for a day or two afterwards. At last the doctor's curiosity

induced him to visit the Chevalier's apartment. Entering, he was

surprised--even in that Land of Mystery--to find the room profoundly

dark, smelling of Eastern drugs, and the Chevalier sitting before a

large plate of glass which he was examining by the aid of a lurid ruby

lamp,--the only light in the weird gloom. His face was pale and

distraught, his locks were disheveled.

"Voila!" he said. "Mon Dieu! It is my third attempt. Always the

same--hideous, monstrous, unearthly! It is she, and yet it is not she!"

The doctor, professional man as he was and inured to such spectacles,

was startled! The plate before him showed the Princess's face in all

its beautiful contour, but only dimly veiling a ghastly death's-head

below. There was the whole bony structure of the head and the eyeless

sockets; even the graceful, swan-like neck showed the articulated

vertebral column that supported it in all its hideous reality. The

beautiful shoulders were there, dimly as in a dream--but beneath was

the empty clavicle, the knotty joint, the hollow sternum, and the ribs

of a skeleton half length!

The doctor's voice broke the silence. "My friend," he said dryly, "you

see only the truth! You see what she really is, this peerless Princess

of yours. You see her as she is to-day, and you see her kinship to the

bones that have lain for centuries in yonder pyramid. Yet they were

once as fair as this, and this was as fair as they--in effect the same!

You that have madly, impiously adored her superficial beauty, the mere

dust of tomorrow, let this be a warning to you! You that have no soul

to speak of, let that suffice you! Take her and be happy. Adieu!"

Yet, as he passed out of the fitting tomblike gloom of the apartment

and descended the stairs, he murmured to himself: "Odd that I should

have lent him my camera with the Rontgen-ray attachment still on. No

matter! It is not the first time that the Princess has appeared in two

parts the same evening."

VII

In spite of envy, jealousy, and malice, a certain curiosity greater

than all these drew everybody to the Princess Zut-Ski's ball. Lady

Fitz-Fulke was there in virgin white, looking more youthful than ever,

in spite of her sixty-five years and the card labeled "Fresh Paint"

which somebody had playfully placed upon her enameled shoulder. The

McFecklesses, the Pyles, Flossy, the doctor, and the Chevalier--looking

still anxious--were in attendance.

The mysterious Nubian doorkeeper admitted the guests through the same

narrow passages, much to the disgust of Lady Pyle and the discomfiture

of her paunchy husband; but on reaching a large circular interior hall,

a greater surprise was in store for them. It was found that the only

entrance to the body of the hall was along a narrow ledge against the

bare wall some distance from the floor, which obliged the guests to

walk slowly, in single file, along this precarious strip, giving them

the attitudes of an Egyptian frieze, which was suggested in the

original plaster above them. It is needless to say that, while the

effect was ingenious and striking from the centre of the room, where

the Princess stood with a few personal friends, it was exceedingly

uncomfortable to the figures themselves, in their enforced march along

the ledge,--especially a figure of Sir Midas Pyle's proportions.

Suddenly an exclamation broke from the doctor.

"Do you see," he said to the Princess, pointing to the figure of the

Chevalier, who was filing along with his sinewy hands slightly turned

inward, "how surprisingly like he is to the first attendant on the King

in the real frieze above? And that," added the doctor, "was none other

than 'Arry Axes, the Egyptian you are always thinking of." And he

peered curiously at her.

"Goodness me!" murmured the Princess, in an Arabic much more soft and

fluent than the original gum. "So he does--look like him."

"And do you know you look like him, too? Would you mind taking a walk

around together?"

They did, amid the acclamations of the crowd. The likeness was

perfect. The Princess, however, was quite white as she eagerly

rejoined the doctor.

"And this means--?" she hissed in a low whisper.

"That he is the real 'Arry Axes! Hush, not a word now! We join the

dahabiyeh to-night. At daybreak you will meet him at the fourth angle

of the pyramid, first turning from the Nile!"

VIII

The crescent moon hung again over the apex of the Great Pyramid, like a

silver cutting from the rosy nail of a houri. The Sphinx--mighty

guesser of riddles, reader of rebuses and universal solver of missing

words--looked over the unfathomable desert and these few pages, with

the worried, hopeless expression of one who is obliged at last to give

it up. And then the wailing voice of a woman, toiling up the steep

steps of the pyramid, was heard above the creaking of the Ibis: "'Arry

Axes! Where are you? Wait for me."

"J'y suis," said a voice from the very summit of the stupendous granite

bulk, "yet I cannot reach it."

And in that faint light the figure of a man was seen, lifting his arms

wildly toward the moon.

"'Arry Axes," persisted the voice, drifting higher, "wait for me; we

are pursued."

And indeed it was true. A band of Nubians, headed by the doctor, was

already swarming like ants up the pyramid, and the unhappy pair were

secured. And when the sun rose, it was upon the white sails of the

dahabiyeh, the vacant pyramid, and the slumbering Sphinx.

There was great excitement at the Cairo Hotel the next morning. The

Princess and the Chevalier had disappeared, and with them Alaster

McFeckless, Lady Fitz-Fulke, the doctor, and even his dahabiyeh! A

thousand rumors had been in circulation. Sir Midas Pyle looked up from

the "Times" with his usual I-told-you-so expression.

"It is the most extraordinary thing, don'tcherknow," said Fitz-Fulke.

"It seems that Dr. Haustus Pilgrim was here professionally--as a nerve

specialist--in the treatment of hallucinations produced by neurotic

conditions, you know."

"A mad doctor, here!" gasped Sir Midas.

"Yes. The Princess, the Chevalier, McFeckless, and even my mother were

all patients of his on the dahabiyeh. He believed, don'tcherknow, in

humoring them and letting them follow out their cranks, under his

management. The Princess was a music-hall artist who imagined she was

a dead and gone Egyptian Princess; and the queerest of all, 'Arry Axes

was also a music-hall singer who imagined himself Chevalier--you know,

the great Koster artist--and that's how we took him for a Frenchman.

McFeckless and my poor old mother were the only ones with any real rank

and position--but you know what a beastly bounder Mac was, and the poor

mater DID overdo the youthful! We never called the doctor in until the

day she wanted to go to a swell ball in London as Little Red

Riding-hood. But the doctor writes me that the experiment was a

success, and they'll be all right when they get back to London."

"Then, it seems, sir, that you and I were the only sane ones here,"

said Sir Midas furiously.

"Really it's as much as I can do to be certain about myself, old

chappie," said Fitz-Fulke, turning away.