The first of these was a powerful Italian, topped with a dense brush of
rebellious black hair. The circumstances leading up to his employment
in the Great Oriental Dime Museum as the "Marvellous Tuft-nosed Wild
Man, Hoolagaloo, captured on the Island of Milo, in the Ægean Sea,
after a desperate struggle," were these:
He had been a wood-chopper, possessed of prodigious strength and a
violent temper. One day he and a companion in the mountains fell out
and fought. The Italian then had to walk twenty miles to find a
surgeon, being in great need of his services. When he presented himself
to the surgeon his face was heavily bandaged with blood-soaked cloths.
He began to fumble in his pockets, and his face betrayed deep anxiety
when he failed to find what he sought.
"What is the matter?" asked the surgeon, "and what are you seeking?"
The man uncovered his mouth and in a voice like the sound of an
ophicleide, answered:
"Mina nosa."
"Your nose!"
"Aha. T'ought I bring 'im, butta no find."
"Brought your nose in your pocket!"
"Dunno--may be losta. Fella fighta me; cut offa da nose."
The surgeon assured him that the severed nose would have been useless.
"But I wanta da nose!" exclaimed the man, in despair.
The surgeon said that he could make a new one, and the man appeared
greatly relieved in mind. A removal of the bandages disclosed the fact
that a considerable part of the nose was gone. The surgeon then
proceeded to perform the familiar rhinoplastic operation, which
consists in making a V-shaped incision through the skin of the forehead
immediately above the nose, loosening it, and bringing it down with a
half-turn, to keep the cuticle outward, and covering the nose-stump
with it. In preparing for this he made an interesting discovery. The
place for the man's nose was long and his forehead low, so that in
order to secure sufficient length for the flap he had to encroach on
the hair-covered scalp. There was no help for it. With some misgivings
the surgeon shaved the hair and then performed the operation with
admirable success.
His fears, however, in time were realized. All around the end of the
nose there appeared a broad line of black hair. When the skin was in
its normal position above the forehead the hair on the upper edge of it
had grown downward; but as the skin was inverted in its new position
the hair, of course, grew upward, curving towards the eyes. It gave the
man a grotesque and hideous appearance, and this made him furious. The
surgeon, having a quick wit and a regard for the integrity of his
bones, introduced him to Signor Castellani, proprietor of the Great
Oriental Dime Museum, and that enterprising worthy immediately engaged
him. And thus it was that the man became the greatest curiosity in the
world.
Among his companions in the museum were the Severed Lady, who
apparently was nonexistent below the waist; the Remarkable Tattooed
Lady, who had been rescued from Chinese pirates in the Coral Sea, and
some others. To them the tuft-nosed man was known as Bat--surmised to
be a contraction of Bartolommeo.
The other singular man with which this narrative is concerned was a
small, delicate, mild-mannered, impecunious fellow, who made a living
by writing for the press. He and Castellani were friends, and he was on
excellent terms with the "freaks." But as this narrative is to tell the
little secrets of the museum, it should be explained that the real
object of the young man's deepest admiration was Mademoiselle Zoë, the
Severed Lady, billed also as the Wonderful French Phenomenon. She was
known in private life as Muggie (formerly Muggy, and probably
originally Margaret), and she was the only daughter and special pride
of Castellani. Zoë was rosy-cheeked, pretty, and had a freckled nose.
The impecunious writer was named Sampey. Sampey secretly loved Zoë.
As the Severed Lady, Mademoiselle Zoë's professional duties were
monotonous. They gave her abundant opportunities for observation and
reflection, and, being young and of the feminine sex, she dreamed.
What she observed most was eyes. These were the eyes that looked at her
as she rested in her little swing when on exhibition. Her gilt booth
was very popular, for she was pretty, and some kind-hearted visitors at
the show pitied the poor thing because she ended at the waist! But far
from being depressed by the apparent absence of all below the lower
edge of her gold belt with its glittering diamond buckle, she was
cheerful, and now and then would sing a little song. Her sweetness of
manner and voice and the plumpness of her rounded arms and shoulders
were what had won Sampey's heart and made him all the more zealous in
his useful occupation of devising the names which Castellani bestowed
on his freaks.
Hoolagaloo had suffered a turning of the head by his good fortune. He
imagined that because he was monstrous he was great. That made him
arrogant and presumptuous. He, too, loved Zoë. Thus it came about that
a rivalry was established between Sampey and the Wild Man of Milo. How
was it with Zoë? Which loved she?--or loved she either? Observing and
reflecting, she dreamed. As it was eyes only that she saw, it was of
eyes only that she dreamed.
"Ah," sighed this innocent girl, "that I could see in reality the eyes
of my dreams! So many, many eyes stare at me in my booth, and yet the
eyes of my dreams come not! Blue eyes, brown eyes, black eyes, hazel
eyes, gray eyes, all of every shade, but not yet have come the eyes I
so long to see! Those which do come are commonplace; their owners are
commonplace--just ordinary mortals. I'm sure that princes, knights, and
heroes _must_ have the eyes that beam on me as I sleep. I'm sure,
indeed, that such eyes will come in time, and that by such a sign I
shall know my hero, my master, my love!"
She cautiously asked the Wild Man of Milo about it one day, but his
answer was a coarse guffaw; then, seeing that he had made a mistake, he
kissed her. The hair of his tufted nose thus got into her pretty blue
eyes, and she shuddered.
Then she went to Sampey, who was wise, cool, and politic. He listened,
amazed, but attentive. The opportunity of his life had come. When he
had gathered up his dismayed and scattered wits, he gravely answered:
"Muggie, these eyes that appear in your dreams--is it a particular
color or a certain expression which they have?"
"Color," she answered.
"What color?"
"A soft, pale, limpid amber."
She said it so innocently, so earnestly, so sweetly, that he could
doubt neither her sincerity nor her sanity. Thus the crisis had fallen
upon him and had nearly crushed him.
Nevertheless, he set his wits at work. Pondering, analyzing, ransacking
every nook in the warehouse of his mental resources, he fought bravely
with despair. Presently a bright ray of intelligence, descended Heaven
knows whence, swept across his thought-pinched face. This bright beam,
growing more and more effulgent, mounting higher and higher till it
illuminated all his faculties, finally lighted up his way to become one
of the two singular men of this narrative.
"I see," he said, trying to veil the glow of triumph in his face, "that
you have not wholly mastered the problem of the eyes. True, it is only
heroes that have amber eyes. But such eyes are a badge of heroism sent
by heaven; and, though a man may not have been heroic in any outward
sense, when the essence of true heroism is breathed into him his eyes,
without his knowledge of the fact, may assume the amber hue of your
dreams. Sometimes, in the development of the spirit of heroism, this
color is only transient; in time it may become permanent. Muggie, these
dreams indicate your destiny. You should marry none but a hero, and
when he comes you will know him by his amber eyes." With this Sampey
sighed, for Muggie was looking earnestly into his gray eyes.
Had he thus, in blind self-sacrifice to the whim of a foolish girl,
cast himself into a pit? If so, what meant his light step and cheerful
smile as soon as she was out of sight?
Mademoiselle Zoë, the Severed Lady, swung in half-person and sang her
little song on a night a week or two afterwards, just as she had sung
and swung many a night before. Wondering eyes of every kind were
staring at her, and presently her foolish little heart gave a great
bound. There before her, regarding her with infinite tenderness, was a
divine pair of soft, pale, limpid amber eyes! (A woman in the audience
happened also to see this extraordinary spectacle, and it frightened
her so badly that she fainted, thinking she had seen a corpse.)
The amber eyes instantly disappeared, along with their owner, one
Sampey. A thumpy little heart in a round, plump body knew that it was
he; knew, therefore, that her destiny was come, and, most extraordinary
of all, in the shape of her good father's literary bureau! Yet what
shock there was next day, when the hero of her dreams came to her with
his ordinary pale-gray eyes, blurred somewhat and inclined to humidity!
"Sampey!" she exclaimed in dismay, tumbled thus rudely from the clouds.
"Muggie!"
"Your eyes last night--then you were a hero; but to-day----"
"A hero!" innocently echoed Sampey.
"Why, yes! Last night you had amber eyes--such beautiful eyes--the
hero-eyes of my dreams!"
"My dear child, you certainly were dreaming."
"Oh, no! I saw them! My heart jumped so! I knew you--I knew you--and
your eyes were amber!"
Sampey smiled sadly and a little complacently, and with great modesty
said:
"I can't doubt you, my dear child, but I assure you that I was
unconscious of my amber eyes. I wish that I could feel at liberty to
confess to you that lately I have had strange whisperings of heroism in
my soul--but that would be boasting, and true heroism is always modest.
Still, I ought not to be surprised that you discovered the actual
presence before I was aware even of its existence; but such, indeed, my
dear, is the peculiarity of the true hero--he is ever unaware of his
own heroism." He took her hand languishingly and squeezed it. She
blushed and fled.
Signor Castellani, besides being wealthy, was a man of business. His
daughter should marry a man who had money sufficient to insure his
worth. With perspicacity rare in a man, he had observed that the two
singular men of this narrative admired his daughter. Now, Bat, being a
freak, was making money rapidly, while Sampey was only a poor literary
bureau! Castellani felt the need of a partner. Why should not a partner
be a son-in-law? Surely Bat was much more desirable than Sampey!
Sampey was wise and Bat was foolish. On the other hand, Bat was
courageous and Sampey was timid. Bat had the courage of a brute. Sampey
knew that there were certain ways of frightening brave brutes--he had
even seen a prize-fighter join a church. He prepared for Bat.
One day he entered the museum between exhibitions and sought the Wild
Man of Milo. That worthy was leisurely smoking a cigarette in a quiet
corner, and was making the smoke curl up gracefully over the hairy tuft
on his nose. Sampey was paler than usual and a little nervous, for the
business of his visit was tinged with hazard. Bat, who happened to feel
good-natured, gave the first greeting.
"Hey!" he called out.
Sampey went straight to him.
"You lika da show, ha, Samp? You come effery day. Gooda place, ha,
Samp?"
"A very good place, Bat," quietly answered Sampey, who tried hard to
appear indifferent as he fumbled nervously in his pocket.
"Signor Castellani, he biga mon, reecha mon, gooda mon. You like 'im?"
"Very much." Sampey was acting strangely.
Bat's eyes twinkled a little dangerously.
"You lika da gal, too, ha, Samp?"
"The--ah--the tattooed woman? Yes, very well, indeed."
"Ha, you sly Samp! I spik about da leetle ploompa gal--da Mug."
"Oh! Muggie? Castellani's daughter?"
"Ha."
"Well, I don't know her so very well."
"You don' know da Mugga?" Bat's look was becoming dangerously fierce.
He straightened himself up from his lounging posture, and his big
muscles swelled. "You don' know da Mugga! You tink I no see. You loafa
da Mugga! You wanta marry her! You tink 'er reecha, pooty. You miseraba
sneaka!" Here Bat, who had worked himself into a fury, swore an
eloquent Italian oath.
Sampey's time had come. The two men were alone,--Bat furious and
desperate with jealousy; Sampey fearful, but determined; brutality
against wit, strength against cunning, fury against patience, a bulldog
matched with a mink, a game-cock pitted against an owl.
Sampey pretended to have dropped something accidentally. He stooped to
pick it up, and some seconds elapsed before he pretended to have found
it. While he was searching for it he approached nearer to Bat, and when
he straightened up he brought his face very close to Bat's, and
suddenly raised his eyes and stared steadily into those of the Wild Man
of Milo.
Bat meanwhile had kept up an insulting tirade, his evident purpose
being to force the gentle writer into a fight. But when Sampey raised
his eyes and fixed them in a peculiar stare, Bat regarded him a moment
in speechless wonder, and then sprang back with a livid face, and in
terror cried out:
"Santa Maria!"
For half a minute he gazed, horrified, at the sight which confronted
him, his mouth open, his eyes staring--fascinated, terror-stricken, and
aghast. Sampey, the gentle, usually dove-eyed, was now transformed.
Those were not the accustomed gray eyes with which Bat was familiar,
nor yet the limpid, amber eyes which had set poor Zoë's heart bounding;
Sampey gazed upon his victim with eyes that were a fierce and
insurrectionary scarlet!
Bat, contumelious now no longer, dashed wildly away. He spread his
wonderful tale. Castellani, whom it finally reached, frowned, thinking
that Bat was drunk. The Tattooed Lady laughed outright. Zoë wondered
and was troubled; but that night, just before the curtain of her gilt
booth was drawn at the close of the exhibition, there stood her hero
Sampey, gazing tenderly at her with eyes of a soft, pale, limpid amber.
And she slept soundly after that.
When Sampey visited the museum next day, he was eyed with considerable
curiosity by the freaks. Castellani asked him directly what Bat meant
by his stories. Sampey had expected this question, and was ready for
it. After binding the showman to everlasting secrecy, he said:
"I have made a great discovery, but it is impossible for me to go into
all its details. It must be sufficient at present for me to say that
after many years of scientific experiment I have learned the secret of
changing the color of my eyes at will."
He said this very simply, as though unconscious of announcing one of
the most extraordinary things to which the ages have given birth.
But Castellani was a study. Some great shock, resembling apoplexy,
seemed to have invaded his system. Being a shrewd business man, he
presently recovered his composure, and then in the most indifferent
manner remarked that a person who could change the color of his eyes at
will ought to be able, perhaps, if he should get started right, to make
a little money, possibly, out of the accomplishment; and then he
offered Sampey forty dollars a week to pose as a freak in the Great
Oriental Dime Museum. Sampey, who knew that the Wild Man of Milo's
salary was two hundred dollars a week (which, although large, was well
earned, seeing that everybody had to pull the tuft on his nose to be
sure that it grew there), asked time to consider the splendid offer,
which to him was a fortune.
There was the certainty of losing Zoë when she should learn that his
amber eyes were not really heroic. He went to a retired showman and
asked him what salaries might be commanded by a man with a hair-tufted
nose and a man who could change the color of his eyes to any other
color at will. This showman answered:
"I've seen Castellani's man with the tuft. He gets two hundred dollars
a week. That is pretty high. If you can bring me a man who can change
the color of his eyes at will to any other color, I will pay him a
thousand dollars a week and start in the business again."
Sampey slept not a wink that night.
Meanwhile a change had taken place in Zoë: she had suddenly become more
charming than ever. Her gentleness and sweetness had become conspicuously
augmented, and she was so kind and sweet-mannered to all, including the
Wild Man of Milo (whom she had formerly avoided through instinctive
fear), that Bat took greater heart and swore to win her, though he
might have to wade through oceans of Sampey blood. Mark this: Stake not
too much on a woman's condescension to _you_; it may come through love
for another.
Zoë was innocent, honest, and confiding. Innocence measures the
strength of faith. The charm of faith is its absurdity. Zoë believed in
Sampey.
Sampey, grown surprisingly bold and self-reliant, named his terms to
Castellani--a half-interest in the business--and Castellani, swear and
bully and bluster as he might, must accept. This made Sampey a rich man
at once. Castellani, exceedingly gracious and friendly after the
signing of the compact, proposed a quiet supper in his private
apartments in celebration of the new arrangement, and presently he and
Zoë and Sampey were enjoying a very choice meal. Zoë was dazzlingly
radiant and pretty, but a certain strange constraint sat between her
and Sampey. Once, when she dropped her napkin and Sampey picked it up,
his hand accidentally touched one of her daintily slippered feet, and
his blushes were painful to see.
While they were thus engaged, Bat, without ceremony, burst in upon
them, his face aglow and his eyes flashing triumph. He carried in his
hand a small box, which he rudely thrust under their noses. When Sampey
saw it he turned deathly pale and shrank back, powerless to move or
speak.
"I ketcha da scound!" exclaimed Bat, shaking his finger in the cowering
Sampey's face. "I watch 'im; I ketcha da scound! He play you da dirtee
tr-r-icks!"
The Wild Man of Milo placed the box on the table and raised the lid.
Within appeared a number of curious, small, cup-shaped trinkets of
opaque white glass, each marked in the centre with an annular band of
color surrounding a centre of clear glass, the range of colors being
great, and the trinkets arranged in pairs according to color. There
were also a vial labelled "cocaine" and a small camel's-hair brush.
"You looka me," resumed Hoolagaloo, greatly excited. "I maka mine eye
changa colah, lika da scounda Samp."
With that he dipped the brush into the vial and applied it to his eyes.
Then he picked up two of the curious little glass cups, and slipped
them, one at a time, over his eyeballs and under his eyelids, where
they fitted snugly. They were artificial eyes which Sampey had had made
to cover his natural eyeballs on occasion. Bat struck a mock-tragic
attitude and hissed:
"Diavolo!"
By a strange accident he had picked out two which were not mates. One
of his eyes was a soft, pale, limpid amber and the other a fierce and
insurrectionary red. These, with his tufted nose and his tragic
attitude, gave him an appearance so grotesque and hideous that Zoë,
after springing to her feet and throwing her arms wildly aloft, fell in
a dead faint into Sampey's arms.
Bat gloated over his rival; Castellani was dumfounded. Presently
Sampey's nerve returned with his wits.
"Well," he remarked, contemptuously, drawing Zoë closer and holding her
with a tender solicitude--"well, what of it?"
His insolence enraged Hoolagaloo. "H--hwat of eet! Santa Maria! Da
scound! Ha, ha! Da gal no marry you now!"
Sampey deliberately moved Zoë so that he might reach his watch, and
after looking calmly at it a moment he said:
"Muggie and I have been married just thirty hours."
The announcement stunned the Wild Man. Castellani himself had a hard
mental struggle to realize the situation, and then, with his accustomed
equanimity and his old-time air of authority, he said:
"Well, phat is oll the row aboot, annyhow? D'ye want to shpile th'
mon's thrick, Misther Bat? An' thin, Misther Bat, it's a domned gude
wan, it is; an' more'n thot, me gintlemanly son-in-law is me partner,
too, Misther Bat, I'd have ye know, an' he's got aut'ority in this
show."
That finished the Wild Man of Milo. He staggered out, shaved his nose,
bought an axe, and fled to the mountains to chop wood again, leaving
the Mysterious Man with the Spectre Eyes to become the happiest husband
and the most prosperous freak and showman in the world.