M5 CLARK 
 
 JAMES WHITCOMB 
 R I LEY
 
 48 CG
 
 fWP CAUF. URlUftY. tOS ANOF,1,E8
 
 Eccentric Mr. Clark 
 
 STORIES IN PROSE 
 
 By 
 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THE NEW YORK BOOK CO.
 
 Copyright 1891, 1897, 1900, 1901, 
 BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 
 
 BOOKS BY 
 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 
 
 NEIGHBORLY POEMS 
 
 SKETCHES IN PROSE 
 
 AFTERWHILES 
 
 PIPES o PAN AT ZEKESBURY 
 
 RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD 
 
 THE FLYING ISLANDS OF THE NIGHT 
 
 GREEN FIELDS AND RUNNING BROOKS 
 
 ARMAZINDY 
 
 A CHILD- WORLD 
 
 HOME-FOLKS 
 
 His PA S ROMANCE 
 
 MORNING 
 
 POEMS HERE AT HOME 
 
 THE RUBAIYAT OF Doc SIFERS 
 
 THE BOOK OF JOYOUS CHILDREN 
 
 RILEY CHILD-RHYMES 
 
 RILEY LOVE-LYRICS 
 
 RILEY FARM-RHYMES 
 
 RILEY SONGS o CHEER 
 
 RILEY SONGS OF SUMMER 
 
 RILEY SONGS OF HOME 
 
 A SUMMER S DAY 
 
 DOWN AROUND THE RIVER 
 
 WHEN THE FROST is ON THE PUNKIN 
 
 OLD FASHIONED ROSES English Edition 
 THE GOLDEN YEAR English Edition 
 
 AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE 
 
 OUT TO OLD AUNT MARY S 
 
 HOME AGAIN WITH ME 
 
 THE GIRL I LOVED 
 
 WHEN SHE WAS ABOUT SIXTEEN 
 
 RILEY ROSES 
 
 WHILE THE HEART BEATS YOUNG 
 
 THE RAGGEDY MAN 
 
 LITTLE ORPHAN ANNIE 
 
 THE BOY LIVES ON OUR FARM 
 
 EF YOU DON T WATCH OUT 
 
 RILEY CHILD VERSE 
 
 THE RUNAWAY BOY 
 
 A DEFECTIVE SANTA CLAUS 
 
 THE BOYS OF THE OLD GLEE CLUB 
 
 OLD SCHOOL-DAY ROMANCES 
 
 THE LOCKERBIE BOOK OF RILEY VERSE 
 
 Homestead Edition. Complete works. 
 
 14 volumes.
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 ALL who knew Mr. Clark intimately, casually,, 
 or by sight alone, smiled always, meeting him, 
 and thought, "What an odd man he is!" Not 
 that there was anything extremely or ridiculously 
 obtrusive in Mr. Clark s peculiarities, either of 
 feature, dress, or deportment, by which a graded 
 estimate of his really quaint character might be 
 aptly defined; but rather, perhaps, it was the 
 curious combination of all these things that had 
 gained for Mr. Clark the transient celebrity of be 
 ing a very eccentric man. 
 
 And Mr. Clark, of all the odd inhabitants of 
 the busy metropolis in which he lived, seemed 
 least conscious of the fact of his local prominence. 
 True it was that when familiarly addressed as 
 "Clark, old boy," by sportive individuals he never 
 recollected having seen before, he would often 
 times stare blankly in return, and with evident 
 embarrassment; but as these actions may have 
 been attributable to weak eyes, or to the confusion 
 consequent upon being publicly recognized by the 
 quondam associates of bacchanalian hours, the sug- 
 I 
 
 213237G
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 gestive facts only served to throw his eccentricities 
 in new relief. 
 
 And, in the minds of many, that Mr. Clark was 
 somewhat given to dissipation, there was but little 
 doubt; for, although in no way, and at no time, 
 derelict in the rigid duties imposed upon him as an 
 accountant in a wholesale liquor house on South 
 John Street, a grand majority of friends had long 
 ago conceded that a certain puffiness of flesh and 
 a soiled-like pallor of complexion were in no wise 
 the legitimate result of over-application simply in 
 the counting-room of the establishment in which 
 he found employment; but as to the complicity of 
 Mr. Clark s direct associates in this belief, it is 
 only justice to the gentleman to state that by them 
 he was exonerated beyond all such suspicion, from 
 the gray-haired senior of the firm, down to the 
 pink-nosed porter of the warerooms, who, upon 
 every available occasion, would point out the ec 
 centric Mr. Clark as "the on y man in the biznez 
 at never .sunk a thief er drunk a drop o goods 
 o any kind, under no consideration!" 
 
 And Mr. Clark himself, when playfully ap 
 proached upon the subject, would quietly assert 
 tht never, under any circumstances, had the taste 
 oi intoxicating liquors passed his lips, though at 
 such asseverations it was a noticeable fact that 
 Mr. Clark s complexion invariably grew more sul- 
 
 2
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 try than its wont, and that his eyes, forever moist, 
 grew dewier, and that his lips and tongue would 
 seem covertly entering upon some lush conspiracy, 
 which in its incipiency he would be forced to 
 smother with his hastily drawn handkerchief. 
 Then the eccentric Mr. Clark would laugh nerv 
 ously, and, pouncing on some subject so vividly 
 unlike the one just previous as to daze the listener, 
 he would ripple ahead with a tide of eloquence 
 that positively overflowed and washed away all re 
 membrance of the opening topic. 
 
 In point of age Mr. Clark might have been 
 thirty, thirty-five, or even forty years, were one to 
 venture an opinion solely guided by outward ap 
 pearances and under certain circumstances and 
 surroundings. As, for example, when, a dozen 
 years ago, the writer of this sketch rode twenty 
 miles in a freight-caboose with Mr. Clark as the 
 only other passenger, he seemed in age at first not 
 less than thirty-five ; but upon opening a conver 
 sation with him, in which he joined with wonder 
 ful vivacity, a nearer view, and a prolonged and 
 studious one as well, revealed the rather curious 
 fact that, at the very limit of all allowable sup 
 position, his age could not possibly have exceeded 
 twenty-five. What it was in the man that struck 
 me as eccentric at that time I have never been 
 wholly able to define, but I recall accurately the 
 
 3
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 most trivial occurrences of our meeting and the 
 very subject-matter of our conversation. I even 
 remember the very words in which he declined a 
 drink from my travelling-flask for "It s a raw 
 day," I said, byway of gratuitous excuse for offer 
 ing it. "Yes," he said, smilingly motioning the 
 temptation aside; "it is a raw day; but you re 
 rather young in years to be doctoi ing the weather 
 at least you d better change the treatment 
 they ll all be raw days for you after a while !" I 
 confess that I even felt an inward pity for the m;;n 
 as I laughingly drained his health and returned the 
 flask to my valise. But when I asked him, ten 
 minutes later, the nature of the business in which 
 he was engaged, and he handed me, in response 
 and without comment, the card of a wholesale 
 lio ^or house, with his own name in crimson letters 
 struck diagonally across the surface, I winked 
 naively to myself and thought "Ah-ha!" And, 
 as if reading my very musings, he said: "Why, 
 certainly, I carry a full line of samples ; but, my 
 dear young friend, don t imagine for a minute that 
 I refuse your brand on that account. You can 
 rest assured that I have nothing better in my cases. 
 Whiskey is whiskey wherever it is found, and 
 there is no best whiskey not in all the world!" 
 Truly, I thought, this is an odd source for the 
 emanation of temperance sentiments then said 
 
 4
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 aloud: "And yet you engage in a business you 
 dislike ! Traffic in an article that you yourself con 
 demn! Do I understand you?" 
 
 "Might there not be such a thing," he said, 
 quietly, "as inheriting a business the same as in 
 heriting an appetite ? However, one advances by 
 gradations: I shall sell no more. This is my last 
 trip on the road in that capacity: I am coming in 
 now to take charge of the firm s books. Would 
 be glad to have you call on me any time you re in- 
 the city. Good-bye." And, as he swung off the 
 slowly moving train, now entering the city, and I 
 stood watching him from the open door of the 
 caboose as he rapidly walked down a suburban 
 street, I was positive his gait was anything but 
 steady that the step the figure the whole air of 
 the man was that of one then laboring under the 
 effects of partial intoxication. 
 
 I have always liked peculiar people ; no matter 
 where I met them, no matter who they were ; if 
 once impressed with an eccentricity of character 
 which I have reason to believe purely unaffected, 
 I never quite forget the person, name or place of 
 our first meeting, or where the interesting party 
 may be found again. And so it was in the cus 
 tomary order of things that, during hasty visits to 
 the city, I often called on the eccentric Mr. Clark, 
 and, as he had promised upon our first acquaint- 
 
 5
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 ance, he seemed always glad to see and welcome 
 me in his new office. The more I knew of him 
 the more I liked him, but I think I never fully un 
 derstood him. No one seemed to know him quite 
 so well as that. 
 
 Once I had a little private talk regarding him 
 with the senior of the firm for which he worked. 
 jMr. Clark, just prior to my call, had gone to 
 lunch would be back in half an hour. Would I 
 wait there in the office until his return ? Certainly. 
 And the chatty senior entertained me : Queer fel 
 low Mr. Clark! as his father was before him. 
 Used to be a member of the firm his father; in 
 fact, founded the business made a fortune at it- 
 failed, for an unfortunate reason, and went "up 
 the flume." Paid every dollar that he owed, how 
 ever, sacrificing the very home that sheltered his 
 wife and children but never rallied. He had 
 quite a family, then? Oh, yes; had a family 
 not a large one, but a bright one only they all 
 seemed more or less unfortunate. The father was 
 unfortunate very; and died so, leaving his wife 
 and two boys the older son much like the father 
 splendid business capacities, but lacked will 
 couldn t resist some things even weaker than the 
 father in that regard, and died at half his age. 
 But the younger brother our Mr. Clark re 
 mained, and he was sterling "straight goods" in 
 6
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 all respects. Lived with his mother was her sole 
 support. A proud woman, Mrs. Clark a proud 
 woman, with a broken spirit withdrawn entirely 
 from the world, and had been so for years and years. 
 The Clarks, as had been mentioned, were all pe 
 culiareven the younger Mr. Clark, our friend, 
 I had doubtless noticed was an odd genius, but he 
 had stamina something solid about him, for all 
 his eccentricities could be relied upon. Had 
 been with the house there since a boy of twelve 
 took him for the father s sake ; had never missed 
 a day s time in any line of work that ever had been 
 given in his charge was weakly-looking, too. 
 Had worked his way from the cellar up from the 
 least pay to the highest had saved enough to buy 
 and pay for a comfortable house for his mother 
 and himself, and, still a lad, maintained the ex 
 pense of companion, attendant and maid-servant 
 for the mother. Yet, with all this burden on his 
 shoulders, the boy had worried through some way, 
 with a jolly smile and a good word for every one. 
 "A boy, sir," the enthusiastic senior concluded 
 "a boy, sir, that never was a boy, and never had 
 a taste of genuine boyhood in his life no more 
 than he ever took a taste of whiskey, and you 
 couldn t get that in him with a funnel!" 
 
 At this juncture Mr. Clark himself appeared, 
 and in a particularly happy frame of mind. For 
 
 7
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 an hour the delighted senior and myself sat laugh 
 ing at the fellow s quaint conceits and witty say 
 ings, the conversation at last breaking up with an 
 abrupt proposition from Mr. Clark that I remain 
 in the city overnight and accompany him to the 
 theatre, an invitation I rather eagerly accepted. 
 Mr. Clark, thanking me, and pivoting himself 
 around on his high stool, with a mechanical "Good 
 afternoon!" was at once submerged in his books, 
 while the senior, following me out and stepping 
 into a carriage that stood waiting for him at the 
 curb, waved me adieu, and was driven away. I 
 turned my steps up street, but remembering that 
 my friend had fixed no place to meet me in the 
 evening, I stepped back into the store-room and 
 again pushed open the glass door of the office. 
 
 Mr. Clark still sat on the high stool at his desk, 
 his back toward the door, and his ledger spread 
 out before him. 
 
 "Mr. Clark!" I called. 
 
 He made no answer. 
 
 "Mr. Clark!" I called again, in an elevated 
 key. 
 
 He did not stir. 
 
 I paused a moment, then went over to him, let 
 ting my hand drop lightly on his arm. 
 
 Still no response. I only felt the shoulder heave, 
 as with a long-drawn quavering sigh, then heard 
 
 8
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 the regular though labored breathing of a weary 
 man that slept. 
 
 I had not the heart to waken him ; but, lifting 
 the still moistened pen from his unconscious fin 
 gers, I wrote where I might be found at eight that 
 evening, folded and addressed the note, and, lay 
 ing it on the open page before him, turned quietly 
 away. 
 
 "Poor man!" 1 mused, compassionately, with 
 a touch of youthful sentiment affecting me. "Poor 
 man! Working himself into his very grave, and 
 with never a sign or murmur of complaint worn 
 and weighed down with the burden of his work, 
 and yet with a nobleness of spirit and resolve that 
 still conceals behind glad smiles and laughing 
 words the cares that lie so heavily upon him!" 
 
 The long afternoon went by at last, and evening 
 came; and, as promptly as my note requested, the 
 jovial Mr. Clark appeared, laughing heartily, as 
 we walked off down the street, at my explanation 
 of the reason I had written my desires instead of 
 verbally addressing him ; and laughing still louder 
 when I told him of my fears that he was over 
 working himself. 
 
 "Oh, no, my friend," he answered, gayly; 
 "there s no occasion for anxiety on that account. 
 But the fact is, old man," he went on, half 
 apologetically, "the fact is, I haven t been so over- 
 
 9
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 worked, of late, as over-wakeful. There s some 
 thing in the night, I think, that does it. Do you 
 know that the night is a great mystery to me a 
 great mystery ! And it seems to be growing on 
 me all the time. There s the trouble. The night 
 to me is like some vast, incomprehensible being. 
 When I write the name night I instinctively write 
 it with a capital. And I like my nights deep, and 
 dark and swarthy, don t you know. Now some 
 like clear and starry nights, but they re too pale 
 for me too weak and fragile altogether! They re 
 popular with the masses, of course, these blue-eyed, 
 golden-haired, moonlight-on-the-lake nights; but, 
 someway, I don t stand in with them. My fa 
 vorite night is the pronounced brunette the darker 
 the better. To-night is one of my kind, and she s 
 growing more and more like it all the time. If it 
 were not for depriving you of the theatre, I d 
 rather just drift off now in the deepening gloom 
 till swallowed up in it lost utterly. Come with 
 me, anyhow!" 
 
 "Gladly," I answered, catching something of 
 his own enthusiasm; "I myself prefer it to the 
 play." 
 
 "I heartily congratulate you on your taste," he 
 
 said, diving violently for my hand and wringing 
 
 it. "Oh, it s going to be grimly glorious! a 
 
 depth of darkness one can wade out into, and 
 
 IO
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 knead it in his hands like dough . " And he laughed, 
 himself, at this grotesque conceit. 
 
 And so we walked for hours. Our talk or, 
 rather, my friend s talk lulled and soothed at last 
 into a calmer flow, almost solemn in its tone, and 
 yet fretted with an occasional wildness of utter 
 ance and expression. 
 
 Half consciously I had been led by my com 
 panion, who for an hour had been drawing closer 
 to me as we walked. His arm, thrust through my 
 own, clung almost affectionately. We were now 
 in some strange suburb of the city, evidently, too, 
 in a low quarter, for from the windows of such 
 business rooms and shops as bore any evidence of 
 respectability the lights had been turned out and 
 the doors locked for the night. Only a gruesome 
 green light was blazing in a little drug-store just 
 opposite, while at our left, as we turned the corner, 
 a tumble-down saloon sent out upon the night a 
 mingled sound of clicking biiliard-balls, discord 
 ant voices, the harsher raspings of a violin, to 
 gether with the sullen plunkings of a banjo. 
 
 "I must leave you here for a minute," said my 
 friend, abruptly breaking a long silence, and loos 
 ening my arm. "The druggist over there is a 
 patron of our house, and I am reminded of a little 
 business I have with him. He is about closing, 
 too, and I ll see him now, as I may not be down 
 II
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 this way again soon. No ; you wait here for me 
 right here," and he playfully but firmly pushed 
 me back, ran across the street, and entered the 
 store. Through the open door I saw him shake 
 hands with the man that stood behind the counter, 
 and stand talking in the same position for some 
 minutes both still clasping hands, as it seemed; 
 but as I mechanically bent with closer scrutiny, 
 the druggist seemed to be examining the hand of 
 Mr. Clark and working at it, as though picking at 
 a splinter in the palm I could not quite deter 
 mine what was being done, for a glass show-case 
 blurred an otherwise clear view of the arms of 
 both from the elbows down. Then they came 
 forward. Mr. Clark arranging his cuffs, and the 
 druggist wrapping up some minute article he took 
 from an upper show-case, and handing it to my 
 friend, who placed it in the pocket of his vest and 
 turned away. At this moment my attention was 
 withdrawn by an extra tumult of jeers and harsh 
 laughter in the saloon, from the door of which, 
 even as my friend turned from the door opposite, 
 a drunken woman reeled, and, staggering round 
 the corner as my friend came up, fell violently 
 forward on the pavement, not ten steps in our ad 
 vance. Instinctively, we both sprang to her aid, 
 and, bending over the senseless figure, peered 
 curiously at the bruised and bleeding features. 
 12
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 My friend was trembling 1 with excitement. He 
 clutched wildly at the limp form, trying, but 
 vainly, to lift the woman to her feet. "Why don t 
 you take hold of her?" he whispered, hoarsely. 
 "Help me with her quick! quick! Lift her up!" 
 I obeyed without a word, though with a shudder 
 of aversion as a drop of hot blood stung me on 
 the hand. 
 
 "Now draw her arm about your shoulder this 
 way and hold it so! And now your other arm 
 around her waist quick, man, quick, as you your 
 self will want God s arm about you when you 
 fail! Now, come!" And with no other word 
 we hurried with our burden up the empty darkness 
 of the street. 
 
 I was utterly bewildered with it all, but some 
 thing kept me silent. And so we hurried on, and 
 on, and on, our course directed by my now wholly 
 reticent companion. Where he was going, what 
 his purpose was, I could but vaguely surmise. I 
 only recognized that his intentions were humane, 
 which fact was emphasized by the extreme caution 
 he took to avoid the two or three late pedestrians 
 that passed us on our way as we stood crowded in 
 concealment once behind a low shed, once in an 
 entry-way; and once, at the distant rattle of a 
 police whistle, we hurried through the blackness 
 of a narrow alley into the silent street beyond. 
 
 13
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 And on up this we passed, until at last we paused 
 at the gateway of a cottage on our left. On to 
 the door of that we went, my friend first violently 
 jerking the bell, then opening the door with a 
 night-key, and with me lifting the still senseless 
 woman through the hall into a dimly lighted room 
 upon the right, and laying her upon a clean white 
 bed that glimmered in the corner. He reached 
 and turned the gas on in a flaring jet, and as he 
 did so, "This is my home," he whispered, "and 
 this woman is my mother!" He flung himself 
 upon his knees beside her as he spoke. He laid 
 his quivering lips against the white hair and the 
 ruddy wound upon the brow ; then dappled with 
 his kisses the pale face, and stroked and petted 
 and caressed the faded hands. "O God!" he 
 moaned, "if I might only weep!" 
 
 The steps of some one coming down the stair 
 aroused him. He stepped quickly to the door, 
 and threw it open. It was a woman-servant. He 
 simply pointed to the form upon the bed. 
 
 "Oh, sir!" exclaimed the frightened woman, 
 "what has happened ? What has happened to my 
 poor, dear mistress?" 
 
 "Why did you let her leave the house?" 
 
 "She sent me away, sir. I never dreamed that 
 she was going out again. She told me she was 
 very sleepy and wanted to retire, and I helped her 
 14
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 to undress before I went. But she ain t bad hurt, 
 is she?" she continued, stooping over the still 
 figure and tenderly smoothing back the dishevelled 
 hair. "It s only the cheek bruised and the fore 
 head cut a little it s the blood that makes it look 
 like a bad hurt. See, when I bathe it, it is not a 
 bad hurt, sir. She s just been she s just worn 
 out, poor thing and she s asleep that s all." 
 
 He made no answer to the woman s speech, but 
 turned toward me. "Five doors from here," he 
 said, "and to your left as you go out, you will find 
 the residence of Dr. Worrel. Go to him for me, 
 and tell him he is wanted here at once. Tell him 
 my mother is much worse. He will understand. 
 I would go myseu, but must see about arranging 
 for your comfort upon your return, for you will 
 not leave me till broad daylight you must not!" 
 I bowed in silent acceptance of his wishes, and 
 turned upon my errand. 
 
 Fortunately, the doctor was at home, and returned 
 at once with me to my friend, where, after a care 
 ful examination of his patient, he assured the 
 anxious son that the wounds were only slight, and 
 that her unconscious condition was simply "the 
 result of over-stimulation, perhaps," as he deli 
 cately put it. She would doubtless waken in her 
 usual rational state an occurrence really more to 
 be feared than desired, since her peculiar sensi- 
 
 15
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 tiveness might feel too keenly the unfortunate hap 
 pening. "Anyway," he continued, "I will call 
 early in the morning, and, in the event of her 
 awakening before that time, I will leave a sedative 
 with Mary, with directions she will attend. She 
 will remain here at her side. And as to yourself, 
 Mr. Clark," the doctor went on, in an anxious 
 tone, as he marked the haggard face and hollow 
 eyes, "I insist that you retire. You must rest, 
 sir worrying for the past week as you have been 
 doing is telling on you painfully. You need rest 
 and you must take it." 
 
 "And I will," said Mr. Clark, submissively. 
 Stooping again, he clasped the sleeping face be 
 tween his hands and kissed it tenderly. "Good 
 night!" I heard him whisper "good night good 
 night!" He turned, and, motioning for me to fol 
 low, opened the door "Doctor, good night ! Good 
 night, Mary!" 
 
 He led the way to his own room up-stairs. "And 
 now, my friend," he said, as he waved me to an 
 easy-chair, "I have but two other favors to ask of 
 you : The first is, that you talk to me, or read to 
 me, or tell me fairy tales, or riddles anything, so 
 that you keep it up incessantly, and never leave off 
 till you find me fast asleep. Then in the next 
 room you will find a comfortable bed. Leave me 
 sleeping here, and you sleep there. And the sec- 
 16
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 ond favor," he continued, with a slow smile and 
 an affected air of deliberation "oh, well, I ll 
 net ask the second favor of you now. I ll keep it 
 for you till to-morrow." And as he turned laugh 
 ingly away and paced three or four times across the 
 room, in his step, his gait, the general carriage of the 
 figure, I was curiously reminded of the time, years 
 before, that 1 had watched him from the door of the 
 caboose, as he walked up the suburban street till the 
 movement of the train had hidden him from view. 
 
 "Well, what will you do?" he asked, as he 
 wheeled a cozy-cushioned lounge close beside my 
 chair, and, removing his coat, flung himself lan 
 guidly down. "Will you talk or read to me?" 
 
 "I will read," I said, as I picked up a book to 
 begin my vigil. 
 
 "Hold just a minute, then," he said, drawing 
 a card and pencil from his vest. "I may want to 
 jot down a note or two. Now, go ahead." 
 
 I had been reading in a low voice steadily for 
 perhaps an hour, my companion never stirring 
 from his first position, but although my eyes were 
 never lifted from the book, I knew by the occa 
 sional sound of his pencil that he had not yet 
 dropped asleep. And so, without a pause, I read 
 monotonously on. At last he turned heavily. I 
 paused. With his eyes closed he groped his hand 
 across my knees and grasped my own. "Go on 
 
 17
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 with the reading," he said, drowsily. "Guess 
 I m going to sleep now but you go right on with 
 the story. Good night!" His hand fumbled 
 lingeringly a moment, then was withdrawn and 
 folded with the other on his breast. 
 
 I read on in a lower tone an hour longer, then 
 paused again to look at my companion. He was 
 sleeping heavily, and although the features in their 
 repose appeared unusually pale, a wholesome per 
 spiration, as it seemed, pervaded all the face, 
 while the breathing, though labored, was regular. 
 I bent above him to lower the pillow for his head, 
 and the movement half aroused him, as I thought 
 at first, for he muttered something as though im 
 patiently; but listening to catch his mutterings, I 
 knew that he was dreaming. "It s what killed 
 father," I heard him say. "And it s what killed 
 Tom," he went on, in a smothered voice ; "killed 
 both killed both ! It sha n t kill me ; I swore it. 
 I could bottle it case after case and never touch 
 a drop. If you never take the first drink, you ll 
 never want it. Mother taught me that. What 
 made her ever take the first? Mother! mother! 
 When I get to be a man, I ll buy her all the fine 
 things she used to have when father was alive. 
 Maybe I can buy back the old home, with the roses 
 up the walk and the sunshine slanting in the hall." 
 
 And so the sleeper murmured on. Sometimes 
 the voice was thick and discordant, sometimes low 
 
 18
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 and clear and tuneful as a child s. "Never touch 
 whiskey!" he went on, almost harshly. "Never 
 never ! never ! Drop in the street first. I did. 
 The doctor will come then, and he knows what 
 you want. Not whiskey. Medicine; the kind 
 that makes you warm again makes you want to 
 live; but don t ever dare touch whiskey. Let 
 other people drink it if they want it. Sell it to 
 them ; they ll get it anyhow ; but don t you touch 
 it! It killed your father, it killed Tom, and oh ! 
 Mother! mother! mother!" Tears actually teemed 
 from underneath the sleeper s lids, and glittered 
 down the pallid and distorted features. "There s a 
 medicine that s good for you when you want whis 
 key," he went on. "When you are weak, and 
 everybody else is strong and always when the 
 flagstones give way beneath your feet, and the long 
 street undulates and wavers as you walk; why, 
 that s a sign for you to take that medicine and 
 take it quick! Oh, it will warm you till the little 
 pale-blue streaks in your white hands will bulge 
 out again with tingling blood, and it will start up 
 from its stagnant pools and leap from vein to vein 
 till it reaches your being s furthest height and 
 droops and falls and folds down over icy brow and 
 face like a soft veil moistened with pure warmth. 
 Ah! it is so deliriously sweet and restful!" 
 
 I heard a moaning in the room below, and then 
 steps on the stairs, and a tapping at the door. It 
 
 19
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 was Mary. Mrs. Clark had awakened and was 
 crying for her son. "But we must not waken 
 him," I said. "Give Mrs. Clark the medicine the 
 doctor left for her that will quiet her." 
 
 "But she won t take it, sir. She won t do any 
 thing at all for me and if Mr. Clark could only 
 come to her, for just a minute, she would " 
 
 The woman s speech was broken by a shrill cry 
 in the hall, and then the thud of naked feet on the 
 stairway. "I want my boy my boy!" wailed 
 the hysterical woman from without. 
 
 "Go to your mistress quick," I said sternly, 
 pushing the maid from the room. "Take her 
 back ; I will come down to your assistance in a 
 moment." Then I turned hastily to see if the 
 sleeper had been disturbed by the woman s cries; 
 but all was peaceful with him yet; and so, throw 
 ing a coverlet over him, I drew the door to silently 
 and went below. 
 
 I found the wretched mother in an almost fren 
 zied state, and gathering in a violence that alarmed 
 me to that extent I thought it best again to sum 
 mon the physician ; and bidding the servant not 
 to leave her for an instant, I hurried for the help 
 so badly needed. This time the doctor was long 
 delayed, although he joined me with all possible 
 haste, and with all speed accompanied me back 
 to the unhappy home. Entering the door, our 
 ears were greeted with a shriek that came piercing 
 2O
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 down the hall till the very echoes shuddered as 
 with fear. It was the patient s voice shrilling 
 from the sleeper s room up-stairs: "O Godl 
 My boy ! my boy ! I want my boy, and he will 
 not waken for me!" An instant later we were 
 both upon the scene. 
 
 The woman in her frenzy had broken from the 
 servant to find her son. And she had found him. 
 
 She had wound her arms about him, and had 
 dragged his still sleeping form upon the floor. 
 He would not waken, even though she gripped 
 him to her heart and shrieked her very soul out in 
 his ears. He would not waken. The face, though 
 whiter than her own, betokened only utter rest and 
 peace. We drew her, limp and voiceless, from 
 his side. We are too late, the doctor whispered, 
 lifting with his finger one of the closed lids, and 
 letting it drop to again. "See here!" He had 
 been feeling at the wrist; and, as he spoke, he 
 slipped the sleeve up, baring the sleeper s arm. 
 From wrist to elbow it was livid purple, and pitted 
 and scarred with minute wounds some scarcely 
 sealed as yet with clotted blood. 
 
 "In heaven s name, what does it all mean?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Morphine," said the doctor, "and the hypo 
 dermic. And here," he exclaimed, lifting the 
 other hand "here is a folded card with your name 
 at the top." 
 
 21
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 I snatched it from him, and I read, written in 
 faint but rounded characters : 
 
 "I like to hear your voice. It sounds kind. It 
 is like a far-off tune. To drop asleep, though, as 
 I am doing now, is sweeter music but read on. 
 I have taken something to make me sleep, and 
 by mistake I have taken too much ; but you will 
 read right on. Now, mind you, this is not suicide, 
 as God listens to the whisper of this pencil as I 
 write! I did it by mistake. For years and years 
 I have taken the same thing. This time I took 
 too much much more than I meant to but I am 
 glad. This is the second favor I would ask: Go 
 to my employers to-morrow, show them this hand 
 writing, and say I knew for my sake they will take 
 charge of my affairs and administer all my estate 
 in the best way suited to my mother s needs., 
 Good-bye, my friend I can only say good night 
 to you when I shall take your hand an instant later 
 and turn away forever." 
 
 Through tears I read it all, and ending with his 
 name in full, I turned and looked down on the 
 face of this man that I had learned to love, and 
 the full measure of his needed rest was with him ; 
 and the rainy day that glowered and drabbled at 
 the eastern windows of the room was as drearily 
 stared back at by a hopeless woman s dull, de 
 mented eyes. 
 
 22
 
 JAMESY 
 
 ONE week ago this Christmas day, in the little 
 back office that adjoins the counting-room of the 
 "Daily Journal," I sat in genial conversation with 
 two friends. I do not now recall the theme of our 
 discussion, but the general trend of it suggested, 
 doubtless, by the busy scene upon the streets I 
 remember most distinctly savored of the mellow 
 ing influences of the coming holidays, with per 
 haps an acrid tang of irony as we .dwelt upon the 
 great needs of the poor at such a time, and the 
 chariness with which the hand of opulence was 
 wont to dole out alms. But for all that we were 
 merry, and as from time to time our glances fell 
 upon the ever-shifting scene outside, our hearts 
 grew warmer, and within the eyes the old dreams 
 glimmered into fuller dawn. It was during a lull 
 of conversation, and while the philanthropic mind, 
 perchance, was wandering amid the outer throng, 
 and doubtless quoting to itself "Whene er I take 
 my walks abroad," that our privacy was abruptly 
 broken into by the grimy apparition of a boy of 
 ten; a ragged little fellow not the stereotyped 
 
 23
 
 JAMESY 
 
 edition of the street waif, but a cross between the 
 boot-black and the infantine Italian with the violin. 
 Where he had entered, and how, would have puz 
 zled us to answer; but there he stood before us, 
 as it were, in a majesty of insignificance. I have 
 never had the features of a boy impress me as did 
 his, and as I stole a covert glance at my compan 
 ions I was pleased to find the evidence of more 
 than ordinary interest in their faces. They gazed 
 in attentive silence on the little fellow, as, with 
 uncovered, frowzy head, he stepped boldly for 
 ward, yet with an air of deference as unlocked for 
 as becoming. 
 
 "I don t want to bother ycm gentlemens," he 
 began, in a frank but hesitating tone that rippled 
 hurriedly along as he marked a general nod of in 
 dulgence for the interruption. "I don t want to 
 bother nobody, but if I can raise fifty cents and 
 I ve got a nickel and if I can raise the rest and 
 it ain t much, you know on y forty-five and if I 
 can raise the rest I tell you, gentlemens," he 
 broke off abruptly, and speaking with italicized 
 sincerity "I want jist fifty cents, cause I can git a 
 blackin -box fer that, and brush and ever thing, 
 and you can bet if I had that I wouldn t haf to 
 ast nobody fer nothin ! And I ain t got no father 
 ner mother, ner brother, ner ner no sisters, 
 neether; but that don t make no difference, cause 
 24
 
 JAMESY 
 
 I ll work at anything yes, sir when I can git 
 anything to do and I sleep jist any place and I 
 ain t had no breakfast and, honest, gentlemens, 
 I m a good boy I don t swear ner smoke ner 
 
 chew but that s all right on y if you ll jist 
 
 make up forty-five between you and that s on y 
 fifteen cents apiece I ll thank you, I will, and I ll 
 jist do anything -and it s coming Christmas, and 
 I ll roll in the nickels, don t you fergit if I on y 
 got a box cause I throw up a bad shine ! and I 
 can git the box fer fifty cents if you gentlemens 11 
 on y make up forty-five between you." At the 
 conclusion of this long and rambling appeal, the 
 little fellow stood waiting with an eager face for 
 a response. 
 
 A look of stoical deliberation played about the 
 features of the oldest member of the group, as 
 with an air of seriousness, which, I think, even 
 the boy recognized as affected, he asked : 
 
 "And you couldn t get a box like that for say 
 forty cents ? Fifty cents looks like a lot of money 
 to lay out in the purchase of a blacking-box." 
 
 The boy smiled wisely as he answered : 
 
 "Yes, it might look big to a feller that ain t up 
 on prices, but /think it s cheap, cause it s a second 
 hand box, and a new one would cost seventy-five 
 cents anyhow thout no brushes ner nothin !" 
 
 In the meantime I had dropped into the little 
 
 25
 
 JAMESY 
 
 fellow s palm the only coin I had in my posses 
 sion, and we all laughed as he closed his thanks 
 with: "Oh, come, Cap, go the other nickel, er I 
 won t git out o here with half enough!" and at 
 that he turned to the former speaker. 
 
 "Well, really," said that gentleman, fumbling 
 in his pockets, "I don t believe I ve got a dime 
 with me." 
 
 "A dime," said the little fellow, with a look of 
 feigned compassion. "Ain t got a dime? Maybe 
 I d loan you this one!" And we all laughed 
 again. 
 
 "Tell you what do now," said the boy, taking 
 advantage of the moment, and looking coaxingly 
 into the smiling eyes of the gentleman still fum 
 bling vainly in his pockets. "Tell you what do: 
 you borry twenty cents of the man that stays 
 behind the counter there, and then we ll go the 
 other fifteen, and that ll make it, and I ll skip out 
 o here a little the flyest boy you ever see! What 
 do ye soy?" And the little fellow struck a Pat 
 Rooney attitude that would have driven the origi 
 nal inventor mad with envy. 
 
 "Give him a quarter!" laughed the gentleman 
 appealed to. 
 
 "And here s the other dime," and as the little 
 fellow clutched the money eagerly, he turned; and 
 in a tone of curious gravity, he said : 
 26
 
 JAMESY 
 
 "Now, honest, gentlemens, I ain t a-givin you 
 no game about the box cause a new one costs 
 seventy-five cents, and the one I ve got I mean the 
 one I m a-goin to git is jist as good as a new 
 one, on y it s second-hand; and I m much oblige , 
 gentlemens honest, I am and if ever I give you 
 a shine you can jist bet it don t cost you nothin !" 
 
 And with this expression of his gratitude, the 
 little fellow vanished as mysteriously as he had at 
 first appeared. 
 
 "That boy hasn t a bad face," said the first 
 speaker "wide between the eyes full forehead 
 good mouth, denoting firmness altogether, a 
 good, square face." 
 
 "And a noble one," said I, perhaps inspired to 
 that rather lofty assertion by the rehearsal of the 
 good points noted by my more observant compan 
 ion. 
 
 "Yes, and an honest, straightforward way of 
 talking, I would say," continued that gentleman. 
 "I only noted one thing to shake my faith in that 
 particular, and that was in his latest reference to 
 the box. You ll remember his saying he was 
 giving us no game about it, whereas, he had not 
 been accused of such a thing." 
 
 "Oh, he meant about the price, don t you re 
 member?" said I. 
 
 "No," said the gentleman at the counter, 
 27
 
 JAMESY 
 
 "you re both wrong. He only threw in that re 
 mark because he thought I suspected him, for he 
 recognized me just the instant before that speech, 
 and it confused him, and with some reason, as 
 you will see: On my way to supper only last 
 night, I overtook that same little fellow in charge 
 of an old man who was in a deplorable state of 
 drunkenness; and you know how slippery the 
 streets were. I think if that old man fell a single 
 time he fell a dozen, and once so violently that I 
 ran to his assistance and helped him to his feet. I 
 thought him badly hurt at first, for he gashed his 
 forehead as he fell, and I helped the little fellow 
 to take him into a drug-store, where the wound, 
 upon examination, proved to be nothing more seri 
 ous than to require a strip of plaster. I got a 
 good look at the boy, there, however, and ques 
 tioned him a little ; and he said the man was his 
 father, and he was taking him home ; and I gath 
 ered further from his talk that the man was a con 
 firmed inebriate. Now you ll remember the boy 
 told us here a while ago he had no father, and 
 when he recognized me a moment since and found 
 himself caught in one yarn, at least, he very natur 
 ally supposed I would think his entire story a fab 
 rication, hence the suspicious nature of his last re 
 marks, and the sudden transition of his manner 
 from that of real delight to gravity, which change, 
 28
 
 JAMESY 
 
 in my opinion, rather denotes lying to be a new 
 thing to him. I can t be mistaken in the boy, for 
 I noticed, as he turned to go, a bald place on the 
 back of his head, the left side, a trade-mark, 
 first discovered last evening, as he bent over the 
 prostrate form of his father." 
 
 "I noticed a thin spot in his hair," said I, "and 
 wondered at the time what caused it." 
 
 "And don t you know?" 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "Coal-bins and entry floors. That little fellow 
 hasn t slept within a bed for years, perhaps." 
 
 "But he told you, as you say, last night, he was 
 taking the old man home?" 
 
 "Yes, home! I can imagine that boy s home. 
 There are myriads like it in the city here a cellar 
 or a shed a box-car or a loft in some old sbop, 
 with a father to chase him from it in his sober in 
 terludes, and to hold him from it in unconscious 
 shame when helplessly drunk. Home, Sweet 
 Home ! That boy has heard it on the hand-or 
 gan, perhaps, but never in his heart you couldn t 
 grind it out of there with a thousand cranks." 
 
 The remainder of that day eluded me somehow ; 
 I don t know how or where it passed. I suppose 
 it just dropped into a comatose condition, and so 
 slipped away "unknelled, uncoffined and un 
 known." 
 
 29
 
 JAMESY 
 
 But one clear memory survives an experience 
 so vividly imprinted on my mind that I now recall 
 its every detail : Entering the Union Depot that 
 evening to meet the train that was to carry me 
 away at six o clock, muffled closely in my over 
 coat, yet more closely muffled in my gloomy 
 thoughts, I was rather abruptly stopped by a small 
 boy with the cry of: "Here, you man with the 
 cigar; don t you want them boots blacked? Shine 
 em fer ten cents! Shine em fer a nickel on y 
 you mustn t give me away on that," he added, 
 dropping on his knees near the entrance, and mo 
 tioning me to set my foot upon the box. 
 
 It was then too dark for me to see his face 
 clearly, but I had recognized the voice the instant 
 he had spoken, and had paused and looked around. 
 
 "Oh, you ll have plenty o time," he urged, 
 guessing at the cause of my apparent hesitation. 
 "None o the trains on time to-night on y the 
 Panhandle, and she s jist a-backin in won t 
 start fer thirty minutes," and he again beckoned, 
 and rattled a seductive tattoo on the side of his 
 box. 
 
 "Well, "said I, with a compromising air, "come 
 inside, then, out of the cold." 
 
 " Ginst the rules cops won t have it. They 
 jist fired me out o there not ten minutes ago. 
 Oh, come, Cap ; step cut here ; it won t take two 
 
 30
 
 JAMESY 
 
 minutes," and the little fellow spat professionally 
 upon his brush, with a covert glance of pleasure 
 as he noted the appai-ent success of the manoeuvre. 
 "You don t live here, I ll bet," said the boy, set 
 ting the first boot on the box, and pausing to blow 
 his hands. 
 
 "How do you know that? Did you never see 
 me here before?" 
 
 "No, I never see you here before, but that ain t 
 no reason. I can tell you don t live here by them 
 shoes cause they ve been put up in some little 
 pennyroyal shop, that s how. When you want a 
 fly shoe you want to git her put up somers where 
 they know somepin about style. They s good 
 enough metal in that shoe, on y she s about two 
 years off in style." 
 
 "You re posted, then, in shoes," said I, with a 
 laugh. 
 
 "I ort to be," he went on, pantingly, a brush 
 in either hand gyrating with a velocity that jostled 
 his hat over his eyes, leaving most plainly exposed 
 to my investigative eye the "trade-mark" before 
 alluded to; "I ort to be posted in shoes, cause I 
 ain t done nothin but black em fer five years." 
 
 "You re an old hand, then, at the business," 
 said I. "I didn t know but maybe you were just 
 starting out. What s an outfit like that worth?" 
 
 "Thinkin o startin up?" he asked, facetiously. 
 
 3 31
 
 JAMESY 
 
 "Oh, no," said I, good-humoredly. "I just 
 asked out of idle curiosity. That s a new box, 
 ain t it?" 
 
 New!" he repeated with a laugh. "Put up 
 that other hoof. New? W y, if that box had ever 
 had eyes like a human it would a-been a-wearin 
 specs by this time ; that s a old, bald-headed box, 
 with one foot in the grave." 
 
 "And what did the old fellow cost you?" I 
 asked, highly amused at the quaint expressions of 
 the boy. 
 
 "Cost? Cost nothin on y about a hour s 
 work. I made that box myse f, bout four year 
 ago." 
 
 "Ah!" said I. 
 
 "Yes," he went on, "they don t cost nothin ; 
 the hoys makes em out o other boxes, you know. 
 Some of em gits em made, but they ain t no good 
 ain t no better n this kind." 
 
 "So that didn t cost you anything?" said I, 
 "though I suspect you wouldn t like to part with 
 it for less than well, I don t know how much 
 money to say seventy-five cents maybe would 
 anything less than seventy-five cents buy it?" I 
 craftily interrogated. 
 
 "Seventy-five cents ! W y, what s the matter 
 with you, man? I could git a cart-load of em 
 fer seventy-five cents. I ll take yer measure fer 
 
 32
 
 JAMESY 
 
 one like it fer fifteen, too quick!" and the little 
 fellow leaned back from his work and laughed up 
 in my face with absolute derision. 
 
 I pulled my hat more closely down for fear of 
 recognition, but was reassured a moment later as 
 he went on: 
 
 "Wisht you lived here; you d be old fruit fer 
 us fellows. I can see you now a-takin wind 
 and we d give it to you mighty slick now, don t you 
 fergit ! " and, as the boy renewed his work, I think 
 his little, ragged body shook less with industry than 
 mirth. 
 
 "Wisht I d struck you bout ten o clock this 
 morning!" and, as he spoke, he paused again and 
 looked up in my face with real regret. "Oh, 
 you d a-been the loveliest sucker of em all ! W y, 
 you d a-went the whole pot yerse f !" 
 
 "How do you mean?" said I, dropping the 
 cigar I held. 
 
 "How do I mean? Oh, you don t want to 
 smoke this thing again after it s a-rollm round 
 here in the dirt!" 
 
 "Why, you don t smoke," said I, still reaching 
 for the cigar he held behind him. 
 
 "Me? Oh, what you givin me?" 
 
 "Come, let me have it," I said sharply, draw 
 ing a case from my pocket and taking out another 
 cigar. 
 
 33
 
 JAMESY 
 
 "Oh, you want a light" he said, handing me 
 the stub and watching me wistfully. "Couldn t 
 give us a fresh cigar, could you, Cap?" 
 
 "I don t know," said I, as though deliberating 
 on the matter. "What was that you were going 
 to tell me just now? You started to tell me what 
 a lovely sucker I d have been had you met me 
 this morning. How did you mean?" 
 
 "Give me a cigar and I ll tell you. Oh, come, 
 tiow, Cap; give me a smoker and I ll give you 
 the whole game. I will, now, honest!" 
 
 I held out the open case. 
 
 "Nothin mean about you, is they?" he said, 
 eagerly taking a fresh cigar in one hand and the 
 stub in the other. "A ten-center, too oh, I guess 
 not!" but, to my surprise, he took the stub be 
 tween his lips, and began opening his coat. "Guess 
 I ll jist fat this daisy, and save er up for Christ 
 inas. No, I won t, eether," he broke in suddenly, 
 with a bright, keen flash of second thought. "Tell 
 you what I ll do," holding up the cigar and gaz 
 ing at it admiringly; "she s a ten-center, ain t 
 .she?" 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "And worth every cent of it, too, ain t she?" 
 
 1 Every cent of it," I repeated. 
 
 "Then give me a nickel, and she s yourn cause 
 if you can afford to give this to me fer nothin , 
 
 34
 
 JAMESY 
 
 looks like I ort to let you have it fer half-price;" 
 and as I laughingly dropped the nickel in his hand 
 he concluded, "And they s nothin mean about 
 me, neether!" 
 
 "Now, go on with your story," said I. "How 
 about that game you were giving, this morn 
 ing?" 
 
 "Well, I ll tell you, Cap. Us fellers has got to 
 lay for every nickel, cause none of us is bondhold 
 ers; and they s days and days together when we 
 don t make enough to even starve on. What I 
 mean is, we on y make enough to pay fer agger- 
 vatin our appetites with jist about enough chuck 
 to keep us starvin -hungry. So, you see, when a 
 feller ain t got nothin else to do, and his appetite 
 won t sleep in the same bunk with him, he s bound 
 to git onto somepin crooked and git up all sorts 
 o dodges to git along. Some gives em one thing, 
 and some another, but you bet they got to be 
 mighty slick now, cause people won t have or 
 phans, and fits, and cripples, and drunk fath 
 ers, and mothers that eats morphine, and white 
 swellin , and consumption, and all that sort o 
 taffy! Got to git er down finer n that! But / 
 been a-gittin in my work all the same, don t you 
 fergit! You won t ever blow, now?" 
 
 "How could I blow, and what if I did? I 
 don t live here," I replied. 
 35
 
 JAMESY 
 
 "Well, you better never blow, anyhow; cause if 
 ever us duffers would git onto it you d be a spiled 
 oyster!" 
 
 "Go on," said I, with an assuring tone. 
 
 "The lay I m on jist now," he continued, drop 
 ping his voice and looking cautiously around, "is 
 a-hidin my box and a-rushin in, suddent-like, 
 where they s a crowd o nobs a-talkin politics er 
 somepin , and a-jist startin in, and fore they 
 know what s a-comin I m a-flashin up a nickel er 
 a dime, and a-tellin em if I on y had enough 
 more to make fifty cents I could buy a blackin - 
 box, and wouldn t have to ast no boot o my 
 grandmother! And two minutes chinnin does it, 
 don t you see, cause /f/zey don t knownothin bout 
 blackin -boxes ; they re jist as soft as you air. 
 They got an idy, maybe, that blackin -boxes comes 
 all the way from Chiny, with cokeynut whiskers 
 packed round em ; and I make it solid by a-say- 
 in I m on y goin to git a second-hand box see ? 
 But that ain t the pint it s the Mr. Nickel I al 
 ready got. Oh! it ll paralyze em ever time! 
 Sometimes fellers ll make up seventy-five cents er 
 a dollar, and tell me to git a new box, and go into 
 the business right. That s a thing that always 
 rattles me. Now, if they d on y growl a little and 
 look like they was jist a-puttin up cause the first 
 one did, I can stand it ; but when they go to pat- 
 
 36
 
 JAMESY 
 
 tin me on the head, and a-tellin me that s right, 
 and not to be afeard o work, and I ll come out 
 all right, and a-tellin me to git a good substan 
 tial box while I m a-gittin , and a-ponyin up 
 handsome, there s where I weaken I do, honest 1" 
 And never so plainly as at that moment did I see 
 within his face and in his eyes the light of true 
 nobility. 
 
 "You see," he went on, in a tone of voice half 
 courage, half apology, "I got a family on my 
 hands, and I jist got to git along somehow! I 
 could git along on the square deal as long as mother 
 was alive cause she d work but ever sence she 
 died and that was winter fore last I ve kindo 
 had to double on the old thing all sorts o ways. 
 But Sis don t know it. Sis she thinks I m the 
 squarest muldoon in the business," and even side 
 by side with the homely utterance a great sigh 
 faltered from his lips. 
 
 "And who is Sis ?" I inquired with new interest. 
 
 "Sis?" he repeated, knocking my foot from the 
 box, and leaning back, still in the old position, his 
 hat now lying on the ground beside him, and his 
 frowzy hair tossed backward from the full, broad 
 brow "Who s Sis ?" he repeated with an upward 
 smile that almost dazzled me "W y, Sis is is 
 w y, Sis is the boss girl and don t you fergit it!" 
 
 No need had he to tell me more than this. 
 
 37
 
 JAMESY 
 
 I knew who "Sis" was by the light of pride in 
 the uplifted eyes; I knew who "Sis" was by the 
 exultation in the broken voice, and the half-defiant 
 tossing of the frowzy head; I knew who "Sis" 
 was by the little, naked hands thrown upward 
 openly; I knew who "Sis" was by the tear that 
 dared to trickle through the dirt upon her ragged 
 brother s face. And don t you forget it! 
 
 that boy down there upon his knees! there 
 in the cinders and the dirt so far, far down be 
 neath us that we trample on his breast and grind 
 our heels into his very heart; O that boy there, 
 with his lifted eyes, and God s own glory shining 
 in his face, has taught me, with an eloquence be 
 yond the trick of mellow-sounding words and met 
 aphor, that love may find a purer home beneath 
 the rags of poverty and vice than in all the great 
 warm heart of Charity. 
 
 1 hardly knew what impulse prompted me, but 
 as the boy rose to his feet and held his hand out 
 for the compensation for his work, I caught the 
 little dingy palm close, close within my own, and 
 wrung it as I would have wrung the hand of some 
 great conqueror. 
 
 The little fellow stared at me in wonderment, 
 and although his lips were silent, I can but believe 
 that had they parted with the utterance within his 
 heart my feelings had received no higher recogni- 
 
 38
 
 JAMESY 
 
 tion than the old contemptuous phrase, "Oh, what 
 you givin me?" 
 
 "And so you ve got a family on your hands?" 
 I inquired, recovering an air of simple curiosity, 
 and toying in my pocket with some bits of change. 
 "How much of a family?" 
 
 "On y three of us now." 
 
 "Only three of you, eh? Yourself, and Sis, 
 and and " 
 
 "The old man," said the boy, uneasily; and 
 after a pause, in which he seemed to swallow an 
 utterance more bitter, he added, "And he ain t no 
 good on earth !" 
 
 "Can t work?" I queried. 
 
 - Won t w*ork," said the boy, bitterly. "He 
 won t work he won t do nothin on y budge ! 
 And I haf to steer him in ever night, cause the 
 cops won t pull him any more they won t let him 
 in the station-house more n they d let him in apar- 
 ler, cause he s a plum goner now, and liable to 
 croke any minute." 
 
 "Liable to what?" said I. 
 
 "Liable to jist keel over wink out, you know 
 cause he has fits, kindo jimjams, I guess. Had 
 a fearful old matinee with him last night ! You 
 see he comes all sorts o games on me, and I haf 
 to put up fer him cause he s got to have -whiskey, 
 and if we can on y keep him about so full he s a 
 
 39
 
 JAMESY 
 
 regular lamb ; but he don t stand no monkeyin* 
 when he wants whiskey, now you bet ! Sis can 
 handle him better n me, but she s been a losin 
 her grip on him lately you see Sis ain t stout 
 any more, and been kindo sick-like so long she 
 humors him, you know, more n she ort. And he 
 couldn t git on his pins at all yisterday morning, 
 and Sis sent fer me, and I took him down a pint, 
 and that set him a-runnin so that when I left he 
 made Sis give up a quarter he saw me slip her ; 
 and it jist happened I run into him that evening 
 and got him in, or he d a-froze to death. I guess 
 he must a-kindo had em last night, cause he was 
 the wildest man you ever see saw grasshoppers 
 with paper-collars on, and old sows with feather- 
 duster tails, the durndest programme you ever 
 heerd of! And he got so bad onc t he was a-goin* 
 to belt Sis, and did try it: and I had to chug him 
 one or he d a-done it. And then he cried, and 
 
 Sis cried, and / cri , I Dern him ! you 
 
 can bet yer life /didn t cry!" And as the boy 
 spoke, the lips quivered into stern compression, 
 the little hands gripped closer at his side, but for 
 all that the flashing eye grew blurred and the lids 
 dropped downward. 
 
 "That s a boss shine on them shoes." 
 I was mechanically telling over in my hand the 
 three small coins I had drawn from my pocket. 
 40
 
 JAMESY 
 
 "That is a nice job!" said I, gazing with an 
 unusual show of admiration at the work, "and I 
 thought," continued I, with real regret, "that I 
 had two dimes and a nickel here, and was think 
 ing that, as these were Christmas-times, I d just 
 give you a quarter for your work." 
 
 "Honest, Cap?" 
 
 "Honest!" I repeated, "but the fact is the two 
 dimes, as I thought they were, are only two three- 
 cent pieces, so I have only eleven cents in change, 
 after all." 
 
 "Spect they d change a bill fer you crost there 
 at the lunch-counter," he suggested with charming 
 artlessness. 
 
 "Won t have time there s my train just coup 
 ling. But take this I ll see you again sometime, 
 perhaps." 
 
 "How big a bill is it you want changed?" 
 asked the little fellow, with a most acquisitive ex 
 pression, and a swift glance at our then lonely 
 surroundings. 
 
 "I only have one bill with me," said I nervously, 
 "and that s a five." 
 
 "Well, here then," said the boy, hurriedly, with 
 another and more scrutinizing glance about him 
 "guess I can commodate you." And as I turned 
 in wonder, he drew from some mysterious re 
 cess in the lining of his coat, a roll of bills, 
 
 41
 
 JAMESY 
 
 from which he hastily detached four in number, 
 returned the roll; and before I had recovered from 
 my surprise, he had whisked the note from my 
 fingers, and left in my hand instead the proper 
 change. 
 
 "This is on the dead, now, Cap. Don t you 
 ever cheep about me havin wealth, you know; 
 cause it ain t mine that is, it is mine, but I m 
 a There goes your train. Ta-ta!" 
 
 "The day before Christmas," said I, snatching 
 his hand, and speaking hurriedly, "the day before 
 Christmas I m coming back, and if you ll be here 
 when the 5 130 train rolls in you ll find a man that 
 wants his boots blacked maybe to get married 
 in, or something anyway he ll want a shine like 
 this, and he ll come prepared to pay the highest 
 market price do you understand?" 
 
 "You jist tell that feller fer me," said the boy, 
 eclipsing the twinkle of one eye, and dropping his 
 voice to an inflection of strictest confidence, "you 
 jist tell that feller fer me that I m his oyster!" 
 
 "And you ll meet him, sure ? " said I. 
 
 "I will," said the boy. And he kept his word. 
 
 My ride home was an incoherent fluttering of the 
 
 wings of time, in which travail one fretful hour 
 
 was born, to gasp its first few minutes helplessly; 
 
 then moan, roll over and kick out its legs and 
 
 42
 
 JAMESY 
 
 sprawl about; then crawl a little stagger to its 
 feet and totter on ; then tumble down a time or two 
 and knock its empty head against the floor and 
 howl ; then loom up awkwardly on gangling legs, 
 too much in their own way to comprehend that 
 they were in the way of everybody else; then 
 limp a little as it worried on drop down ex 
 hausted moan again toss up its hands shriek 
 out, and die in violent convulsions. 
 
 We have all had that experience of the car- 
 wheels had them enter into conversation with us 
 as we gaily embarked upon some pleasant trip, 
 perhaps ; had them rattle off in scraps of song, or 
 lightly twit us with some dear one s name, or even 
 go so far as to laugh at us and mock us for some 
 real or fancied dereliction of car-etiquette. I shall 
 ever have good reason to remember how once upon 
 a time a boy of fourteen, though greatly under 
 sized, told the conductor he was only ten, and al 
 though the unsuspecting official accepted the state 
 ment as a truth, with the proper reduction in the 
 fare, the car-wheels called that boy a "liar" for 
 twenty miles and twenty miles as long and tedi 
 ous as he has ever compassed in his journey through 
 this vale of tears. 
 
 The car-wheels on this bitter winter evening 
 were not at all communicative. They were sullen 
 and morose. They didn t feel like singing, and 
 
 43
 
 JAMESY 
 
 they wouldn t laugh. They had no jokes, and if 
 there was one peculiar quality of tone they pos 
 sessed in any marked degree it was that of sneer 
 ing. They had a harsh, discordant snarl, as it 
 seemed, and were spiteful and insinuating. 
 
 The topic they had chosen for that night s con 
 sideration was evidently of a very complex and 
 mysterious nature, and they gnawed and mumbled 
 at it with such fierceness, and, withal, such sel 
 fishness, I could only catch a flying fragment of it 
 now and then, and that, I noticed, was of the 
 coarsest fibre of intelligence, and of slangy flavor. 
 Listening with the most painful interest, I at last 
 made out the fact that the inflection seemed to be 
 in the interrogative, and, with anxiety the most in 
 tense, I slowly came to comprehend that they were 
 desirous of ascertaining the exact distance be 
 tween two given points, but the proposition seemed 
 determined not to round into fuller significance 
 than to query mockingly, "How fur is it? How 
 fur is it ? How fur, how fur, how fur is it ? and 
 so on to a most exasperating limit. As this sense 
 less phrase was repeated and reiterated in its grow 
 ing harshness and unchanging intonation, the re 
 lentless pertinacity of the query grew simply 
 agonizing, and when at times the car door opened 
 to admit a brakeman, or the train-boy, who had 
 everything to sell but what I wanted, the empha- 
 
 44
 
 sized refrain would lift me from my seat and drag 
 me up and down the aisle. When the phrase did 
 eventually writhe round into form and shade more 
 tangible, my relief was such that I sat down, and 
 in my fancy framed a grim, unlovely tune that 
 suited it, and hummed with it, in an undertone of 
 dismal satisfaction: 
 
 "How fur how fur 
 Is it front here 
 
 From here to Happiness P* 
 
 When I returned that same refrain rode back 
 into the city with me ! All the gay metropolis was 
 robing for the banquet and the ball. All the 
 windows of the crowded thoroughfares were kind 
 ling into splendor. Along the streets rolled lordly 
 carriages, so weighted down with costly silks, and 
 furs, and twinkling gems, and unknown treasures 
 in unnumbered packages, that one lone ounce of 
 needed charity would have snapped their axles, 
 and a feather s weight of pure benevolence would 
 have splintered every spoke. 
 
 And the old refrain rode with me through it all 
 as stoical, relentless and unchangeable as fata 
 and in the same depraved and slangy tone in which 
 it seemed to find an especial pride, it sang, and 
 sang again: 
 
 "How fur how fur 
 Is it from here 
 
 From here to Happiness?" 
 
 45
 
 JAMESY 
 
 The train that for five minutes had been lessen 
 ing in speed, toiled painfully along, and as I arose 
 impatiently and reached behind me for my over 
 coat, a cheery voice cried, "Hello, Cap! Want a 
 lift? I ll he p you with that benjamin "; and as 
 I looked around I saw the grimy features of my 
 little hero of the brush and box. 
 
 "Hello ! said I, as much delighted as surprised. 
 "Where did you drop from?" 
 
 "Oh, I collared this old hearse a mile or so back 
 yonder," said the little fellow, gayly, standing on 
 the seat behind me and holding up the coat. "Been 
 a-doin circus-business on the steps out there fer 
 half an hour. You bet I had my eye on you, all 
 the same, though." 
 
 "You had, eh?" I exclaimed, gladly, although 
 I instinctively surmised his highest interest in 
 me was centred in my pocket-book. "You had* 
 eh?" I repeated with more earnestness. "Well, 
 I m glad of that, Charlie or, what is your name ? 
 
 "Squatty," said the boy. Then noticing the look 
 of surprise upon my face, he added soberly: 
 "That ain t my sure-enough name, you know; 
 that s what the boys calls me. Sis calls me 
 Jamesy." 
 
 "Well, Jamesy," I continued, buttoning my 
 collar and drawing on my gloves, "I m mighty 
 glad to see you, and if you don t believe it, just 
 46
 
 JAMESY 
 
 go down in that right-hand overcoat-pocket and 
 you ll find out." 
 
 The little fellow needed no second invitation, 
 and as he drew forth a closely-folded package the 
 2ook of curiosity upon his face deepened to one of 
 blank bewilderment. 
 
 "Open it," said I, smiling at the little puzzled 
 face; "open it it s for you. 
 
 "O, here, Cap," said the boy, dropping the 
 package on the seat, and holding up a rigid finger, 
 "you re a-givin me this, ain t you?" 
 
 "I m giving you the package, certainly," said 
 I, somewhat bewildered. "Open it it s a Christ 
 mas present for you open it." 
 
 "What s your idy o layin fer me?" asked the 
 boy with a troubled and uneasy air. "I ve been 
 a-givin you square business right along, ain t I?" 
 
 "Why, Jamesy," said I, as I vaguely compre 
 hended the real drift of his thought, "the package 
 is for you, and if you won t open it I will," and 
 as I spoke I began unfolding it. "Here," said I, 
 "is a pair of gloves, a little girl, about your size, 
 told me to give to you, because I was telling her 
 about you, over where I live, and it s a clear 
 case, " and I laughed lightly to myself as I noticed 
 a slow flush creeping to his face. "And here," 
 said I, "is a bang up pair of good old-fashioned 
 socks, and, if they ll fit you, there s an old woman 
 
 4 47
 
 JAMESY 
 
 that wears specs and a mole on her nose, told me 
 to tell you, for her, that she knit them for your 
 Christmas present, and if you don t wear them 
 she ll never forgive you. And here," I continued, 
 "is a cap, as fuzzy as a woolly -worm, and as warm 
 a cap, I reckon, as you ever stood on your head 
 in; it s a cheap cap, but I bought it with my own 
 money, and money that I worked mighty hard to 
 get, because I ain t rich; now, if I was rich, I d 
 buy you a plug; but I ve got an idea that this lit 
 tle, old, woolly cap, with earbobs to it, and a 
 snapper to go under your chin, don t you see, 
 won t be a bad cap to knock around in, such 
 weather as this. What do you say now I Try her 
 on once," and as I spoke I turned to place it on 
 his head. 
 
 "Oomh-ooh !" he negatively murmured, putting 
 out his hand, his closed lips quivering the little 
 frowzy head drooping forward, and the ragged 
 shoes shuffling on the floor. 
 
 "Come," said I, my own voice growing curi 
 ously changed ; "won t you take these presents? 
 They are yours; you must accept them, Jamesy, 
 not because they re worth so very much, or be 
 cause they re very fine," I continued, bending 
 down and folding up the parcel, "but because, 
 you know, I want you to, and and you must 
 take them; you must!" and as I concluded, I 
 48
 
 JAMESY 
 
 thrust the tightly-folded parcel beneath his arm, 
 and pressed the little tattered elbow firmly over 
 it. "There you are," said I. "Freeze onto it, 
 and we ll skip off here at the avenue. Come." 
 
 I hardly dared to look behind me till I found 
 myself upon the street, but as I threw an eager 
 glance over my shoulder I saw the little fellow fol 
 lowing, not bounding joyfully, but with a solemn 
 step, the little parcel hugged closely to his side, 
 and his eyes bent soberly upon the frozen ground. 
 
 "And how s Sis by this time?" I asked cheerily, 
 flinging the question backward, and walking on 
 more briskly. 
 
 " Bout the same," said the boy, brightening a 
 little, and skipping into a livelier pace. 
 
 "About the same, eh? and how s that?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Oh, she can t get around much like she used 
 to, you know; but she s a-gittin better all the 
 time. She set up mighty nigh all day yisterday" ; 
 and as the boy spoke the eyes lifted with the old 
 flash, and the little frowzy head tossed with the 
 old defiance. 
 
 "Why, she s not down sick?" said I, a sudden 
 ache of sorrow smiting me. 
 
 "Yes," replied the boy, "she 5 been bad a long 
 time. You see," he broke in byway of explana 
 tion, "she didn t have no shoes ner nothi* when 
 
 49
 
 JAMESY 
 
 winter come, and kindo took cold, you know, and 
 that give her the whoopin -cough so s she couldn t 
 git around much. You jist ort to see her now! 
 Oh, she s a-gittin all right now, you can bet! and 
 she said yisterday she d be plum well Christmas, 
 and that s on y to-morry. Guess not!" and as 
 the little fellow concluded this exultant speech, he 
 circled round me, and then shot forward like a 
 rocket. 
 
 "Hi! Jamesy!" I called after him, pausing at 
 a stairway and stepping in the door. 
 
 The little fellow joined me in an instant. "Want 
 that shine now?" he inquired with panting eager 
 ness. 
 
 "Not now, Jamesy," said I, "for I m going to 
 be quite busy for a while. This is my stopping- 
 place here the second door on the right, up-stairs, 
 remember and I work there when I m in the city, 
 and I sometimes sleep there, when I work late. 
 And now I want to ask a very special favor of 
 you," I continued, taking a little sealed packet 
 from my vest: "here s a little box that you re to 
 take to Sis, with my compliments the compli 
 ments of the season, you understand, and tell her 
 I sent it, with particular directions that she 
 shouldn t break it open till Christmas morning 
 not till Christmas morning, understand ! Then 
 you tell her that I would like very much to come 
 
 50
 
 JAMESY 
 
 and see her, and if she says all right, and you 
 must give me a good send-off, and she ll say all 
 right if Jamesy says all right, then come back 
 here, say two hours from now, or three hours, or 
 to-night anyway, and we ll go down and see Sis 
 together what do you say?" 
 
 The boy nodded dubiously, "Honest must I 
 do all that, sure enough?" 
 
 "Will you?" said I; "that s what I want to 
 know;" and I pushed back the little dusky face 
 and looked into the bewildered eyes. 
 
 *" Solid?" he queried, gravely. 
 
 " Solid, " I repeated, handing him the box. 
 "Will you come?" 
 
 W y, course I will, on y I was jist a-think- 
 in " 
 
 "Just thinking what," said I, as the little fel 
 low paused abruptly and shook the box suspi 
 ciously at his ear. "Just thinking what?" I re 
 peated; "for I must go now; good-bye. Just 
 thinking what?" 
 
 "O, nothin ," said the boy, backing off and 
 staring at me in a phase of wonder akin to awe. 
 "Nothin , on y I was jist a-thinkin that you was a 
 little the curiousest rooster 7 ever see." 
 
 Three hours later, as I sat alone, he came in 
 upon me timidly to say he hadn t been home yet, 
 having "run acrost the old man jist a-bilin , and 
 51
 
 JAMESY 
 
 had to git him corralled fore he dropped down 
 somers in the snow; but I m a-gittin long bully 
 with him now," he added, with a deep sigh of re 
 lief, " cause he s so full he ll haf to let go purty 
 soon. Say you ll be here?" 
 
 I nodded silently, and he was gone. 
 
 The merry peals of laughter rang up from the 
 streets like mockery. The jingling of bells, the 
 clatter and confusion of the swarming thorough 
 fares flung up to me not one glad murmur of de 
 light; the faint and far-off blaring of a dreamy 
 waltz, blown breeze-like over the drowsy ear of 
 night, had sounded sweeter to me had I stood 
 amidst the band, with every bellowing horn about 
 my ears, and the drums and clashing cymbals 
 howling mad. 
 
 I couldn t work, I couldn t read, I couldn t rest; 
 I could only pace about. I heard the clock strike 
 ten, and strike it hard ; I heard it strike eleven, 
 viciously; and twelve it held out at arm s length, 
 and struck it full between the eyes, and let it drop 
 stone dead. O I saw the blood ooze from its 
 ears, and saw the white foam freeze upon its lips ! 
 I was alone alone ! 
 
 It was three o clock before the boy returned. 
 
 "Been a long while," he began, "but I had a 
 fearful time with the old man, and he went on so 
 when. I did git him in I was most afeared to leave 
 
 52
 
 JAMESY 
 
 him ; but he kindo went to sleep at last, and Molly 
 she come over to see how Sis was a-gittin ; and 
 Sis said she d like to see you if you d come now, 
 you know, while they ain t no racket goin on." 
 
 "Come, then," said I, buttoning my coat closely 
 at the throat, "I am ready ; " and a moment later 
 we had stepped into the frosty night. We moved 
 along in silence, the little fellow half running, 
 half sliding along the frozen pavement in the lead ; 
 and I noted, with a pleasurable thrill, that he had 
 donned the little fuzzy cap and mittens, and from 
 time to time was flinging, as he ran, admiring 
 glances at his shadow on the snow. 
 
 Our way veered but a little from the very centre 
 of the city, but led mainly along through narrow 
 streets and alley-ways, where the rear ends of mas 
 sive business blocks had dwindled down to insig 
 nificant proportions to leer grimly at us as we 
 passed little grated windows and low, scowling 
 doors. Occasionally we passed a clump of empty 
 boxes, barrels, and such debris of merchandise as 
 had been crowded pell-mell from some inner stor 
 age by their newer and more dignified compan 
 ions; and now and then we passed an empty bus, 
 bulging up in the darkness like a behemoth of the 
 olden times ; or, jutting from still narrower pas 
 sages, the sloping ends of drays and carts innum 
 erable. And along even as forbidding a defile as 
 
 53
 
 JAMESY 
 
 this we groped until we came upon a low, square, 
 brick building that might have served at one time 
 as a wash-house, or, less probably, perhaps, a dairy. 
 There was but one window in the front, and that 
 but little larger than an ordinary pane of glass. In 
 the sides, however, and higher up, was a row of 
 gratings, evidently designed more to serve as ven 
 tilation than as openings for light. There was but 
 one opening, an upright doorway, half above 
 ground, half below, with little narrow side-steps 
 leading down to it. A light shone dimly from the 
 little window, and as the boy motioned me to pause 
 and listen, a sound of female voices talking in an 
 undertone was audible, mingled with a sound like 
 that of some one snoring heavily. 
 
 "Hear the old man a-gittin in his work?" 
 whispered the boy. 
 
 I nodded. "He s asleep?" 
 
 "You bet he s asleep!" said the boy, still in a 
 whisper; "and he ll jist about stay with it that- 
 away fer five hours, anyhow. What time you got 
 now, Cap?" 
 
 "A quarter now till four," I replied, peering at 
 my watch. 
 
 "W y, it s Christmas, then!" he cried in muf 
 fled rapture of delight ; but abruptly checking his 
 emotion, he beckoned me a little farther from the 
 door, and spoke in a confidential whisper. 
 
 54
 
 JAMESY 
 
 "Cap, look here, now; fore we go in I want 
 you to promise me one thing cause you can fix it 
 and she ll never drop ! Now, here, I want to put 
 up a job on Sis, you understand!" 
 
 "What!" I exclaimed, starting back and star 
 ing at the boy in amazement. "Put up a job on 
 Sis?" 
 
 "O, look here, now, Cap ; you ain t a-goin back 
 on a feller like that!" broke in the little fellow, in 
 a mingled tone of pleading and reproof; "and if 
 you don t help a feller I ll haf to wait till broad 
 daylight, cause we ain t got no clock." 
 
 "No clock!" I repeated with increased bewil 
 derment. 
 
 "Oh, come, Cap, what do you say? It ain t no 
 lie, you know; all you got to do ll be to jist tell 
 Sis it s Christmas as though you didn t want me 
 to hear, you know ; and then she ll git my Christ 
 mas Gift ! first, you know ; and, oh, lordy ! won t 
 she think she s played it fine!" and as I slowly 
 comprehended the meaning of the little fellow s 
 plot I nodded my willingness to assist in "putting 
 up the job." 
 
 "Now, hold on a second!" continued the little 
 fellow, in the wildest glee, darting through an 
 opening in a high board fence a dozen steps away, 
 and in an instant reappearing with a bulky parcel, 
 which, as he neared me, I discovered was a paper 
 
 55
 
 JAMESY 
 
 flour-sack half filled, the other half lapped down 
 and fastened with a large twine string. "Now 
 this stuff," he went on excitedly, "you must jug 
 gle in without Sis seein it here, shove it under 
 your ben, here there that s business! Now 
 when you go in, you re to set down with the other 
 side to rds the bed, you see, and when Sis hollers, 
 Christmas Gift, you know, you jist kindo let it 
 slide down to the floor like, and I ll nail it slick 
 enough though I ll p tend, you know, it ain t 
 Christmas yet, and look sold out, and say it wasn t 
 fair fer you to tell her, and all that ; and then I ll 
 open up suddent-like, and if you don t see old Sis 
 bug out them eyes of hern I don t want a cent!" 
 And as the gleeful boy concluded this speech, he 
 put his hands over his mouth and dragged me 
 down the little, narrow steps. 
 
 "Here s that feller come to see you, Sis!" he 
 announced abruptly, opening the door and peering 
 in. "Come on," he said, turning to me. I fol 
 lowed, closing the door, and looking curiously 
 around. A squabby, red-faced woman, sitting 
 on the edge of a low bed, leered upon me, but 
 with no salutation. An old cook-stove, propped 
 up with bricks, stood back against the wall directly 
 opposite, and through the warped and broken 
 doors in front sent out a dismal suggestion of the 
 fire that burned within. At the side of this, prone 
 
 56
 
 JAMESY 
 
 upon the floor, lay the wretched figure of a man, 
 evidently in the deepest stage of drunkenness, and 
 thrown loosely over him was an old tattered piece 
 of carpet and a little checkered shawl. 
 
 There was no furniture to speak of; one chair 
 and that was serving as a stand sat near the 
 bed, a high hump-shouldered bottle sitting on it, 
 a fruit-can full of water, and a little dim and 
 smoky lamp that glared sulkily. 
 
 "Jamesy, can t you git the man a cheer er 
 somepin ?" queried a thin voice from the bed; at 
 which the red-faced woman rose reluctantly with 
 the rather sullen words: "He can sit here, I 
 reckon," while the boy looked at me significantly 
 and took up a position near the "stand." 
 
 "So this is Sis?" I said, with reverence. 
 
 The little, haggard face I bent above was beau 
 tiful. The eyes were dark and tender very 
 tender, and though deeply sunken were most 
 childish in expression and star-pure and luminous. 
 She reached a wasted little hand out to me, saying 
 simply: "It was mighty good in you to give 
 them things to Jamesy, and send me that mo 
 that that little box, you know on y I guess I I 
 won t need it." As she spoke a smile of perfect 
 sweetness rested on the face, and the hand within 
 my own nestled in dove-like peace. 
 
 The boy bent over the white face from behind
 
 JAMESY 
 
 and whispered something in her ear, trailing the 
 little laughing lips across her brow as he looked 
 up. 
 
 "Not now, Jamesy; wait awhile." 
 
 "Ah!" said I, shaking my head with feigned 
 merriment, "don t you two go to plotting about 
 me!" 
 
 "Oh, hello, no, Cap!" exclaimed the boy, as- 
 suringly. "I was on y jist a-tellin Sis to ast you 
 if she mightn t open that box ncnv honest! And 
 you jist ask her if you don t believe me /won t 
 listen." And the little fellow gave me a look of 
 the most penetrative suggestiveness ; and when a 
 moment later the glad words, "Christmas Gift! 
 Jamesy," rang out quaveringly in the thin voice, 
 the little fellow snatched the sack up, in a par 
 oxysm of delight, and before the girl had time to 
 lift the long dark lashes once upon his merry face, 
 he had emptied its contents out tumultuously upon 
 the bed. 
 
 "You got it onto me, Sis!" cried the little fel 
 low, dancing wildly round the room; "got it onto 
 me this time ! but I m game, don t you fergit, and 
 don t put up nothin snide! How ll them shoes 
 there ketch you? and how s this fer a cloak? is 
 them enough beads to suit you? And how s this 
 fer a hat feather and all? And how s this fer a 
 dress made and ever thing? and I d a-got a corsik 
 
 58
 
 JAMESY 
 
 with it if he d a on y had any little enough. Tou 
 won t look fly ner nothin when you throw all that 
 style on you in the morning! Gtiess not!" And 
 the delighted boy went off upon another wild ex 
 cursion round the room. 
 
 "Lean down here," said the girl, a great light in 
 her eyes and the other slender hand sliding from 
 beneath the covering. "Here is the box you sent 
 me, and Y\e opened it it wasn t right, you know, 
 but somepin kindo said to open it fore morn 
 ing and and I opened it." And the eyes 
 seemed asking my forgiveness, yet filled with 
 great bewilderment. "You see," she went on, 
 the thin voice falling in a fainter tone, "I knowed 
 that money in the box that is, the bills I knowed 
 them bills, cause one of em had a ink-spot on it, 
 and the other ones had been pinned with it they 
 wasn t pinned together when you sent em, but 
 the holes was in where they had been pinned, and 
 they was all pinned together when Jamesy had 
 em cause Jamesy used to have them veiy bills 
 he didn t think / knowed, but onc t when he 
 was asleep, and father was a-goin through his 
 clothes, I happened to find em in his coat fore 
 he did ; and I counted em, and hid em back 
 ag in, and father didn t find em, and Jamesy never 
 knowed it. I never said nothin , cause somepin 
 kindo said to me it was all right ; and somepin 
 
 59
 
 JAMESY 
 
 kindo said I d git all these things here, too on y 
 I won t need em, ner the money, nor nothin . 
 How did you get the money? That s all!" 
 
 The boy had by this time approached the bed, 
 and was gazing curiously upon the solemn little 
 face. 
 
 "What s the matter with you, Sis?" he asked 
 in wonderment; "ain t you glad?" 
 
 "I m mighty glad, Jamesy," she said, the little, 
 thin hands reaching for his own. "Guess I m too 
 glad, cause I can t do nothin on y jist feet glad , 
 and somepin kindo says that that s the gladdest 
 glad in all the world. Jamesy!" 
 
 "Oh, shaw, Sis! Why don t you tell a feller 
 what s the matter?" said the boy, uneasily. 
 
 The white hands linked more closely with the 
 brown, and the pure face lifted to the grimy one 
 till they were blent together in a kiss. 
 
 "Be good to father, fer you know he used to be 
 so good to us." 
 
 "O Sis! Sis!" 
 
 "Molly!" 
 
 The squabby, red-faced woman threw herself 
 upon her knees and kissed the thin hands wildly 
 and with sobs. 
 
 "Molly, somepin kindo says that you must 
 dress me in the morning but I won t need the hat, 
 
 60
 
 JAMESY 
 
 and you must take it home fer Nannie Don t 
 don t cry so loud; you ll wake father." 
 |. I bent my head down above the frowzy one and 
 moaned moaned. 
 
 "And you, sir," went on the failing voice, 
 reaching for my hand, "you you must take this 
 money back you must take it back, fer I don t 
 need it. You must take it back and and give 
 it give it to the poor." And even with the utter 
 ance upon the gracious lips the glad soul leaped 
 and fluttered through the open gates. 
 
 61
 
 TOD 
 
 STODDARD ANDERSON was the boy s name, 
 though had you made inquiry for Stoddard Ander 
 son of any boy of the town in which he lived 
 and I myself lived there, a handy boy in the dim 
 old days you doubtless would have been informed 
 that nobody of that name was there. Your juve 
 nile informant, however, by way of gratuitous in 
 telligence, might have gone on to state that two 
 families of the name of Anderson resided there, 
 "Old Do-good" Anderson, the preacher, and his 
 brother John. But had you asked for "Tod" 
 Anderson, or simply "Tod," your boy would have 
 known Tod; your boy, in all likelihood, would 
 have had especial reasons for remembering Tod, 
 although his modesty, perhaps, might not allow 
 him to inform you how Tod had "waxed it to him 
 more n onc t" ! But he would have told you, as 
 I tell you now, that Tod Anderson was the preach 
 er s boy, and lived at the parsonage. Tod was a 
 queer boy. 
 
 Stoddard Anderson was named in honor of 
 some obscure divine his father had joined church 
 6 63
 
 TOD 
 
 under when a boy. It was a peculiar weakness 
 of the father to relate the experience of his early 
 conviction ; and as he never tired of repeating it, 
 by way of precept and admonition to the way 
 ward lambkins of his flock, Tod mastered it* 
 most intricate and sacred phraseology, together 
 even with the father s more religious formulas, to 
 a degree of perfection that enabled him to preside 
 at mock meetings in the hayloft, and offer the 
 baptismal service at the "swimmin -hole." 
 
 In point of personal or moral resemblance, Tod 
 was in no wise like his father. Some said he 
 was the picture of his mother, they who could 
 remember her, for she fell asleep when Tod was 
 three days old, with her mother-arms locked 
 around him so closely that he cried, and they had 
 to take him away from her. No. Death had 
 taken her away from him. 
 
 It needs now no chronicle to tell how Tod thrived 
 in spite of his great loss, and how he grew to be a 
 big, fat, two-fisted baby with a double chin, the 
 pride and constant worry of the dear old grand 
 mother into whose care he had fallen. It requires 
 no space in history s crowded page to tell how he 
 could stand up by a chair when eight months old, 
 and crow and laugh and doddle his little chubby 
 arms till he quite upset his balance, and, pulling 
 the chair down with him, would laugh and crow 
 
 64
 
 TOD 
 
 louder than ever, and kick, and crawl, and sprawl, 
 and jabber; and never lift a whimper of distress 
 but when being rocked to sleep. Let a babyhood 
 of usual interest be inferred then add a few 
 more years, and you will have the Tod of ten I 
 knew. 
 
 O moral, saintlike, and consistent Christian, 
 what is it in the souls of little children so antagon 
 istic to your own sometimes? What is it in their 
 wayward and impulsive natures that you cannot 
 brook? And what strange tincture of rebellious 
 feeling is it that embitters all the tenderness and 
 love you pour out so lavishly upon their stubborn 
 and resentful hearts ? Why is it you so covetously 
 cherish the command divine, "Children, obey your 
 parents," and yet find no warm nook within the 
 breast for that old houseless truth that goes wail 
 ing through the world : 
 
 "A boy s will is the wind s will, 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts"? 
 
 Tod went to school the thriftless Tod ! not 
 wholly thriftless, either; for, although he had not 
 that apt way of skimming like a swallow down the 
 placid rills of learning, he did possess, in some 
 mysterious strength, a most extraordinary knack 
 of acquiring just such information as was not 
 taught at school, and had no place within the busy 
 hive of knowledge. 
 
 65
 
 TOD 
 
 Tod was a failure in arithmetic. Tod couldn t 
 tell twice ten from twice eternity. Tod knew ab 
 solutely nothing of either Christopher Columbus 
 or the glorious country he discovered expressly for 
 the use of industry and learning, as the teacher 
 would have had him implicitly believe. Tod 
 couldn t tell you anything of John Smith, even, 
 that very noted captain who walks cheek by jowl 
 with the dusky Pocahontas across the illimitable 
 fancy of the ten-year-old school-boy of our glori 
 ous republic. Tod knew all about the famous 
 Captain Kidd, however. In fact, Tod could sing 
 his history with more lively interest and real ap 
 preciation than his fellow-schoolmates sang geog 
 raphy. The simple Tod once joined the geo 
 graphical chorus with : 
 
 " I d a Bible in my hand v 
 
 As I sailed, as I sailed, 
 And I sunk her in the sand, 
 As I sailed." 
 
 And Tod not Captain Kidd had a ringing in 
 his ears as he sang, as he sang, and an overflow 
 of tears as he sang. And then he ran away from 
 school that afternoon, and sang Captain Kidd, 
 from A to izzard, in the full hearing of the "In 
 dustrial Hive," to the very evident amusement of 
 * the workers," and the discomfiture of the ruler 
 of "the swarm." 
 
 66
 
 TOD 
 
 The teacher called on the good minister that 
 evening, and after a long talk on the back porch, 
 left late in the dusk, wiping his eyes with one 
 hand, and shaking the other very warmly with the 
 preacher. And Tod slipped noiselessly along the 
 roof above them, and slid down the other side, 
 and watched the teacher s departure with a puz 
 zled face. 
 
 Tod was at school next morning long before the 
 call of "Books" ; in fact, so early, that he availed 
 himself of his isolated situation to chalk the handle 
 of the teacher s pointer, to bore a gimlet-hole in 
 the water-bucket, to slip a chip under one corner 
 of the clock in order to tilt it out of balance and 
 time, and in many more ingenious ways to con 
 tribute to the coming troubles of the day. The 
 most audacious act, however, was to climb above 
 the teacher s desk and paste a paper scrap over a 
 letter "o" in the old motto, "Be good," that had 
 offered him its vain advice for years. As one by 
 one these depredations met the teacher s notice 
 through the day, the culprit braced himself for 
 some disastrous issue, but his only punishment 
 was the assured glance the teacher always gave 
 him, and the settled yet forbearing look of pain 
 upon his face. In sheer daring Tod laughed 
 aloud a hollow, hungry laugh that had no mirth 
 in it but as suddenly subsided in a close investi- 
 
 67
 
 TOD 
 
 gation of a problem in mental arithmetic, when 
 the teacher backed slowly toward his desk and 
 stood covertly awaiting further developments. But 
 he was left again to his own inclinations, after 
 having, with a brazen air of innocence, solicited 
 and gained the master s assistance in the solution 
 of a very knotty problem, which it is needless to 
 say he knew no more of than before. Throughout 
 the remainder of the day Tod was thoughtful, and 
 was evidently evolving in his mind a problem far 
 more serious than could be found in books. Of 
 his own accord, that evening at the close of school, 
 he stayed in for some mysterious reason that even 
 his own deskmate could not comprehend. When, 
 an hour later, this latter worthy, from the old barn 
 opposite, watched Tod and the teacher hand in 
 hand come slowly down -the walk, he whispered 
 to himself with bated breath: "What s the durn 
 fool up to, anyhow?" 
 
 From that time Tod grew to be a deeper mys 
 tery than he could fathom, inasmuch as some 
 strange spirit of industry fell upon him, and he 
 became a student. 
 
 Though a perverse fate had seemingly decreed 
 that Tod should remain a failure in all branches 
 wherein most school-boys readily succeed, he 
 rapidly advanced in reading ; and in the declama- 
 
 68
 
 TOD 
 
 toty art he soon acquired a fame that placed him 
 high above the reach of competitors. 
 
 Tod never cried when he got up to "speak." 
 Tod never blanched, looked silly, and hung down 
 his head. Tod never mumbled in an undertone, 
 was never at a loss to use his hands, nor ever had 
 "his piece" so poorly memorized that he must 
 hesitate with awkward repetitions, to sit down at 
 last in wordless misery among the unfeeling and 
 derisive plaudits of the school. Tod, in a word, 
 knew no such word as fail when his turn was 
 called to entertain his hearers either with the gal 
 lant story of the youthful "Casabianca," "The 
 Speech of Logan," or "Catiline s Defiance." 
 Let a scholar be in training for the old-time exer 
 cises of -Friday afternoon, and he was told to 
 speak out clear and full not hang his head not 
 let his arms hang down like empty sleeves, but 
 to stand up like a king, look everybody in the 
 face, as though he were doing something to be 
 proud of in short, to take Tod for his model, and 
 "speak out like a man" ! 
 
 When Tod failed to make his appearance with 
 his usual promptness one Friday afternoon, and 
 the last day of the term, there was evidence of 
 general disappointment. Tod was to deliver an 
 oration written especially for that occasion by the 
 teacher. The visitors were all there the school 
 
 69
 
 TOD 
 
 committee, and the minister, Tod s father, who 
 occupied Tod s desk alone when "Books" was 
 called. The teacher, with his pallid, care-worn 
 face, tiptoed up and down the aisles, bending oc 
 casionally to ask a whispered question, and to let 
 the look of anxious wonder deepen on his face as 
 the respectful pupils shook their heads in silent re 
 sponse. But upon a whispered colloquy with the 
 minister, his face brightened, as he learned that 
 "Tod was practising his oration in the wood-house 
 half an hour before the ringing of the bell." 
 
 A boy was sent to bring him, but returned alone, 
 to say that he had not been able to find any trace 
 of him. 
 
 "Oh, he ll be here in time enough," said the 
 teacher apologetically to the sad-faced minister. 
 "He s deeply interested in his effort for this after 
 noon, and Pm certain he wouldn t purposely dis 
 appoint me." The good man in reply shook his 
 head resignedly, with a prayerful flight of the eyes 
 indicative of long-suffering and forbearance. 
 
 The opening services of singing and prayer. 
 No Tod. 
 
 First class in arithmetic called examined. No 
 Tod. 
 
 Second class, ditto ; still no Tod. Primary class 
 in ditto, composed of little twin sisters, aged six, 
 with very red hair and very fair skin, and very 
 70
 
 TOD 
 
 short dresses and very slim legs. Tod failed to 
 join his class. 
 
 The long-suffering minister was ill at ease. The 
 exercise failed in some way to appease the hunger 
 of the soul within. He looked out of the open 
 window nervously, and watched a saucy little sap- 
 sucker hopping up and down a tree ; first up one 
 side and then down the other, suddenly disappear 
 ing near the roots, and as suddenly surprising him 
 with a mischievous pecking near the top fork. He 
 thought of his poor, wayward boy, with a vague, 
 vague hope that he might yet, in some wise ruling 
 of a gracious Providence, escape the gallows, and 
 with a deep sigh turned to the noisy quiet of the 
 school-room ; he did not even smile as he took up 
 Tod s geography, opened at the boy s latest work, 
 a picture of the State seal, where a stalwart 
 pioneer in his shirt-sleeves hacked away at a 
 gnarled and stubborn-looking tree, without deign 
 ing to notice a stampeding herd of buffalo that 
 dashed by in most alarming proximity. The non 
 chalance of the sturdy yeoman was intensified by 
 Tod s graphic pen, which had mounted each 
 plunging monster with a daring rider, holding a 
 slack bridle-rein in one hand, and with the other 
 swinging a plug-hat in the most exultant and defi 
 ant manner. This piece of grotesque art and 
 others equally suggestive of the outcropping genius 
 
 71
 
 TOB 
 
 of their author, were put wearily aside, only serv 
 ing, as it seemed, to deepen rather than dissolve 
 the gloom enshrouding the good father s face. 
 And so the exercises wore along till recess came, 
 and with it came the missing Tod. 
 
 "I m in time, am I? Goody!" shouted Tod, 
 jumping over a small boy who had stooped to 
 pick up a slate-pencil, and stopping abruptly in 
 front of the teacher s desk. 
 
 "Why, Tod; what in the world!" 
 
 Tod s features wore a proud, exultant smile, 
 though somewhat glamoured with a network of 
 spiteful-looking scratches ; and his eyes were more 
 than usually bright, although their lids were blue, 
 and swollen to a size that half concealed them. 
 His head, held jauntily erect, suggested nothing 
 but boyish spirit ; but his hair, tousled beyond all 
 reason, with little wisps of it glued together with 
 clots of blood ; his best clothes soiled and torn ; a 
 bruised and naked knee showing through a straight 
 rent across one leg of his trousers, conveyed the 
 idea of a recent passage through some gauntlet of 
 disastrous fortune. 
 
 It was nothing, Tod said, only on his way to 
 school he had come upon a blind man who played 
 the fiddle and sold lead-pencils, and the boy who 
 had been leading him had stolen something from 
 him ; and Tod had voluntarily started in pursuit 
 72
 
 TOD 
 
 of the fugitive, only to overtake him after a pro 
 longed chase of more than a mile. "And now 
 I ve got you out o town," said the offender, 
 wheeling suddenly upon him, "I ll jist meller 
 your head fer you!" After a long pause, in 
 which Tod s face was hidden from the curious 
 group about him, as the teacher bent above him 
 at the back steps pouring water on his head, he 
 continued: "Didn t think the little cuss was so 
 stout! Oh! I m scratched up, but you ought to 
 see him ! And you ought to hear him holler 
 Nuff! and you ought to see him hand over 
 three boxes of pens and them penholders and 
 pencils he stol d, and a whole bunch o envelopes; 
 there s blood on some of em, and the blind man 
 said I could keep em, and he give me a lead- 
 pencil, too, with red in one end and blue in the 
 other. Father, you sharpen it." 
 
 Tod never spoke better in his llle than on that 
 memorable afternoon so well indeed did he ac 
 quit himself that the good old father failed to 
 censure him that evening for the sin of fighting, 
 and perhaps never would have done so had not 
 the poor blind man so far forgotten the dignity of 
 his great affliction as to get as drunk as he was 
 blind two evenings following, and play the riddle 
 in front of the meeting-house during divine serv 
 ice. 
 
 73
 
 TOD 
 
 It was in the vacation following these latter- 
 mentioned incidents that an occurrence of far more 
 seriousness took place. 
 
 Tod had never seen a circus, for until this event 
 ful epoch in our simple history the humble little 
 village had never been honored with the presence 
 of this "most highly moral and instructive exhibi 
 tion of the age." When the grand cavalcade, 
 with its blaring music and its richly caparisoned 
 horses, with their nodding plumes and spangles, 
 four abreast, drawing the identical "fiery chariot" 
 Tod had heard his father talk about; when all the 
 highly painted wagons with their mysterious con 
 tents, and the cunning fairy ponies with their lit 
 tle, fluffy manes and flossy tails when all this 
 burst upon Tod s enraptured eyes, he fell mutely 
 into place behind the band-wagon, with its myriad 
 followers ; and so, dazed, awe-stricken and en 
 tranced, accompanied the pageant on its grand 
 triumphal march around the town. 
 
 Tod carried water for the animals; Tod ran 
 errands of all kinds for the showmen; Tod looked 
 upon the gruff, ill-tempered canvas-hand with an 
 awe approaching reverence. Tod was going to 
 the show, too, for he had been most fortunate in 
 exchanging his poor services of the morning for 
 the "open sesame" of all the dreamed-of wonders 
 of the arena. Tod would laugh and whisper to 
 74
 
 TOD 
 
 himself, hugging the ticket closely to his palpitat 
 ing side, as he ran about on errands of a hundred 
 kinds, occupying every golden interlude of time in 
 drawing the magic passport from his pocket and 
 gloating over the cabalistic legend "Complimen 
 tary," with the accompanying autograph of the 
 fat old manager with the broad, bejewelled ex 
 panse of shirt-front, and a watch-seal as big as a 
 walnut ; while on the reverse side he would glut his 
 vision with an "exterior view of the monster pa 
 vilion," where a "girl poised high in air on a 
 cord, in spangled dress," was kissing her hand to 
 a mighty concourse of people, who waved their 
 hats and handkerchiefs in wildest token of ap 
 proval and acclaim. Nor was this the sole cause of 
 Tod s delight, for the fat man with the big watch- 
 seal had seemed to take a special fancy to him, 
 and had told him he might bring a friend along, 
 that his ticket would pass two. As the gleeful 
 Tod was scampering off to ask the teacher if he 
 wouldn t go, he met his anxious father in a deep 
 state of distress, and was led home to listen in 
 agony and tears to a dismal dissertation on the 
 wickedness of shows, and the unending punish 
 ment awaiting the poor, giddy moths that fluttered 
 round them. Tod was missed next morning. He 
 had retired very early the evening previous. "He 
 acted strange-like," said the good grandmother, 
 
 75
 
 TOD 
 
 recalling vaguely that he hadn t eaten any supper, 
 "and I thought I heard him crying in the night. 
 What was the matter with him, Isaac?" 
 
 Two weeks later Tod was discovered by his 
 distracted father and an officer, cowering behind 
 a roll of canvas, whereon a fat man sat declaring 
 with a breezy nonchalance that no boy of Tod s 
 description was "along o this- ere party." And 
 the defiant Tod, when brought to light, emphatic 
 ally asserted that the fat man was in no wise 
 blamable ; that he had run away on his own hook, 
 and would do it again if he wanted to. But he 
 broke there with a heavy sob ; and the fat man 
 said: "There! there! Cootsey, go along with 
 the old un, and here s a dollar for you." And 
 Tod cried aloud. 
 
 The good minister had brought a letter for him, 
 too, and as the boy read it through his tears he 
 turned homeward almost eagerly. 
 
 " DEAR TOD," it ran: "I have been quite sick since 
 you left me. You must come back, for I miss you, and I 
 can never get well again without you. I ve got a new 
 kink on a pair of stilts I ve made you, but I can t tell how 
 long to make them till you come back. Fanny comes 
 over every day, and talks about you so much I half be 
 lieve sometimes she likes you better than she does her 
 old sick uncle; but I can stand that, because you deserve 
 it, and I m too old for little girls to like very much. It ll 
 
 7 6
 
 TOD 
 
 soon be the Fourth, you know, and we must be getting 
 ready for a big time. Come home at once, for I am 
 waiting. 
 
 "To Stoddard Anderson, from his old friend and 
 teacher/ 
 
 Tod went home. He hastened to the teacher s 
 darkened room. The dear old face had gown 
 pale so very pale ! The kindly hand reached 
 out to grasp the boy s was thin and wasted, and 
 the gentle voice that he had learned to love was 
 faint and low so very low, it sounded like a 
 prayer. The good minister turned silently and 
 left the two old friends together; and there were 
 tear-drops in his eyes. 
 
 And so the little, staggering life went on alone. 
 Some old woman gossip, peering through the eye 
 of a needle on the institution known as the 
 "Ladies Benevolent Sewing Society," said that 
 * it peared to her like that boy of the preacher s 
 jest kep a-pinin and a-pinin away like, ever 
 sence they fetched him back from his runaway 
 scrape. She d seen him time and time again 
 sence then, and although the little snipe was inno 
 cent-like to all appearances, she d be bound that 
 he was in devilment enough ! Reckoned he was 
 too proud to march in the school p cession at the 
 teacher s funer l; and he didn t go to the meetin - 
 house at all, but putt off to the graveyard by his- 
 
 77
 
 TOD 
 
 se f ; and when they got there with the corpse, 
 Tod was a-settin with his legs a-hangin in the 
 grave, and a-pitchin clods in, and a-smilin . And 
 only jest the other evening," she continued, "as I 
 was comin past there kindo in the dusk-like, that 
 boy was a-settin a-straddle o the grave, and jest 
 a-cryin ! And I thought it kindo strange-like, 
 and stopped and hollered : What s the matter of 
 ye, Tod? and he ups and hollers back: Stumpt 
 my toe, durn ye! and thinks I, My youngster, 
 they ll be a day o reckonin fer you! 
 
 The old world worried on, till July came at last, 
 and with it that most glorious day that wrapped 
 the baby nation in its swaddling-clothes of stripes 
 and stars and laid it in the lap of Liberty. And 
 what a day that was ! and how the birds did sing 
 that morning from the green tops of the trees 
 when the glad sunlight came glancing through the 
 jewelled leaves and woke them ! And not more 
 joyous were the birds, or more riotous the ; r little 
 throbbing hearts to "pipe the trail and cheep and 
 twitter twenty million loves," than the merry 
 children that came fluttering to the grove to join 
 their revelry. 
 
 O brighter than a dream toward the boy that 
 swung his hat from the tree-top near the brook 
 swept the procession of children from the town. 
 And he flushed with some strange ecstasy as he 
 
 78
 
 TOD 
 
 saw a little girl in white, with a wreath of ever 
 green, wave her crimson sash in answer to him, 
 while the column slowly filed across the open 
 bridge, where yet again he saw her reappear in 
 the reflection in the stream below. Then, after 
 the dull opening of prayer, and the more tedious 
 exercises following, how the woods did ring with 
 laughter; how the boys vied with one another in 
 their labors of arranging swings and clearing un 
 derbrush away preparatory to a day of unconfined 
 enjoyment; and how the girls shrieked to "see the 
 black man coming," and how coquettishly they 
 struggled when captured and carried off by that 
 dread being, and yet what eagerness they displayed 
 in his behalf! And "Ring" men and women 
 even joining in the game, and kissing one anoth 
 er s wives and husbands like mad. Why, even the 
 ugly old gentleman, with a carbuncle on the back 
 of his neck, grew riotous with mirth, and when 
 tripped full length upon the sward by the little 
 widow in half-mourning, bustled nimbly to his 
 feet and kissed her, with some wicked pun about 
 "grass" widows, that made him laugh till his face 
 grew as red as his carbuncle. That bashful young 
 man who had straggled off alone, sitting so un 
 comfortably upon a log, killing bugs and spiders, 
 like an ugly giant with a monster club how he 
 
 79
 
 TOD 
 
 must have envied the airy freedom of those "old 
 boys and girls" ! 
 
 Then there was a group of older men talking so 
 long and earnestly about the weather and the crops 
 that they had not discovered that the shade of the 
 old beech they sat beneath had stolen silently away 
 and left them sitting in the sun, and was even then 
 performing its refreshing office for a big, sore-eyed 
 dog, who, with panting jaws and lolling tongue, 
 was winking away the lives of a swarm of gnats 
 with the most stoical indifference. 
 
 And so time wore along till dinner came, and 
 women, with big open baskets, bent above the 
 snowy cloths spread out upon the grass, arranging 
 "the substantials" and the dainties of a feast too 
 varied and too toothsome for anything but epicu 
 rean memories to describe. And then the abandon 
 of the voracious guests ! No dainty affectations 
 no formality no etiquette no anything but the 
 full sway of healthful appetites incited by the ex- 
 hilarant exercises of the day into keenest rapacity 
 and relish. 
 
 "Don t you think it s goin* to rain?" asked some 
 one, suddenly. A little rosy-gilled gentleman, 
 with the aid of a chicken-leg for a lever, raised 
 his fat face skyward, and after a serious contem 
 plation of the clouds wouldn t say for certain 
 whether it would rain or not, but informed the un- 
 80
 
 TOD 
 
 fortunate querist, after pulling his head into its 
 usual position and laying down the lever to make 
 room for a bite of bread, that "if it didn t rain 
 there d be a long dry spell" ; and then he snorted 
 a mimic snow-storm of bread-crumbs on his vis 
 a-vis, who looked wronged, and said he "guessed 
 he d take another piece of that-air pie down there." 
 
 It was looking very much like rain by the time 
 the dinner things were cleared away. Anxious 
 mothers, with preserve-stains on their dresses, 
 were running here and there with such exclama 
 tions to the men-folks as "Do hurry up!" and 
 "For goodness sake, John, take the baby till I 
 find my parasol ! " and "There, Thomas, don t lug 
 that basket off till I find my pickle-dish!" 
 
 Already the girls had left the swings, which 
 were being taken down, and were tying handker 
 chiefs over their hats and standing in despairing 
 contemplation of the ruin of their dresses. Some 
 one called from the stand for the ladies not to be 
 at all alarmed, it wasn t going to rain, and there 
 
 wasn t a particle of danger of ; but there a 
 
 clap of thunder interrupted, and went on growling 
 menacingly, while a little girl, with her hair blown 
 wildly over her bare shoulders, and with a face, 
 which a moment before glowed like her crimson 
 scarf, now whiter than her snowy dress, ran past 
 the stand and fell fainting to the ground. "Is 
 
 8l
 
 TOD 
 
 there a doctor on the grounds?" called a loud 
 voice in the distance, and, without waiting for a 
 response "For God s sake, come here quick; a 
 boy has fallen from the swing, and maybe killed 
 himself!" 
 
 And then the crowd gathered round him there, 
 men with white faces, and frightened women and 
 little, shivering children. 
 
 "Whose boy is it?" 
 
 "Hush; here comes his father." And the good 
 minister, with stark features and clinched hands, 
 passed through the surging throng that closed be 
 hind him even as the waves on Pharaoh. 
 
 Did I say all were excited ? Not all ; for there 
 was one calm face, though very pale paler yet 
 for being pillowed on the green grass and the 
 ferns. 
 
 "You mustn t move me," the boy said when he 
 could speak; "tell em to come here." He smiled 
 and tried to lift and fold his arms about his father s 
 neck. "Poor father! poor father!" as though 
 speaking to himself, "I always loved you, father, 
 only you d never believe it never believe it. 
 Now you will. I ll see mother, now mother. 
 Don t cry I m hurt, and I don t cry. And I ll 
 see the teacher, too. He said I would. He said 
 we would always be together there. Where s 
 Fanny? Tell her tell her " But that strange 
 
 82
 
 TOD 
 
 unending silence fell upon his lips, and as the 
 dying eyes looked up and out beyond the sighing 
 tree-tops, he smiled to catch a gleam of sunshine 
 through the foolish cloud that tried so hard to 
 weep.
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 IN the early winter 1875, returning from a rather 
 lengthy sojourn in the Buckeye State, where a 
 Hoosier is scrutinized as critically as a splinter in 
 the thumb of a near-sighted man, I mentally re 
 solved that just as soon as the lazy engine dragging 
 me toward home had poked its smutty nose into 
 the selvedge of my native State, I would disem 
 bark, lift my voice, and shout for joy for being 
 safely delivered out of a land of perpetual stran 
 gers. 
 
 This opportunity was afforded me at Union 
 City a fussy old-hen-of-a-town, forever clucking 
 over its little brood of railroads, as though worried 
 to see them running over the line, and bristling 
 with the importance of its charge. 
 
 The place is not an attractive one, stepping from 
 the train in the early dusk of a December evening; 
 in fact, the immediate view of the town is almost 
 entirely concealed by a big square-faced hotel, 
 standing, as it were, on the very platform, as 
 though its "runners" were behind time, and it had 
 come down to solicit its own custom. A walk of 
 
 85
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 sixty steps, however, gave me a sweeping view of 
 the main business street of the city ; and here it 
 was, by one of those rare freaks of circumstance, 
 that I suddenly found myself standing face to face 
 with an old friend. "Smith!" said I. "Correct!" 
 said he, and all lacking to complete the tableau 
 was the red light. And now, as my story has 
 more to do with a more remarkable man than 
 either Smith or myself, I shall hasten to that 
 notable only introducing humbler personages as 
 necessity demands. 
 
 That night was a bragging, blustering, bullying 
 sort of a night. The wind was mad stark, star 
 ing mad; running over and around the town, 
 howling and whooping like a maniac. It whirled 
 and whizzed, and wheeled about and whizzed 
 again. It pelted the pedestrian s face with dust 
 that stung like sleet. It wrenched at the signs, 
 and rattled the doors and windows till the lights 
 inside shivered as with affright. The unfurled 
 awnings fluttered and flapped over the deserted 
 streets like monstrous bats or birds of prey; and, 
 gritting their iron teeth, the shutters lunged and 
 snapped at their fastenings convulsively. Such a 
 night as we like to hide away from, and with a 
 good cigar, a good friend, and a good fire, talk of 
 soothing things and dream. My friend and I were 
 not so isolated, however, upon this occasion ; for 
 86
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 the suddenness of the storm had driven us, for 
 shelter, into "Bowers s Emporium"; and, seated 
 in the rear of the spacious and brightly illuminated 
 store, we might almost "dream we dwelt in mar 
 ble halls," were it not for the rather profuse dis 
 play of merchandise and a voluminous complement 
 of show-cards, reading "Bargains in Overcoats/ 
 "Best and Cheapest Underwear," "Buy Bowers s 
 Boots!" etc. 
 
 The clerks were all idle, and employing their 
 leisure in listening to a "fine-art" conversation, 
 casually introduced by my friend remarking the 
 extraordinary development of the bust and limbs 
 of a danseuse on a paper collar-box ; and after de 
 ploring the prostitution to which real talent was 
 subjected, and satirizing the general degeneracy 
 of modern art, he had drifted back to the rare old 
 days of Hans Holbein, Albert Diirer, and that 
 guild. And while dwelling enthusiastically upon 
 the genius of Angelo, I became aware that among 1 
 the listeners was a remarkable man. It was not 
 his figure that impressed me, for that was of the 
 ordinary mould, and rather shabbily attired in a 
 tattered and ill-fitting coat of blue, sadly faded 
 and buttonless ; a short-waisted vest of no particu 
 lar pattern, fastened together by means of a loos 
 ened loop of binding pulled through a button-hole, 
 and held to its place by a stumpy lead-pencil with 
 
 87
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 a preponderance of rubber at the end ; the panta 
 loons very baggy and fraying at the bottoms, as 
 though in excessive sympathy with a pair of 
 coarse, ungainly army shoes that wore the appear 
 ance of having been through "Sherman s march 
 to the sea." 
 
 Not remarkable, I say, in these particulars, for 
 since "tramping" has arrived at the dignity of a 
 profession, such characteristics are by no means 
 uncommon ; but when taken in conjunction with 
 a head and face that would have served as model 
 for either Abraham, Isaac, or Jacob, in patriarchal 
 cast of feature and flow of beard, it is no wonder 
 that my fancy saw in the figure before me a re 
 markable man. He stood uncovered, and in an 
 eager listening attitude, as though drinking every 
 syllable to the very dregs. His eyes were large 
 and lustrous, and with that dreamy, far-off look 
 peculiar to that quality of mind that sees what is 
 described, even though buried in Pompeiian ruins, 
 or under the pyramids of Egypt. 
 
 He met my rather scrutinizing gaze with a 
 friendly and forgiving expression adding an in 
 tuitive affinity by a nestling of the palms one within 
 the other and a genial friction indicative of warm 
 impulse and openness, yet withal suggesting a 
 due subservience to my own free will to accept
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 the same as token of genuine esteem and admira 
 tion. 
 
 I thought I read his character aright in fancying, 
 "Here is a man of more than ordinary culture and 
 refinement," and I determined, if it were possi 
 ble, to know him better. When I took an early 
 opportunity to refer to him for information he re 
 sponded eagerly, and in so profuse and elegant a 
 style of diction that I was surprised. 
 
 He referred to Angelo as "that master whose 
 iron pencil painted language on lips of stone, and 
 whose crudest works in clay might well outlive the 
 marble monuments of modern art." He glanced 
 from one topic to another with a grace and ease 
 that not only betokened a true mastery of the 
 language, but an inexhaustible fund of informa 
 tion; nor was it long ere my "stock in hand" had 
 dwindled down to the insignificant "yes-and-of- 
 course" verbosity that is not worth the giving 
 away. He dwelt with particular fondness upon 
 literature ; frequently referring to me as to works 
 I most admired, and pointing out the beauties and 
 excellence of old authors Shakespeare, Milton, 
 Pope, Dryden, and a host of others long dead and 
 gone, but whose works live on eternally. All 
 these, as they were successively reviewed, he 
 quoted in a manner that evinced a thorough knowl 
 edge of their worth. 
 
 89
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 At last, after no little artifice and strategy, I 
 drew him to his own history, which, as he pro 
 ceeded with, grew fantastically interesting. His 
 father, passing rich, had educated him for the 
 ministry; but the profession didn t suit him or, 
 rather, he didn t suit the profession ; for, to be 
 frank, he was rather inclined in his younger days 
 to be a "graceless dog" ; and so, when it became 
 evident that he must shift for himself, more at the 
 instigation of literary friends than from any ambi 
 tion or choice, he had entered the journalistic field, 
 beginning at the bottom of the ladder the bot 
 tom and gradually rising from the compositor s 
 case to the very rung of editorial success when 
 there came a crash, a flaw in the grain, my boy, 
 a flaw in the grain and that flaw Well, no 
 matter! The noblest minds had toppled from the 
 height, and crumbled to the merest debris of 
 pauper intellect. The grandest tomb the finger 
 of the nation could point out was glutted with 
 such food. Did he not remember poor Prentice, 
 and, in memory, recall him now as vividly as 
 though but yesterday, entering the sanctum of the 
 Louisville "Journal," with the old-time greeting: 
 "Ah, Charles; ready for work, I see. Well, here 
 am I punctual as Death." And then, after a 
 good stiff brandy, which he could hardly raise to 
 his lips with both trembling hands, poor George 1 
 90
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 how he would dictate, so rapidly that he (Charles) 
 could scarcely put it down, although a clever hand 
 at writing in those days. Served as amanuensis 
 for five years, and transcribed with his own hand, 
 " Tis Midnight s Holy Hour," at ten o clock in 
 the morning, and had the poem entire ready for 
 the compositor at half-past. At such times it was 
 nothing uncommon for George to say, "Well 
 done, thou Good and Faithful ! the big end of the 
 day is left you to transcribe as your pleasure may 
 dictate. Only bear in mind, I shall expect a little 
 gem from your individual pen for to-morrow s 
 issue ! 
 
 "And do you write?" I broke in abruptly. 
 
 "I used to write," he answered, as though loath 
 to make the acknowledgment "that is, I some 
 times rode Pegasus as a groom might ride his 
 master s horse but my flights were never high 
 never high!" 
 
 "For what reason, may I inquire? Surely you 
 had no lack of inspiration with such men as Pren 
 tice about you ?" 
 
 "Ay, there s the rub!" he sighed, with a nega 
 tive shake. "The association of great men does 
 not always tend to develop genius ; the more espe 
 cially when one s subservient position revolution 
 izes him into a mere machine. Yet I found some 
 time, of course, for verse-making; and, chiefly 
 
 91
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 owing to the kindly encouragement of Mr. Pren 
 tice, I gave to the world, as he was pleased to say, 
 many little poems ; but those of them that survive 
 to-day are vagrants, like myself, and drifting about 
 at the mercy of the press." Here the old man 
 sighed heavily and mechanically fumbled his 
 pencil. 
 
 I was growing deeply interested in the strange 
 character before me, and although the faces of the 
 group smiled at me significantly, I was not to be 
 beguiled from my new acquaintance. 
 
 "There is a question," said I, "I would like to 
 ask you since from actual experience you are 
 doubtless well informed upon it: I have often 
 heard it argued that the best productions of au 
 thors poets in particular are written under the 
 influence of what they are pleased to term inspi 
 ration ; can you enlighten me as to the truth of 
 that assertion?" 
 
 "I can say in reply," said the old man, with his 
 unwavering eyes fixed upon mine "I can say in 
 reply that the best productions of authors poets 
 in particular are written under the influence of 
 what they are pleased to term inspiration. I have 
 seen it proved." 
 
 "How proved?" I asked. 
 
 "Listen. Take, for example, an instance Twill 
 cite : A man worn and enfeebled by age, whose 
 92
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 eyes are dimmed to sightlessness almost; whose 
 mind, once clear and vivid as the light of day, is 
 now wavering and fickle as the wind : and yet at 
 times this influence comes upon him like an ava 
 lanche, and as irresistible; a voice cries, Write! 
 write ! write ! nor does he know, when he has 
 obeyed that summons, what his trembling hand 
 has written. Further, that this is divine inspira 
 tion, his fragmentary productions will oftentimes 
 be in the exact manner and diction of writers long 
 since passed away; and I am satisfied they are 
 produced at the direct dictation of the departed. I 
 know this!" 
 
 "You astonish me," said I, in unfeigned won 
 der; "you say you know this how do you know 
 it?" 
 
 "Because I am the man." 
 
 Although the assertion, in my mind, was simply 
 preposterous, there was a certain majesty in the 
 utterance that held me half in awe. I looked upon 
 him as one might look upon some curious being 
 from an unknown world. He was moving now 
 pacing grotesquely up and down a little space of 
 half a dozen steps, and wheeling, at the limits of 
 his walk, as nimbly as the harlequin in the panto 
 mime, and repeating, as though to himself, "I am 
 the man; I am the man." 
 
 "Well, sir," said I, forcing myself into an air 
 
 93
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 of indifference I did not feel "well, sir, not for 
 a moment questioning your own belief as to this 
 strange influence which may possess you at times, 
 you will pardon me for expressing the vaguest 
 scepticism, since I have never been so fortunate 
 as to witness an actual demonstration." He was 
 about to interrupt me, but I continued coolly, "By 
 what circumstance is this influence introduced or 
 how produced is it " 
 
 He broke in on me with a keen little pang of a 
 laugh that almost made me shudder. "You are 
 my convert," he exclaimed excitedly. "Quick! 
 Give me paper give me paper!" But before I 
 could take my note-book from my pocket he had 
 hurriedly snatched a scrap of wrapping-paper from 
 the counter, and bending over it, was writing with 
 great rapidity. 
 
 His manner was decidedly singular. In the oc 
 casional pauses he would make he would lean his 
 forehead in the palm of his left hand, with the 
 fingers dancing nervously upon the bald spot on 
 the summit of his head, while with the hand that 
 held the pencil he kept up a continued rotary 
 movement in the air. Then he would suddenly 
 pounce down upon the paper before him as though 
 in a perfect frenzy of delight, and line after line 
 would appear as if by magic, each succeeding one 
 preluded by that sharp little yelp of a laugh : and 
 
 94
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 ere three minutes had elapsed, he had covered 
 both sides of the paper. He then threw down his 
 pencil, as though reluctantly, pushed me the scrap 
 and motioned me to read. 
 
 I was at first completely mystified, for what I 
 had confidently expected to be rhyme was prose ; 
 but ere I had examined it far I was as highly grati 
 fied as at first disappointed. The writing, al 
 though so recklessly scrawled, was quite legible, 
 and here and there gave evidence of more than 
 ordinary grace and elegance ; the punctuation, so 
 far as I was able to judge, seemed perfect in every 
 part; and, in fact, the entire production bore the 
 appearance of having been executed by a skillful 
 hand. 
 
 I copy it verbatim from the original scrap, which 
 novr lies before me : 
 
 By this time they had come upon the figure of the old 
 kag, seated by the roadside, and, in harsh, cracked voice, 
 crooning a dismal ballad. " By God s rood," quoth the 
 knight, in a burst of admiration, " did I not tell thee twas 
 some fair princess, decoyed from her father s castle and 
 Urns transformed, through the despicable arts of some 
 wicked enchanter; for thou hast but to perk an ear to 
 kare the sense of hearing bathed and overflowed with 
 melody. Dost thou not also note rare grace and sweetest 
 dignity roiced, as it were, from the very tatters that eo- 
 clothe her form?" " Indeed thou mayest," said the squire; 
 "for I have heard it said rags may enfold the pure* 
 
 95
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 gold. Yet in this instance I am restrained to think it 
 more like the hidalgo s dinner very little meat and a 
 good deal of table-cloth. " " Hold thy peace, bladder- 
 head," exclaimed the knight, " lest I make thee gnaw thy 
 words with loosened teeth. Listen what liquid syllables 
 are spilled upon the atmosphere: " 
 
 My fether s halls, so rich and rare, 
 Are desolate and bleak and bare; 
 My father s heart and halls are one, 
 Since I, their life and light, am gone. 
 
 O, valiant knight, with hand of steel 
 And heart of gold, hear my appeal: 
 Release me from the spoiler s charms, 
 And bear me to my father s arms. 
 
 The knight had by this time thrown himself from his 
 steed, and with lance reversed and visor doffed he sank 
 upon his knees in the slime and ooze of the dike, exclaim 
 ing: "Be of good heart, fair princess! Thy succor is at 
 hand, since the Fates have woven thee the pearl of 
 pearls into the warp and woof of my great destiny. 
 Nay, nay! No thanks! Thy father s beaming eye alone 
 shall be my guerdon, for home thou shalt go, even though 
 I must needs truckle thee thither on a barrow." 
 
 "Good," said I, grasping the old man by the 
 hand. "Hail, Cervantes!" 
 
 "Cervantes? Cervantes?" he mused, as though 
 bewildered; "why, what have I been writing? Is 
 it not poetry?" 
 
 "Yes," I replied enthusiastically, "both prose 
 96
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 and poetry, and that of the rarest school. Read 
 for yourself." 
 
 I handed him the scrap, but he pushed it from 
 him with a gesture of impatience. "I told you 
 once I could not read it, nor do I [know what I 
 have written. Read it aloud." 
 
 Although I hastened to comply, I did it with a 
 decided air of incredulity as to the belief that he 
 did not already know every word of it, and even 
 closed with the gratuitous comment that I felt 
 assured the quotation was perfect in every par 
 ticular. 
 
 "Quotation!" repeated the old man, commiser- 
 atively; "quotation! Were you as well versed in 
 such works, my son, as you led me at first to pre 
 sume, you would know at once that not a single 
 line of that occurs in Don Quixote, although I 
 do grant that I am the humble instrument through 
 which the great Cervantes has just spoken." With 
 this remark, delivered in a half-rebuking, half- 
 compassionate tone, he stood milking his beard 
 and blinking at the chandelier. 
 
 I acknowledged my error, and asked pardon for 
 the insinuation, which I begged he would believe 
 was not intended to offend ; and that, upon second 
 thought, I was satisfied that no such matter did 
 exist in the printed history, which fact I have since 
 proved by a thorough investigation. 
 
 97
 
 A REMARKABLE MAX 
 
 It required, however, considerable inventive tact 
 and show of admiration to counteract the effect of 
 my indiscreet remark ; and not was this effectually 
 accomplished until I had incidentally discovered a 
 marked resemblance of his brow to Shakespeare s, 
 which, by actual measurement, I found to corre 
 spond to a fraction with the measurement of the 
 mask of that illustrious bard, as furnished by an 
 exhaustive article I had seen a short time previous 
 in one of our magazines. 
 
 This happily brought about the result I so much 
 longed for, as I was extremely desirous of a fur 
 ther opportunity in which to study the character of 
 this remarkable man. "Ah, Shakespeare!" said 
 he, in a burst of genuine eloquence, "there was 
 a mind the gods endowed with wisdom ages have 
 yet to learn ; for bright and lustrous as it shines 
 to-day the Morning Star of human intellect its 
 glittering purity has yet a million million dawns, 
 each brighter than the last. Its chastened rays are 
 yet to blaze and radiate the darkened ways 
 Hold ! My pencil 1 Quick quick ! 
 
 He snatched at the paper wildly, and bending 
 over it, began writing with a vindictiveness of ef 
 fort that was alarming. He slashed the t s and 
 stabbed the punctuation-points savagely. The 
 writing continued, interspersed occasionally with 
 a pause in which he would flourish his pencil like 
 98
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 a dripping sword, only to be plunged again and 
 again into the quivering breast of its victim. Fi 
 nally he dashed it down, pushed the paper from 
 him as one would spurn a vanquished enemy, and 
 sank, limp and exhausted, into a chair. I snatched 
 up the paper eagerly, and read : 
 
 Falstajf. I call him dog, forsooth, because he 
 
 snarls 
 
 Snarls, d ye hear? and laves his rabid fangs 
 In slobber-froth that drips in slimy gouts 
 Of venomous slander. Out upon the cur! 
 He sets his mangy foot upon the sod, 
 And grass grows rank and withers at the touch, 
 And tangles into wiry thatch for snakes 
 To spawn beneath. The very air he breathes 
 Becomes a poison gas, and generates 
 Disease and pestilence. Would he were here, 
 That I might whet my sword against his ribs, 
 Although his rotten, putrid soul unhoused 
 Would breed a stench worse than my barber s 
 
 breath. 
 The dog! The damnable 
 
 Pistol. Hist! here he comes! 
 God s body! master, has he overheard, 
 Tis cock-crow with thy ghost! 
 
 (Enter Pot ns.) How now, my Jack 
 
 Prince ass of Jacks, methought I heard thee braj. 
 
 99
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 Falstaff. Ay, well and marry! for thi varlet 
 
 here 
 
 Deserves more brays than praise, the scurvy dog! 
 Good lack! thou might st have heard me call him 
 
 dog 
 A pebble s toss from this; but now that thou art 
 
 come, 
 
 My dagger-points of wrath do melt away 
 Before thy genial smile as icicles 
 Might ooze to nothingness at summer noon. 
 That other flask, you dog! and have a care 
 Thou handle it more gently than the first, 
 Lest I, as thou didst it, thy noddle burst." 
 
 Although expecting something after the Shake 
 spearian school, I was not prepared for this, and 
 in reading it aloud I actually found myself endeav 
 oring to imitate the stage manner of Hackett, 
 whom years ago I had seen in "King Henry IV" 
 at the old Metropolitan, Indianapolis. "Ah!" 
 said the old man, "you are more familiar with 
 that, I see. Tell me, have you ever seen those 
 lines in Shakespeare ?" There was such a look 
 of conscious triumph in his face, so self-satisfied 
 an expression, that I although half believing I 
 was in some way being duped could but reply 
 that I was most thoroughly convinced the lines 
 did not occur in any of the works of that great 
 master. 
 
 "They do not," said the old man, briefly. 
 
 100
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 "But how," said I, "is it possible for you to so 
 perfectly imitate his style, not only in language, 
 but theme, expression, force, character, grotesque- 
 ness " 
 
 "Stop, my son; stop!" he broke in. "Must I 
 again remind you that it is not imitation : I take 
 no credit to myself how dare I when in writing 
 thus my individual mind is gone, simply chaotic? 
 It is not imitation; it is Shakespeare." 
 
 I could venture no further comment without fear 
 of offending, and he already stood as though hesi 
 tating to depart. 
 
 "Stay, then," said I, "until I see a further ex 
 ercise of this marvellous power you possess. 
 Here, sit down, rest awhile ; you seem almost ex 
 hausted." 
 
 "I am nearly so," he replied, "but there is no 
 rest for me until this influence is entirely subsided. 
 No rest for me yet ; no rest! no rest!" 
 
 He was again pacing his old walk, now like a 
 weary sentinel, and I thought as I gazed upon 
 him, "What riddle of the human kind is this?" 
 Over and over again came the question ; and over 
 and over an old rhyme I had somewhere read, 
 mockingly responded 
 
 " Rain, rain, and sun! a rainbow in the sky! 
 A young man will be wiser by and by; 
 An old man s wit may wander ere he die." 
 
 101
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 And lulled by the mild monotony of this, I was 
 fast drifting into a dreamy train of thought, when 
 the old man halted suddenly, and with one elbow 
 leaning on the counter and his head resting on his 
 hand, he began humming a tune a strangely 
 sweet and tender air; low, and just a little harsh 
 at first and indistinct, but welling softly into 
 cadence wonderfully rich and pure ; then quaver 
 ing again in minor swoons of melody so delicately 
 beautiful I can but liken the effect produced to that 
 ethereal mystery of sound unravelled from the 
 zithern by a master hand, 
 
 "A slender thread of song in saddest tune." 
 
 I had leaned forward with my own head resting 
 in my hand, that I might the better listen, and was 
 not aware, until the song abruptly ended, that the 
 old man had been writing as he sang. 
 
 "There," said he, handing me the scrap, "you 
 have heard the tune; here are the words, per 
 haps." 
 
 It may have been a very foolish thing, it may 
 have been weak and womanish, yet as my eyes 
 bent over it and read, the lines grew curiously 
 blurred toward the last ; nor did I guess the cause 
 until a tear a great ripe tear-dropfell upon my 
 hand. And, reader, could I present the song to 
 you just as it came to me, with all the strange su- 
 
 ioa
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 foundings the stranger experience of the hour; 
 the solemn silence of the group ; the wailing ol 
 the wind outside as though the world, weary of 
 itself, could only sigh, sigh, sigh! could I pre 
 lude it with that low, sweet murmuring of melody 
 that haunts me even now, your own eyes needs 
 must moisten as you read: 
 
 THE HARP OF THE MINSTREL. 
 
 The harp of the minstrel has never a tone 
 
 As sad as the song in his bosom to-night, 
 For the magical touch of his fingers alone 
 
 Cannot waken the echoes that breathe it aright; 
 But oh! as the smile of the moon may impart 
 
 A sorrow to one in an alien clime, 
 Let the light of the melody fall on the heart, 
 
 And cadence his grief into musical rhyme. 
 
 The faces have faded, the eyes have grown dim 
 
 That once were his passionate love and his pride; 
 And alas! all the smiles that once blossomed for him 
 
 Have fallen away as the flowers have died. 
 The hands that entwined him the laureate s wreath 
 
 And crowned him with fame in the long, long ago, 
 Like the laurels are withered and folded beneath 
 
 The grass and the stubble the frost and the snow. 
 
 Then sigh, if thou wilt, as the whispering strings 
 Strive ever in vain for the utterance clear, 
 
 And think of the sorrowful spirit that sings, 
 And jewel the song with the gem of ft tear. 
 
 IOJ
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 For the harp of the minstrel has never a tone 
 
 As sad as the song in his bosom to-night, 
 And the magical touch of his fingers alone 
 
 Cannot waken the echoes that breathe it aright. 
 
 I had read the lines over to myself, and al 
 though recognizing many touches decidedly like 
 those of the famous author of Lalla Rookh, I was 
 not wholly satisfied with the production ; and it 
 struck me with peculiar force that an ethereal 
 composition would surely not be so lavishly tinct 
 ured with unutterable sorrow aside from being 
 far inferior to a hundred earthly songs of Moore s. 
 So, with this argument for my weapon, I deter 
 mined to conquer the superstition that had almost 
 overpowered me. I had noticed, too, in both 
 former instances a singular fact: The old man, 
 though so ready to fend off all comment that 
 might reflect a single ray of praise upon himself, 
 listened with more of the air of a critic than one 
 whose interest was merely that of curiosity, and 
 still when the fragmentary productions were read 
 aloud, a look of more than ordinary satisfaction 
 would lighten up his eyes. These facts, hastily 
 reviewed, determined me upon a course of action 
 I had instant opportunity to adopt. 
 
 "Read it aloud," said the old man, impatiently; 
 "read it aloud!" 
 
 I complied with more than usual enthusiasm 
 
 104
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 reading verbatim from the copy, until I came to 
 the repetition of the first four lines, which I thus 
 transposed, or, rather, paraphrased. 
 
 " The harp of the minstrel has never a note 
 
 As sad as the song in his bosom expressed, 
 And the magical touch of his fingers afloat 
 
 Drifts over the echoes that sleep in the breast" 
 
 This I was careful to deliver without emphasis or 
 mark of any kind by which he might discover any 
 imposition on my part. As I closed I stole a hasty 
 glance at his face, and was gratified to find it wear 
 ing a rather startled expression : not only did his 
 features betray a puzzled and questioning air, but 
 his hand was mechanically extended, as though 
 reaching for the paper in my own. 
 
 "Do you want to see it?" I asked suddenly, 
 handing him the scrap. 
 
 "Yes, I Oh, no no," he broke in, dropping 
 his hand, and his face coloring vividly ; but turning 
 again as quickly, he added: "Yes, give it to me. 
 Where are the others? I must be going." 
 
 "Why must you go?" I asked, still retaining- 
 the scrap; "I had hoped " 
 
 "I am going ! " he interrupted, brusquely, snatch 
 ing up the scraps that lay upon the counter, and 
 reaching for the one I still held. "Give me the 
 poem. I will trouble you no longer." 
 
 105
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 "Allow me to retain it, I beg of you," said I, 
 with a significant smile, and the slightest tinge of 
 sarcasm in my voice. "Let me keep it as a befit 
 ting memento of the inspiration I have seen so 
 potently exercised." 
 
 His face was pale with anger as he replied : 
 
 "I will not. When you want rhyme write it 
 yourself. You can at least write doggerel." 
 
 "Very neat," said I, laughing. "We under 
 stand each other, so let s be friends. Here is my 
 hand and a dollar besides. Give me the other 
 scraps I want them all." 
 
 I took them from him as he clutched at the bill, 
 which he smothered in his palm, and turned away 
 without a word. 
 
 "Here, Charley," called one of the bystanders, 
 "half of that s enough for you to-night." 
 
 The door slammed violently and he was gone. 
 
 "Old Cain will have that dollar in just five 
 minutes," continued the man. 
 
 "And who s Old Cain?" I asked. 
 
 "Keeps the doggeiy just over the line." 
 
 "Old Charley" M is a well-knpwn character 
 
 in Union City his home, in fact, although he often 
 disappears for long periods, but, as my informant 
 remarked, "always turns up again like a bad 
 penny." 
 
 His story of his early life is at least based upon 
 106
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 
 
 the truth, but now so highly colored it is a de 
 cidedly difficult matter to detect that simple ele 
 ment. 
 
 Originally he was a printer, but early abandoned 
 that vocation for another, and that in turn for an 
 other, and so on, until by easy gradations he had 
 become, as the old saw has it, "Jack of all trades 
 and master of none." 
 
 Among his many accomplishments he is a mu 
 sician of considerable skill plays the flute, violin, 
 and guitar all quite passably; is a great reader, 
 a fine conversationalist which accomplishment I 
 personally vouch for. But chief of all his accom^ 
 plishments is that of writing clever imitations of 
 the old authors and poets. These productions he 
 prepares with great care, commits them to mem 
 ory, and is ready to dispose of them by as ingeni 
 ous a method. 
 
 And yet, although he be a vagabond ; although 
 his friends such as they are are first to call him 
 sot; although the selfish world that hurries past 
 may jostle him unnoticed from the path ; and al 
 though he styles himself a "graceless dog," in 
 all candor, and in justice to my true belief, I call 
 him a remarkable man. 
 
 107
 
 A NEST-EGG 
 
 BUT a few miles from the city here, and on the 
 sloping banks of the stream noted more for its 
 plenitude of "chubs" and "shiners" than the 
 gamier two- and four-pound bass for which, in 
 season, so many credulous anglers flock and lie in 
 wait, stands a country residence, so convenient to 
 the stream, and so inviting in its pleasant exterior 
 and comfortable surroundings barn, dairy, and 
 spring-house that the weary, sunburnt, and dis 
 heartened fisherman, out from the dusty town for 
 a day of recreation, is often wont to seek its hos 
 pitality. The house in style of architecture is 
 something of a departure from the typical farm 
 house, being designed and fashioned with no re 
 gard to symmetry or proportion, but rather, as is 
 suggested, built to conform to the matter-of-fact 
 and most sensible ideas of its owner, who, if it 
 pleased him, would have small windows where 
 large ones ought to be, and vice versa, whether 
 they balanced properly to the eye or not. And 
 chimneys he would have as many he wanted, and 
 no two alike, in either height or size. And if he 
 
 109
 
 A NEST-EGG 
 
 wanted the front of the house turned from all pos 
 sible view, as though abashed at any chance of 
 public scrutiny, why, that was his affair and not 
 the public s; and, with like perverseness, if he 
 chose to thrust his kitchen under the public s very 
 nose, what should the generally fagged-out, half- 
 famished representative of that dignified public do 
 but reel in his dead minnow, shoulder his fishing- 
 rod, clamber over the back fence of the old farm 
 house and inquire within, or jog back to the city, 
 inwardly anathematizing that very particular local 
 ity or the whole rural district in general. That is 
 just the way that farm-house looked to the writer 
 of this sketch one week ago so individual it 
 seemed so liberal, and yet so independent. It 
 wasn t even weather-boarded, but, instead, was 
 covered smoothly with some cement, as though 
 the plasterers had come while the folks were visit 
 ing, and so, unable to get at the interior, had just 
 plastered the outside. 
 
 I am more than glad that I was hungry enough, 
 and weary enough, and wise enough to take the 
 house at its first suggestion ; for, putting away my 
 fishing-tackle for the morning, at least, I went up 
 the sloping bank, crossed the dusty road, and con 
 fidently clambered over the fence. 
 
 Not even a growling dog to intimate that I was 
 trespassing. All was open gracious-looking 
 
 HO
 
 A NEST-EGG 
 
 pastoral. The sward beneath my feet was velvet- 
 like in elasticity, and the scarce visible path I fol 
 lowed through it led promptly to the open kitchen 
 door. From within I heard a woman singing 
 some old ballad in an undertone, while at the 
 threshold a trim, white-spurred rooster stood poised 
 on one foot, curving his glossy neck and cocking 
 his wattled head as though to catch the meaning 
 of the words. I paused. It was a scene I felt 
 restrained from breaking in upon, nor would I, 
 but for the sound of a strong male voice coming 
 around the corner of the house: 
 
 "Sir. Howdy!" 
 
 Turning, I saw a rough-looking but kindly 
 featured man of sixty-five, the evident owner of 
 the place. 
 
 I returned his salutation with some confusion 
 and much deference. "I must really beg your 
 pardon for this intrusion," I began, "but I have 
 been tiring myself out fishing, and your home 
 here looked so pleasant and I felt so thirsty 
 and" 
 
 "Want a drink, I reckon," said the old man, 
 turning abruptly toward the kitchen door, then 
 pausing as suddenly, with a backward motion of 
 his thumb "jest f oiler the path here down to 
 the little brick that s the spring and you ll find 
 at you ve come to the right place fer drinkin - 
 
 6 HI
 
 A NEST-EGG 
 
 worter ! Hold on a minute tel I git you a tumbler 
 there re nothin down there but a tin." 
 
 "Then don t trouble yourself any further," I 
 said, heartily, "for I d rather drink from a tin cup 
 than a goblet of pure gold." 
 
 "And so d I," said the old man, reflectively, 
 turning mechanically, and following me down the 
 path. " Druther drink out of a tin er jest a fruit- 
 can with the top knocked off er er er a gourd," 
 he added in a zestful, reminiscent tone of voice, 
 that so heightened my impatient thirst that I 
 reached the spring-house fairly in a run. 
 
 "Well-sir!" exclaimed my host, in evident de 
 light, as I stood dipping my nose in the second 
 cupful of the cool, revivifying liquid, and peering 
 in a congratulatory kind of way at the blurred and 
 rubicund reflection of my features in the bottom 
 of the cup, "well-sir, blame-don! ef it don t do a 
 feller good to see you enjoyin of it thataway! 
 But don t you drink too much o the worter! 
 cause there re some sweet milk over there in one 
 o them crocks, maybe; and ef you ll jest, kindo 
 keerful-like, lift off the led of that third one, say, 
 over there to yer left, and dip you out a tinful er 
 two o that, w y, it ll do you good to drink it, and 
 it ll do me good to see you at it But hold up! 
 hold up!" he called, abruptly, as, nowise loath, 
 I bent above the vessel designated. "Hold yet 
 112
 
 A NEST-EGG 
 
 bosses fer a second ! Here s Marthy ; let her git 
 it fer ye." 
 
 If I was at first surprised and confused, meet 
 ing the master of the house, I was wholly startled 
 and chagrined in my present position before its 
 mistress. But as I arose, and stammered, in my 
 confusion, some incoherent apology, I was again 
 reassured and put at greater ease by the compre 
 hensive and forgiving smile the woman gave me, 
 as I yielded her my place, and, with lifted hat, 
 awaited her further kindness. 
 
 "I came just in time, sir," she said, half laugh 
 ingly, as with strong, bare arms she reached across 
 the gurgling trough and replaced the lid that I had 
 partially removed. "I came just in time, I see, 
 to prevent father from having you dip into the 
 morning s-milk, which, of course, has scarcely a 
 veil of cream over the face of it as yet. But men, 
 as you are doubtless willing to admit," she went 
 on jocularly, "don t know about these things. 
 You must pardon father, as much for his well- 
 meaning ignorance of such matters, as for this 
 cup of cream, which I am sure you will better 
 relish." 
 
 She arose, still smiling, with her eyes turned 
 frankly on my own. And I must be excused when 
 I confess that as I bowed my thanks, taking the 
 proffered cup and lifting it to my lips, I stared
 
 A NEST-EGG 
 
 with an uncommon interest and pleasure at the 
 donor s face. 
 
 She was a woman of certainly not less than forty 
 years of age. But the figure, and the rounded 
 gi ace and fulness of it, together with the features 
 and the eyes, completed as fine a specimen of 
 physical and mental health as ever it has been my 
 fortune to meet ; there was something so full of 
 purpose and resolve something so wholesome, 
 too, about the character something so womanly 
 I might almost say manly, and would, but for the 
 petty prejudice maybe occasioned by the trivial 
 fact of a locket having dropped from her bosom 
 as she knelt; and that trinket still dangles in my 
 memory even as it then dangled and dropped 
 back to its concealment in her breast as she arose. 
 But her face, by no means handsome in the com 
 mon meaning, was marked with a breadth and 
 strength of outline and expression that approached 
 the heroic a face that once seen is forever fixed 
 in memory a personage once met one must know 
 more of. And so it was, that an hour later, as I 
 strolled with the old man about his farm, looking, 
 to all intents, with the profoundest interest at his 
 Devonshires, Shorthorns, Jerseys, and the like, I 
 lured from him something of an outline of his 
 daughter s history. 
 
 "There re no better girl n Marthy!" he said, 
 
 114
 
 A NEST-EGG 
 
 mechanically answering some ingenious allusion 
 to her worth. "And yit," he went on reflectively, 
 stooping from his seat in the barn door and with 
 his open jack-knife picking up a little chip with 
 the point of the blade "and yit you wouldn t 
 believe it but Marthy was the oldest o three 
 daughters, and hed I may say hed more ad 
 vantages o marryin and yit, as I was jest goin 
 to say, she s the very one at didn t marry. Hed 
 every advantage Marthy did. W y, we even hed 
 her educated her mother was a-livin then and 
 we was well enough fixed to afford the educatin 
 of her, mother allus contended and we was be 
 sides, it was Marthy s notion, too, and you know 
 how women is thataway when they git their head 
 set. So we sent Marthy down to Indianop lus, 
 and got her books and putt her in school there, 
 and paid fer her keepin and ever thing; and she 
 jest well, you may say, lived there stiddy fer 
 better n four year. O course she d git back 
 ever once-an-a-while, but her visits was allus, 
 some-way-another, onsatisfactory-like, cause, you 
 see, Marthy was allus my favorite, and I d allus 
 laughed and told her at the other girls could git 
 married ef they wanted, but she was goin to be 
 the nest-egg of our family, and slong as I lived 
 I vranted her at home with me. And she d laugh 
 and contend at she d as lif be an old maid as not, 
 
 "5
 
 A NEST-EGG 
 
 and never expected to marry, ner didn t want to. 
 But she had me sceart onc t, though! Come out 
 from the city one time, durin the army, with a 
 peart-lookin young feller in blue clothes and gilt 
 straps on his shoulders. Young lieutenant he was 
 name o Morris. Was layin in camp there in 
 the city somers. 1 disremember which camp it 
 was now adzackly but anyway, it peared like 
 he had plenty o time to go and come, fer from 
 that time on he kep on a-comin ever time 
 Marthy ud come home, he d come, too; and I 
 got to noticin at Marthy come home a good eal 
 more n she used to afore Morris first brought her. 
 And blame ef the thing didn t git to worryin me! 
 And onc t I spoke to mother about it, and told 
 her ef I thought the feller wanted to marry Marthy 
 I d jest stop his comin right then and there. But 
 mother she sorto smiled and said somepin bout 
 men a-never seein through nothin ; and when I 
 ast her what she meant, w y, she ups and tells me 
 at Morris didn t keer nothin fer Marthy, ner 
 Marthy fer Morris, and then went on to tell me 
 that Morris was kindo aidgin up to rds Annie- 
 she was next to Marthy, you know, in pint of 
 years and experience, but ever body allus said at 
 Annie was the purtiest one o the whole three of 
 em. And so when mother told me at the signs 
 pinted to rds Annie, w y, of course, I hedn t no 
 116
 
 A NEST-EGG 
 
 particular objections to that, cause Morris was of 
 good fambly enough it turned out, and, in fact, was 
 as stirrin a young feller as ever I d want fer a 
 son-in-law, and so I hed nothin more to say ner 
 they wasn t no occasion to say nothin , cause right 
 along about then I begin to notice at Marthy quit 
 comin home so much, and Morris kep a-comin 
 more. Tel finally, one time he was out here all 
 by hisself, long about dusk, come out here where 
 I was feedin , and ast me, all at onc t, and in a 
 straight-for ard way, ef he couldn t marry Annie; 
 and, some-way-another, blame ef it didn t make 
 me as happy as him when I told him yes ! You 
 see that thing proved, pine-blank, at he wasn t 
 a-fishin round fer Marthy. Well-sir, as luck would 
 hev it, Marthy got home about a half-hour later, 
 and I ll give you my word I was never so glad to 
 see the girl in my life ! It was foolish in me, I 
 reckon, but when I see her drivin up the lane it 
 was purt nigh dark then, but I could see her 
 through the open winder from where I was settin 
 at the supper-table, and so I jest quietly ex 
 cused myself, p lite-like, as a feller will, you 
 know, when they s comp ny round, and I slipped 
 off and met her jest as she was about to git out to 
 open the barn gate. Hold up, Marthy, says I; 
 set right where you air; I ll open the gate fer you, 
 
 117
 
 A NEST-EGO 
 
 and I ll do anything else fer you in the world at 
 you want me to ! 
 
 " W y, what s pleased you so? she says laugh- 
 in , as she druv through slow-like and a-ticklin 
 my nose with the cracker of the buggy-whip. 
 What s pleased you? 
 
 " Guess, says I, jerkin the gate to, and turn- 
 in* to lift her out. 
 
 " The new peanner s come? says she, eager- 
 like. 
 
 , " Yer new peanner s come, says I, but that s 
 not it. 
 
 " Strawberries fer supper? says she. 
 
 " Strawberries fer supper, says I; but that 
 ain t it. 
 
 "Jest then Morris s hoss whinnied in the barn, 
 and she glanced up quick and smilin and saya, 
 Somebody come to see somebody? 
 
 " You re a-gittin warm, says I. 
 
 " Somebody come to see me? she says. 
 
 " No, says I, and I m glad of it fer this one 
 at s come wants to git married, and o course I 
 wouldn t harber in my house no young feller at 
 was a-layin round fer a chance to steal away the 
 "Nest-egg," says I, laughin . 
 
 "Marthy had riz up in the buggy by this time, 
 but as I helt up my hands to her, she sorto drawed 
 back a minute, and says, all serious-like and kindo* 
 vrhisperin : 
 
 118
 
 A NEST-EGG 
 
 44 4 Is it Annie ? 
 
 "I nodded. Yes, says I, *and what s more, 
 I ve give my consent, and mother s give hern 
 the thing s all settled. Come, jump out and run 
 in and be happy with the rest of us! and I helt 
 out my hands ag in, but she didn t pear to take 
 no heed. She was kindo pale, too, I thought, 
 and swallered a time er two like as ef she couldn t 
 speak plain. 
 
 " Who is the man? she ast. 
 
 " Who who s the man, I says, a-gittin kindo 
 out o patience with the girl. W y, you know 
 who it is, o course. It s Morris, says I. Come, 
 jump down! Don t you see I m waitin fer ye? 
 
 " Then take me, she says; and blame-don! ef 
 the girl didn t keel right over in my arms as limber 
 as a rag! Clean fainted away! Honest! Jest 
 the excitement, I reckon, o breakin it to her so 
 suddent-like cause she liked Annie, I ve some 
 times thought, better n even she did her own 
 mother. Didn t go half so hard with her when 
 her other sister married. Yes-sir!" said the old 
 man, by way of sweeping conclusion, as he rose 
 to his feet "Marthy s the on y one of em at 
 never married both the others is gone Morris 
 went all through the army and got back safe and 
 sound s livin* in Idyho, and doin fust-rate. 
 Sends me a letter ever now and then. Got three 
 little chunks o grandchildren out there, and I 
 
 119
 
 A NEST-EGG 
 
 never laid eyes on one of em. You see, I m 
 a-gittin to be quite a middle-aged man in fact, a 
 very middle-aged man, you might say. Sence 
 mother died, which has be n lem-me-see moth 
 er s be n dead somers in the neighborhood o ten 
 year. Sence mother died I ve be n a-gittin more 
 and more o Marthy s notion that is, you 
 couldn t ever hire me to marry nobody! and them 
 has allus be n and still is the Nest-egg s views! 
 Listen! That s her a-callin fer us now. You 
 must sorto overlook the freedom, but I told Mar- 
 thy you d promised to take dinner with us to-day, 
 and it ud never do to disappint her now. Come 
 on." And ah! it would have made the soul of 
 you either rapturously glad or madly envious to see 
 how meekly I consented. 
 
 I am always thinking that I never tasted coffee 
 till that day; I am always thinking of the crisp 
 and steaming rolls, ored over with the molten gold 
 that hinted of the clover-fields, and the bees that 
 had not yet permitted the honey of the bloom and 
 the white blood of the stalk to be divorced ; I am 
 always thinking that the young and tender pullet 
 we happy three discussed was a near and dear rela 
 tive of the gay patrician rooster that I first caught 
 peering so inquisitively in at the kitchen door; and 
 I am always always thinking of "The Nest-egg." 
 
 120
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 FIRST I want it most distinctly understood that 
 I am superstitious, notwithstanding the best half 
 of my life, up to the very present, has been spent 
 in the emphatic denial of that fact. And I am 
 painfully aware that this assertion at so late a date 
 can but place my former character in a most un 
 enviable light; yet for reasons you will never 
 know, I have, with all due deliberation, deter 
 mined to hold the truth up stark and naked to the 
 world, with the just acknowledgment, shorn of 
 all attempt at palliation or excuse, that for the 
 best half of my life I have been simply a coward 
 and a liar. 
 
 Second From a careful and impartial study of 
 my fellow-beings, I have arrived at the settled 
 conviction that nine men of every ten are just as 
 superstitious as myself; yet, with the difference, 
 that, for reasons / know, they refuse to openly 
 acknowledge it, many of them dodging the admis 
 sion even within their own ever curious and ques 
 tioning minds. 
 
 Third Most firmly fixed in this belief and in- 
 
 121
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 tuitively certain of at least the inner confidence 
 and sympathy of a grand majority of those who 
 read, I throw aside all personal considerations, 
 defy all ridicule all reason, if you like for the 
 purpose wholly to devote myself to the narration 
 of an actual experience that for three long weeks 
 has been occurring with me nightly in this very 
 room. You should hear me laugh about it in the 
 daytime ! Oh, I snap my fingers then, and whistle 
 quite as carelessly and scornfully as you doubtless 
 would; but at night at night and it s night now 
 I grow very, very serious somehow, and put all 
 raillery aside, and all in vain here argue by the 
 hour that it s nothing in the world but the baleful 
 imaginings of a feverish mind, and the convulsive 
 writhings of a dyspeptic fancy. But enough! 
 Even forced to admit that I m a fool, I will tell 
 my story. 
 
 Although by no means of a morbid or misan 
 thropic disposition, the greater portion of my time 
 I occupy in strict seclusion, here at my desk for 
 only when alone can I conscientiously indulge cer 
 tain propensities of thinking aloud, talking to my 
 self, leaping from my chair occasionally to dance 
 a new thought round the room, or take it in my 
 arms, and hug and hold and love it as I would a 
 great, fat, laughing baby with a bunch of jingling 
 keys. 
 
 122
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 Then there are times, too, when worn with 
 work, and I find my pen dabbling by the wayside 
 in sluggish blots of ink, that I delight to take up 
 the old guitar which leans here in the corner, and 
 twang among the waltzes that I used to know, or 
 lift a most unlovely voice in half-forgotten songs 
 whose withered notes of melody fall on me like 
 dead leaves, but whose crisp rustling still has 
 power to waken from "the dusty crypt of dark 
 ened forms and faces" the glad convivial spirits 
 that once thronged about me in the wayward past, 
 and made my young life one long peal of empty 
 merriment. Someway, I ve lost the knack of 
 wholesome laughter now, and for this reason, 
 maybe, I so often find my fingers tangled in the 
 strings of my guitar ; for, after all, there is an in 
 definable something in the tone of a guitar that is 
 not all of earth. I have often fancied that de 
 parted friends came back to hide themselves away 
 in this old husk of song that we might pluck them 
 forth to live again in quavering tones of tender 
 ness and love and minor voices of remembrance 
 that coax us on to heaven. Pardon my vagaries. 
 I m practical enough at times; at times I fail. 
 But I must be clear to-night; I must be, and I 
 will. 
 
 This night three weeks ago I had worked late, 
 though on a task involving nothing that could pos- 
 
 123
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 sibly have warped my mind to an unnatural state, 
 other than that of peculiar wakefulness; for al 
 though physically needful of rest, I felt that it was 
 useless to retire ; and so I wheeled my sofa in a 
 cozy position near the stove, lighted a cigar (my 
 chum Hays had left me four hours previous), and 
 flinging myself down in languid pose best suiting 
 the requirements of an aimless reverie, I resigned 
 all serious complexities of thought and was wholly 
 comfortable. 
 
 The silence of the night without was deep. 
 Not a footstep in the street below, and not a sound 
 of any living earthly thing fell on the hearing, 
 though that sense was whetted to such acuteness I 
 could plainly hear the ticking of a clock some 
 where across the street. 
 
 All things about the room were in their usual 
 order. My letters on the desk were folded as I 
 answered them, and filed away; my books were 
 ranged in order, and my manuscripts tucked out 
 of sight and mind, and no scrap of paper to re 
 mind me of my never-ended work, save the blank 
 sheet that always lies in readiness for me to pounce 
 upon with any vagrant thought that comes along, 
 and close beside it the open inkstand and the idle 
 pen. 
 
 I had reclined thus in utter passiveness of 
 mind for half an hour, perhaps, when sud- 
 
 124
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 denly I heard, or thought I heard, below me 
 in the street, the sound of some stringed instru 
 ment. I rose up on my elbow and listened. 
 Some serenader, I guessed. Yes, I could hear it 
 faintly, but so far away it seemed, and indistinct, 
 I was uncertain. I arose, went to the window, 
 raised it and leaned out; but as the sound grew 
 fainter and failed entirely, I closed the window 
 and sat down again; but even as I did so the 
 mysterious tones fell on my hearing plainer than 
 before. I listened closely, and though little more 
 than a ghost of sound, I still could hear, and 
 quite audibly distinguish, the faint repeated 
 twanging of the six open strings of a guitar so 
 plainly, indeed, that I instinctively recognized the 
 irritating fact that both the "E" and "D" strings 
 were slightly out of tune. I turned with some 
 strange impulse to my own instrument, and I must 
 leave the reader to imagine the cold thrill of sur 
 prise and fear that crept over me as the startling 
 conviction slowly dawned upon my mind that the 
 sounds came from that unlooked-for quarter. The 
 guitar was leaning in its old position in the corner, 
 the face turned to the wall, and although I confess 
 it with reluctance, full five minutes elapsed before 
 I found sufficient courage to approach and pick it 
 up ; then I came near dropping it in abject terror 
 as a great, fat, blowzy spider ran across my hand 
 
 125
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 and went scampering up the wall. What do you 
 think of spiders, anyhow? You say"Wooh!" 
 I say you don t know anything about spiders. 
 
 I examined first the wall to see if there might 
 not be some natural cause for the mysterious 
 sounds some open crevice for the wind, some 
 loosened and vibrating edge of paper, or perhaps 
 a bristle protruding from the plaster but I found 
 no evidence that could in any way afford an an 
 swer to the perplexing query. An old umbrella 
 and a broom stood in the corner, but in neither of 
 these inanimate objects could I find the vaguest 
 explanation of the problem that so wholly and en 
 tirely possessed me. 
 
 I could not have been mistaken. It was no trick 
 of fancy no hallucination. I had not only list 
 ened to the sounds repeated, over and over, a 
 dozen times at least, but I had recognized and 
 measured the respective values of the tones, and 
 as I turned, half in awe, took up the instrument 
 and lightly swept the strings, the positive proof for 
 the conviction jarred as discordantly upon my fancy 
 as upon my ears. The two strings, "E" and "D," 
 were out of tune. 
 
 I will no longer attempt the detail of my per 
 turbed state of curiosity and the almost dazed con 
 dition of my mind ; such an effort would at best 
 be vain. But I sat down, doggedly, at last; and 
 126
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 in a spirit of indifference the most defiant I could 
 possibly assume, I ran the guitar up to a keen, ex 
 ultant key, and dashed off into a quickstep that 
 made the dumb old echoes of the room leap up 
 and laugh with melody. I was determined in my 
 own mind to stave off the most unwholesome in 
 fluence that seemed settling fog-like over me ; and 
 as the sharp twang of the strings rang out upon 
 the night, and the rich vibrating chords welled up 
 and overflowed the silence like a flood, the em 
 bers of old-time enthusiasm kindled in my heart 
 and flamed up in a warmth of real delight. Sud 
 denly, in the midst of this rapturous outburst, as 
 with lifted face I stared ceilingward, my eyes again 
 fell on that horrid spider, madly capering about 
 the wall in a little circumference of a dozen inches, 
 perhaps, wheeling and whirling up and down, and 
 round and round again, as though laboring under 
 some wild, jubilant excitement. 
 
 I played on mechanically for a moment, my eyes 
 riveted upon the grotesque antics of the insect, 
 feeling instinctively that the music was producing 
 this singular effect upon it. I was right ; for, as 
 I gradually paused, the gyrations of the insect as 
 sumed a milder phase, and as I ceased entirely the 
 great, bloated thing ran far out overhead and 
 dropped suddenly a yard below the ceiling, and, 
 pendent by its unseen thread, hung sprawled in
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 the empty air above my face, so near I could have 
 touched it with the lifted instrument. And then, 
 even as I shrank back fearfully, a new line of 
 speculation was suggested to my mind: I arose 
 abruptly, leaned the guitar back in the corner, 
 took up a book, and sat down at the desk, leaving 
 the silence of the room intensified till in my nerv 
 ous state of mind I almost fancied I could hear 
 that spider whispering to itself, as above the open 
 pages of the book I watched the space between it 
 and the ceiling slowly widening, till at last the 
 ugly insect dropped and disappeared behind the 
 sofa. 
 
 I had not long to wait; nor was my curious 
 mind placed any more at ease, when, at last, faint 
 and far-off sounding as at first, I heard the eerie 
 twanging of the guitar though this time I could 
 with some triumphant pleasure note the fact that 
 the instrument was in perfect tune. But thor 
 oughly to assure myself that I could in no way be 
 mistaken as to the mysterious cause, I arose and 
 crept cautiously across the carpet until within easy 
 reach of the guitar. I paused again to listen and 
 convince myself beyond all doubt that the sounds 
 were there produced. There could possibly be 
 no mistake about it. Then suddenly I caught and 
 whirled the instrument around, and as I did so the 
 
 128
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 spider darted from the keyboard near the top, 
 leaped to the broom-handle, and fled up the wall. 
 
 I tried no more experiments that night, or rather 
 morning for it must have been three o clock as I 
 turned wearily away from the exasperating con 
 templation of the strange subject, turned down the 
 lamp, then turned it up again, huddled myself into 
 a shivering heap upon the sofa, and fell into an 
 uneasy sleep, in which I dreamed that I was a 
 spider of Brobdingnagian proportions, and lived 
 on men and women instead of flies, and had a 
 web like a monster hammock, in which I swung 
 myself out over the streets at night and fished up 
 my prey with a hook and line thought I caught 
 more poets than anything else, and was just nib 
 bling warily at my own bait, when the line was 
 suddenly withdrawn, the hook catching me in the 
 cheek, tearing out and letting me drop back with 
 a sullen plunge into the great gulf of the night. 
 And as I found myself, with wildly staring eyes, 
 sitting bolt upright on the sofa, I saw the spider, 
 just above my desk, lifted and flung upward by 
 his magic line and thrown among the dusky shad 
 ows of the ceiling. 
 
 "Hays," said I to my chum, in the early morn 
 ing, as he came in upon me, sitting at my desk, 
 and gazing abstractedly at an incoherent scrawl of 
 
 129
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 ink upon the scrap of paper lying before me 
 "Hays," said I, "what s your opinion of spiders?" 
 
 "What s my opinion of spiders?" he queried, 
 staring at me curiously. 
 
 "What s your opinion of spiders?" I repeated 
 with my first inflection for Hays is a young man 
 in the medical profession, and likes point, fact, 
 and brevity. "What I mean is this," I continued: 
 "isn t it generally conceded that the spider is en 
 dowed with a higher order of intelligence than in 
 sects commonly?" 
 
 "I believe so," he replied, with the same curi 
 ous air, watching me narrowly; "I have a vague 
 recollection of some incident illustrative of that 
 theory in Goldsmith s Animated Nature, or some 
 equally veracious chronicle," with suggestive em 
 phasis on the word "veracious." "Why do you 
 ask?" And, although half assured I would be 
 sneered at for my pains, I went into a minute re- 
 countal of my strange experience of the night, 
 winding up in a high state of excitement, doubt 
 less intensified by the blandly smiling features of 
 my auditor, who made no interruption whatever, 
 and only looked at me at the conclusion of the 
 dream with gratuitous compassion and concern. 
 "Well!" said I, uneasily, taking an impatient 
 turn or two across the room. . . . "Well!" I re 
 peated pausing abruptly and glaring at the shrugged 
 
 130
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 shoulders of my stoical companion, "why don t 
 you say something?" 
 
 "Nothing to say, I suppose," he answered, 
 turning on me with absolute severity. "You never 
 listen to advice. Two months ago I told you to 
 quit this night business it would wreck you phys 
 ically, mentally, every way. Why, look at you!" 
 he continued in pitiless reproof, as I flew off on 
 another nervous trip around the room. "Look at 
 you ! a perfect crate of bones no get-up in your 
 walk no color in your face no appetite no any 
 thing but a wisp of shattered nerves, and a pair 
 of howling-hungry eyes that do nothing else but 
 stare." 
 
 "It wouldn t seem that you did have much to 
 say, upon the point, at least," I interrupted. 
 "Never mind my physical condition; what do you 
 think of my spider?" 
 
 "What do I think of your spider!" he repeated 
 contemptuously; "why, I think it s a little the 
 thinnest piece of twaddle I ever listened to ! And 
 I think, further " 
 
 "Hold on, now!" I exclaimed, a trifle warmed, 
 but smiling; "I knew you d have to sweat awhile 
 over that: but hold on hold on! I have only 
 told you the minor facts of the strange occurrence ; 
 the most startling and irrefutable portion yet re 
 mains. Now, listen I What I have already told
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 you I pledge you on my honor is pure truth. I 
 can offer nothing but my word for that. But I 
 will close now don t interrupt me, if you please: 
 As I awakened from that dream, I saw that spider 
 jerked from above the desk here just as a small 
 boy might whip up a fish-line jerked by his own 
 thread, of course. Well, and I got up at once 
 came to the desk like this, feeling instinctively 
 that that infernal spider had some object in lower 
 ing itself among my letters ; and I found this 
 scrap of paper, which I ll swear I left last night 
 without one blot or line of ink or pencil on it. I 
 found this scrap of paper with this zigzag line 
 which you can see was never made with human 
 hand scrawled across it, and the ink was yet wet 
 when I picked it up. Now, what do you say?" 
 
 He took the scrap of paper in his hand half 
 curiously, and then, as though ashamed of having 
 betrayed so great a weakness, threw it back upon 
 the desk with scarce a look. 
 
 "What do you say?" I repeated, in a tone of 
 triumph. 
 
 "Well," he replied, "it is barely possible you 
 did see a spider in this last instance, and I must 
 confess that it is a much easier matter for me to 
 imagine a spider dropping by accident into your 
 inkstand and leaving the trail of his salvation 
 across your writing-paper, than it is for me to 
 132
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 fancy the fantastic insect plucking the strings of 
 your guitar. In fact, the first part of your story 
 won t do at all. I don t mean to intimate that 
 your veracity is defective not at all. But I do 
 mean that you have overworked yourself of late, 
 and that your brain needs rest." 
 
 "But," said I, pushing the scrap of paper to 
 ward him again, "you don t seem to recognize the 
 fact that that ugly scrawl of ink means something. 
 Look at it carefully; it s writing." 
 
 He again took the paper in his hand, but this 
 time without a glance, and ere I could prevent him 
 he had torn it in a half-dozen pieces and flung it 
 on the floor. 
 
 "What do you mean?" I cried, resentfully, 
 springing forward. 
 
 "Why, I mean that you re a babbling idiot," he 
 answered, in a tone half anger, half alarm; "and 
 if you won t look after your own condition I ll do 
 it for you, and in spite of you ! You must quit 
 this work quit this room quit everything, and 
 come with me out in the fresh air for a while, or 
 you ll die; that s what I mean!" 
 
 Although he spoke with almost savage vehem 
 ence, I recognized, of course, the real promptings 
 of his action, and smiled softly to myself as I 
 gathered up the scattered scraps of paper from the 
 carpet. 
 
 133
 
 TALK OF A SPIDER 
 
 "Oh, we ll not quarrel," said I, seating myself 
 patiently at the desk, and dipping my finger in the 
 paste-cup "we ll not quarrel about a little thing 
 like this; only if you ll just wait a minute I ll 
 show you that it does mean something." 
 
 "There!" said I, good-naturedly, when I had 
 deftly joined the fragments in their proper places 
 on a base of legal cap; "now you can read 
 it; but don t tear it again, please." I think 
 I was very white when I said that, for my com 
 panion took the paper in his hand with at least 
 a show of interest, and looked at it long and 
 curiously. 
 
 "Well, what is it?" he asked, laying it back 
 upon the desk before me: "I am really very sorry, 
 but I am forced to acknowledge that I fail to find 
 anything exactly tangible in it." 
 
 "Look," said I. "You see this capital that 
 begins the line; the first letter? It s a Y, isn t 
 it?" 
 
 "Yes; it looks a little like a Y or a G. " 
 
 "No ; it s a Y, "said I, "and there s no more 
 doubt about it than that this next one is an ( e. 
 
 "Well " 
 
 "Well, this next letter is an S an old-fash 
 ioned S, but it s an S all the same, and you 
 can t make anything else out of it; I ve tried it, 
 and it can t be done." 
 
 154
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 "Well, go on." 
 
 "This is a c, " I continued. 
 
 "Go on; call it anything you like." 
 
 "No; but I want you to be thoroughly satis 
 fied." 
 
 "Oh, do you? Well, it s a c, then; go on." 
 
 "And this is an h. " 
 
 "Goon." 
 
 "And this is an o ; you know that!" 
 
 "Yes; know it by the hole in it." 
 
 "Don t get funny. And this is an !. " 
 
 "That s an <!. " 
 
 "This is an a. " 
 
 "Close observer!" 
 
 "And that s an V and that s all." 
 
 "Well, you ve got it all down to suit you ; now, 
 what does it spell?" 
 
 "What does it spell? Why, can t you read?" 
 I exclaimed, flourishing the scrap triumphantly 
 before his eyes. "It spells Ye Scholar! why, 
 I could read it across the room!" 
 
 "Yes, or across the street," he answered caus 
 tically. "But come now!" he continued, seri 
 ously, "throw it aside for the present at least, and 
 let s go out in the sunshine for a while. Here, 
 light a cigar, and come along ; " and he moved 
 toward the door. 
 
 "No," said I, turning to the mysterious scrawl,
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 "I shall hound this thing down while the inspira 
 tion s on me." 
 
 "Inspiration? Bah!" The door slammed, but 
 I never turned my head. 
 
 I had sat thus in dead silence for ten minutes, 
 when suddenly I heard a quick, impatient move 
 ment at my back, and then the sharp, impetuous 
 words "In God s name! quit biting your nails 
 like that! Don t you know it s an indication of 
 madness!" 
 
 I think I need not enter into any explanation as 
 to the reason which, from that moment, determined 
 me upon a course that could afford no further con 
 flict of opinion other than that already going on 
 within my own mind. That of itself furnished 
 all exasperating controversy that I felt was well 
 for my indulgence. But in one sense I was grate 
 ful for the pointed suggestion of my friend regard 
 ing the questionable status of my mental faculties, 
 for by it I was made most keenly alive to that 
 peculiar sense of duty that made me look upon 
 myself and question every individual act, entirely 
 separated from my own personality ; in fact, to 
 look upon myself, as I did, clearly and distinctly 
 defined in the light of a very suspicious and a very 
 dangerous character, whose sole intent and pur 
 pose was to play and practise upon me all un 
 looked-for and undreamed-of deceptions, and 
 136
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 which, to combat successfully, must needs require 
 the most rigid and unwavering strength of reason. 
 
 In further justice to my honesty in this resolve, 
 I will say that I at once began the exercise of sys 
 tematic habits. Although by no means pleasant, 
 I took long rambles in the country ; ate regularly 
 of wholesome food, regained my appetite, and re 
 tired at night at seasonable hours. I will not say 
 that sleep came sooner to my eyes by reason of 
 the change, but I wooed sleep, anyway let this 
 suffice. I threw smoking entirely aside not a 
 hard trial for me by any means, although an occa 
 sional cigar is a great pleasure; but I threw it 
 aside. Did not study so intensely as had been 
 my wont ; read but little, and wrote less even 
 neglecting my letters. Yet, with all this revolu 
 tion of reform, I am left to confess that I never for 
 one waking moment forgot the mystic legend, "Ye 
 Scholar," or its equally incomprehensible author; 
 and how could I? 
 
 Since the first discovery of the strange insect 
 and its musical proclivities, but three evenings 
 only have passed that I have not been favored with 
 its most extraordinary performances on the guitar. 
 In this way has its presence been usually made 
 known. And noting carefully, as I have done, 
 the peculiar times and conditions of its coming, 
 together with such other suggestions as the sur- 
 
 137
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 roundings have afforded me, I have been led to 
 believe that the spider reasoned as a man would 
 reason : In no instance yet has it ever touched the 
 instrument when I sat busy at my desk ; and only 
 when my pen was idle in my hand, or I had turned 
 wearily away to pace about the room, has it ever 
 exhibited any inclination whatever to occupy my 
 attention. This curious fact interpreted itself at 
 last in the rather startling proposition that it was 
 simply an indication on the part of the insect that 
 it desired me to favor it with music, since my time 
 was not better occupied. Virtually this is what it 
 did mean ; I know it ! I would know and appre 
 ciate now any want the insect might choose to ex 
 press; only at first I was very dull, as one would 
 1 be naturally. And I noticed, too, that when I first 
 responded to this summons the spider would leap 
 from the guitar to the wall with every evidence of 
 pleasure, and glide back to its old position near 
 the ceiling, indulging the wildest tokens of glee 
 and approval throughout my performances. And 
 many times I have marched off round and round 
 the room simply thrumming the time, the spider 
 following along the upper margin of the wall with 
 the most fantastic caperings of joy. 
 
 Other experiments followed, too numerous and 
 too foolish for recountal here, but each, in its way, 
 sufficient to establish more conclusively in my 
 
 138
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 mind the belief that the hideous little monster was 
 endowed with an intelligence as wise and subtle in 
 its workings as was within the power of my own 
 to recognize even greater, for gradually, as we 
 became more accustomed to each other, the ugly 
 insect grew so tame it would come down the wall 
 and dance for me on a level with my face as I sat 
 playing, and even spring off upon the instrument 
 if I held it out. I found my mind so baffled and 
 bewildered at last that more than once the con 
 viction has been forced upon me that the spider 
 was not a spider, but a No, I ll not say that 
 not yet, not yet ! 
 
 These experiments had progressed for perhaps 
 half a dozen nights, when, one evening, as I sat, 
 pen in hand, at the desk here, mechanically poring 
 over the still incomprehensible meaning of the 
 scrawl, and writing and rewriting the two words 
 over and over again upon an empty page before 
 me, I became suddenly aware of a strange sensa 
 tion of repose. A great, cool quiet fell upon my 
 brain, as when suddenly within some noisy foundry 
 the clanging hammers cease to beat and all the 
 brazen tumult drops like a plummet into silence 
 fathomless. I felt a soothing languor flowing 
 down and over me, and ebbing through and 
 through my very being. It was not drowsiness ; 
 my eyelids were not heavy, nor did they droop the 
 
 139
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 shadow of a shade. I saw everything about me 
 as clearly as I do this very moment- only, I did 
 not seem a part of my surroundings. My eyes, 
 although conscious of all objects within range, 
 were fixed upon the scrap of paper headed by the 
 zigzag scrawl, and with an intensity of gaze that 
 seemed to pierce the paper and to see through it 
 and beyond it; and I did not think it strange. I 
 was dimly conscious, too, of being under the con 
 trol of some hitherto undreamed-of influence, but 
 I felt no thought of resistance rather courted the 
 sensation. All was utter calm with me; and I 
 did not think it strange. I saw my hand held out 
 before me in this same position the forearm rest 
 ing on the desk the same pen grasped lightly in 
 my ringers. Slowly slowly slowly I saw the 
 spider lowering itself above it, wavering and sway 
 ing in the air, until, at last, I saw it reach its 
 dangling legs and clutch and cling to the pen 
 holder at the tip, and rest there; and I did not 
 think it strange. But I grew duller then, and very 
 chilly, though I vividly recall seeing the hand 
 moved not of my own volition the pen dipped 
 in the ink, and brought directly over the old scrap 
 whereon the scrawl was traced ; and I remember, 
 too, that as I watched the motion of my hand, I 
 still saw beyond the surface of the paper, and 
 read the very words my pen traced afterward. I 
 140
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER, 
 
 say the words my pen traced or my hand either 
 both, for the act was not my own, I swear! 
 And the spider still sat perched there at his post, 
 rocked lightly with the motion of the pen, with 
 all his arms hugged round him as though chuckling 
 to himself; and I say to you again, and yet again, 
 I did not think it strange. 
 
 Not until the page before me had been filled did 
 I regain my natural state of being, nor did it seem 
 that I then would, had not the spider quitted his 
 position and ran down the penholder, leaning from 
 it for an instant, touching and pressing my naked 
 hand: then I was conscious of a keen, exquisite 
 sting; and with a quick, spasmodic motion I flung 
 the hideous insect from it. As I lifted my white 
 face and starting eyes, I saw the spider wildly 
 clambering toward the ceiling on its invisible 
 thread; and then, with a mingled sense of fear, 
 bewilderment, and admiration, as oppressive and 
 as strange as indescribable, I turned to the mysteri 
 ous scrap and read, traced tremblingly, but plainly, 
 in a dainty, flowing hand, unlike any I had ever 
 seen before, the lines I now copy from the origi 
 nal script before me, bearing the pedantic title of 
 " Ye Scholar": 
 
 " Ho! ho! Ye Scholar recketh not how lean 
 
 His lank frame waxeth in ye hectic gloom 
 [That smeareth o er ye dim walls of his room 
 

 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 His wavering shadow! Shut is he, I ween, 
 
 Like as a withered nosegay, in between 
 
 Ye musty, mildewed leaves of some volume 
 Of ancient lore ye moth and he consume 
 
 In jointure. Yet a something in his mien 
 Forbids all mocker} , though quaint is he, 
 
 And eke fantastical in form and face 
 
 As that Old Knight ye Tale of Chivalry 
 
 Made mad immortally, yet spared ye grace 
 Of some rare virtue which we sigh to see, 
 And pour our laughter out most tenderly." 
 
 Over and over I read the strange production to 
 myself; and, as at last I started to my feet repeat 
 ing it aloud, all suddenly the spider swooped on 
 its flying thread before my upturned face, swung 
 back upon the margin of the wall, and went 
 scampering round and round above me as I read. 
 
 I did not sleep two hours of the night, but 
 mouthed and mouthed that sonnet even in my 
 scrappy dreams until when morning strained the 
 sunlight through the slatted window-blinds, I 
 turned and dragged myself from the room like an 
 old, old man with childish summer fancies in his 
 head and bleak and barren winter in his bones. 
 
 The night following, and the next night, and 
 the next, I did not permit myself to enter my 
 room after dark not from a sense of fear, but 
 simply because I felt my mind was becoming too 
 entirely engrossed with the contemplation of a 
 
 142
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 theme that, even yet at times, I feared was more 
 chimera than reality. 
 
 Throughout the day I worked, as usual with me, 
 perhaps three hours, at such trivial tasks as re 
 quired only the lightest mental effort ; nor did I 
 allow my mind to wander from the matter-of-fact 
 duties before me to the contemplation of the ever- 
 present topic that so confounded it when studiously 
 dwelt upon. Only once in this long abstinence 
 from the fascinating problem did I catch sight of 
 the spider, peering down upon me from behind 
 the shoulder of the little terra-cotta bust of Dickens 
 that sits on a dusky bracket just above my desk. 
 I looked up at the little fellow with a smile, rose 
 to my feet, and held out my hand, when, at the 
 motion, the insect cowered trembling for an in 
 stant, then sprang up the wall beyond my reach. 
 But from that time on I always felt its presence 
 though unseen, intuitively conscious that at all 
 hours my every act was vigilantly overlooked and 
 guarded by the all-seeing eye of that spider, and 
 that every motion of my pen was duly noted by it, 
 and accepted as token of the fact that I was busy 
 and must not be disturbed. In fact, I even allowed 
 my vanity such license that I came to believe that 
 the spider was not only interested in everything I 
 did, but was actually proud of my accomplish 
 ments besides. Certain it is, I argued, that he 
 
 10 143
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 likes my silence, my music, and my voice, and 
 equally apparent from his actions that he likes my 
 society under any and all circumstances, and it 
 shall not be the promptings of mere curiosity on 
 my part in the endeavor to strengthen and develop 
 this curious bond of fellowship, but my serious 
 and most courteous duty as well. 
 
 So I went back to my night labors, even greeted, 
 the first evening, as I lit my lamp and sat down at 
 the desk, with another mysterious scrawl, which I 
 readily interpreted in the one word "Love." 
 
 I dashed the scrap down in a very spasm of re 
 vulsion and loathing. I cannot describe nor will 
 I weaken the sense of utter abhorrence that fell 
 upon me by an attempt to set it forth in words ; 
 why, I could taste it, and it sickened me soul- 
 deep ! I remember catching quick breaths through 
 my clinched and naked teeth ; I remember snatch 
 ing up the pen as a despairing man might grasp 
 a dagger ; I remember stabbing it in the ink, and 
 drawing it back in defiance ; but as my hand once 
 more rested on the desk it was my hand no longer. 
 It was like another man s, and that man my 
 deadly foe. I looked upon it vengefully, wishing 
 that in my other I but held an axe an old axe, 
 with a nicked and rusty edge, that I might hack 
 and haggle the traitor-member sheer off at the 
 numb and pulseless wrist. And then the spider! 
 
 144
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 I tried to shrink back as the hideous insect again 
 dangled before my eyes, but could not move. 
 Once more it clutched the holder of the pen, hud 
 dled its quivering limbs together, and squatted in 
 its old position on the tip. And then began the 
 movement of the hand. 
 
 This time my eyes were fixed upon the insect. 
 I could not move them from it. I could see noth 
 ing else ; and but for the undulating motions of the 
 pen I felt that I might note its very breathings 
 and I did see it smile. Oh, horrible! Why, I 
 set my teeth together till my inner sense of hear 
 ing pinged like a bell, and I said, away down 
 among the twanging fibres of my heart, "I will 
 kill you for that smile ! I will kill you kill you !" 
 And when at last the motion of the hand had 
 ceased, and the hideous insect again ran down the 
 penholder, leaning, and pressing into my naked 
 flesh that keen, exquisite sting, I snapped the thrall 
 that bound me, flung the spider violently against 
 the desk, stabbed the pen wildly at it with a dozen 
 swift, vindictive motions as the abhorrent thing 
 lay for the moment writhing on its back. And I 
 struck it, too, and pinioned it; but as for an in 
 stant I turned away from the revolting sight, my 
 pen still quiver ing above it, sunken eye-deep in the 
 desk, my victim yet escaped me, for, as I turned 
 again, no sign remained to designate mj murder- 
 
 145
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 ous deed but one poor severed limb, twitching and 
 trembling in ever-lessening throes and convulsions. 
 I turned my eyes upon the mysterious scrap 
 once more, with the same unaccountable feeling 
 of dread and revulsion that had possessed me as 
 I read the scrawl. Written in the same minute, 
 tremulous but legible hand in which the first was 
 traced, I read: 
 
 " O, what strange tragedy is this of mine 
 
 That wars within, and will not let me cry? 
 
 My soul seems leaking from me sigh by sigh; 
 And yet I dare not say nor he divine 
 That I, so vile and loathsome in design, 
 
 Am brimmed with boiling love; but I must lie 
 
 Forever steeped in seething agony! 
 If all these quivering arms might wreathe and twine, 
 
 And soak him up in one warm clasp of bliss 
 One long caress, when babbling wild with words 
 
 My voice were crushed and mangled with his kiss, 
 My soul would whistle sweeter than the birds. 
 
 But now, my dry and husky heart in this 
 
 Pent heat of gasping passion can but hiss!" 
 
 Be patient ! I am hurrying toward the end. I 
 am very lonesome here alone. For three long, 
 empty nights have I sat thus, with nothing but the 
 raspings of my pen for company. I cannot sleep 
 now; and I wouldn t if I could. My head feels 
 as if I had a very heavy hat on, and I put up y 
 hand sometimes to see. My head is feverish, 
 
 146
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 that s all. I have been working too late again. 
 Last night I heard Hays come up the steps my 
 window opens on an alley, but at night the light 
 shows from the street. Hays has a peculiar walk: 
 I d know it if I heard it in the grass above my 
 grave. And he came up the stairs last night, and 
 knocked and rattled at the door ; but I was very 
 still, and so he went away. Sometimes I think 
 that fellow isn t right exactly in his mind. I never 
 knew what silence was before. It will not even 
 whisper to me now. Sometimes I stop and listen, 
 and then it holds its breath and listens too but 
 we never hear a thing. The old guitar leans in 
 the corner with its face turned to the wall. I know 
 it s sorry, but it would be such a comfort to me if 
 it would only moan or murmur as it used to. I 
 always tune it the first thing when I come in, and 
 lean it back, just as it was when the spider first 
 began to play it ; but the spider won t go near it 
 any more. Even the spider has deserted me, and 
 gone away and left me here alone all alone ! 
 One night, late, I heard it coming up the stairs; 
 and it knocked and rattled at the door, and I 
 wouldn t let it in, and so it went away and do 
 you know that I have often thought that that 
 spider wasn t right in its mind, you know? Oh, 
 yes ! I have often thought so often ! This hat 
 bothers me, but I ll hurry on I must hurry on. 
 
 147
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 When I came in to-night no ; last night it was 
 when I came to work last night, there was 
 another of those scrawls the spider had left for 
 me, and it was written in a very trembling hand. 
 The letters were blotted and slurred together so I 
 could hardly make the word out; but I did make 
 it out, and it was simply the one word, "Death" 
 just "Death." I didn t like the looks of it, and 
 I tried to make it read something else; but it 
 wouldn t. It was "Death." And so I laid it 
 gently on the desk and walked about the room 
 very softly for a long time. And the night kept 
 on getting stiller, and stiller, and stiller, till it just 
 stopped. But that didn t disturb me; I was not 
 sleepy, anyhow, and so I sat down at the desk, 
 took up my pen, and waited. I had nothing else 
 to do, and the guitar wouldn t play any more, and 
 I was lonesome ; so I sat down at the ^esk, and 
 took up the pen, and waited. 
 
 Sometimes I think it s those spells the spider 
 gives me that make my head feel this way. It 
 feels like I had a heavy hat on; but I haven t any 
 hat on at all, and if I had I wouldn t have it on 
 here in the room. I can t even sit in the cars with 
 a hat on. 
 
 And so I waited, and waited ; but it seemed like 
 it hadn t got still enough for the spider yet. It 
 was still enough for me ; but I got to thinking 
 
 148
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 about why the spider didn t come, and concluded 
 at last that it wasn t still enough yet for the spider. 
 So I waited till it got so still I could see it: and 
 then the spider came sliding along down through 
 it ; and when it touched the penholder, and I got 
 a good clear look at it, I flashed dead-numb clean 
 to the marrow. It was so pale ! Did you ever 
 see a spider after it has had a long spell of sick 
 ness ? That s the way this spider looked. I shud 
 dered as it huddled its trembling legs together and 
 sat down. And then the pen moved off, with that 
 pale, ghastly, haggard insect nodding away again 
 as though it still were victor of the field ; and as, 
 at last, I found courage to peer closer into its face, 
 I saw that same accursed smile flung back at me. 
 All pity and compassion fled away, and I felt my 
 heart snarl rabidly and champ its bloody jaws with 
 deadly hate. And when the spider hobbled down 
 the penholder and touched my hand again, the 
 only sting I felt upon it was the vengeful blow I 
 smote it with the other, as I held and ground it 
 there with an exultant cry that rang out upon the 
 silence till the echoes clapped their very hands and 
 shouted with me, "Dead! dead at last I Dead! 
 dead! and I am free!" Oh, how I revelled in 
 my fancied triumph as I danced about the room, 
 crunching my hands together till I thought that I 
 could feel the clammy fragments of the hateful 
 
 149
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 thing gaumed and slimed about between my palms 
 and fingers ! And what a fool I was ! for when 
 at last I unclasped them and spread them wide 
 apart in utter loathing, they were as free from taint 
 or moisture as they are this very moment; and 
 then it all flashed on me that I was in some horrid 
 dream some hideous, baleful nightmare some 
 fell delusion of a fevered sleep. But no! I could 
 not force that comfort on myself, for here the lamp 
 sat burning brightly as at this very moment, and I 
 reached and held my finger on the chimney till it 
 burned. I wheeled across the room, opened the 
 door, went to the window and raised it, and felt 
 the chill draught sweeping in upon my fevered 
 face. I took my hat from the sofa and dashed out 
 into the night. I was not asleep ; I had not been 
 asleep ; for not until broad daylight did I return, 
 to find the window opened just as I had left it; 
 the lamp still blazing at its fullest glare, and that 
 grim scrawl, "Death," lying still upon the desk, 
 with these lines traced legibly beneath it: 
 
 " And did you know our old friend Death is dead? 
 Ah me! he died last night; my ghost was there, 
 And all his phantom-friends from everywhere 
 
 Were sorrowfully grouped about his bed. 
 
 I die; God help the living now! he said 
 With such a ghastly pathos, I declare 
 The tears oozed from the blind eyes of the air 
 
 And spattered on his face in gouts of red.
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 
 
 And then he smiled the dear old bony smile ] 
 That glittered on us in that crazy whim 
 
 When first our daring feet leapt the defile 
 Of life and ran so eagerly to him: 
 
 And so he smiled upon us, even while 
 The kind old sockets grew forever dim." 
 
 I am almost through. It is nearly morning as I 
 write. When daylight comes, and this is finished, 
 I can sleep. 
 
 That last spider that appeared to me was not 
 the real spider. That last spider was not a spider, 
 and I ll tell you how I know: Four hours ago, as 
 I sat writing here, I dipped and dragged a strange 
 clot from the inkstand with my pen. It is barely 
 dry yet, and it is a drowned spider. It is the real 
 spider the other spider was its ghost. Listen : I 
 know this is the real spider from the fact that it 
 has one leg missing, and the leg that has been lying 
 on my desk here, for three days and nights, I find, 
 upon careful examination and adjustment, is the 
 leg that originally supplied this deficiency. 
 
 Whatever theory it may please you to advance 
 regarding the mysterious manifestations of the 
 spider while in the flesh will doubtless be as near 
 the correct one as my own. Certainly I shall not 
 attempt to controvert any opinion you may choose 
 to express. I simply reserve the right, in con 
 clusion of my story, to say that I believe this 
 spider met his death by suicide.
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 
 
 "WHERE is Mary Alice Smith? Oh 
 she has gone home!" It was the thin, mys 
 terious voice of little Mary Alice Smith herself 
 that so often queried and responded as above 
 every word accented with a sweet and eerie into 
 nation, and a very gayety of solemn earnestness that 
 baffled the cunning skill of all childish imitators. 
 A slender wisp of a girl she was, not more than 
 ten years of age in appearance, though it had 
 been given to us as fourteen. The spindle ankles 
 that she so airily flourished from the sparse con 
 cealment of a worn and shadowy calico skirt 
 seemed scarce a fraction more in girth than the 
 slim, blue-veined wrists she tossed among the 
 loose and ragged tresses of her yellow hair, as she 
 danced around the room. She was, from the first, 
 an object of curious and most refreshing interest 
 to our family to us children in particular an in 
 terest, though years and years have interposed to 
 shroud it in the dull dust of forgetfulness, that still 
 remains vivid and bright and beautiful. Whether 
 an orphan child only, or with a father that could 
 
 153
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 
 
 thus lightly send her adrift, I do not know now, 
 nor do I care to ask, but I do recall distinctly that 
 on a raw, bleak day in early winter she was 
 brought to us, from a wild country settlement, by 
 a reputed uncle a gaunt, round-shouldered man, 
 with deep eyes and sallow cheeks and weedy-look 
 ing beard, as we curiously watched him from the 
 front window stolidly swinging this little, blue- 
 lipped, red-nosed waif over the muddy wagon- 
 wheel to father s arms, like so much country pro 
 duce. And even as the man resumed his seat 
 upon the thick board laid across the wagon, and 
 sat chewing a straw, with spasmodic noddings of 
 the head, as some brief further conference de 
 tained him, I remember mother quickly lifting my 
 sister up from where we stood, folding and hold 
 ing the little form in unconscious counterpart of 
 father and the little girl without. And how we 
 gathered round her when father brought her in, 
 and mother fixed a cozy chair for her close to the 
 blazing fire, and untied the little summer hat, with 
 its hectic trimmings, together with the dismal green 
 veil that had been bound beneath it round the lit 
 tle, tingling ears. The hollow, pale-blue eyes of 
 the child followed every motion with an alertness 
 that suggested a somewhat suspicious mind. 
 
 "Dave gimme that!" she said, her eyes proudly 
 following the hat as mother laid it on the pillow of 
 
 154
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 
 
 the bed. "Musn t git it mussed up, sir! er you ll 
 have Dave in yer wool !" she continued, warningly, 
 as our childish interest drew us to a nearer view 
 of the gaudy article in question. 
 
 Half awed, we shrank back to our first wonder 
 ment, one of us, however, with the bravery to ask: 
 "Who s Dave?" 
 
 "Who s Dave?" reiterated the little voice, half 
 scornfully. "Why, Dave s a great big boy! Dave 
 works on Barnes s place. And he kin purt -nigh 
 make a full hand, too. Dave s purt -nigh as tall 
 as your pap! He s purt -nigh growed up Dave 
 is! And David Mason Jeffries," she contin 
 ued, jauntily teetering her head from left to right, 
 and for the first time introducing that peculiar de 
 liberation of accent and undulating utterance that 
 we afterward found to be her quaintest and most 
 charming characteristic and David Mason 
 Jeffries he likes Mary Alice Smith !" And 
 then she broke abruptly into the merriest laughter, 
 and clapped her little palms together till they fairly 
 glowed. 
 
 "And who s Mary Alice Smith?" clamored a 
 chorus of merry voices. 
 
 The elfish figure straightened haughtily in the 
 chair. Folding the slender arms tightly across her 
 breast, and tilting her wan face back with an im 
 perious air, she exclaimed sententiously, "W y, 
 
 155
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 
 
 Mary Alice Smith is me that s who Mary Alice 
 Smith is!" 
 
 It was not long, however, before her usual bright 
 and infectious humor was restored, and we were 
 soon piloting the little stranger here and there about 
 the house, and laughing at the thousand funny 
 things she said and did. The winding stairway in 
 the hall quite dazed her with delight. Up and 
 down she went a hundred times, it seemed. And 
 she would talk and whisper to herself, and often 
 times would stop and nestle down and rest her 
 pleased face close against a step and pat it softly 
 with her slender hand, peering curiously down at 
 us with half-averted eyes. And she counted them 
 and named them, every one, as she went up and 
 down. 
 
 "I m mighty glad I m come to live in this-here 
 house," she said. 
 
 We asked her why. 
 
 "Oh, cause," she said, starting up the stairs 
 again by an entirely novel and original method of 
 her own " cause Uncle Tomps ner Aunt Liza- 
 beth don t live here; and when they ever come 
 here to git their dinners, like they will ef you don t 
 watch out, w y, then I kin slip out here on these- 
 here stairs and play like I was climbin up to the 
 Good World where my mother is that s why!" 
 
 Then we hushed our laughter, and asked her 
 
 156
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 
 
 where her home was, and what it was like, and 
 why she didn t like her Uncle Tomps and Aunt 
 Lizabeth, and if she wouldn t want to visit them 
 sometimes. 
 
 "Oh, yes," she artlessly answered in reply to 
 the concluding query; "I ll want to go back there 
 lots o times ; but not to see them ! I ll only 
 go back there to see" and here she was 
 holding up the little flared-out fingers of her left 
 hand, and with the index- finger of the right touch 
 ing their pink tips in ordered notation with the ac 
 cent of every gleeful word "I ll only go 
 back there to see David Mason Jeffries 
 cause he s the boy f er me ! And then 
 she clapped her hands again and laughed in that 
 half-hysterical, half-musical way of hers till we all 
 joined in and made the echoes of the old hall ring 
 again. "And then," she went on, suddenly throw 
 ing out an imperative gesture of silence "and 
 then, after I ve been in this-here house a long, 
 long time, and you all git so s you like me awful 
 awful awful well, then some day you ll go in 
 that room there and that room there and in the 
 kitchen and out on the porch and down the 
 cellar and out in the smoke-house and the wood- 
 house and the loft and all around Oh, ever 
 place and in here and up the stairs and all 
 them rooms up there and you ll look behind all 
 
 157
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 
 
 the doons and in all the cubboards and under all 
 the beds and then you ll look sorry-like, and hol 
 ler out, kindo skeert, and you ll say: Where 
 is Mary Alice Smith? And then you ll wait 
 and listen and hold yer breath ; and then somepin ll 
 holler back, away fur off, and say: Oh she 
 has gone home ! And then ever thing ll be all 
 still ag in, and you ll be afeared to holler anymore 
 and you dursn t play and you can t laugh, and 
 yer throat 11 thist hurt and hurt, like you been 
 a-eatin too much calamus-root er somepin !" 
 And as the little gypsy concluded her weird 
 prophecy, with a final flourish of her big, pale 
 eyes, we glanced furtively at one another s awe 
 struck faces, with a superstitious dread of a vague, 
 indefinite disaster most certainly awaiting us around 
 some shadowy corner of the future. Through all 
 this speech she had been slowly and silently grop 
 ing up the winding steps, her voice growing fainter 
 and fainter, and the little pixy-form fading, and 
 wholly vanishing at last around the spiral banister 
 of the upper landing. Then down to us from that 
 alien recess came the voice alone, touched with a 
 tone as of wild entreaty and despair: "Where 
 is Mary Alice Smith?" And then a long, 
 breathless pause, in which our wide-eyed group 
 below huddled still closer, pale and mute. Then 
 /far off and faint and quavering with a tender- 
 
 158
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 
 
 ness of pathos that dews the eyes of memory even 
 now came, like a belated echo, the voice all des 
 olate : Oh she has gone home ! 
 
 What a queer girl she was, and what a fascinat 
 ing influence she unconsciously exerted over us? 
 We never tired of her presence ; but she, deprived 
 of ours by the many household tasks that she her 
 self assumed, so rigidly maintained and deftly ex 
 ecuted, seemed always just as happy when alone 
 as when in our boisterous, fun-loving company. 
 Such resources had Mary Alice Smith such a 
 wonderfully inventive fancy! She could talk to 
 herself a favorite amusement, I might almost say 
 a popular amusement, of hers, since these mono 
 logues at times would involve numberless charac 
 ters, chipping in from manifold quarters of a whole 
 sale discussion, and querying and exaggerating, 
 agreeing and controverting, till the dishes she was 
 washing would clash and clang excitedly in the 
 general badinage. Loaded with a pyramid of 
 glistening cups and saucers, she would improvise 
 a gallant line of march from the kitchen table to 
 the pantry, heading an imaginary procession, and 
 whistling a fife-tune that would stir your blood. 
 Then she would trippingly return, rippling her 
 rosy fingers up and down the keys of an imaginary 
 portable piano, or stammering flat-soled across the 
 floor, chuffing and tooting like a locomotive. And 
 
 11 159
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 
 
 she would gravely propound to herself the most 
 intricate riddles ponder thoughtfully and in 
 silence over them hazard the most ridiculous 
 answers, and laugh derisively at her own affected 
 ignorance. She would guess again and again, 
 and assume the most gleeful surprise upon at last 
 giving the proper answer, and then she would 
 laugh jubilantly, and mockingly scout herself with 
 having given out "a fool-riddle" that she could 
 guess "with both eyes shut." 
 
 "Talk about riddles," she said abruptly to us, 
 one evening after supper, as we lingered watching 
 her clearing away the table "talk about riddles, 
 it takes David Mason Jeffries to tell 
 riddles ! Bet you don t know 
 
 " * Riddle-cum, riddle-cum right! 
 Where was I last Saturd y night? 
 The winds did blow the boughs did shake 
 I saw the hole a fox did make! " 
 
 Again we felt that indefinable thrill never sepa 
 rate from the strange utterance, suggestive always 
 of some dark mystery, and fascinating and hold 
 ing the childish fancy in complete control. 
 
 "Bet you don t know this- un neether: 
 
 " A holler-hearted father, 
 
 And a hump-back mother 
 Three black orphants 
 All born together! " 
 
 160
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 
 
 We were dumb. 
 
 "You can t guess nothin !" she said, half pity 
 ingly. "W y, them s easy as fallin off a chunk 1 
 First- un s a man named Fox, and he kilt his wife 
 and chopped her head off, and they was a man 
 named Wright lived in that neighberhood and he 
 was a-goin home and it was Saturd y night and 
 he was a-comin through the big woods and they 
 was a storm and Wright he dumb a tree to git 
 out the rain, and while he was up there here come 
 along a man with a dead woman and a pickaxe, 
 and a spade. And he drug the dead woman under 
 the same tree where Mr. Wright was so ever 
 time it ud lightnin , w y, Wright he could look 
 down and see him a-diggin a grave there to bury 
 the woman in. So Wright he kep still tel he got 
 her buried all right, you know, and went back 
 home ; and then he clumb down and lit out fer 
 town, and waked up the constabul and he got a 
 supeeny and went out to Fox s place, and had him 
 jerked up fore the gran jury. Then, when Fox 
 was in court and wanted to know where their proof 
 was that he kilt his wife, w y, Wright he jumps up 
 and says that riddle to the judge and all the neigh- 
 bers that was there. And so when they got it all 
 studied out w y, they tuk old Fox out and hung 
 him under the same tree where he buried Mrs. 
 Fox under. And that s all o that n; and the 
 
 161
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 
 
 other n I promised David Mason Jeffries I 
 wouldn t never tell no livin soul less 
 he gimme leef, er they guessed it out 
 their own se f !" And as she gave this rather 
 ambiguous explanation of the first riddle, with the 
 mysterious comment on the latter in conclusion, 
 she shook her elfin tresses back over her shoulders 
 with a cunning toss of her head and a glimmering 
 twinkle of her pale, bright eyes that somehow re 
 minded us of the fairy godmother in Cinderella. 
 
 And Mary Alice Smith was right, too, in her 
 early prognostications regarding the visits of her 
 Uncle Tomps and Aunt Lizabeth. Many times 
 through the winter they "jest dropped in," as 
 Aunt Lizabeth always expressed it, "to see how 
 we was a-gittin on with Mary Alice." And once, 
 "in court week," during a prolonged trial in which 
 Uncle Tomps and Aunt Lizabeth rather promi 
 nently figured, they "jest dropped in" upon us 
 and settled down and dwelt with us for the longest 
 five days and nights we children had ever in our 
 lives experienced. Nor was our long term of re 
 straint from childish sports relieved wholly by their 
 absence, since Aunt Lizabeth had taken Mary 
 Alice back with them, saying that "a good long 
 visit to her dear old home pore as it was would 
 do the child good." 
 
 And then it was that we went about the house 
 162
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 
 
 in moody silence, the question, "Where is 
 Mary Alice Smith?" forever yearning at our 
 lips for utterance, and the still belated echo in the 
 old hall overhead forever answering, "Oh she 
 has gone home 1 
 
 It was early spring when she returned. And 
 we were looking for her coming, and knew a week 
 beforehand the very day she would arrive for had 
 not Aunt Lizabeth sent special word by Uncle 
 Tomps, who "had come to town to do his millin , 
 and git the latest war news, not to fail to jest drop 
 in and tell us that they was layin off to send Mary 
 Alice in next Saturd y." 
 
 Our little town, like every other village and 
 metropolis throughout the country at that time, 
 was, to the children at least, a scene of Continuous 
 holiday and carnival. The nation s, ^eart was 
 palpitating with the feverish pulse of war, and 
 already the still half-frozen clods of the common 
 highway were beaten into frosty dust by the tread 
 of marshaled men; and the shrill shriek of the 
 fife, and the hoarse boom and jar and rattling pat 
 ter of the drums stirred every breast with some 
 thing of that rapturous insanity of which true 
 patriots and heroes can alone be made. 
 
 But on that day when Mary Alice Smith was 
 to return what was all the gallant tumult of the 
 town to us ? I remember how we ran far up the 
 
 163
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 
 
 street to welcome her for afar off we had recog 
 nised her elfish face and eager eyes peering ex 
 pectantly from behind the broad shoulders of a 
 handsome fellow mounted on a great high-step 
 ping horse that neighed and pranced excitedly as 
 we ran skurrying toward them. 
 
 "Whoo-ee!" she cried, in perfect ecstasy, as we 
 paused in breathless admiration. "Clear the 
 track there, old folks young folks ! fer 
 Mary Alice Smith and David Mason 
 Jeffries is come to town ! " 
 
 O what a day that was I And how vain indeed 
 would be the attempt to detail here a tithe of its 
 glory, or our happiness in having back with us our 
 dear little girl, and her hysterical delight in seeing 
 us so warmly welcome to the full love of our 
 childish hearts the great, strong, round-faced, sim- 
 ple-natured "David Mason Jeffries"! Long 
 and long ago we had learned to love him as we 
 loved the peasant hero of some fairy tale of Chris 
 tian Andersen s; but now that he was with us in 
 most wholesome and robust verity, our very souls 
 seemed scampering from our bodies to run to him 
 and be caught up and tossed and swung and dan 
 dled in his gentle, giant arms. 
 
 All that long delicious morning we were with 
 him. In his tender charge we were permitted to 
 go down among the tumult and the music of the
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 
 
 streets, his round, good-humored face and big blue 
 eyes lit with a lustre like our own. And happy little 
 Mary Alice Smith how proud she was of him ! 
 And how closely and how tenderly, through all 
 that golden morning, did the strong brown hand 
 clasp hers ! A hundred times at least, as we prom 
 enaded thus, she swung her head back jauntily to 
 whisper to us in that old mysterious way of hers 
 that "David Mason Jeffries and Mary 
 Alice Smith knew something that we 
 couldn t guess!" But when he had returned us 
 home, and after dinner had started down the street 
 alone, with little Mary Alice clapping her hands 
 after him above the gate and laughing in a strange 
 new voice, and with the backs of her little, flutter 
 ing hands vainly striving to blot out the big tear 
 drops that gathered in her eyes, we vaguely 
 guessed the secret she and David kept. That 
 night at supper-time we knew it fully. He had 
 enlisted. 
 
 . . . . 
 
 Among the list of "killed" at Rich Mountain, 
 Va., occurred the name of "Jeffries, David M." 
 We kept it from her while we could. At last she 
 knew. 
 
 "It don t seem like no year ago to me!" Over 
 and over she had said these words. The face was 
 165
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 
 
 very pale and thin, and the eyes so bright so 
 bright ! The kindly hand that smoothed away the 
 little sufferer s hair trembled and dropped tenderly 
 again upon the folded ones beneath the snowy 
 spread. 
 
 "Git me out the picture again!" 
 
 The trembling hand lifted once more and 
 searched beneath the pillow. 
 
 She drew the thin hands up, and, smiling, 
 pressed the pictured face against her lips. "David 
 Mason Jeffries," she said "le s me and 
 you go play out on the stairs ! " 
 
 And ever in the empty home a voice goes moan 
 ing on and on, and "Where is Mary Alice Smith?" 
 it cries, and "Where is Mary Alice Smith?" 
 And the still belated echo, through the high depths 
 of the old hall overhead, answers quaveringly 
 back, "Oh she has gone home!" But her 
 voice it is silent evermore ! 
 
 "Oh, Where is Mary Alice Smith ?" She taught 
 us how to call her thus and now she will not an 
 swer us ! Have we no voice to reach her with ? 
 How sweet and pure and glad they were in those old 
 days, as we recall the accents ringing through the 
 hall the same we vainly cry to her. Her fancies 
 were so quaint her ways so full of prankish mys 
 teries! We laughed then; now, upon our knees, 
 we wring our lifted hands and gaze, through stream- 
 166
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 
 
 ing tears, high up the stair she used to climb in 
 childish glee, to call and answer eerily. And now, 
 no answer anywhere I 
 
 How deft the little finger-tips in every task ! The 
 hands, how smooth and delicate to lull and soothe ! 
 And the strange music of her lips! The very 
 crudeness of their speech made chaster yet the 
 childish thought her guileless utterance had caught 
 from spirit-depths beyond our reach. And so her 
 homely name grew fair and sweet and beautiful to 
 hear, blent with the echoes pealing clear and 
 vibrant up the winding stair: "Where where is 
 Mary Alice Smith?" She taught us how to call 
 her thus but oh, she will not answer usl We 
 have no voice to reach her with. 
 
 I6 7
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 "AN adjustable lunatic ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, an adjustable lunatic you may know 
 I don t make a business of insanity, or I wouldn t 
 be running at large here on the streets of the 
 city." 
 
 It was on the morning of St. Patrick s Day. I 
 had been drifting aimlessly around the city for 
 hours, tossed about by the restless tide of human 
 ity that ebbed and flowed in true sea-fashion at 
 the Washington and Illinois street crossing. The 
 few friends I had been fortunate enough to fall in 
 with prior to the parade I had been unfortunate 
 enough to lose in the flurry and excitement attend 
 ing that event; and, brought to a sudden anchor 
 age at the Bates House landing, I found myself at 
 the mercy of a boundless throng that held not one 
 familiar face. It was a literal jam at that juncture, 
 and anxious and impatient as I was to break away, 
 I was forced into a bondage which, though not 
 exactly agreeable, was at least the source of an 
 experience that will linger in my memory fresh 
 and clear when every other feature of the day 
 shall have faded. 
 
 169
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 I had been crowded into a position on a step of 
 the stairway that gave me a lean upon the balus 
 trade and placed me head and shoulders above the 
 crowd; and although I comprehended the help 
 lessness of my position, I was, in a manner, thank 
 ful for the opportunity it afforded me to study the 
 unsuspecting subjects just below. As my hungry 
 eyes went foraging about from face to face they 
 fell upon the features of an individual so singularly 
 abstracted in appearance and so apparently oblivi 
 ous to his surroundings, that I mentally congratu 
 lated him upon his enviable disposition. 
 
 He was a slender man, of thirty years, perhaps ; 
 not tall, but something over medium height; he 
 had dark hair and eyes, with a complexion much 
 too fair to correspond ; was not richly dressed, but 
 neatly, and in good taste. 
 
 Instinctively I wondered who and what he was ; 
 and my speculative fancy went to work and made 
 a lawyer of him then a minister an artist a 
 musician an actor and a dancing-master. Sud 
 denly I found my stare returned with equal fervor, 
 ( and tried to look away, but something held me. 
 He was elbowing his way to where I stood, and 
 smiling as he came. 
 
 "I don t know you," he said, when, after an 
 almost superhuman effort, he had gained my side, 
 to the discomfiture of a brace of mangy little boot- 
 
 170
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 blacks that occupied the step below "I don t 
 know you personally, but you look bored. I m 
 troubled with the same disease and want com 
 pany as the poet of the Sierras wails, How all 
 alone a man may be in crowds ! Something in 
 the utterance made me offer him my hand. 
 
 He grasped it warmly. "It s curious," he said, 
 "how friends are made and where true fellowship 
 begins. Now we ve known each other all our 
 lives and never met before. What d ye say?" 
 
 I smiled approval at the odd assertion. 
 
 "But tell me," he continued, "what conclusion 
 you have arrived at in your study of me ; come, 
 now, be frank what do you make of me?" 
 
 Although I found myself considerably startled, 
 I feigned composure and acknowledged that I had 
 been speculating as to who and what he was, but 
 found myself unable to define a special char 
 acter. 
 
 "I thought so," he said. "No one ever reads 
 my character no one ever will. Why, I ve had 
 phrenologists groping around among my bumps 
 by the hour to no purpose, and physiognomists 
 driving themselves cross-eyed ; but they never 
 found it, and they never will. The very things of 
 which I am capable they invariably place beyond 
 my capacity; and, with like sageness, the very 
 things I can t do they declare me to be a master 
 
 171
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 hand at. But I like to worry them ; it s fun for 
 me. Why, old Fowler himself, here the other 
 night, thumbed my head as mellow as a May,, 
 apple, and never came within a mile of it ! Some 
 characters are readable enough, I m willing to ad 
 mit. Your face, for instance, is a bulletin-board 
 to me, but you can t read mine, for I m neither a 
 doctor, lawyer, artist, actor, musician, nor any 
 thing else you may have in your mind. You 
 might guess your way all through the dictionary 
 and then not get it. It s simply an impossibility, 
 that s all." 
 
 I laughed uneasily, for although amused at the 
 quaint humor of his language, a nervous fluttering 
 of the eyes and a spasmodic twitching of the 
 corners of his mouth made me think his manner 
 merely an affectation. But I was interested, and 
 as his conversation seemed to invite the interroga 
 tion, I flatly asked him to indulge my curiosity 
 and tell me what he was. 
 
 "Wait till the crowd thins, and maybe I will. 
 In the meantime here s a cigar and here s a light 
 as Mr. Quilp playfully remarks to Tom Scott 
 Smoke away, you dog you! 
 
 "Well, you re a character," said I, dubiously. 
 
 "Yes," he repl ed, "but you can t tell what 
 kind, and I can tell you the very trade you work 
 at." 
 
 172
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 I smiled incredulously. 
 
 "Now don t look lofty and assume a profes 
 sional air, for you re only a mechanic, and a sign- 
 painter at that." 
 
 Although he spoke with little courtesy of ad 
 dress, there was a subtle something in his eye that 
 drew me magnet-like and held me. I was silent. 
 
 "Want to know how I became aware of that 
 fact?" he went on, with a quick, sharp glance at 
 my bewildered face. "There s nothing wonder 
 ful about my knowing that; I ve had my eye on 
 you for two hours, and you stare at every sign 
 board you pass, worse than a country-jake ; and 
 once or twice I saw you stop and study carefully 
 some fresh design, or some new style of letter. 
 You re a stranger here in the city, too. Want to 
 know how I can tell ? Because you walk like you 
 were actually going some place ; but I notice that 
 you never get there, for continually crossing and 
 recrossing streets, and back-tracking past show- 
 windows, and congratulating yourself, doubtless, 
 upon the thorough business air of your reflection 
 in the plate glass. Come, we can get through 
 now; let s walk." 
 
 I followed him unhesitatingly. To say that I 
 was simply curious would be too mild ; I was fas 
 cinated, and to that degree I actually fastened on 
 his arm, and clung there till we had quite escaped 
 
 173
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 the crowd. "I like you, some way," he said, 
 "but you re too impulsive ; you let your fancy get 
 away with your better judgment. Now, you don t 
 know me, and I m even pondering whether to 
 frankly unbosom to you, or give you the slip ; and 
 I ll not leave the proposition to you to decide, for 
 I know you d say unbosom ; so I ll think about 
 it quietly for a while yet and give you an unbiased 
 verdict. " 
 
 We walked on in silence for the distance, per 
 haps, of half a dozen blocks, turning and angling 
 about till we came upon an open stairway in an old 
 unpainted brick building, where my strange com 
 panion seemed to pause mechanically. 
 
 "Do you live here?" I asked. 
 
 "I stay here," he replied, "for I don t call it 
 living to be fastened up in this old sepulchre. I 
 like it well enough at night, for then I feast and 
 fatten on the gloom and glower that infest it ; but 
 in the normal atmosphere of day my own room 
 looks repellent, and I only visit it, as now, out of 
 sheer desperation." 
 
 If I had at first been mystified with this curious 
 being, 1 was by this time thoroughly bewildered. 
 The more I studied him the more at a loss I was 
 to fathom him ; and as I stood staring blankly in 
 his face, he exclaimed almost derisively: "You 
 give it up, don t you?" 
 
 174
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "Well," he continued, "that s a good sign, and 
 I ve concluded to unbosom : I m an adjustable 
 lunatic." 
 
 "An adjustable lunatic !" I repeated, blankly. 
 And after the remarkable proposition that ushers 
 in the story, he continued smilingly: 
 
 "Don t be alarmed, now, for I m glad to assure 
 you of the fact that I m as harmless as a baby- 
 butterfly. Nobody knows I m crazy, nobody ever 
 dreams of such a thing and why ? Because the 
 faculty is adjustable, don t you see, and self-con 
 trolling. I never allow it to interfere with busi 
 ness matters, and only let it on at leisure intervals 
 for the amusement it affords me in the pleasurable 
 break it makes in the monotony of a matter-of- 
 fact existence. I m off duty to-day in fact, I ve 
 been off duty for a week ; or, to be franker still, I 
 lost my situation ten days ago, and I ve been hu 
 moring this propensity in the meanwhile ; and now, 
 if you re inclined to go up to my room with me 
 the windows are both raised, you see, and you can 
 call for help should occasion require ; people are 
 constantly passing if you feel inclined, I say, to 
 go up with me, I ll do my best to entertain you. I 
 like you, as I said before, and you can trust me, I 
 assure you. Come." 
 
 If I were to attempt a description of the feel- 
 
 13 175
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 ings that possessed me as I followed my strange 
 acquaintance up the stairway, I should fail as ut 
 terly as one who would attempt to portray the ex 
 perience of lying in a nine-days trance, so I leave 
 the reader s fancy to befriend me, and hasten on 
 to more tangible matters. 
 
 We paused at the first landing, my companion 
 unlocking a door on the right, and handing me the 
 key with the remark: "You may feel safer with 
 it. And don t be frightened," he continued, 
 "when I open the door, for it always whines like 
 somebody had stepped on its knob," and I laughed 
 at the odd figure as he threw the door open and 
 motioned me to enter. 
 
 It was a queer apartment, filled with a jumbled 
 array of old chairs and stands ; old trunks, a 
 lounge, and a stack of odd-shaped packages. A 
 frowzy carpet thrown over the floor like a blanket, 
 and a candle-box spittoon with a broken lamp- 
 chimney in it. A little swinging shelf of dusty 
 books, with a railroad map pasted just above it. 
 A narrow table with a telegraph instrument at 
 tached, and wires like ivy-vines running all about 
 the walls; and scattered around the instrument 
 was an endless array of zinc and copper scraps, 
 and bits of brass, spiral springs, and queer-shaped 
 little tools. A flute propped up one window, and 
 near it, on another stand, a cornet and an old 
 176
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 guitar; a pencil sketch half finished, and a stuffed 
 glove with a pencil in its fingers lying on it ; a 
 spirit-lamp, a lump of beeswax, and a hundred 
 other odds and ends, betokening the presence of 
 some mechanical, musical, scientific genius. 
 
 "It s a bachelor s room," said the host, noting 
 my inquisitive air. "It s a bachelor s room, so 
 you ll expect no apologies. Sit down when you re 
 through with the industrial, and turn your atten 
 tion to the art department." 
 
 I followed the direction of his hand, and my 
 eyes fell upon a painted face of such ineffable 
 sweetness and beauty I was fairly dazed. It was 
 not an earthly form, at least in coloring, for the 
 features seemed to glow with beatific light. The 
 eyes were large, dark, and dewy, thrown upward 
 with a longing look, and filled with such intensity 
 of tenderness one could but sigh to see them. The 
 hair, swept negligently back, fell down the gleam 
 ing shoulders like a silken robe, and nestled in its 
 glossy waves the ears peeped shyly out like lily- 
 blooms. The lips were parted with an utterance 
 that one could almost hear, and weep because the 
 blessed voice was mute. The hands were folded 
 on a crumpled letter and pressed close against the 
 heart, and a curl of golden hair was coiled around 
 the fingers. 
 
 "Is it a creation of the fancy?" I asked, 
 
 177
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 "Well, yes," he answered, with a dreamy 
 drawl. "I call it fancy, when in a normal state; 
 but now," he continued, in a fainter tone, "I will 
 designate it as a portrait." And oh, so sad, so 
 hopeless and despairing was the utterance, it seemed 
 to well up from the fountain of his heart like a 
 spray of purest sorrow. 
 
 "Who painted it?" I asked. 
 
 " Who painted it? " he repeated, drowsily 
 " who painted it? Oh, no; I mustn t tell you 
 that; for if I answered you with Raphael, you d 
 say, Ah, no! the paint s too fresh for that, and 
 he s been dead for ages. Who painted it? No, 
 no, I mustn t tell you that!" 
 
 "But are you not an artist? I see an easel in 
 the corner there, and here s a maulstick lying on 
 the mantel." 
 
 "I an artist? Why, man, what ails you? I 
 told you not ten minutes since that I was an ad 
 justable lunatic; and don t you see I am? You 
 can t mislead me nor throw me off my guard. 
 When it comes to reason or solid logic, don t you 
 find me there? And here again, to show the clear 
 ness of my judgment, I remove the cause of our 
 little dissension, and our friendly equanimity is 
 restored " and he turned the picture to the wall. 
 
 I could but smile at the gravity and adroitness 
 of his language and demeanor, 
 
 I 7 8
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 "There," said he, smiling in return ; "your face 
 is brighter than the day outside ; let s change the 
 topic. Do you like music?" 
 
 "Passionately," I responded. "Will you play?" 
 
 "No; I will sing." 
 
 He took the guitar from the table, and, with a 
 prelude wilder than the "Witches Dance," he 
 sang a song he called "The Dream of Death," 
 a grievously sad song, so full of minor tones and 
 wailing words, the burden of it still lingers in my 
 ears: 
 
 "O gentle death, bow down and sip 
 The soul that lingers on my lip; 
 O gentle death, bow down and keep 
 Eternal vigil o er my sleep; 
 For I am weary and would rest 
 Forever on your loving breast." 
 
 His voice, as plaintive as a dove s, went trailing 
 through the rondel like weariness itself ; and when 
 at last it died away in one long quaver of ecstatic 
 melody, though I felt within my heart an echoing 
 of grief 
 
 "Too sweetly sad to name as pain," 
 
 I broke the silence following to remind him of his 
 having told me he was not a musician. 
 
 "Only a novice," he responded. "One may 
 twang a lute and yet not be a troubadour. By the 
 
 179
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 way," he broke off abruptly, "is that expression 
 original with me, or have I picked it up in some 
 old book of rhyme? Oh, yes! How do you 
 like poetry?" 
 
 He sprang to his feet as he spoke, and without 
 awaiting an answer to his query went diving about 
 in a huge waste-basket standing near the table. 
 
 "It s a thing I dislike to acknowledge," he went 
 on, "but I don t mind telling you. The fact is, 
 I m a follower of Wegg and sometimes drop into 
 poetry as a friend, you understand ; and if you ll 
 lend me your ears, I ll give you a specimen of 
 my versification." 
 
 He had drawn up a roll of paper from the 
 debris of the basket, and unrolling it with a 
 flourish, and a mock-heroic air of inspiration, he 
 read as follows : 
 
 "A fantasy that came to me 
 
 As wild and wantonly designed 
 
 .As ever any dream might be 
 
 Unraveled from a madman s mind, 
 
 A tangle -work of tissue, wrought 
 By cunning of the spider-brain, 
 And woven, in an hour of pain, 
 
 To trap the giddy flies of thought ." 
 
 He paused, and with a look of almost wild en 
 treaty he pleaded: "You understand it, don t 
 you?" 
 
 180
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 I nodded hesitatingly. 
 
 "Why certainly you do. The meaning s the 
 plainest thing in it. What s your idea of its 
 meaning? tell me! Why don t you tell me!" 
 
 "Read it again that I may note it carefully." 
 
 He repeated it. 
 
 "Why," said I, "it appears to me to be the in 
 troduction to a poem written under peculiar cir 
 cumstances, and containing, perhaps, some strange 
 ideas that the author would excuse for the reason 
 of their coming in the way they did." 
 
 "Right!" he exclaimed, joyously; "and now if 
 you ll give me your most critical attention, and 
 promise not to interrupt, I ll read the poem entire." 
 
 "Go on," I said, for I was far more eager to 
 listen than I would have him know. 
 
 "And will you excuse any little wildness of 
 gesture or expression that I may see fit to introduce 
 in the rendition?" 
 
 "Certainly," said I, "certainly; go on!" 
 
 "And you won t interrupt or get excited ? Light 
 another cigar; and here s a chair to throw your 
 feet across. Now, unbutton your coat and lean 
 back. Are you thoroughly comfortable ?" 
 
 "Thoroughly," said I, impatiently "a thou 
 sand thoroughlies. " 
 
 "All right," he said; "I m glad to hear you 
 say it ; but before I proceed I desire to call your 
 
 181
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 attention to the fact that this poem is a literary 
 orphan a foundling, you understand?" 
 
 "I understand; go on." 
 
 And with a manner all too wild to be described, 
 he read, or rather recited, the following monstrosity 
 of rhyme: 
 
 " I stood beneath a summer moon 
 
 All swollen to uncanny girth, 
 And hanging, like the sun at noon, 
 
 Above the centre of the earth; 
 
 But with a sad and sallow light, 
 
 As it had sickened of the night 
 And fallen in a pallid swoon. 
 Around me I could hear the rush 
 
 Of sullen winds, and feel the whirr 
 Of unseen wings apast me brush 
 
 Like phantoms round a sepulchre; 
 And, like a carpeting of plush, 
 
 A lawn unrolled beneath my feet, 
 
 Bespangled o er with flowers as sweet 
 
 To look upon as those that nod 
 
 Within the garden-fields of God, 
 
 But odorless as those that blow 
 
 In ashes in the shades below. 
 
 " And on my hearing fell a storm 
 Of gusty music, sadder yet 
 Than every whimper of regret 
 That sobbing utterance could form, 
 
 And patched with scraps of sound that seemed 
 Torn out of tunes that demons dreamed, 
 
 182
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 And pitched to such a piercing key, 
 
 It stabbed the ear with agony; 
 
 And when at last it lulled and died, 
 
 I stood aghast and terrified. 
 I shuddered and I shut my eyes, 
 
 And still could see, and feel aware 
 
 Some mystic presence waited there; 
 And staring, with a dazed surprise, 
 
 I saw a creature so divine 
 
 That never subtle thought of mine 
 
 May reproduce to inner sight 
 
 So fair a vision of delight. 
 
 ** A syllable of dew that drips 
 From out a lily s laughing lips 
 Could not be sweeter than the word 
 I listened to, yet never heard. 
 For, oh, the woman hiding there 
 Within the shadows of her hair, 
 Spake to me in an undertone 
 So delicate, my soul alone 
 But understood it as a moan 
 Of some weak melody of wind 
 A heavenward breeze had left behind. 
 
 ** A tracery of trees, grotesque 
 
 Against the sky, behind her seen, 
 
 Like shapeless shapes of arabesque 
 Wrought in an Oriental screen; 
 
 And tall, austere and statuesque 
 
 She loomed before it e en as though 
 The spirit-hand of Angelo 
 Had chiselled her to life complete, 
 With chips of moonshine round her fet, 
 
 183
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 And I grew jealous of the dusk, 
 To see it softly touch her face, 
 As lover-like, with fond embrace, 
 
 It folded round her like a husk: 
 
 But when the glitter of her hand, 
 Like wasted glory, beckoned me, 
 My eyes grew blurred and dull and dim 
 My vision failed I could not see 
 
 I could not stir I could but stand, 
 Till, quivering in every limb, 
 I flung me prone, as though to swim 
 The tide of grass whose waves of green. 
 Went rolling ocean-wide between 
 My helpless shipwrecked heart and her 
 Who claimed me for a worshipper. 
 
 * And writhing thus in my despair, 
 I heard a weird, unearthly sound, 
 That seemed to lift me from the ground 
 And hold me floating in the air. 
 I looked, and lo! I saw her bow 
 
 Above a harp within her hands; 
 A crown of blossoms bound her brow, 
 
 And on her harp were twisted strands 
 Of silken starlight, rippling o er 
 With music never heard before 
 By mortal ears; and, at the strain, 
 I felt my Spirit snap its chain 
 And break away, and I could see 
 It as it turned and fled from me 
 To greet its mistress, where she smiled 
 To see the phantom dancing wild 
 And wizard-like before the spell 
 Her mystic fingers knew so well." 
 
 184
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 I sat throughout it all as though under the 
 strange influence of an Eastern drug. My fancy 
 was so wrought upon I only saw the reader mistily, 
 and clothed, as it were, in a bedragoned costume 
 of the Orient. My mind seemed idle steeped in 
 drowse and languor, and yet peopled with a thou 
 sand shadowy fancies that came trooping from 
 chaotic hiding-places, and mingling in a revelry of 
 such riotous extravagance it seemed a holiday of 
 elfish thought. 
 
 I shook my head, I rubbed my eyes, arose be 
 wildered, and sat down again; arose again and 
 walked across the room, my strange companion 
 following every motion with an intensity of gaze 
 almost mesmeric. 
 
 "You fail to comprehend it?" he queried. 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "You can almost grasp it, can t you?" 
 
 * Yes," I answered. 
 
 "But not quite?" 
 
 "Not quite." 
 
 "Does it worry you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Think it will cling to you, and fret you, vex 
 you, haunt you?" 
 
 "I know it will." 
 
 "Think you ll ever fully comprehed it?" 
 
 "I can t say," I replied, thoughtfully. "Per-
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 haps I may in time. Will you allow me to 
 copy it?" 
 
 "What do you want with it?" 
 
 "I want to study it," I replied. 
 
 "And you re sure you don t understand it, and 
 it worries you, and frets you, and vexes you, and 
 haunts you ? Good ! I ll read you the final clause 
 now; that may throw a light of some kind on it;" 
 and, opening the scroll, again he read: 
 
 " What is it? Who will rightly guess 
 
 If it be aught but nothingness 
 
 That dribbles from a wayward pen 
 
 To spatter in the eyes of men? 
 
 What matter! I will call it mine, 
 And I will take the changeling home 
 
 And bathe its face with morning-shine, 
 And comb it with a golden comb 
 Till every tangled tress of rhyme 
 Will fairer be than summer-time: 
 
 And I will nurse it on my knee, 
 And dandle it beyond the clasp 
 Of hands that grip and hands that grasp, 
 
 Through life and all eternity !" 
 
 "Now what do you think of it?" be asked with 
 a savageness that startled me. 
 
 "I am more at sea than ever," I replied. 
 
 "Well, I wish you a prosperous voyage ! Here s 
 the poem; I ve another copy. Read and reflect, 
 
 186
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 as the railroad poster says, but don t you publish 
 it at least while I m alive, for I ve no thirst for 
 literary fame I only write for home-use; but 
 you re a good fellow, and I like you for all your 
 weak points, and I trust the confidence I repose 
 will not be disregarded. Come!" 
 
 He had opened the door and was holding out 
 his hand for the key. 
 
 I gave it to him and followed out mechanically. 
 He left the door ajar and followed to the bottom 
 of the stairs. 
 
 "And now if you ll pardon me," he said, "I ll 
 say good-bye to you here ; I ve some packing to 
 do and ought to be at it." 
 
 "Why, you re not going to leave the city?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Well, no, not to-day; but the jig s up with 
 me here, and it s only a question of time I can t 
 hold out much longer as our rural friend re 
 marks, Money matters is mighty sceerce ; and 
 if I don t pull out shortly I ll have to fold my 
 tent like the Bedouin and silently plagiarize 
 away! " 
 
 "If I could be of any assistance to you " I 
 began, but he checked me abruptly with, "Oh, 
 no, I don t require it, I assure you ; I ve two dol 
 lars to your one, doubtless. Thank you just the 
 same, and good-bye. Here s my card; it s not 
 
 187
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 my name, however, but it ll answer; I ll not see 
 you again, though you should live to be as bald as 
 a brickyard, for, my dear young friend, I m going 
 away. Good-bye, and may all good things over 
 take you !" 
 
 He gripped my hand like a vice, and turning 
 quickly, went skipping up the stairway two steps 
 at a time. 
 
 "Good-bye ! " I called to him, sorrowfully ; then 
 turned reluctantly away, examining the card he 
 had given me, which, to my astonishment, was 
 not his card at all, but a railroad ticket entitling 
 the bearer to a ride from Danville, Illinois, to 
 York, Pennsylvania; this fact I remember quite 
 distinctly, as I read it over and over, revolving in 
 my mind the impression that this was but another 
 instance of his eccentricity, or perhaps a trick by 
 which I might be victimized in some undreamed 
 of way. But upon second thought I concluded it 
 to be simply a mistake, and so turned back and 
 called him to the window above and explained. 
 
 He came down and begged my pardon for the 
 trouble he had given me, took the ticket, thanked 
 me, and said good-bye again. 
 
 "But," said I, "you haven t given me your real 
 card in exchange." 
 
 "Oh, no matter!" he said smilingly. "Call 
 me Smith, Jones, or Robinson, it s all the same; 
 
 188
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 
 
 good-bye, and don t forget your old friend and 
 well-wisher, the Adjustable Lunatic." And even 
 thus he vanished from sight forever. 
 
 The remainder of the day and half of the night 
 I spent in studious contemplation of the curious 
 composition, but without arriving at any tangible 
 conclusion. I am still engaged with my investiga 
 tion. Sometimes the meaning seems almost within 
 my mental grasp ; but, balancing, adjusting, and 
 comparing its many curious bearings I find my judg 
 ment persistently at fault. It has puzzled and 
 bewildered me for weeks. No line of it but can 
 ters through my brain like a fractious nightmare ; 
 no syllable but fastens on my fancy like a leech, 
 and sucks away the life-blood of my every thought. 
 I am troubled, worried, fretted, vexed, and haunted ; 
 and I write this now in the earnest hope that wiser 
 minds may have an opportunity of making it a 
 subject of investigation, and because one week 
 ago to-day my eyes fell upon the following spe 
 cial telegram to the Indianapolis "Journal": 
 
 PERU, IND., April 12. An unknown man committed suicide in 
 the eastward-bound train on the Wabash road, just below Waverly, 
 at about II o clock this morning. He had in his possession, 
 besides the revolver with which he shot himself, a ticket from 
 Danville, Illinois, to York, Pennsylvania, a gold watch, $19 in 
 money, a small valise, and some letters and other papers which 
 indicated his name to be George S. Clofling. 
 
 He was shot twice in the region of the heart, and his revolver 
 showed that between the first and last shots two cartridges missed 
 fire.
 
 FAMOUS AUTHORS AND THEIR BOOKS 
 INCLUDED IN THIS SERIES 
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 
 
 By JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 
 
 Author of "An Old Sweetheart of Mine," etc. 
 
 THE PRINCESS ELOPES 
 
 By HAROLD MacGRATH 
 
 Author of " The Man on the Box," etc. 
 
 AS THE HART PANTETH 
 
 By HALLIE ERMINIE RIVES 
 
 Author of "The Valiants of Virginia," etc. 
 
 ROSALYNDE S LOVERS 
 
 By MAURICE THOMPSON 
 
 Author of "Alice of Old Vinccnnct," ek. 
 
 THE HOUSE IN THE MIST 
 
 By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN 
 
 Author of "The Leavenworth Case," etc. 
 
 TROLLEY FOLLY 
 
 By HENRY WALLACE PHILLIPS 
 
 Author of "Red Sounders," etc. 
 
 MOTORMANIACS 
 
 By LLOYD OSBOURNE 
 
 Author of "A Person of Some Importance," etc, 
 
 THE FIFTH STRING 
 
 By JOHN PHILIP SOUSA 
 
 Author of"Pif>etown Sandy," etc. 
 
 CHIMES FROM A JESTER S BELLS 
 
 By ROBERT J. BURDETTE 
 
 Author of "Old Time and Young Tom," cic. 
 
 A GUEST AT THE LUDLOW 
 
 By BILL NYE 
 
 Author of "Baled Hay," ek. 
 
 FOUR IN FAMILY 
 
 By FLORIDA POPE SUMERWELL 
 
 A FOOL FOR LOVE 
 
 By FRANCIS LYNDE 
 
 Author of "The Grafters," etc.